Читать книгу A New Year Bride - Scarlet Wilson - Страница 15

‘I HAVE THE perfect dress for you.’ Mrs Archer clapped her hands together. ‘You’ll love it!’

‘What?’ Grace was stunned out of her reverie. She’d spent the last few days in a fog. A fog named Finlay Armstrong.

He’d managed to commandeer staff from every department and they’d spent two hours—Finlay included—replacing the light bulbs on the external display. Five specially phoned-in maintenance men had hung the purple and white strips down either side of the exterior of The Armstrong.

As they’d stood together on the opposite side of the street to get a better look, Finlay had given her a nudge. ‘It does look good, Grace. You were right.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Thank you.’

The closed-off man who apparently had a reputation as a recluse was coming out of his shell. Except Finlay hadn’t been in a shell. Grace got the impression he’d been in a dark cave where the only thing he’d let penetrate was work.

He was smiling more. His shoulders didn’t seem quite so tense. Since their first meeting he’d never shouted, never been impolite. Only for the briefest second did she see something cloud his eyes before it was pushed away again. Even Frank had commented on the changes in the last few days.

She nudged Finlay back. ‘Just wait until next year. I’ll pick a whole new colour scheme and bankrupt you in light bulbs!’ She’d been so happy, so excited that things had worked out she’d actually winked at him.

Winked. All she could do right now was cringe.

But the wink hadn’t scared him off. Every time she’d turned around in the last two days, Finlay had been there—asking her about something, talking to her about other pieces of interior design work she might be interested in. Getting her to sit down and chat.

They’d had another lunch together. Around four coffees. And a makeshift dinner—a Chinese take-away in the office one night.

She’d even found herself telling him about the Elizabethan-style chairs she’d found in a junk shop and spent weeks re-covering and re-staining on her own.

Last night she hadn’t slept a wink. Her brain had been trying to work out what on earth was going on between them. Was she reading this all wrong? Had it really been that long since she’d dated that she couldn’t work out the signals any more?

‘Ta-da!’

Mrs Archer brought her back to the present day by swinging open a cupboard door and revealing what lay behind it.

Wow.

It glimmered in the early-morning winter light. A full-length silver evening gown in heavy-duty satin with a bodice and wide straps glittering with sequins. Around the top of the coat hanger was a fur wrap. She was almost scared to touch it.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Alice Archer. ‘It’s not real fur. But it probably cost ten times as much as it should.’

Grace’s heart was pounding in her chest. She’d forgotten Alice had offered to find her something for the party. When Finlay had given her that exorbitant cheque the other day she’d almost squealed. Bills had been difficult since her grandmother had died.

Her grandmother and late grandfather had had small pensions that had contributed to the upkeep of the flat. Keeping up with bills was tough on her own. There was no room for any extras—any party dresses. She’d actually planned on going to some of the charity shops around Chelsea later to see if she could find anything to wear tonight.

‘It’s just beautiful,’ she finally said. Her hand touched the satin. She’d never felt anything like it in her life.

‘The colour will suit you marvellously.’ Alice smiled. ‘I had it in my head as soon as you told me about the party.’

‘When did you wear this, Alice? It’s just stunning.’

Alice whispered in her ear. ‘Don’t tell Finlay Armstrong, but I wore it at a New Year ball in The Ritz the year my Robin proposed to me.’

Grace pulled back her hand. ‘Oh, Alice, I can’t wear your beautiful dress. It has such special memories for you—and it’s immaculate. I would be terrified about something happening to it.’

Alice shook her head. ‘Nonsense, I insist.’ She ran her fingers down the fabric of the dress with a far-off expression in her eyes. ‘I always think that clothes are for wearing. I think of this as my lucky dress.’ She gave Grace a special smile. ‘And I’m hoping it will bring you some luck too.’

Grace stared in the mirror. Someone else was staring back at her. Whoever it was—it wasn’t Grace Ellis. Ashleigh had come around and set her hair in curls. Sophie had helped her apply film-star make-up. She’d never worn liquid eyeliner before and wasn’t quite sure how Sophie had managed to do the little upward flicks.

Around her neck she was wearing the silver locket her grandmother had bought her for her twenty-first birthday and Emma had loaned her a pair of glittery earrings.

They were probably diamonds. But Emma hadn’t told her that. She’d just squealed with excitement when she’d seen Grace all dressed up and said she had the perfect thing to finish it off.

And she’d been right. Right now, Grace Ellis felt like a princess. It didn’t matter that the only items she was wearing that actually belonged to her were her locket, her underwear and her shoes.

The party was being held in one of the smaller main rooms in the hotel. The music was already playing and she could see coloured flashing lights. Her heart started beating in tempo with the music. Her hands were sweating. She was nervous.

But it seemed she wasn’t the only one.

Finlay was pacing up and down outside the room. She couldn’t help but smile. Just that one sight instantly made her feel better. Although the girls had helped her get ready they’d also plied her with questions.

‘What’s going on with you and Finlay Armstrong?’

‘Is this a date?’

‘Are you interested in him?’

‘Do you want to date him?’

By the time they’d left her head had been spinning. She didn’t know the answer to the first two questions. But the last two? She didn’t want to answer them. Not out loud, anyway.

‘Grace. You’re here.’ Finlay covered the distance between them in long strides, slowing as he reached her. At first he’d only focused on her face, but as he’d neared his gaze had swept up and down her body. He seemed to catch his breath. ‘You look incredible.’

‘You seem surprised.’

He shook his head. ‘Of course I’m not surprised. You always look beautiful. But…’ He paused and gestured with his hand. ‘The dress and—’ He reached out to touch the stole. ‘What is this thing anyway? You look like a film star. Should I phone the press?’

He leaned closer, giving her a whiff of his spicy aftershave. She tried not to shiver. He tilted his head to the side. ‘What have you done to your eyes?’

She touched his jacket sleeve. ‘It’s called make-up, Finlay. Women wear it every day.’ She made a point of looking him up and down too. The suit probably cost more than she even wanted to think about. But it was immaculate, cut to perfection. ‘You don’t look so bad yourself.’

His gaze fixed on hers. ‘Grace?’

‘Yes?’

‘Thank you for saying you’d come with me.’ The tone of his voice had changed. He wasn’t being playful now, he was being serious. ‘You know I haven’t come to one of these in the last few years.’

She licked her lips and nodded, trying not to let her brain get carried away with itself. ‘Why have you come this year?’ she asked softly.

She was tiptoeing around about him—trying not to admit to the rapidly beating heart in her chest. She liked this man a whole lot more than she should. She didn’t even know what this was between them. But Finlay was giving her little signs of…something. Did he even realise that? Or was this all just in her imagination?

‘It was just time,’ he said, giving his head a little nod.

Her heart jumped up to the back of her throat. Time.

Just as it had been time to think about Christmas decorations. What else might it be time for?

The serious expression left his face and he stuck out his elbow towards her. ‘Well, Ms Ellis, are you ready to go to The Armstrong’s Christmas party?’

She slid her hand through his arm as all the little hairs on her arm stood on end. ‘I think I could be. Lead the way.’

The party was fabulous. She recognised lots of faces. Other chambermaids, bar staff, porters, reception staff and kitchen staff. Frank the concierge had dressed as Father Christmas and looked perfect.

There was a huge table laid with appetisers and sweets. A chocolate fountain, a pick-and-mix sweetie cart and the equivalent of an outside street cart serving burgers.

Finlay nudged her. ‘What? Did you think it would all be truffles and hors d’oeuvres?’

She gave him a smile. ‘I wasn’t sure.’

He shrugged. ‘The first year it was. Frank discreetly told me later that the staff went home hungry. After that, I gave Kevin, from the kitchen, free rein to organise whatever he thought appropriate for the Christmas party. I don’t think anyone has gone home hungry since.’

She laughed as he led her over to the bar. ‘Which of the Christmas cocktails would you like?’ he asked.

She was surprised. ‘You have Christmas cocktails?’

‘Oh, yes. We have the chocolate raspberry martini, the Festive Shot, with peppermint schnapps, grenadine and crème de menthe, then there is the Christmas Candy Cane, with berry vodka, peppermint schnapps and crème de cacao—or, my personal favourite, Rudolph’s Blast: rum, cranberries, peach schnapps and a squeeze of fresh lime.’

Grace shook her head and leaned her elbows up on the bar. ‘You know what’s in every cocktail?’

He gestured to the barman. ‘We’ll have two Rudolph’s Blasts, please.’

He leaned on the bar next to her and leaned his head on one hand. ‘Okay, that dress. You kind of caught me by surprise. Where did you get it?’

She waved her hand. ‘Did you expect me to come in uniform?’

He hadn’t taken his eyes off her and the smile on his face—well, it wasn’t just friendly. It seemed…interested. ‘Of course I didn’t. But you look like something the Christmas fairy pulled off the tree.’

Her eyes narrowed and she mirrored his position, leaning her head on one hand and staring straight back. ‘And is that good—or bad?’

He didn’t answer right away, and the barman set their cocktails down in front of them.

She leaned forward and took a sip of the cocktail. She licked her lips again as the mixture of rum and fruit warmed her mouth. He was focused on her mouth.

And she knew it.

She ran her tongue along her lips again then bit the edge of her straw.

‘I only have the dress on loan,’ she said quietly. ‘And I’ve promised to take very good care of it.’

He leaned a little closer, obviously trying to hear her above the music playing around them. Had she lowered her voice deliberately? Maybe.

As he moved a little closer she was still focused on those blue eyes. Only they weren’t as blue as normal. In the dim lights his pupils had dilated so much there was only a thin rim of blue around them. Was it the light? Or was it her?

‘Who gave you the loan of the dress?’

‘A good friend.’

‘A designer?’

Ah…he was worried she’d been loaned the dress by a male designer. She could tell by his tone. She took another sip of her cocktail. It was strong. But it was warming lots of places all around her body. ‘Someone much closer to home.’

His brow furrowed. She was playing games with him.

His hand reached over and rested on her arm. ‘Someone I know?’

She smiled. ‘Someone you respect. Someone I respect.’ Grace lifted her hand and placed it on her chest. ‘I’m told it’s lucky. Her husband proposed to her when she was wearing this dress.’

Something flitted across his eyes. It was the briefest of seconds but it made her cringe a little inside. That might have come out a little awkwardly. She wasn’t dropping hints. She absolutely wasn’t.

Then, it was almost as if the pieces fell into place. ‘Alice Archer?’ His voice was louder and the edges of his mouth turned upwards in a wide smile as he shook his head in disbelief, looking Grace up and down—again.

She was getting used to this.

‘This was Alice Archer’s dress?’

She nodded. ‘This is Alice Archer’s dress. She offered to give me something to wear a few days ago when she heard I was coming to the party.’ Grace ran her palm across the smooth satin. Just the barest touch let her know the quality of the fabric. ‘I had forgotten. When I walked in this morning she had it hanging up waiting for me.’

He moved closer again, his shoulder brushing against hers as he lifted his cocktail from the bar. ‘Well, I think it’s a beautiful dress. I have no idea how old it is, but it looks brand new.’

Her heart gave a little soar. The dress was definitely a hit. She’d need to buy Alice a thank-you present. A Christmas song started playing behind them, causing the rest of the people in the room to let out a loud cheer. The dance floor filled quickly. Grace sipped her drink.

‘Do you want to dance?’

She shook her head. ‘Not to this. I prefer to spectate when it’s something wild. I prefer slow dances.’

She hadn’t meant it quite to come out like that, but as her gaze connected with those blue eyes the expression on his face made her suck in a breath.

She could practically feel the chemistry between them sparkling. She wasn’t imagining this. She just wasn’t.

It wasn’t possible for the buzz she felt every time he looked at her, or touched her, not to be real.

‘I’ll take you up on that,’ he said hoarsely, before turning back to the barman. ‘Can we have some more cocktails?’

His senses were on overload. Her floral scent was drifting around him, entwining him like a coiling snake. His fingertips tingled where they’d touched her silky skin. The throaty whisper of her voice had sent blood rushing through his body as if he were doing a marathon. His eyes didn’t know whether to watch the smoky eyes, the tongue running along her succulent lips, the shimmer of the silver satin against her curves or the way her curls tumbled around the pale skin at her neck. As for taste? He could only imagine…

What was more, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shut his senses down.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t spent time with women since Anna had died. On a few occasions, he had. But those encounters had been courteous, brief and for one purpose only.

There had been no attachment. No emotional involvement.

But with Grace? Things felt entirely different.

He wanted to see her. He wanted to be around her. He was interested in her, and what she thought. He didn’t want to see her a few times and just dismiss her from his life.

It had been twelve years since he’d really dated. One date with Anna had been enough to know he didn’t need to look any further. And right now, with his stomach tipping upside down, he wasn’t sure he knew what to do any more.

Oh, he knew what to do.

He just couldn’t picture doing it with emotions attached.

All of those memories and sensations belonged to Anna. He knocked back the last of the cocktail and lifted the Festive Shots that had appeared on the bar. He blinked, then tipped his back and finished it before turning to Grace.

Wow. Nope, nothing had changed in that millisecond. She was still here with her tumbling curls, sensational figure and eyes that looked as if they see down into his very soul.

She gave him a suspicious look as she eyed the shot glass. ‘Who are you trying to get drunk, you, or me?’

He signalled to the barman again, who replaced his shot. He held it up and clinked it against her glass. ‘This is only my third drink and it’s only your second. Somehow, I think we can cope.’

She clinked her glass against his, then tipped back her head and downed her shot too. It must have hit the back of her throat because she laughed and burst out coughing. He laughed too and gave her back a gentle slap. ‘It hits hard, doesn’t it?’

She nodded as her eyes gleamed a little with water. ‘Oh, wow.’ She coughed again. ‘Festive? More like dynamite.’

The music slowed and she glanced over her shoulder. ‘Something you like?’

She tipped her head to the side as if she were contemplating the music. ‘Actually, I really love this song.’

He didn’t think. He didn’t hesitate. He held his hand straight out to hers as Wham’s Last Christmas filled the room. ‘Then let’s dance.’

She slid her hand into his. Her fingers starting at the tips of his, running along the palm of his hand and finishing as her fingers fastened around his wrist. His hand slid around her waist, skimming the material of the dress as they walked across the dance floor. He gave a nod to a few members of staff who nodded in their direction.

They were attracting more than their fair share of attention. He should have known this would happen. But the truth was, he didn’t really care. This wasn’t about anyone other than them.

Grace spun around as she reached the middle of the dance floor. Her hesitation only showed for a second before she slid her hands up around his neck.

It wasn’t exactly an unusual position. This was a Christmas slow dance. All around them people were in a similar stance. If they’d stayed apart it would have looked more noticeable.

He kept his hands at her waist as they moved slowly in time with the music. Grace was already singing along with her eyes half closed. ‘Hey, isn’t this a little before your time?’

Her eyes opened wider. ‘Of course. But I don’t care. I just love it. I loved the video even more. I watched it a hundred times as a teenager.’

Finlay wracked his brains trying to remember the video. For the first time he actually heard the words to the familiar tune. ‘You like this? Isn’t this the video where the girl dumped him and came back the next year with someone else?’

She threw back her head and laughed, giving him a delightful view of the pale skin at the bottom of her throat. His teeth automatically ground into his bottom lip. He knew exactly where he wanted his lips to be right now.

‘Yes, that’s the story. But I liked the snow in the video. It looked romantic. And I like the tune.’

Her body was brushing against his as she moved in time to the music. He pulled her a little closer as he bent to whisper in her ear. ‘I can’t believe this is your favourite Christmas song.’

She stepped back a little, grabbing his hand and twirling underneath it, sending the bottom of her silver dress spinning out around her, with the coloured lights from the disco catching the silver sequins on her bodice and sending sparkles around the room.

Her eyes were sparkling too, her curls bouncing around her shoulders. Grace was like her own Christmas decoration. When she finished spinning her hands rested on his chest.

He almost held his breath. Would she feel the beat of his heart under her fingertips? What would she make of the irregular pattern that was currently playing havoc with any of his brain processes—that must be the reason he couldn’t think a single sane thought right now?

She finished swaying as his hands went naturally back to her hips. He could see a few staff members in the corner of the room looking at them and whispering. He might be the boss, but Grace worked with these people. She did a good job. She brought a little life into the hotel. She deserved their respect. He didn’t want to do anything to ruin that.

As the music came to an end he grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her towards the exit. All of a sudden the room felt claustrophobic. There were too many eyes. Too many whispers. He didn’t want to share Grace with all these people.

He wanted her to himself.

‘Hey, Finlay—what’s wrong?’

He leaned into the coat check and grabbed her stole, leaving some cash as a tip. He could hear Grace’s feet scurrying behind him as he lengthened his stride to reach the exit as quickly as possible.

They burst outside into the cold night air. He spun around and put the stole around her shoulders. She was breathing heavily; he could see the rise and fall of her chest in the pale yellow light of the lamp post above them. ‘What are you doing?’ Her voice was high. She sounded stressed.

He took a deep breath. He had no idea what he was doing. But could he really admit that?

He reached out and touched her cheek—just as he had on the roof that night.

‘I needed to get out of there.’

He kept his finger against her cheek. It was the slightest touch of her skin. The tiniest piece beneath his fingertip. But it was enough. Enough to set every alarm bell screaming in his brain. Enough to let his senses just explode with overload.

He was past the point of no return.

Grace reached up and captured her hand around his finger, leaving it touching her cheek. ‘Why, Finlay? Why did you need to get out of there?’

He could hear the concern in her voice. She didn’t have a clue. She thought this might be about something else. She didn’t realise that every tiny part of this was about her.

Guilt was racing through his veins in parallel to the adrenaline. Feeling. He was feeling again. And the truth was that scared him.

Guys would never admit that. Not to their friends. Not even to themselves. But most guys hadn’t loved someone with every part of their heart, soul and being and had it ripped out of them and every feeling and emotion buried in a brittle, cold grave.

Most guys wouldn’t know that they didn’t think it could be possible to ever get through that once. Why would they even contemplate making any kind of connection with another person when there was even the smallest possibility they could end up going down the same path?

Once had felt barely survivable. He couldn’t connect with someone like that again. How could he risk himself like that again?

Where was his self-preservation? The barriers that he’d built so tightly around himself to seal his soul off from that kind of hurt again.

Somehow being around Grace had thrown his sense of self-preservation out of the window. All he could think about right now was how much he wanted to touch and taste the beautiful woman in front of him.

She was still watching him with those questioning brown eyes. She was bathed in the muted lamplight—her silver dress sparkling—like an old-fashioned film star caught in the spotlight.

He stopped thinking. ‘Because I couldn’t wait to do this.’

He pulled her sharply towards him, folding his arm around her waist and pulling her tightly against the length of his body. He stopped for a second, watching her wide eyes, giving her the briefest of pauses to voice any objections. But there were none.

He captured her mouth in his. She tasted of cocktails and chocolate. Sweet. Just the way he’d imagined she would. One hand threaded through her tumbling curls and the other rested on the satin-covered curve of her backside. He’d captured his prize. He wasn’t about to let her go.

After two seconds the tension left her body, melding it against his. Her hands wound their way around his neck again, her lips responding to every part of the kiss, matching him in every way.

This was what a connection felt like. He hadn’t kissed a woman like this since Anna died. This was what it felt like to kiss a woman you liked and respected. It had been so long he hadn’t even contemplated how many emotions that might toss into the cold night air.

Her hand brushed the side of his cheek, running along his jaw line. He could hear the tiny scrape of his emerging stubble against her fingernails. The other hand ran through his hair and then down to his chest again. He liked the feel of her palm there. If only it weren’t thwarted by the suit jacket and shirt.

Their kiss deepened. His body responded. He knew. He knew where this could potentially go.

Grace pulled her lips from his. It was a reluctant move, followed by a long sigh. Her forehead rested against his as if she were trying to catch her breath. He could feel her breasts pressed against his chest.

His hand remained tangled in her soft hair and for a few moments they just stood like that, heads pressed together under the street light.

He eventually straightened up. Should he apologise? It didn’t feel as if the kiss was unwanted. But they were right in the middle of the street—hardly the most discreet place in the world for a first kiss. He could ask her up to the penthouse but somehow that didn’t feel right either—and he was quite sure Grace wouldn’t agree to come anyway.

‘Thank you for coming tonight,’ he said quietly.

Her voice was a little shaky. ‘You’re welcome.’

He took a step back. ‘How about I get one of the chauffeurs to drop you home?’

He had no idea what time it was—but whatever time it was, he didn’t want her travelling home alone. He trusted all the chauffeurs from The Armstrong. Grace would be in safe hands.

She gave a little nod. ‘That would be nice, thank you.’ This time her voice sounded a little odd. A little detached. Had she rethought their kiss and changed her mind?

He put his arm behind her and led her back to the main entrance of the hotel, nodding to one of the doormen. ‘Callum, can you get one of the chauffeurs to take Grace home?’

She shivered and pulled the stole a little closer around her shoulders. ‘Do you want me to get you another coat?’

She shook her head, not quite meeting his gaze. ‘I’ll be fine when I get in the car. That’ll be warm enough.’

For a couple of minutes they stood in awkward silence. Finlay wasn’t quite sure what to do next. He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to do next. And he couldn’t read Grace at all.

The sleek black car pulled up in front of them and the driver jumped out to open the door. Grace turned to face him with her head held high. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening, Finlay,’ she said as she climbed into the car.

‘You too,’ he replied automatically as he closed the door, and watched the car speed off into the distance.

One thing was for sure. Finlay Armstrong wouldn’t sleep a wink tonight.