Читать книгу The Dating Mr Darcy Trilogy - Katie Oliver - Страница 40
ОглавлениеPromptly at nine on Sunday morning, Natalie heard the roar of an engine outside her flat.
“What in the world—?” She ran to the window and peered down. A gleaming silver Triumph motorcycle waited at the curb, a man in a helmet and a black leather jacket sitting astride. He rested one booted foot on the street, revved the engine, and lifted the visor of his helmet.
Dark blond hair, dark blue eyes…
“Rhys,” Natalie murmured. She threw the sash up. “You can’t be serious! You brought your motorbike?” she called out.
“Get your arse down here! Time’s wasting.”
“I think I prefer the Jag,” Natalie said five minutes later as she regarded the Triumph doubtfully.
“Just put the helmet on. You loved it last time.”
“I was drunk last time.”
Once she was helmeted and straddled behind him, she wrapped her arms tightly around his waist.
“Hang on,” he warned over the rumble of the engine. “I don’t drive like your granny.”
With a roar, they were off. Natalie clung to Rhys as they manoeuvreed their way out of London and onto the A3, headed west. Streets and buildings passed by in a blur, giving way gradually to rolling green countryside.
Exhilaration overtook her as they roared past hedgerows and fields dotted with cows and black-faced sheep. There was only the Triumph, the road, and Rhys’s broad, muscled back. Her nose was assaulted by the smells of leather, petrol, and occasionally, the scent of wildflowers.
Just past noon, they stopped for lunch. Natalie was ravenous. Over fish and chips and pints of beer, Rhys told her about his Thunderbird and his love affair with motorcycles.
“It’s my only escape,” he said, and thrust a pickled onion in his mouth. “No mobile, no laptop, no demands – just me and the road and plenty of horsepower.”
“I didn’t think I’d like it,” Natalie admitted, “but it’s brilliant. Except for the seat…my bum’s a bit sore.”
Rhys nodded. “It will be, the first couple of times out. You’ll feel it in your legs tomorrow.”
“I already do.”
Rhys paid the bill and they returned to the bike. “Ready?”
“Let’s walk first,” Nat suggested impulsively as she eyed the row of shops lining the main street.
“OK.” He shoved his wallet in his back pocket. “But only if you promise not to buy anything.”
“I’m very restrained in my spending these days.” She stopped and pointed. “But there’s a sweet shop, so I’m afraid—” she smiled triumphantly “—all bets are off.”
Rhys took her hand, and they made their way to the confectioners. Outside the door he paused. “I’ll probably regret this, but get whatever you like. I’ll buy.”
“Oh, you’ll definitely regret it,” Natalie agreed. “We’ll get something for your mum. Jamie says she likes sweets.”
“Jamie?”
“Yes, you know, your brother? We had a pint together the night you threw him out of your flat.”
Rhys frowned. “I didn’t throw him out.”
“You did! When I left, we went to the pub around the corner.”
“As I recall,” Rhys murmured, “you left just as things got interesting. I had a very different idea of how the evening would end. And talking to Jamie wasn’t it.”
Natalie blushed. “Do you fancy shortbread?” she asked him. The woman at the till was avidly listening to every word.
Rhys leaned forward to kiss her. “I don’t fancy shortbread,” he said against her lips, “or chocolate, or gumdrops. I fancy you. I want to make you dinner. And I’ve dessert of another kind altogether in mind.”
“You’ve forgotten Lesson Number One,” she murmured. “‘Behave with decorum at all times’.”
“I’m the instructor, so I’m allowed to break the rules.”
The woman behind the till rang everything up and handed the bag of sweets to Natalie. She leaned forward. “That’s Rhys Gordon, that is,” she whispered. “And you’re Natalie Dashwood. I’ve read all about you in the tabloids.”
“Oh, no,” Natalie said hastily, “you’re mistaken.”
“No, I’m not.” The woman looked past her and eyed Rhys appreciatively. “You want my advice? Run along and have some of that dessert on offer. I would!” She winked.
Scarlet-faced, Natalie took the bag and fled the shop.
Rhys tossed the candy into the Triumph’s saddlebag and swung his leg over the seat. “Are you ready, Miss Dashwood?”
She settled herself in behind him and slid her arms tightly around his waist. “I’m ready, Mr. Gordon.”
With a throaty rumble, they roared off into the drowsy late afternoon countryside, back to London.
“What should I do?” Holly fumed as she slid into a booth at the pub on Sunday afternoon.
“Do about what?” Hannah asked without looking up from her mobile. She was used to her sister’s dramatics.
Holly brandished her mobile. “I’ve got a video of Klaus von Richter throwing a major tantrum at the newsagents on Friday,” she confided in a low voice. “Rajid asked for ID, and Klaus went mental! Here, look.”
As Hannah watched the video, her eyes grew wide. “Did you post this?”
“No! Are you crazy? If Klaus – or Sasha! – found out, I’d lose my job. Klaus is very important in the fashion world.”
“But he treated Rajid horribly…and he’s a racist git.” Hannah leaned forward. “Hols, you have to post this. Offer the story to the tabloids, make yourself a bit of money—”
“No! If I go to the tabs, everyone including Klaus will know I took that video, and I’ll be sacked.”
“No, you wouldn’t. Just say you want to be a – what do you call it? –an unnamed source,” Hannah said.
Holly shook her head firmly. “I can’t take the chance. My job means too much to me.”
“Send me the video,” Hannah offered. “I’ll post it, and no one need know you had anything to do with it. Come on! What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Losing my job, that’s what. I’m not at home any more. I have to pay rent, not to mention buy groceries—”
Hannah snorted. “You eat nothing but salad and veg…a head of lettuce can’t cost that much. And even if you lost your job, you could always come back home.”
“No thanks!” Holly said, and shuddered. “I like being on my own. And I like my career as well, thank you very much.”
“So you won’t do it? You won’t expose this guy’s racist behaviour to the world?”
“No. I’m staying well out of it. Now let’s order, I’m starving. Split some chips with me?”
Hannah nodded, distracted. The minute Holly went to the loo, she’d grab her mobile and forward the video to her own phone. And tonight, she’d upload it straight onto YouTube.
After all, Hannah reasoned, she was doing the right thing for Rajid and his father. Holly would thank her. Eventually.
“You never said you could cook like this,” Natalie told Rhys that evening, as she squeezed lemon juice on her scallops.
Rhys dished out a generous portion of asparagus risotto onto her plate. “You never asked.”
The scallops melted in her mouth, buttery and sweet. She closed her eyes. “This is really, really good.”
He poured her a glass of Sancerre and sat down across from her. “I thought white was safer than red, in the event you decided to toss your glass at me.”
“You’ll never let me forget that, will you?” she demanded, indignant.
“Certainly not. I lost a perfectly good shirt to you that night. Not to mention a shoe.”
“That’s it – I’m buying you a shirt and a new pair of shoes. I should have done, anyway.”
“You’re on a budget. You can’t afford it.” He lifted his brow. “Besides, I have twelve other shirts just like it. I hardly need another. And I didn’t like those shoes, anyway.”
“You’re impossible to please, you know that.”
“I may be impossible,” he conceded as he set aside his glass and leaned forward to take her hand in his, “but I’m not impossible to please.” He turned her palm up and pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist.
A shiver of desire shot through her at the touch of his lips on her skin. Suddenly any clever remarks – or any remarks at all, for that matter – went straight out of her head.
Rhys glanced at her. Spending the day in the sun and wind on the motorbike had put a bloom of colour on Natalie’s cheeks and left her hair tousled and messy.
“Riding on the back of a motorbike suits you,” he said, his lips moving against her skin. “We should do it more often.”
“Rhys,” Natalie murmured as his lips moved slowly along the inside of her forearm, inch by delicious inch, “I wasn’t quite finished with my risotto…”
He stood and pulled Natalie to her feet as he wrapped his arms around her. “You are now.” His mouth came down on hers.
She gave herself over to the taste and feel and sheer physicality of him – the muscled length of his arms, the heat of his body against hers, the thick softness of his hair beneath her fingers. He smelled of a heady mix of soap and the outdoors, fresh and very, very masculine.
As his lips moved down the column of her neck to her throat, leaving a wet trail of heat, Natalie groaned.
“I want you,” she breathed, “now…”
He undid the top buttons of her shirt with agonising slowness, until her lacy black bra was revealed. “I want to make love to you properly, on sheets with an indecently high thread count, and I intend to take my time doing it.”
Natalie’s hands slid over his shoulders and down the muscled length of his torso. “I can’t wait,” she said huskily against his mouth, and reached down to unclasp his belt.
He stayed her hand. “I don’t want our first time to be on the kitchen floor.”
“I don’t care where it is.” She put her hands on either side of his face and crushed her mouth against his.
He picked her up and carried her into his bedroom. “You’re very impatient, Miss Dashwood,” he said, his blue eyes fixed on hers as he lowered her onto his bed. “I had no idea you were so demanding.”
“I hope you’re worth the wait, Mr. Gordon.”
“Oh, I am,” he promised, and hooked his fingers on either side of her jeans and slid them slowly, teasingly, down the length of her legs.
Natalie kicked them off and reached behind her to unclasp her bra. Rhys’s mouth collided with hers, demanding and receiving and giving all at once. When he lifted his lips from hers and devoured his way down her neck to her breasts, she let out a low whimper.
Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair as his tongue laved first one nipple with wet heat, then the other.
“I’ve wanted this since the night of that bloody party,” he growled. “I don’t know how I resisted you.”
“Lots of very long, very cold showers,” Natalie murmured, her skin tingling as his mouth began to move lower, down her stomach. “You…told me so yourself.”
“Do shut up, darling.”
Natalie clutched at the sheets as his lips and tongue moved slowly, oh so slowly, along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, closer and closer to her most sensitive centre…
“If you want me to shut up,” Natalie breathed, desperate with desire for him, “then you’d better make it good…”
And he proceeded, very skilfully, to do exactly that.
“Well…was I worth the wait?” Rhys asked afterwards, raising himself up on one elbow to look at her.
“Umm,” Natalie sighed. “Worth every minute. You were brilliant.” Her eyes drifted closed.
He kissed her shoulder. “Sleep, darling.”
She smiled and murmured something unintelligible.
Rhys pulled the blankets up and covered her, then kissed her tenderly on the side of her mouth. He studied her, loving the sight of her in his bed, then flung his arm over her and fell into a deep and satisfied sleep.
