Читать книгу Valentine's Day - Nicola Marsh, Allison Leigh - Страница 29
ОглавлениеJune
‘It’s a good ten kilometres longer than a regular marathon,’ the spectator perched next to Georgia on a fold-out chair said, his eyes firmly on the bend in the road they were sitting by. ‘But it’s only a club-training day so it doesn’t count as an ultra-marathon. It’s just a good run.’
Georgia chuckled. Calling a fifty-three-kilometre run ‘good’ was like calling her drive up from London in her gran’s borrowed car ‘brief’. Though getting herself to the starting point up towards the Scottish border reminded her just how long it had been since she’d taken herself right out of London.
Too long.
So even if this was the craziest and most spontaneous of bad ideas, it at least had the rather pleasant silver lining of getting her out into fresh, brisk, northern air.
The event didn’t run adjacent or even near to the actual Hadrian’s Wall remains; disappointing but understandable. The past two thousand years hadn’t been kind to them already, the last thing they needed was forty sweaty runners and their support crews plodding along their length. But the route trundled along paved roads and tracks and along a river in one place, and so Georgia was able to drive ahead, park, and set herself up at strategic locations with the other spectators to watch them go by.
She quickly realised that Zander would be in the front half of the pack, though not right at the front. Those spaces were occupied by the elite professional runners and their support crews. But he wasn’t too far behind, sans support crew. Last stop she’d practically hidden in the shrubbery as the pack ran by, keen for Zander not to spot her on the side of the road. But as she’d watched him steadily plod past she realised he wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to the spectators. He was just lost in a zone of his own. The zone that got this tough job done.
She’d had a good poke around a Roman ruin and Hadrian’s Wall itself and still been ready at this next vantage point twelve kilometres along for the moment he came jogging along the track.
‘Here they come,’ the man said in his thick accent, standing. He readied himself with squeeze-bottles of energy drink and a pair of bananas and stepped up to the road edge in case his runner needed supplies. Georgia stepped back into his considerable shadow so that she was partially screened from the runners.
Just in case.
Zander stood out in the field, both for his height and also his electric-green vest top. So she watched for that. Only about a dozen runners passed her before she saw the flash of lime and she tucked back even further into her companion’s wake. As before, Zander was totally focused on the path ahead and, not expecting anyone to be out here for him, he wasn’t looking for anyone. That meant his eyes were locked forward, determination all over his face, and he sucked air in and blew it out steadily between the thud of his sturdy runners on the track.
A slick gloss of sweat covered most of the exposed areas of his body but instead of making him look hot and miserable, it just made him look...hot. Some men really did sweaty well and apparently buttoned-up Zander was one of them. The all-over sheen defined the contours of muscles that flexed taut with effort and made her imagine other ways he might get that sweaty. And that taut.
She shut down that thought hard as he ran past.
‘Is that your guy?’ the man next to her asked, his eyes still on the bend in the road up ahead, his bananas and energy drink still outstretched.
‘No, he’s just a friend,’ she laughed. Way too brightly.
The man glanced at her quizzically, as if she’d answered a totally different question from the one he asked. ‘I meant is he the one you’re here cheering on?’
Heat surged into her face. ‘Oh, yes.’
He turned his eyes back to the bend and waited for sight of his guy. Or girl. That was how little attention she’d paid to anyone but Zander. ‘Next stop you’re welcome to one of my squeeze-bottles if you want.’
‘Thank you, no,’ she said, dragging her eyes back off Zander’s disappearing form. ‘I’m just watching.’
She picked up her fold-a-chair.
‘Well, I’ll see you at the King’s Arms,’ the affable fellow said. ‘We’ll all have earned a brew by then.’
She hadn’t planned on waiting at the end, she’d only thought to watch him for a bit, get a feel for this sport that he loved, and then drive the many hours back to London. But while the idea of sitting waiting to surprise him in a pub didn’t appeal, the thought that what she was actually doing was tantamount to stalking appealed even less.
‘Yes,’ she suddenly decided. ‘I’ll see you there.’
Late night be damned.
She clambered her way back across the farmer’s field to where her car was pulled off the road heading west—the same direction as the pack of runners.
As the afternoon wore on, Zander’s form remained steady but the exertion showed in the lines around his mouth and the cords that became more pronounced in his neck and calves. So even with all his heavy training this wasn’t an easy run. The front of the pack certainly made it seem so and she was always gone by the time the rest of the pack went through. But Zander went from the front-runner in the second cluster of runners to the rear-runner in the front group with a brief, lonely stint by himself as he transitioned the ever-stretching gap between them.
Most of the other spectators went to the final checkpoint to cheer their runners across the line but Georgia headed straight for the small pub on the main street. There was no guarantee that Zander would even go there; if he valued his solitude enough he might just clamber back into his Jag and head straight back to London all puffing and sweaty.
And she’d be sitting here for nothing.
But she stayed. She wanted him to know she’d come—even if he might not be all that happy about it. She wanted him to know how much she admired his dogged determination. She wanted to know what time he’d run. Those long waits on the side of the road were great for getting a feel from the regulars on what was a good time, what the stages in the pack meant and why long-run competitors did what they did.
Curiosity and a real sense of anticipation hung with her.
She wanted him to have done well. For his sake.
The front-runners started to appear amid the small crowd in the pub. She recognised some of them since they were the ones she’d been looking at all afternoon. Their arrival at the Arms was a mini-version of the race order. Clearly there was a procedure followed by most competitors—finish, shower, pub.
Her eyes drifted to the door yet again.
The crowd grew too thick in the small pub for her to see the moment Zander actually came through the door, but they spotted each other at virtually the same moment as he turned from the bar. She sucked in a small breath, held it, and smiled.
As casual as you like. As though this were her local and he’d just happened into it. As though she weren’t three hundred miles from her local. Sitting on the border of a whole other country.
‘Georgia?’ His confusion reached her before he did.
She stood. ‘Congratulations. That was quite a run.’
‘What are you doing here?’ It wasn’t unfriendly, but it wasn’t joyous, either. Had she expected pleased?
She took a deep breath. ‘I thought I’d watch you compete. I just wanted to say hello before I headed off.’ Let you know I’m not a stalker. She reached for her handbag, realising what a desperately bad idea this all was. Not only was she not invited, but she’d intruded on his privacy. Presumed her way into his own space and sporting circle. The least she could do was keep it short.
She threaded the straps of her handbag in her fingers. ‘How did you do?’
He shook his head, still trying to come to terms with her presence. ‘Good. Personal best for the distance.’
She nodded. ‘I saw you make that big break between the chase group and the lead,’ she babbled. ‘That was exciting.’
He frowned.
‘I had lots of time to talk to the spectators,’ she confessed, flushing. ‘Ask me anything about marathon running now...’
She laughed. He didn’t.
Oh, God... ‘OK. Well, congratulations. I’m going to go.’
She didn’t wait for a farewell, but started weaving her way immediately through the assembled throng. She got to the door before a hand on her shoulder stopped her.
‘Georgia...’
She turned. Forced a bright smile to her face. She was getting quite good at swallowing humiliation now.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘You being here really threw me. I’m not...’ He frowned again and looked around at everyone else’s support teams laughing and sharing stories. ‘I’m not used to having someone here for me. Stay for a while longer?’
One foot was, literally, out of the door. It would be so easy to make an excuse about the sinking sun, the long drive home, and flee. But there was Zander, all freshly showered and apologetic and great-smelling, standing in a room full of excited buzz, inviting her to stay in it. To enjoy everyone else’s post-run high. To vacation in his world for just a short while.
She scanned his face for signs of being humoured. ‘Maybe for a bit, then. If you’re sure you don’t mind.’
‘Stay. We can chalk this up to a Year of Georgia project.’
The radio promotion. Of course. Everything came back to that.
They returned to the place she’d been seated but someone had taken quick advantage of the vacant seat and slid into it. Zander turned and shepherded her through to an area behind the bar. Still busy but quieter. A small table-for-one in the far corner was empty. It didn’t take him long to find a spare chair.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t see you out on the road,’ he started, sinking onto one of the seats.
She waved away the apology. His job was to stay focused on the run, not glance at spectators in case one of them was for him. ‘How do you feel after the run?’
‘Always the same. Exhilarated. Drained, yet like I could do it all again. I’ll feel like a conqueror for a few hours yet.’
‘How many recovery days do you have?’
His lips parted in a smile and in this private little corner of the bar it was all for her. ‘You really are a quick study.’
Heat filled her cheeks. ‘They were quite long roadside vigils.’ And lots of listening so that she didn’t have to talk too much to strangers.
A genuine smile lit up his face. ‘Sorry. I should have run faster.’
They chatted more about the race, the pastime, the rules, and the challenges, and Georgia found herself sinking into his obvious engagement.
‘You look totally different,’ she blurted.
‘In civvies?’
‘No. When you talk about running your entire face changes. You become so animated.’
‘How do I normally look?’
She gestured to his frown. ‘More like that. When you’re talking about work. This Zander is...very human.’
His eyebrows shot up. ‘Wow. I’m not even human in London?’
What the hell? She’d intruded on his space, she might as well go the whole way. He was a puzzle she wanted to solve. ‘You’re so guarded in London.’
He shrugged—totally guarded—and she regretted raising it. ‘I’m in work mode when I see you. It’s not London’s fault.’
‘Are you saying you’re not yourself when you’re in work mode?’
‘A different part of myself.’
‘So which is more you—this Zander or London Zander?’
He squinted as he thought about it. ‘I work eighty hours a week so, statistically, being like this is less common. But scarcity just makes me enjoy it more.’
So he liked this side of him as much as she did.
Around them a few people stood, as if on cue. He noticed, too.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We have a tradition when we run the wall.’
She followed him out of the King’s Arms, feeling very comfortable and welcome in this crowd—with Zander—even though she knew how out of place she was. Such a fraud. A line of them trooped, beers in hand, down to the banks of the tidal flat that had been halfway out when she’d arrived earlier. Now water lapped right up to the banks. The groups split down into small pairs and threes and spread out along the length of the foreshore. It practically glowed with rich, dusk light.
‘Solway Firth,’ Zander said, taking his cue from a pair of nearby cows and sinking onto the grass. ‘Best sunsets in England.’
‘And Scotland,’ she said, dropping down next to him and looking across the narrow expanse of water that separated the two countries. She wondered what Scots might be sitting on the opposite banks looking at England and sharing the sunset. Then she looked inland. ‘What town is that down there?’
Lights twinkled where the tidal flats became a river as the sun lowered.
‘Gretna Green.’
‘Convenient if we were eloping.’ She laughed.
But the mention of marriage dented the relaxed companionship that had blossomed between them since they sat back down at the pub.
‘Have you never wanted to get married?’ she asked, without thinking about how he might construe such a question. In such a context. With Gretna Green an hour’s stroll away.
His answer was more of a stammer.
‘Not that I’m volunteering,’ she hurried. ‘One misguided proposal a year is my limit. I’m just curious. You’d be quite the catch, I’d have thought.’
Understatement.
He took his time answering that. Or deciding how to. ‘What self-respecting woman would want me and my insane schedule?’
OK, they were going with flippant, then. ‘I think you’d find your postal code and credit limit would be sufficient compensation for many people.’ Not to mention the body.
‘Many? But not you?’
She blew a breath slowly out and stared into the orange glow of the sunset. ‘I would actually be quite choosy about who I married,’ she started.
‘Despite all evidence to the contrary,’ he murmured.
She looked at him. ‘It’s not like I picked Dan out of a Proposals-R-Us catalogue. I’d known him a while. I really like him as a person. He’s bright and dedicated and he has really good family values.’
Would he notice the complete absence of the L-word?
‘You two wanted kids?’
She snorted. ‘We never discussed a week into the future, let alone years.’ Which only made her proposal even more misguided. ‘But he’d been looking after his sick sister and her kids for a while. So I got to see it in action. The potential.’
‘Family’s important to you?’
She frowned, thought about it. ‘The values are important. The capacity to love and nurture something to adulthood.’
‘Like plants?’
She chuckled. ‘Exactly. Kids can’t possibly be any fussier than ferns.’
‘And that’s more important to you than money or an address? Values?’
She looked at him. ‘You’ve seen how I live. Do I strike you as someone who cares much about money or the trappings of wealth?’ Or threw them around needlessly?
‘Not having it is not necessarily synonymous with not wanting it,’ he said. ‘I used to have none and I definitely wanted it.’
‘Some things are more important than money.’
‘So what was the leap year promotion all about?’ he asked suddenly. ‘If not for the fifty grand. Why put yourself and Bradford through that?’
The sun touched the horizon. ‘Did you know that sunsets are only a mirage? By the time we’re seeing it touch water, the sun has already dropped below the horizon. Something to do with the curvature of the earth.’
He turned to look. And it wasn’t until then that she realised how closely he’d been watching her before. But then he brought his eyes back around. ‘I didn’t know that. But I do recognise a subject change when I hear one.’
‘It’s not... I’m not comfortable talking about it.’
‘Why? You think I’m going to judge you?’
‘I think it might end up in the radio show.’
His face changed, then, in an instant. Back to London Zander. ‘Right.’
‘Zander...’ Her eyes fell shut to block out his offence, but she forced them open again. ‘I could barely admit to Dan why I’d done it. I can’t tell the whole country.’
I can’t tell you. Not without having to ask herself why Zander’s good impression mattered more to her than Dan’s.
He stared. ‘Off the record.’
She dropped her eyes and plucked at the long blades of the estuary bank. ‘Do you know what I do for a job?’
‘You study seeds.’
‘I X-ray seeds. Day in, day out, to find the ones that are incompetent. The ones that aren’t viable. The ones that aren’t normal. It makes a person quite proficient at spotting the signs of irregularities in others. Or in yourself.’
He stayed silent. Waited for her to connect the dots.
‘Everyone I know has paired off. Started families. I felt like I was falling behind.’
There was no judgement, just curiosity. ‘Is it a race?’
‘No.’ She had years of optimum childrearing ahead of her.
‘But?’
She lifted her eyes. But the clock was ticking. ‘It’s hard, being with them and not being able to contribute, to understand. They all have that shared experience in common. They’ve become so much closer.’
‘You were going to get married and have kids just to ensure you could contribute to conversation? That seems extreme.’
Put like that it sounded as ridiculous as it probably was. ‘I want what they have.’
‘School debt and early grey hair?’
She went to stand. ‘I shouldn’t expect you to understand. You have so much—’
His fingers caught her wildly flapping ones. Tugged her back down. ‘George, sorry. Go on. What do they have that you want so much?’
She stared at where his long fingers held hers. Not releasing them. ‘Everything. The package. A man and children to love them. A nice house in the country. Security and someone to celebrate joys with. To be wanted enough for someone to give up their freedom for.’ All the things she didn’t have growing up. ‘Someone to fill all the holes inside me.’
‘So Daniel was your gap-filler?’
She stared. Swallowed. Dropped her head with shame. ‘Poor Dan. That’s awful.’
‘Give yourself a break. Everyone fills their gaps with something.’
‘What fills yours?’
His answer was immediate. ‘Work. Running.’
The only two things he did. They couldn’t both be gap fillers, surely? ‘What are you filling?’
He stared. ‘A whole lot of empty.’
Wow. That was quite a mouthful. There was nothing to say to that. They just stared at each other as the sun fully set. Its sinking took with it some of the magic of the cusp of night and day, breaking the spell she’d been under.
How else could she excuse her revelations of the last few minutes?
She let her eyes refocus over his shoulder.
‘It’s gone,’ she whispered.
‘It’ll be back tomorrow.’
She nodded. But still they didn’t move.
‘Why are we here, Zander?’ she breathed into the fading light.
He stared at her in the rapidly cooling, darkening evening. ‘Because you followed me up here?’
Half of her was terrified he’d just shrug and blame tradition. That this thing between them wasn’t mutual. But she wasn’t about to be put off so easily. ‘Here, by the twinkling water as the sun sets.’
‘Do you want to leave?’ he murmured, eyes locked on hers.
She should. ‘No.’
‘Do you want to feel?’
Her lungs locked up. Suddenly the grass and cows and water around them seemed to grow as if the two of them had just hauled themselves over the top of a beanstalk, forcing them closer together and making the scant distance separating them into something negligible.
Her pulse began to hammer in earnest.
Zander raised his hand and slipped it behind her head, lowering his forehead to rest on hers. His heat radiated outwards. His eyes drifted shut.
She hesitated for only a moment, then turned her face to rub her jaw along his, twisting inwards, seeking out the lips that hunted for hers. The full lips she’d been wanting to taste since she’d seen them stained with bolognese sauce and a smile in the restaurant kitchen.
Was that how long she’d been wanting it for?
Her breath came heavy and fast and mingled with his. Then she turned inwards, drawn by the plaintive breath that was her name on his lips. Their mouths touched. Sensation sparked between them and birthed a flame, hot and raw. Zander pressed their lips more firmly together, leaned into her. Curled his fingers into the hair at her nape. Georgia pressed a hand to the damp, cool earth and used it to lever herself closer to him, to hold the connection fast. To explore and taste and experience. His breath became hers. Her breath sustained them both. She kissed him harder. Greedy for his taste.
Desire raged up around them as though the setting sun had boiled the waters of the firth and they’d spilled over to the banks where they lay.
And, yes, it was lay. Somehow, between one desperate breath and the next, they’d sunk down to the grass and Zander twisted half over her. She couldn’t remember getting there. Her entire consciousness was consumed with the press of his mouth against hers and the weight of his body on hers. He leaned on his elbows, both hands free to tangle in her hair, his mouth free to roam wherever it pleased.
And, boy, did it please.
Her head spun, her chest squeezed, her insides squirmed. Every cell in her body cried out to just merge with his. As though they recognised their chemical equal.
It wasn’t until his thigh slid down between hers that reality intruded.
For both of them.
She twisted her face away from his and sucked in a breath of fresh coastal air. Sweeter and colder than anything they got in London. It helped to clear her muddled head, just a little.
Zander lifted his lips and stared down at her. Speechless.
‘Um...’ What more could she say?
Where the hell had that come from?
One minute they were talking and the next she was crawling down his throat, hungry for more of the best kiss she’d ever had.
He pressed back up, grinding closer where it really counted and sending a new wave of heat to her cheeks. He twisted sideways and his heavy, sexy weight lifted off her.
She missed him instantly.
She sat up and blew air slowly through swollen lips.
‘Georgia, I—’ He cut himself off to clear his throat.
She couldn’t bear to hear him apologise, or declare it a mistake or express remorse. Not for a kiss like that. Not him. So she jumped in before he could start again, laughing lightly. Faking heavily. ‘Chalk it up to your post-race high? All those conquering impulses?’
He’d conquered her all right—like a Viking. And that thought triggered a rush of new images and sensations. God, how she’d love to just lie back and concede defeat.
Weighing up his choices showed in his face, even in the dim light. ‘We could say that.’
She took a breath.
‘Or we could acknowledge the chemistry that’s been between us since we met.’
Acknowledge it sounded a lot like forgiving it. Releasing it.
Ignoring it.
‘Since we met?’ Though she still remembered the spark as he’d handed her the coat out at Wakehurst.
‘It had to come to a head at some time.’
‘You ignored me for so many weeks.’
‘I was trying to ignore it. Not you. Our relationship was a professional one.’
Past tense? ‘And now?’
‘Now it’s going to be even harder keeping things professional.’
‘Back in London?’ Back in the real world. Where adrenaline-fuelled kisses and dramatic sunsets didn’t happen.
‘It would be inappropriate for me to start something with you.’
‘Inappropriate?’ She sat up and tucked her knees to her chest. How politically correct.
He followed her upright. ‘I’m the manager of the station running your promotion. I sign the cheques that pay for your classes.’
And would do for months yet.
‘And it’s not fair to you, either. You’re not equipped for something like this.’
She sat back, hard. Shook her head. ‘Like what?’
‘Something happening between us.’
Not everyone’s cut out for seduction, he’d joked back at spy school, though maybe it hadn’t been entirely a joke. She had failed abysmally at flirting her way to information from a stranger in class, though Zander’s eyes had remained glued to her the whole time. But that was...you know...a stranger. And this was Zander.
Totally different situation.
Though maybe not for him. How cruel to kiss her half to death, to make her feel so desirable, and then to back-pedal so very obviously.
He rambled on. ‘This was—’
Fantastic? Overdue?
‘—an aberration.’
Pain sliced through her. Could he have found an uglier way of saying it was a mistake? She stared across at Scotland, and would have given anything to spontaneously teleport over to the far bank.
‘I should have had more control,’ he said. ‘This is my fault.’
Oh, please. ‘I came up here willingly.’
‘Not expecting that, I’m sure.’
No. Definitely not expecting that. She just wanted to get to know him a little bit. But she’d discovered a whole other Zander hidden inside the first one. ‘So now what? We just go back to how it was?’
He looked at her.
Did he need it spelled out? ‘You ignoring me?’
‘I won’t ignore you, George. I couldn’t, now.’
George. The same nickname her friends used for her. The irony bit hard. ‘So then business as usual?’
Silence was nod enough.
She pushed to her feet. ‘OK, then. Well, my first order of business is to get back to London before dawn.’
‘I’m staying at the Arms. Maybe they’ll have a second room?’
Was he joking? Stay anywhere near him and not want to be with him? While he found her so...ill-equipped?
‘I have a prep session for the personal makeover tomorrow morning. Measuring and stuff.’ Never mind that she’d never felt less like doing anything. Despite—apparently—needing all the help she could get. She grasped her excuses as she found them.
‘I’ll walk you to your car,’ Zander said.
For a guy who had protested so vehemently about her catching the underground home after a couple of wines, he was sure very willing to let her drive a deadly weapon half way across the country with still-scattered wits.
Maybe he wanted her gone as much as she needed to be there?
They walked, in silence, back up the road to her vehicle. The rapid journey from body-against-body and lips-against-lips to this awful, careful distance was jarring, but the cold night breeze helped her to blow the final wisps of desire from her mind like fog from shore.
It was for the better. Almost certainly.
She turned and faced him, a bright smile on her face. ‘See you Wednesday night, then?’
Salsa class.
She held her breath. If he was going to pull out of his pledge to go with her, now was the moment it would happen.
He stared down at her, leaned forward as if to kiss her again, but pulled on the handle of the car door behind her instead. ‘See you Wednesday.’
Him being chivalrous with the door went exactly no way to making her feel any better about what an ass he’d just been back on the bank of the firth. She grunted her thanks, slipped into her front seat, and slammed the door shut on his parting words.
Drive safely.
