Читать книгу The Dare Collection: March 2018 - Nicola Marsh - Страница 13

CHAPTER THREE

Abby

I DIDN’T HAVE time for this.

I should head back to Le Miel and make sure Makayla had everything under control.

Instead, I had to play nice with him.

‘This table suit?’ Tanner gestured to the only vacant table for two outside the café. A cosy table.

Swallowing my first retort of ‘hell no’, I nodded. ‘Let’s get this done so I can head back to the patisserie.’

‘Why the hurry to get rid of me?’ He pulled out my chair, a gentlemanly gesture at odds with the raw toughness that radiated off him. ‘I told you I’d behave.’

I managed a tight smile in thanks as I sat, well aware that Tanner’s version of ‘behaving’ and mine would be continents apart.

‘What’ll you have?’ He sat and pushed his shirtsleeves up, revealing heavily inked arms.

I didn’t like tattoos. Couldn’t fathom what drove a person to scar their skin like that. But as Tanner leaned his forearms on the table, I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the sheer artistic beauty that started above his wrists and wound its way up.

Elaborate vines. Stunning roses. Intricate motifs. Symbols I couldn’t decipher from this distance but wanted to get closer to.

I found myself inadvertently leaning forward before realising what I was doing, and when I glanced up Tanner grinned like he knew exactly how fascinating I found him.

‘See anything you like?’

‘No,’ I snapped, sounding uptight and prudish, the situation made worse by the wash of heat flushing my cheeks.

‘They extend a lot further than my arms,’ he said, his voice low and gravelly, the underlying hint of naughtiness making my thighs clench. ‘In case you were wondering.’

‘I don’t like tattoos,’ I said, making a mockery of my supercilious declaration when my gaze strayed to those forearms again.

Strong. Sinuous. Sexy.

Damn.

‘Many people don’t.’ He shrugged, like my opinion meant little. ‘They see tats and think bikers and drug lords. They don’t get the artistic angle at all.’

‘You like art?’

It was the safe thing to say, a conversation starter that would get us off the topic of his tattoos and his body. I hoped.

‘I like ink.’ He leaned back in his chair and interlocked his hands behind his head, a guy comfortable in his own skin.

Which he revealed more of as the hem of his shirt rode up and I got a tantalising glimpse of more ink on his lower belly. I couldn’t make out the design, but it looked suspiciously like a cutlass and a hook.

‘A pirate, seriously?’ The words popped out before I could stop them and while I was horrified I’d articulated my thoughts, he laughed so loud nearby patrons turned to stare.

‘Don’t look so shocked,’ he drawled, filling our glasses from the water bottle between us. ‘I like a good pillage like the next pirate.’

I compressed my lips before I blurted anything else. Like how I’d rather walk the plank than be pillaged by him.

Though that wasn’t entirely true, and after my disastrous marriage, I’d made a promise to myself to never lie again—especially to myself.

In less than thirty minutes, Tanner King had made me feel more alive than I had in years. He riled me. He taunted me. His cocky, laid-back attitude annoyed the crap out of me.

But I liked the buzz making my skin prickle and the weird hollow feeling deep in my belly. Like I was missing something. Like I craved something.

Much to my horror, I had to admit that he turned me on a little. A lot. Whatever.

Bastard.

‘Let me guess. You’re going to make some crude remark about what constitutes the pirate’s peg leg.’

He laughed again, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes endearingly cute. ‘You’re funny. I like that in a woman.’

The natural retort, that he’d like all women, hovered on the tip of my tongue but a waitress appeared and after she’d taken our orders—double shot espresso for him, soy latte for me—I was back to being scrutinised by his intense golden gaze and liking it too much.

I needed to get this meeting back on solid ground. Professional. Far from charming smiles and pirate peg legs.

‘Remy told me you’ve run restaurants?’

A shadow clouded his eyes for a moment, a hint of sadness, before he blinked and I wondered if I’d imagined it. ‘Yeah, but nightclubs are more my thing.’

I bet. I could imagine him prowling around a dim room like a panther stalking its prey at night. Senses on high alert. Watching. Waiting. Before pouncing on some poor unsuspecting female.

Though with the amount of testosterone radiating off his taut body, maybe I should amend that to lucky female.

‘I haven’t seen you around the patisserie?’

He’d been toying with the cutlery on the table and he stilled, like I’d taken a shot at him for not being around for his brother. ‘I’ve been working in London and LA. Helping friends set up similar nightclubs to the ones I run here.’

‘How altruistic.’ The sarcasm slipped out before I could stop it and I wasn’t surprised when he frowned at me. ‘Sorry, that sounded bitchy. It’s an important day for me and then Remy fell and I was so worried...about him and the patisserie and getting everything done...’

Great, now I sounded like a rambling loser. But to Tanner’s credit, he didn’t make a joke. In fact, he looked surprisingly serious, the first time I’d seen him like this in our brief acquaintance. I liked it. That he could lose the clown act when called for.

‘You won’t have to do it on your own, that’s why I’m here,’ he said, eyeballing me with curiosity. ‘As for my big brother, he’ll be fine.’

He paused, a glimmer of a frown slashing his brows. ‘So it’s an important day, huh? What’s the occasion? You getting hitched?’

I snorted and wrinkled my nose. ‘Been there. Done that. Tore the bouquet to pieces.’

‘You’re married?’

‘As of today, officially divorced.’ I made jazz hands. ‘Woop-de-freaking-do.’

‘Being divorced has gotta be better than being married,’ he said, making married sound like a dirty word.

‘It is when you’re married to a cold, heartless dweeb because it seemed the right thing to do at the time.’

Even now I could see that day so clearly. The rear garden of my parents’ harbourside mansion converted into a winter wonderland. Massive marquees. White chiffon draping everything. Fairy lights twinkling in the perfectly manicured trees. Five hundred of their closest acquaintances. And Bardley, waiting at the altar, staring at me with avarice, like he’d scored a prized portfolio.

I should’ve made a run for it then. But I’d been a people-pleaser to the end, and given up my soul in the process.

Never, ever, again.

‘I thought women viewed marriage as hearts and flowers and all that crap, not something to do because it’s right.’ He made cutesy inverted comma signs with his fingers. ‘Want to talk about it?’

His mouth eased into a sexy smile. ‘Tell Uncle Tanner all your dirty little secrets.’

If he only knew.

‘No dirt and it’s not a secret. Married at twenty-one to a guy I’d virtually grown up with. Family friends. Our folks pushed us together constantly so it seemed like a natural progression to get married.’

My chest tightened at the memory of what had happened after I’d said ‘I do’. Of how Bardley had morphed into a sadistic, controlling monster. ‘Moved into Vaucluse. Perfect house. Perfect life. Except it wasn’t so perfect...’

I trailed off, wondering why the hell I was revealing all this to a virtual stranger. Then again, maybe that was the attraction. I didn’t know Tanner and he knew jack about me. Today was a turning point for me. Proof that I’d walked away from my old life. I’d been counting down the days until I was officially divorced and who knew? Maybe once I’d purged all the crap I’d bottled up for so long I might be able to finally accept that the past didn’t control me any more.

‘Did the bastard hit you?’ Tanner growled, and I glanced up, surprised to see his hands clenched into fists. ‘I don’t care if you’re divorced. Tell me where to find the prick and I’ll beat him to a pulp.’

‘Whoa, he-man.’ I held up my hands. ‘Bardley was emotionally and verbally abusive, but he never laid a finger on me.’

‘That other shit’s just as bad,’ he muttered, his hands relaxing a little. ‘What kind of a dickhead name is Bardley, anyway?’

I smiled, his ferociousness as sexy as the rest of him.

‘“That other shit” is why I left him. It got to a point where I couldn’t take it any more...’ I shook my head, remembering the exact moment I’d taken control of my life.

He’d belittled me in front of his friends, forcing me to try water-skiing when he knew I was petrified of any water above bathtub level. I ended up spraining my wrist after taking a bad tumble the first time I tried to stand on the skis. It had been a suspected fracture. Bardley had mocked me. Been totally indifferent to my pain. Had called me names.

I’d packed with my one good hand that night and taken a cab to a motel. Spent a good hour emptying my bank accounts and maxing out my credit cards by paying a top lawyer most of his fee in advance.

I regretted being a fool. Being the kind of woman to put up with that treatment from anyone. Then again, I’d been doing it my entire life, so I guess my idiocy had been ingrained from birth.

‘So what’s the plan?’

‘Plan?’ I mimicked, coming back to the present, almost surprised to find myself sitting at a harbourside café on a glorious spring day with a seriously hot guy.

‘To celebrate your divorce.’ He lowered his voice. ‘You have got something in mind to celebrate, right?’

‘I’d envisaged leaving the patisserie early tonight to kick back with a spectacular red wine and Channing Tatum, but it looks like I’ll be stuck working ’til late, taking over Remy’s duties and prepping for tomorrow.’

He rolled his eyes, his upper lip curled in derision. ‘What is it with women and Channing Tatum?’

‘Hot bod. Chiselled jaw. And the guy has the moves. What’s not to like?’

‘He’s a fantasy.’ He sniggered, a decidedly wicked sound. ‘Wouldn’t you prefer a real man?’

I saw the challenge in Tanner’s unwavering stare. Taunting me. Encouraging me to say yes.

I knew what he was offering.

A night of debauchery.

A night to wipe away sour memories of my marriage.

A night to come alive.

But I had to work with this guy for the next four weeks. Remy was depending on me, and no way in hell would I screw up his faith in me by screwing his brother.

‘I’d prefer if we drank our coffees and got back to the patisserie,’ I said, exhaling in relief when the waitress appeared to place our order on the table.

‘Fair enough,’ he said, but he wasn’t done yet. The twinkle in his eyes alerted me to the fact that every second I had to spend with him over the next month would be pure, unadulterated torture. ‘But if you want to ditch the fantasy in favour of the real thing, you know where to find me.’

He picked up his small coffee cup and raised it in my direction. ‘Here’s to a good working relationship, real-life celebrations and finding the elusive peg leg.’

I choked on my first sip of latte and he laughed, a low, sexy chuckle that sent a jolt of longing through me.

Yeah, it was going to be a long four weeks.