Читать книгу Confessions Of A Bad Bridesmaid - Jennifer Rae - Страница 9

TWO

Not even sneaking a peek, thought Olivia as she slipped her tight trousers off and slid her thermal singlet up over her head. With a tug she pulled the dress down over her head. It, too, was tight but with an extra-hard tug it slipped over her.

She dared a glance in the rear-vision mirror, wondering if she’d caught his dark eyes flicking her way. But he was facing the front. Prude. He probably turned the lights out during sex. Which in her experience was almost as bad as a sleazy lout with wandering hands.

She’d known them all. The funny ones—egotistical—the stupid ones—selfish—the pretty ones—unfaithful—and the shy ones—bad in bed. Unfortunately none had lasted longer than three weeks. The brutal truth was that Olivia was convinced she was undateable. But that was all ending this weekend. False eyelashes, a week’s worth of tanning on Bondi and a bag full of sparkly short dresses meant this weekend she was going to make an impression.

Olivia pulled her make-up bag with her into the front seat and Edward made a disapproving harrumph. Like an old woman.

‘Haven’t you got enough of that on already?’ he enquired rudely. She noticed his fists were white on the steering wheel. Angry, impatient and disapproving. Usually she charmed people when she first met them. For the first five minutes. Then, of course, they quickly lost interest. But his disinterest had taken hold a lot more quickly than normal. She wasn’t sure why, but that idea made her stomach knot up tight. How ridiculous. As if a man like him would ever be interested in someone like her anyway.

‘It’s these finishing touches that take a girl from drab to dazzling. You’ll see.’

She felt his eyes on her and ignored them. He was probably thinking that no amount of make-up could do that, and he’d be right. The truth was she was the younger, less attractive sister and the least pretty of all her friends. She’d made peace with that fact years ago, but a layer of peroxide through her naturally mousy hair and plenty of make-up made her feel much better—and this weekend she wanted to feel good. But his disapproving glances were having the opposite effect.

‘What’s wrong? Do I have something in my teeth? Or is one of my nipples out?’ She lifted her hands to her dress and shifted the bodice, making sure the girls were where they should be. She might not have the face to compete with her friends, but she was happy with her body. Hours at the gym and pounding the pavement meant she was solid muscle. Her body she could control.

* * *

Edward’s throat went thick. She was using her hands to move her breasts and the mounds of them above the line of the dress rose and fell. It was very distracting. Didn’t she realise he was trying to drive? She swathed more lipstick over her already wet lips and sucked them in, spreading the gloss over them.

Olivia Matthews was the sort of woman he took pains to avoid. Vacuous women whose only purpose in life was to supply a young, attractive female body for B-list actors and middle-aged European billionaires to fondle at parties. All high heels and lip gloss. Those women were not his type. She was definitely not his type. Although they were terribly exciting to look at. She was terribly exciting to look at. And why shouldn’t he look? She was making such a show of it; it would be damned bad manners not to notice.

‘Your nipples are fine, as far as I can see.’

That earned him a wry side-glance. Unexpectedly, the sight of her big eyes—which he could now determine were ice-blue—swivelling his way made his gut clench a little tighter, which irritated him. The weekend was going to be bad enough without this little vixen distracting him. He turned to the road, concentrating on the ice and the precarious turns he knew were coming up.

She went back to the mirror, adding more make-up and swiping at non-existent pieces of fluff on her chin.

‘So, is this a party-party tonight, or just an awkward get-together with unattractive single cousins and judgemental aunts?’

Edward snorted. ‘My family’s reputation obviously precedes them.’

‘Does that mean they’ll all be as charming as you, then?’ She snapped the lid on her lipstick and looked at him.

Edward raised his eyebrows at her sarcastic tone but kept his eyes on the road. The woman seemed to say whatever came into that air-filled head of hers without worrying about consequences. Didn’t she know life was all about consequences?

‘My family will all be there for Will and his fiancée. I apologise if we hadn’t given much thought to your need for a wild weekend of sex, drugs and rock and roll.’ He wondered if he’d offended her. He hoped so—perhaps now she would behave herself.

‘What? No sex or drugs? This really will be a dull weekend.’

Her tone was crisp. Now she was really annoyed. Edward’s mouth twitched. He didn’t want it to. But her refusal to be intimidated amused him for some reason. Who was this girl?

A minute’s frosty silence followed her angry outburst. Edward bit his tongue. Tonight he’d have to keep an eye on his unstable mother as well as shepherding his pernicious sister away from the bride-to-be. That was going to be hard enough. His sister had taken a dislike to Fiona—labelling her coarse and insipid. And Australian. Which was reason enough to bring back transportation, according to his sister.

Three more days. Seventy-two more hours. Then he’d be back in London. Solid, uncomplicated, manageable.

‘Will there at least be wine?’

Her quiet question made him turn to face her. She seemed totally unable to be quiet.

‘Yes, Olivia. There will be wine. Loads of wine, if my father has anything to do with it.’

‘At least your father has his priorities straight,’ she said as she turned to look out of the window.

His mouth twitched again. She was inappropriate. And probably stupid. But she was amusing.

Another minute passed and she shifted in her seat. His eyes were drawn to her golden legs. They stretched out long and muscular and her thighs glowed against the light of the dash. He looked away quickly.

‘Anyway, I didn’t realise this weekend was all about you. I would have thought it was more important your friend was happy,’ he said.

He glanced at her as she turned to face him. Her cheeks were pink and her mouth was set in a thin, grim line. She hadn’t liked that comment.

‘Fiona told me you were nice, but then she never was a very good judge of character.’

Her blue eyes were like icicles. Edward tried to hold back a smirk. Her little words couldn’t even get close to scratching him. He said worse things to himself when he caught his finger in a drawer.

‘Well, you would know her better than me—you are her best friend after all.’

She huffed. Actually huffed. Like a six-year-old. He almost laughed as he turned into the sticky S-bend that meant he was close to his parents’ house.

‘If the rest of your family are like you I can see I’m in for a very long night.’

‘Oh, my family are not like me at all. They’re much more unpleasant.’ He could feel her staring at the side of his face. ‘And they’re not big on children, so I suggest you unfold your arms and stop pouting like that.’

She unfolded her arms and huffed again. He thought he’d made her stop talking, but if nothing else, she was determined.

‘You are awful.’

This time he really did smile. A nice wide grin that made his face muscles hurt. ‘You’re too kind.’

* * *

Olivia turned away. What an awful man! Fiona had said he was nice. She should have suspected something then. Fiona never said a bad word about anyone. Nice was code for awful, because that was the worst word Fiona could bring herself to say about anyone. And now she was in for an evening with a bunch of stuffy old people in the middle of the sleepy English countryside with Mr Nicely Awful.

She let out a breath. She’d been so looking forward to this trip. Fiona and Olivia had been best friends since they were twenty-one. They had bonded over a couple of horrible ex-boyfriends and been soul sisters ever since. They’d partied together, they’d cried together and when Fiona had announced she was leaving to move in with Will six months ago Olivia had felt as if someone had shot a cannonball right through her. Since then she’d been lost, directionless. She hadn’t realised how much she’d relied on her best friend until she wasn’t there any more.

‘You must be looking forward to seeing your friend again.’

His deep voice broke into her thoughts. Why did he keep talking to her? It was blatantly clear he didn’t like her. Was it his English politeness? Or did he like torturing her? She suspected it was a bit of both.

‘Yes, I am.’

‘Fiona told me you were quite close.’

She noticed his hands had returned to their normal colour. He had long fingers and solid, thick wrists. A sprinkling of black hair peeped out from the cuff of his crisp white shirt. Olivia turned away quickly. Why the hell was she thinking about his wrist hair?

‘We were...we are. We’re more like sisters than friends.’

She had an actual sister. One she tried not to think about too often. Her sister had asked her to come out with her and her beautiful friends a few weeks ago, when Olivia had been feeling particularly lonely. But she’d refused. Because that would have been like knitting a jumper for a penguin. Just. Plain. Stupid.

‘Are you looking forward to seeing her again?’

Still talking to her! Olivia looked out of the window. He had a deep voice and it seemed to seep through her skin. It was grumbly and a little bit sexy, and she didn’t want to think about him like that.

‘I was. I mean—I am.’ She’d been looking forward to seeing Fiona again. And in equal parts dreading it, if she were honest. For some reason she felt a little awkward about seeing her best friend all loved up and happy and moving on—without her. But for this moron to imply she wasn’t happy for her friend and only thought of herself was horrible. And wrong. Of course this weekend was about Fiona.

‘I’m very happy for her. Really happy for her. Really very happy.’ And she was. But she couldn’t help but wonder if this weekend there might just be...perhaps...someone she could meet.

‘Have you convinced yourself yet?’

Olivia didn’t miss the slight chuckle in his voice. Her eyes slid back to the solid block of bloke next to her as he continued.

‘Or are you still suffering from a bad case of Bride Envy?’

She looked away and took a deep breath to alleviate the annoying tapping in her chest. The tapping that seemed plugged into her tear ducts. She felt it every time she thought of her prospects. She’d been trying hard to come to terms with them. She knew the deal. She was neither pretty enough nor interesting enough to hold a man’s attention for very long. But there had to be someone. Even Ellie—her chain-smoking, beanie-wearing landlady—had recently got engaged. She had to be more desirable than Ellie!

And besides, Olivia wasn’t after a husband. A boyfriend would be nice. But all she really hoped for this weekend was a nice British boy to flirt with. Perhaps they could even hold hands. She shuddered silently at the idea of physical contact. It had been so long. Over a year. She wondered suddenly if it were possible for down there to stop working. Like her DVD-player had when she hadn’t used it in six months. Encased in dust, the green light had refused to come on. She wondered if her green light would come on again. Ever...

‘I’m sorry. Fiona didn’t mention you had a Masters in Psychology. Because that must be the only reason you assume to know who I am and what I’m thinking.’

‘One would only need a Certificate in Teeth-Brushing to know you have a myriad of issues about this wedding that we can’t even begin to delve into during this short car-ride.’

Incensed, Olivia could barely speak—but she managed to blurt out, ‘At least I haven’t come down with a bad case of My-Life-Is-So-Miserable-I-Want-to-Ruin-It-For-Everyone-Else-itis.’

He laughed out loud then and she turned to the window. He was laughing at her. Making fun of her. Humiliation burned her blood.

He obviously didn’t like her at all. Not even a little bit. When she had attempted to flirt with him the bore had shot her down. He hadn’t even watched her when she’d got naked. No, this annoyingly handsome man had absolutely no interest in her. Which strangely sort of made her feel a little better.

She blinked and unfolded her arms. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about making a fool of herself in front of him. That thought was comforting. She unlaced her legs from the confusing contortions they were now in and let out a breath.