Читать книгу Call Me Cupid: The Guy to Be Seen With / The First Crush Is the Deepest / Too Close for Comfort - Heidi Rice - Страница 16

EIGHT

Chloe ran quickly and lightly down the narrow hallway that led to her bedroom. Once inside she pulled the duvet straight and plumped a pillow, then turned her attention to the other item that needed to be dealt with: the graduation photo sitting on her bedside table.

Ugh. Frizzy hair and badly applied eyeshadow.

She only displayed it in the privacy of her bedroom because she was really, really proud of her qualifications, even if the tight smiles of her parents standing behind her reminded her how they’d have preferred for her to go to a big-hitting university and get a ‘proper’ degree.

She couldn’t risk just putting it face down, so she pulled the underwear drawer of her dressing table open and stuffed the frame under the tangle of straps and things. But the sight of some of her better underwear sitting in the top of the drawer made her stop and think.

She hadn’t been planning on anyone seeing her underwear when she’d got dressed this morning. It was nude-coloured and functional. Nice enough, just not pretty like those were.

And you’re planning on someone seeing your underwear now?

Chloe thought for a moment.

Hell, yeah.

The problem was that her current bra was strapless and her dress had spaghetti straps. It would be weird if she changed into her eye-wateringly expensive silk and lace set and went out there with hot-pink straps showing. Not very subtle.

Forget subtle. Ditch the dress and go back out there in just the pink satin with the creamy lace trim.

Chloe let out a gasp. She couldn’t, could she? She’d never been quite that bold before—at least, not on a first night together. It wasn’t her.

Or was it?

The Chloe she’d invented for herself to grow into would do it. She was sassy and worldly-wise and confident. Maybe she never had before, but that was because she liked a man to do all the running, to prove he was interested. And, deep down, if she admitted it to herself, she liked it that way because then it was him not her who had to endure that horrible feeling of free fall once he’d made the first move and was waiting to see if she’d accept or reject him.

But this time it was different. The way Daniel had been looking at her...touching her... Well, she was pretty sure he wasn’t going to try and fend her off this time.

Maybe she needed to do this. Not to get him to prove anything, but to prove something to herself.

Quickly, before she could talk herself out of it, she stripped off her underwear and reached for the pink silk. Once it was on, she turned to inspect herself in the mirror.

There were a few lumps and bumps she wished weren’t there. After prodding her stomach, which jiggled a little, she looked longingly at the functional bra and knickers and sundress on the floor. There was something about walking out there as she was now that made her feel very...naked.

She looked herself in the eye and pulled herself up straight, sucked things in a little. That was what New Chloe would do. So she had a few curves, but Daniel didn’t seem to mind, and she wasn’t that blobby little nineteen-year-old any more. New Chloe knew she worked out, that she was toned. New Chloe knew she looked good.

She bent down, picked up her discarded clothes and threw them in the wardrobe. A pair of hot-pink heels winked at her from inside and she quickly reached for them and slid them on her feet. Then, without looking back, she strutted down the corridor back to the living room, reminding herself to breathe.

Since Daniel had picked up a framed photo of her on holiday last year, she took the opportunity of reaching for the dimmer switch and taking the lighting down to a more intimate level as she entered the room.

The change in brightness made him look up and round to where she was standing.

He dropped the frame.

It bounced on the floor but didn’t break.

The look on his face right then was all Chloe needed to wipe all those years of insecurity away. Never had she felt so feminine, so beautiful...so wanted.

She could pull this off, she really could. New Chloe had been a project that had worked from the outside in, but she had the feeling that after tonight that version of herself would no longer be a work in progress. One night with Daniel Bradford would banish the Mouse for ever and cement New Chloe into place. The transformation would be complete.

Since Daniel didn’t seem capable of movement at the moment, let alone speech, she walked slowly towards him, crouched to pick up the picture—aware that the angle of her knees and the high heels were doing amazing things for her legs—and handed it back to him and nodded towards the bookcase. He replaced it without taking his eyes off her.

And then, taking advantage of his paralysed state, which only gave her some kind of weird exultant power, she gave him a gentle shove and he sat down suddenly on the sofa. She had one knee on the sofa beside his leg, preparing to slide onto his lap, when he shifted slightly and reached beneath him. He pulled out the book—his book—that she’d thrown there earlier. Knowing they were definitely not going to be doing any reading in the next few hours, Chloe took it from his fingers and tossed it onto the adjacent sofa cushion.

As she did so a slip of coloured paper dislodged itself from the pages and fluttered to land on Daniel’s lap. He picked it up and stared at it. Chloe took the opportunity to place her other knee on the sofa and sank down until soft, rounded bottom met hard thighs. She attempted to pluck the paper from his hands, but he wouldn’t let go.

‘What’s this?’ he asked, obviously having recovered the use of his tongue. Chloe wasn’t very happy about that. For the money she’d paid for this bra and the way it made her boobs look he should have been drooling, his tongue thick in his mouth, for at least another half-hour.

He frowned. ‘Who...? Why have you got this?’

It was then she realised it was a photograph.

‘That’s me,’ he said, sounding slightly dazed, ‘in the middle.’

Chloe’s stomach rocketed down so hard she reckoned it had gone through the hull of her houseboat and was now wedged in the mud at the bottom of the river.

She’d forgotten all about that photo, tucked lovingly in the back of her favourite book, the one she’d never, ever lent to anyone else. A snap someone had taken on the last day of Daniel’s tropical plants course of a bunch of students and their much-admired lecturer.

‘Oh, that,’ she said blithely, trying once again to dislodge it from his fingers without seeming as if she was desperate. ‘That’s from my college days.’

‘You attended my course?’ he asked, still looking at the photo and not the pink lingerie. That was starting to annoy Chloe.

She let out a huff of air. ‘I told you I was a student at Kew,’ she said.

Finally, he made eye contact. He still wasn’t letting go of the photo, though. ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’

Chloe swallowed. What was she going to tell him? That she was the girl who’d humiliated herself in front of him? No way. ‘When we first met it was obvious you didn’t remember me—why would you?—so I decided not to bring it up. I didn’t want to make you feel awkward.’

Hah! Biggest fib ever. It had been nothing to do with not wanting Daniel to feel awkward.

He frowned and looked back at the photograph. ‘I do remember a few of these people,’ he said slowly, his eyes flitting between one face and the next.

Chloe decided drastic measures were needed. In a few seconds he’d realise she was in that photo. And while he hadn’t put two and two together yet, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t if he stared at it long enough.

She peeled his fingers from the photograph, let it flutter to the floor and placed his hands high on her waist, just on her lower ribs, and then she leaned forward and delivered the kiss of her life.

Thankfully, after a few seconds, she felt him relax, felt his jaw soften as he kissed her back. She let him set the pace, take control, knowing that was what he needed at that moment to keep his mind occupied. Within sixty seconds she wasn’t thinking about anything but his lips and the lazy circles his thumbs were making on her torso, travelling slowly upward. If he didn’t get to that pink silk soon she was going to explode.

Just as he’d pulled her closer, as his thumb had grazed the underside of her breast and Chloe had let out a low moan, his hands slowed down. And then they stopped. She tried to keep on kissing him but eventually his lips stopped too. He pulled away.

Chloe’s heart raced, and not from the recent thumb activity. This time her pulse was struggling to push frozen blood through her veins.

He leaned past her to reach for the photograph at his feet, and Chloe slowly climbed off his lap. He picked it up and looked first at the photo and back at her, then he studied the photo again.

When he spoke his words were measured and cool. ‘Where are you in this photograph?’

Chloe shook her head, lips moving, not able to produce any sound.

Daniel’s brows lowered. ‘Don’t lie to me,’ he said. ‘Don’t tell me you’re not in here.’

A tiny noise escaped her mouth. The kind of weak croak any self-respecting frog would be ashamed of.

The urge to curl up and hide was irresistible. She knelt on the other side of the sofa and buried her face in her hands, hiding her exposed flesh as much as possible.

Daniel leapt to his feet. ‘All the time it was you and you never told me! What is this? Some kind of sick joke? You’re...you’re just like the rest of them...just another obsessive woman.’

The tears began to stream down Chloe’s face. She wiped the first wave away and looked at him, still trying to curl into the sofa and disappear. ‘That’s not true! I made it quite clear from the beginning I didn’t want to get involved, but you just kept wearing me down...’

He let out a harsh, dry laugh. The look on his face was pure revulsion. ‘That was all part of the plan, wasn’t it? And I fell for it—hook, line and sinker. That idea to “help” me out with those fake dates...’ He shook his head, as if he was hardly able to believe the thoughts running through his head. ‘God, I was suckered right in, wasn’t I?’

Anger was taking over now, and Chloe let it. It was a much better sensation than cold humiliation. She stood up and folded her arms tightly across her chest. ‘There was no plan! You’re being paranoid.’ She walked right up to him. He backed away.

That hurt.

‘Admit it!’ she yelled. ‘You did all the chasing. You wouldn’t leave me alone. That wasn’t a trick. You wanted me!’

His expression set like stone. ‘I wanted her,’ he said softly, almost too reasonably. ‘The woman I thought you were. Not—’ he gestured towards the photo still in his right hand ‘—this.’

Chloe’s ribs tightened so hard that she couldn’t open her mouth to breathe.

‘I would never want this,’ he said, glaring at the photo and then transferring that scalding gaze to her. ‘Not the sort of person who lies and manipulates, who can’t just come out and tell the truth. I can’t believe you strung me along for so long,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘You played me for a right fool. But, you know what? I’m not the fool here—you are.’

He looked her up and down one last time before snarling his last judgement. ‘You’re pathetic.’

And then he turned and strode out of the door.

* * *

Daniel’s team kept out of his way the following day. Every time he entered a room in the tropical plant nursery it wouldn’t exactly empty immediately, but after about ten minutes of concentrated work he’d look up to find himself totally alone. He was so angry he couldn’t see straight.

Much more so than when Georgia had made her stupid proposal. He understood now that his ex’s actions had been a combination of a ticking biological clock mixed with a healthy dose of panic. It had been a daft reflex action, and he could forgive her for that.

But Chloe...

Chloe had lied.

He’d thought he’d been so clever, carefully reeling her in, when all along it had been the other way around. She wasn’t an orchid at all. She was a sneaky, twisting, climbing weed.

There was a cracking sound and he realised he’d been gripping a square plastic pot a little too tightly. That was the third one today. For punishment he threw it across the nursery.

There was a flash of movement near the door, and he turned to find Alan standing there, waving a blue and white checked tea towel above his head.

‘What are you doing?’ Daniel barked.

Alan stopped waving and let his arm drop to his side. ‘It was the closest I could find to a white flag,’ he muttered.

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Daniel said. He hadn’t been that bad, had he?

‘I have staff volunteering for manure duty,’ Alan said, ‘just so they can get out of here for the afternoon. What the hell is wrong with you?’

Daniel just gave him a thunderous look.

Alan nodded knowingly. ‘Ah, woman trouble.’ He put the tea towel down on the bench near the door and walked over to Daniel. ‘What’s Fancy Knickers done now?’

‘Shut up, Alan,’ Daniel said.

He didn’t want to think about Chloe. Especially not combined with the phrase Fancy Knickers. He’d been having rogue flashbacks enough as it was, and he didn’t want to prompt any more.

Too late.

An image of her leaning over him as he sat on the sofa, a pale thigh either side of his jeans, and the ringside view of just what a good bra could do for a cleavage assaulted him.

He batted the image away, attempting to replace it with the tacky-leaved Drosera on the bench in front of him. It wasn’t much competition, really. His mind started to slide in the wrong direction once again.

He made himself focus on the plant. Remember, he told himself, they’re both the same really—covered in sweetness that promises heaven but is really a fatal trap. One he’d only just survived before. Nothing on earth would tempt him to go back there again.

‘Have you seen her today?’ he asked Alan. Daniel hadn’t. Which meant she’d had the good sense to keep out of his way.

Alan shook his head. ‘She didn’t come in this morning.’

That just stoked Daniel’s anger further. Not just a liar but a coward, too.

‘What did she do, mate?’ Alan asked. ‘It has to be pretty monumental to get you in this state.’

‘She... She...’

What had she done?

His brain flooded with images from the night before: Chloe, sweet and sexy, half naked and responsive beneath his hands... Her easy smile and that killer body... That darn tiny hook at the top of her dress.

He opened his mouth and then shut it again. Telling Alan she’d invited him back to her place, stripped down to the most eye-popping lingerie he’d ever seen and then had tried to seduce him just didn’t sound very awful. Alan definitely wouldn’t understand.

In fact, at the mercy of the movie reel of memories inside his own head, Daniel was finding it harder to understand it himself.

But then another image in his brain came sharply into focus—the photograph that had been hidden in the book—and suddenly his anger came flooding back.

She’d promised him one thing and then had delivered him something else entirely.

Promised you?

Yes. Promised him. With every wiggle of her hips, with every cool and casual comment, every retreat when he’d advanced. She’d made him believe they were the same, that they wanted the same thing. And it hadn’t been true at all.

He could have slept with her anyway, but that wasn’t his style, and he knew it would have been a mistake. Those tendrils, like jungle creepers, would have started to wind around him, to suffocate him.

‘It’s complicated,’ he told Alan. ‘You know women.’

Alan nodded sagely.

‘I’ll be fine in a while,’ Daniel told him. ‘I just need to let off some steam first.’

Alan chuckled. ‘The rate you’re going, we can just turn the misters and the heating off and let you regulate the nursery single-handed.’

Daniel let out a reluctant laugh.

Alan walked back over to the door. ‘That’s the problem with women. We want to chase them, but we then have to deal with them when we catch them.’

You did all the chasing...

Chloe’s words from the evening before echoed round his head. He had chased her. He’d chased hard. The fact she was right only made him more angry.

But that had been part of his downfall. He’d been so busy trying to break down her barriers that he hadn’t realised he hadn’t been tending his own.

He picked up the Drosera and inspected it closely. Tiny black flies decorated its sticky leaves.

Stupid man, he told himself. Because you thought she was safe, that she didn’t want diamonds and confetti and wedding rings, you let yourself like her. Because he had genuinely liked being with her. It hadn’t all been about getting her into bed.

He hadn’t wanted her to be one of those clingy, silly women who just threw themselves at him. He’d wanted to spend time with her, have a wild and crazy affair that lasted as long as it lasted. And who wouldn’t? Because, despite how she’d acted in the past, the Chloe Michaels of today was clever and funny and sexy, and she’d reminded him of who he’d used to be before...

A chill settled over him. Maybe that was why. Maybe, even though he hadn’t realised it, because she was from that time in his life when he was really happy, he’d recognised that on some subconscious level, been drawn to it.

Which meant he had to stay away from her now. He didn’t want any memories of that time. Because remembering the good years meant remembering what came after. And it had taken him too long travelling the world, seeking adventure to make him forget.

He was good at forgetting. At blocking out.

And now he had one more thing to block out from his life—Chloe Michaels.

* * *

Chloe was very glad that the day after her sickie was a Saturday and she wasn’t due to go in to work. She did better than the previous day, where she’d mostly sat in the cramped space between her bed and her chest of drawers, her back to the wall, and cried. She made it out of her bedroom and into the living room. Not for long, though. Every stick of furniture in her room seemed to have some link with Thursday night.

The problem with living so close to the botanical gardens was that she was scared to go outside in case she met someone from work. In the end, she resorted to desperate measures and rang her parents to say she was coming home for the weekend for a surprise visit.

Mum and Dad were just as they always were. They looked after her, they fed her cups of tea and shortcake—which was all lovely—but then there were the dinner-table conversations. How pleased they were that she was working somewhere as prestigious as Kew, even if was just looking after one tiny section. Never mind. In a few years she could go for promotion and really do something.

Chloe wanted to tell them she was doing something, that she loved her job and didn’t yearn for corporate headship, or knighthood—or sainthood—whatever it was they wanted for her, but she didn’t have the energy. Besides, if they kept on about her professional life they wouldn’t ask about her personal life.

It had started a couple of years ago. First the veiled questions, but they’d grown less and less subtle. Had she met anyone nice? Was anyone serious about her? Of course, she’d always looked better with longer hair so maybe she should grow it out, and she’d do well not to forget that it was all downhill after thirty and they really wanted some grandchildren while her eggs were still good.

They meant well, they really did.

But Chloe didn’t need a reminder that her personal life was going down the toilet. At least, if her parents kept on about work, she’d avoid having to tell them it had been her who’d pulled the chain.

But Monday would not be put off for ever.

She woke before dawn and stared at her ceiling, listening to the planes coming in to land at Heathrow, her stomach churning. She really didn’t want to go in. She couldn’t face it, couldn’t face seeing him, especially after what he’d said to her.

You’re pathetic.

Those words had lodged in her chest like an arrow’s shaft and would not be shaken loose.

She was pathetic. What serious, grown-up horticulturist fantasised about taking a taxi to the airport, buying a one-way ticket and just getting on a plane? Any plane. As long as it took her thousands of miles away.

Five months. That was all she’d had in her dream job before it had turned into a nightmare.

Even though it was not yet six, Chloe dragged herself out of bed and made herself get dressed. Lying there feeling sorry for herself was not going to help. She needed to get ready, get some serious armour in place if she was going to survive today, both physical and emotional. If there was one thing she was not going to give up it was her job. Daniel Bradford would just have to deal with that.

She’d chosen her usual confidence-boosting uniform of pink blouse and black skirt, but when she opened her wardrobe to look for matching shoes she realised they were still under her bed where she’d kicked them off after Daniel had left. She staggered back from the open wardrobe and her bottom met the end of the bed with a bump. For a few seconds, she stared straight ahead, but then she reached underneath the bed and her fingers closed around the hard and spiky heel of a pink stiletto. She pulled it out and stared at it.

She didn’t ever want to wear those shoes again. She certainly didn’t want to wear them today. Daniel would just think she was sending him some creepy, stalker-type message or something. The man was paranoid.

And vain. And arrogant.

And so gorgeous she couldn’t think straight.

How—after all he’d said to her, after how he’d made her feel—could she still be attracted to him? Daniel Bradford was right. She was pathetic. She needed to get herself a life, and she needed to do it fast.

Which, unfortunately, meant she really was going to have to get up off her backside and go to work today. Because work was all she had left at the moment.

She threw the pink heel into the back of her wardrobe, plucked its twin from under the bed and did the same, then pulled out some less spectacular black shoes with a lower heel. They were comfortable, though, she thought as she slid her feet into them, which would be good, because she’d bet those shoes were the only thing that was going to be comfortable about her working day today.