Читать книгу Summer Beach Reads - Natalie Anderson - Страница 31

IF HAYDEN’S mouth gaped any further, one of these rampant nine-year-olds was just as likely to mistake it for a bouncy castle and run into it.

‘Leonidas—’ Shirley bowed ‘—Boudicca, Warrior Queen of the Iceni.’

She didn’t have to worry about how low she bowed; the suspension in the get-up that Andreas had helped her with would have kept Dolly Parton fully immobile. The bodice was more strapping than bra, swathes of earthy fabric wrapped tight around her torso in the manner of the Celts and then flying back over her shoulder to form a cape.

‘How did you even get into that thing?’ he breathed.

‘Andreas helped me.’

‘Andreas?’

‘My neighbour.’

He quirked an eyebrow, not that she could be certain under his ornate beaten-copper face-shield, which left only his eyes and lips visible, but it tipped slightly and his tone left her in no doubt that it would be lifted beneath the tin.

‘Your gay male neighbour?’

Seriously, Hayden? ‘My straight seventy-year-old, ex-opera-wardrobe-master-who’s-great-with-a-toga neighbour.’ The relief on his face was comical. And confusing. ‘What does it matter who helped me dress?’ she quizzed.

His eyes grew vague. ‘Undress. Do you think that’s appropriate to wear around young boys?’

She glanced down to make sure everything was still where she’d put it. With her long flowing skirts, the only part of her bare was a strip of midriff and her arms and shoulders, which Andreas had carefully decorated with eyeliner tribal tattoos. And her feet, which surely could not offend anyone.

Her laugh was ninety per cent outrage. ‘That’s rich coming from a man in a miniskirt.’

A thoroughly hot and distracting miniskirt and not a lot else. Leather thong sandals and wrought-copper leg guards protecting his shins—possibly handy if things turned ugly with the nine-year-olds—and some kind of metallic breastplate that accentuated the breadth of his shoulders. Spear with a cork stuck on the dangerous end. Battered shield. And the battle-mask which supported the mother of all mohawks above his head.

That was about it.

Nothing more gratuitous than she’d seen in the water three months ago but somehow infinitely hotter in the suburbs.

What was it about a man in a skirt?

‘What did you do to your hair?’ he accused.

Had holding that long blunt spear turned him into a caveman? ‘I died it. Henna.’

‘I liked the black.’

‘Strangely enough, your preference didn’t really influence my decision. Boudicca had flaming red hair.’

‘And she was a brutal warrior. Again, maybe not appropriate for children.’

‘Unlike Leonidas, who just carried his spear to pick up litter?’

Luc wandered past them with a steaming bowl of mini red frankfurters in one hand and a family-sized tomato ketchup in the other. ‘Come on, you two, the fighting is supposed to be fictional.’

Shirley snapped her mouth shut with a click.

Hayden looked her over once more for good measure, shook his head, then turned and strode away from her. The turning caught his little skirt and gave it extra lift as he marched ahead of her and gave her a better look at his strong thighs.

Would Boudicca have busied herself with the undersides of the Roman tunics? she scolded herself.

A tiny smile crept onto her warrior lips.

I’d like to imagine so.

‘You are the best army I’ve ever led!’ Shirley whispered to her seven young boys, hunkered down behind a barrier of rubbish bins and a play house. Every one of them grinned, wide-eyed and excited, through the tomato ketchup now painted on their faces in a replica of her Celtic swirls.

Shirley doled out more fist-sized ammunition.

‘I think it’s time for a strategy change …’ she whispered, laying on a thick accent that was somewhere between Scots and Welsh. And almost certainly nothing like Icenian. ‘An army is never as strong without its leader so this time I want you to hurl everything you’ve got at Leonidas. Take. Him. Out!’

‘Yeah!’ The boys pumped their fists in the air and took up positions in the cracks between their protective barricade. Across the garden, she could see the erect mohawk of Hayden’s Spartan headdress poking up above a hastily constructed shelter made of a deflated paddling pool and some upturned garden chairs and waving as he gave an inspirational battle speech of his own. Then half a dozen little faces peered up over the shelter with their own improvised headdresses on. A cut-down bucket, a foil headpiece, a dustpan brush taped to a head …

It made them easier to find than her stealthy, sauce-smeared Celts.

‘Ready …’ she whispered, and then surged to her feet, yelling, ‘Leonidas!’

‘Boudicca!’ Across the lawn, Hayden leapt the barrier, thrusting his spear skywards and shouting.

Two mini armies exploded in opposite directions and both let the other pass to run to their real targets. Shirley backed away from the bucket-foil-and-brush-wearing Spartans. As one, they let their missiles fly and she curled her arms up over her head and turned side-on to the assault. Fifteen fat little balloons hit her and burst into a watery mess. High, low, middle. She had to admit, the Spartans were pretty well-coordinated little fighters, whereas her Celts missed more than they hit, then dashed off to pick up the unburst balloons and try again, giggling.

Hayden made much of his watery death, eventually falling flat in a blaze of glory on the suburban lawn. The Celts piled on, cheering. Then the Spartans piled on top.

‘Okay, warriors …’ Tim’s mum intervened loudly, plucking the first of the children off a beleaguered Hayden. ‘You have restored peace to this land and now a mighty feast awaits the victors in the kitchen.’

The boys and their bottomless energy fled into the house on a chorus of cheers.

Shirley plucked at her saturated bindings and dragged the wet fabric away from her legs. Her hair and the beaded Celtic inserts she’d woven in dripped more water onto her.

Hayden sauntered towards her, grinning. ‘Quite the battle.’

Her pulse sky-rocketed. ‘You were annihilated; dead men can’t speak,’ she puffed.

‘You took a few mortal wounds yourself, judging by all that blood.’

It wasn’t red but it dripped off her like the real thing. It dawned on her then that she hadn’t really thought through the rest of this day. Or brought a fresh change of clothes. She’d imagined she’d be getting back into her car in the same state she’d got out of it.

Spot the one with no experience with children!

‘They’re amazing. So much energy.’ She peeled her skirt from her thighs again but it returned, limpet-like, and so she gave up. ‘I need a rest.’

She crossed to the Spartan camp and flipped both chairs upright and then dragged one into the sun. Half-in, half-out. Hayden flopped down next to her and thrust a tube of wet wipes at her.

‘Here … Your face seems to have worn most of the carnage.’

Given how heavily tattooed it was with eyeliner, that didn’t surprise her. She pulled a couple of the wet wipes out and set to work erasing the evidence of her slaughter, while the rest of her body slow-dried in the afternoon sun. But wiping off the Celtic make-up also took her regular make-up with it.

Still, no real choice unless she wanted to sit here looking shambolic.

Hayden lay stretched out on his lawn chair in his full Spartan glory, practically glistening from the paraffin added to the water balloons to stop them from popping too easily. Shirley stole a couple of peeks as she methodically removed every trace of make-up from her face.

‘Leonidas suits you,’ she said absently. Golden. Lean. Strong. Not bad for a hermit. Or a CEO.

He tipped his head sideways. ‘I have to admit feeling very much like I could have been in his army a hundred lifetimes ago.’ He didn’t go back to studying the sky. ‘You missed a bit.’

He tapped his nose but that wasn’t terribly helpful without a mirror.

‘Here …’ He swung his legs over the edge of the lawn chair, plucked a fresh wipe from the container and slid his sunglasses up onto his head. ‘Sit still.’

The move brought him closer than he’d ever been. Breath-stealingly close. He methodically removed the last of her make-up, gently turning her face side to side to make sure he missed none. When he was done, his eyes came back to hers. Her chest squeezed.

‘And there she is …’ he murmured, a half-smile twisting his lips. ‘Nice to finally meet you, Shirley.’

The intensity of his gaze was infectious. Her breath struggled for function. ‘We’ve met, actually.’

The smile grew. ‘Not like this. Not formally.’

‘You don’t remember?’

He lowered his fingers, frowned. ‘At the funeral?’

She shook her head. ‘Before that. Long before that.’

He stared, his busy mind working furiously. ‘I don’t remember. I’m sorry.’

No. ‘I wouldn’t expect you to. It was nothing, from your point of view.’

But it had changed her life. She’d hit puberty on the spot. At eleven.

He sat back but didn’t lie down again. He held her trapped in his gaze. Silence fell between them.

‘Seriously, how long before your black hair comes back?’ he blurted.

She laughed. ‘For a man who’s only ever been photographed with blondes, you certainly have a fixation with my hair colour.’

‘I don’t hate the red but I really liked the black.’

That brought a very different colour to her cheeks and she knew that he’d clearly see it, sans make-up. ‘Actually it’s called “Raven”. The colour.’

He laughed. ‘Of course it is. Very Edgar Allan Poe.’

Luc emerged with two tall glasses of iced water and he passed them one each. ‘You guys should hire yourselves out as a double act,’ he said. ‘That was awesome.’ Then he reached out and passed something else to Shirley. ‘I got these from your bag for you, I hope you don’t mind. It’s bright out here.’

Sunglasses! As good as a face full of make-up when they were the size hers were. She slid them on. It was like sliding a mask back into place.

‘Thank you, Luc. And thanks again for the other week at the Concert Hall; it was so wonderful.’

His eyes dragged quickly over Shirley’s still drying, still snug form. She felt much more exposed when Luc looked at her than when Hayden had, but when Hayden looked she felt naked. In a good way. A dangerously good way.

Hayden glared pointedly at his friend.

‘No problem,’ Luc said, oblivious. ‘You more than paid it off today.’

‘I told you, it’s going to be hard to top,’ Hayden joked. ‘You haven’t forgotten that the next one is yours, have you, Shirley?’

She turned her focus more fully back to him, sitting perched on the chair still facing her. Seriously, had a man ever looked more ridiculous or more comfortable in a short skirt? Or more gorgeous?

‘Not only have I not forgotten, but it’s all arranged. I was going to tell you about it today.’

His eyes grew keen. Warmed with challenge. ‘How? You’ve either done everything else already or it’s overseas …’

She stared at him.

He frowned. ‘We’re going overseas? On no money?’

‘Okay, this one is on some money, but not much. About one hundred dollars each way.’

His eyebrows lifted.

‘And …’ she said, readying to deliver her coup de grâce ‘… we get to tick off two things from the list.’

‘For one hundred dollars?’ Disbelief saturated his voice.

She smiled and turned her un-made-up face to the sun for some rare vitamin D. ‘You’ll just have to trust me.’

‘Dangerous words, bro,’ Luc said, standing, and looking at Hayden. ‘Now, you need to throw some clothes on before all the mums start arriving and drive through my sister’s hedges in distraction,’ he said with a smile, then turned to her, ‘and you need to cover up before Hayden tips right off that lawn chair. I have the important job of distributing the party bags.’

She glanced at Hayden, who busied himself studying the underside of the eaves.

Luc sauntered back into the house and an awkward silence fell. Until that moment she’d really not been all that bothered by the suction of her clothes to her curves, but it bothered her now. Luc’s suggestion bothered her.

As in hot and bothered.

She stared at the MΩΛΩN ΛABE tattoo on his shoulder. Shoulder seemed suitably modest.

‘I think you should stay as you are,’ she joked. ‘And go out onto the street to welcome the mums.’

Even white, teeth sparkled. ‘You’re evil.’

‘I’m a student of human nature. Isn’t that what you once said?’

‘Luc’s right; I need to cover up.’ He pushed to his feet and peered down at her. She lifted her hand to screen the bright sun. He was gloriously broad in silhouette but it meant she couldn’t see his face.

‘And he’s right about why you need to cover up, too.’

‘So what’s her story?’ Luc said from behind him as Shirley’s purple monstrosity drove away. With a still dripping Boudicca in it.

‘No idea,’ he murmured, still following her departure until she turned the corner. Then he dragged his eyes back to his friend. ‘She’s just a girl. The daughter of one of my lecturers.’

Luc laughed. ‘She’s not just an anything.’

He turned back to the empty road where her car had just been. No. Not even close.

‘I assume you know what you’re doing?’ Luc went on as he thrust two party bags in the hands of the last departing nine-year-olds.

Hayden looked up. ‘Meaning?’

‘First the symphony, now Tim’s party? That’s not your usual playbook. And she’s a total deviation from your usual type. I assume you’re working an angle?’

Really? That was Luc’s first assumption when his mate brought a nice girl over. Not that he didn’t deserve the suspicion. ‘No angle. I’m helping her with something.’

‘Yeah, you’re a regular Sir Galahad,’ Luc snorted. ‘You’re hot for her. It’s obvious.’

‘That’s not why I’m helping her …’ Not that there wasn’t a lot to be hot about. ‘It’s just a chance to get to know her.’ That generated a modicum of stunned silence from his usually unflappable mate. Hayden turned. ‘What?’

Luc masked his surprise. ‘Nothing. Just never thought we’d have this moment.’

‘Me standing in a skirt on your sister’s verge?’ No doubt.

Luc wasn’t deterred. ‘You admitting to interest in a woman.’

‘I’ve had a lot of female interests. Far more than you, mate.’

Luc wasn’t biting, either. ‘Not like this, Hayds. Not someone normal.’

A laugh shot out of him. ‘Shirley is far from normal.’

‘You’re doing stuff together, getting to know her, flirting …’

He turned for the house. ‘That wasn’t flirting. I was just entertaining myself.’

‘Please. It was practically foreplay. If you’re just amusing yourself then you might want to think about what that will do to her. She’s not in the same league as the other women you’ve dated.’

Luc’s words produced a fiery, blazing desire to be sure Shirley wasn’t tarred by the brush of the many women he’d been with. Which in turn produced the confusing question—why? So of course he said the exact opposite of what he thought. ‘She seemed up for it. She’s stronger than she looks.’

‘Steel’s strong, too, until the moment it’s not.’

Time for a new conversation. He swished back towards the house, Luc in tow. ‘It’s not going to be an issue. She’s far too switched on to have a bar of me.’

‘You might surprise yourself, Hayden. If you let someone in, they might want to stay.’

A dark, thick pool deep inside burped up a puff of uneasiness like a boiling tar pit. ‘Maybe I should leave you my skirt, mate. If you’re going to get all huggy on me.’ He snagged up his sports bag full of street clothes. ‘I do this for a living, Luc. For entire corporations. I think I can read one twenty-four-year-old woman, don’t you?’

‘I’m not worried about whether you can read her, Hayds,’ he said. ‘I’m worried that you don’t read you all that well sometimes.’

Yeah, he did; better than his friend thought. Well enough to recognise when he had no idea what he was doing. Yet. But being in the dark wasn’t the same thing as being oblivious. Leonidas would have agreed. Even if you didn’t know exactly how many were in the opposing force or what weapons they were carrying, just knowing they were over the horizon was a huge advantage.

Forewarned was forearmed.