Читать книгу A Dream Christmas - Кэрол Мортимер, Кэрол Мортимер - Страница 34

July …

WELL PLAYED, TEQUILA, well played.

It only took three margaritas to get her to drop her guard around James but, because she was Riley Taylor, when she messed up she messed up big. This time by hopping into bed with one of her oldest friends.

Her best friend’s brother.

And her boss.

Again.

In her defence, she doubted that few women between the ages of eighteen and eighty would say no when James Moreau crooked his finger at them, kissed them senseless and dragged them off to bed. But she knew better. It was all that witch Tequila’s fault, she decided—the cactus juice had definitely lowered her inhibitions and cancelled out a few brain cells.

One tequila, two tequila, three tequila … yes, James, more!

As the morning sunlight slipped in from behind the curtains, Riley, still lying on top of James—morning sex had her on top and her face was now pressed into his very broad shoulder—turned her head and met his fabulous green eyes. Oh, those eyes. They were the rich green of bottle glass and they held a whole lot of panic. A deep frown creased his forehead.

Riley knew that a puckered brow after many bouts of amazing sex spelt trouble. Then again, wasn’t that the perfect word to define the relationship she and James had? Trouble worked, she thought, as did difficult and complicated and … messy.

Yeah, messy worked really well.

Time to face the music …

She slid off him, stood up and reached for a nightgown that lay folded across a wingback chair and quickly pulled it on. Riley saw her reflection in the free-standing full-length mirror and winced—mussed hair, stubble rash-covered jaw and languorous, satisfied eyes. Yep, no guesses as to how they’d spent the last ten hours.

After a polite greeting at the beginning of the evening and—admittedly—many, many intense looks from across the crowded wedding tent, he’d taken her hand and led her to his car. She hadn’t bothered protesting, hadn’t thought about where she was going, what she was about to do. She’d wanted him as much as his eyes had flashed that he wanted her. They didn’t need any words; they both knew that they were going back to her room at his childhood home situated on the Western Cape vineyard, Bon Chance, for a night light on conversation and heavy on kisses, pleasuring hands and throaty, breathy cries. Incredible physical pleasure.

After all, this wasn’t their first ride on this particular roller coaster.

‘Oops, we did it again.’

Okay, it was flippant but at least it was something to break the tense silence between them. James lifted a sandy eyebrow. Without responding, he stood up and walked across the room, picking up his suit trousers from the floor and holding them loosely in his hand.

‘Yeah, we …’ James swallowed the swear word and ran his hand through his thick blond hair ‘… messed up again.’

Just the words a girl needed to hear after a spectacular orgasm given to her by the only man who’d ever managed to rock her sexual world. Oh, she felt so special.

‘So, the post-orgasmic glow doesn’t last long for you. Good to know,’ Riley retorted.

‘I’ve slept with one of my oldest friends, my employee, my sister’s best friend! Again!’

‘Why can’t you think of me as just Riley?’ she quietly asked. Not as the pigtailed girl who pulled your hair, not as Morgan’s BFF, not as the window designer for your family’s ultra-chic and mega-expensive string of international jewellery stores, Moreau’s. Not as your vineyard manager’s daughter …

Just Riley, she thought, finding it difficult to keep her eyes on his face. Any woman who had seen James naked would understand … His rugged, hot action-hero face had been known to stop traffic but, dear Lord, his naked body could stop intergalactic spaceships.

His looks, combined with the fact that he was CEO of Moreau International, dealing with every aspect of gemstones from mining to upmarket jewellery stores, made him a whale-size catch and one of the top five most eligible bachelors in the world. Not that she gave a rat’s about any of that nonsense—he was just James. Hot, yeah, but he drove her batty.

James ran a hand over his face and she couldn’t help but notice the tension in his broad shoulders, his ripped abs, skittering through his muscled arms.

‘Why do we keep doing this?’ he demanded as he yanked his trousers on and zipped them up.

‘Jeez, it’s not like this is a habit or anything. Three times in a decade isn’t exactly an addiction, Moreau.’ Riley watched as he pulled on his dress shirt, idly noticing that it was now missing a couple of buttons.

‘It was a mistake,’ James muttered, looking around for his shoes.

Riley shoved her hands into her hair and yanked it in frustration. ‘So the other times we slept together, when I was nineteen, and when I was twenty-five … were those mistakes too?’ Riley said bitterly. ‘Then again, you are such a damn playboy that you probably don’t even remember me, us …’

‘I’ve never forgotten one minute spent with you.’ James snapped his head up, his eyes hot and full of frustration.

Well, what was she supposed to say to that? Wait, she always had something she could say …

‘Probably because I’m nothing like the women you usually sleep with. They are all blonde and buxom and long-legged and beautiful and I’m … not.’ No, she was still the size of an average fourteen-year-old with grey eyes, copper-red hair and a temper to match. And didn’t she sound like a whiny witch. She dropped her eyes and her tone. ‘I don’t understand you … this … us.’

‘There is no us,’ James said.

There had been once—for a brief, glorious month there had been a Riley and James. And then she’d let herself be talked out of it … or talked herself out of it …or something.

There is no us. Riley twisted her lips. No, there wasn’t, not any more. And there was no comfort in the knowledge that James, ever since his failed engagement years ago, hadn’t been part of an ‘us’ with anyone else either. He was the King of the Fling.

Riley jammed her hands into the pockets of her gown and lifted her head, up and up, to his face. At five two, she looked utterly ridiculous standing next to the six-foot-plus James. Without heels, her head barely scraped his collarbone. Riley suspected that if she were any other woman he’d send her a wide smile, flash those sexy dimples, say, Thanks, babe, and slip out of the door.

She didn’t need his words to tell her she was wasting her time—what he wanted to say was written all over his face. Not wanting to prolong the humiliation, Riley went to the door and yanked it open.

‘Ri, this was a—’

‘If you say it was a mistake again, I swear I’ll stab you with … something,’ Riley hissed. ‘I think it’s time for you to go before you say something else that can’t be taken back.’

‘Dammit, Riley, you are like my sis—’

Oh, that was a crappy, crazy excuse. Riley slapped her mouth against James’s and smacked her hands on his butt. She might not have had many lovers for a woman fast approaching her thirties but she had kissed a lot of men and she knew exactly how to do it. A slide here, a nip there, a quick suck … and James quickly forgot what he was about to say. When she allowed him to come up for air James looked shell-shocked.

Yeah, take that … Mr I-Think-of-You-As-My-Sister.

‘You didn’t say that when you were moaning my name in the throes of passion last night.’

‘Ri—Okay. But—’

‘I am not your sister or your friend. And I’m done pining away for you. You have ten seconds to decide if you want to explore this heat we have always had or whether you are walking away for good. But you should know that if you walk that’s it. You don’t get another chance.’

‘Riley, I—’

‘Ten seconds, nine, eight, seven—’

‘It’s not that easy.’

It wasn’t easy at all, she thought, as she held his eyes as she counted down. Riley, fighting back the tears that she refused to allow to fall, breathed out the last number and shut the door in James’s face.

So, that was that. Time to move on, Riley.

It was way, way, way past time for her to move on.