Читать книгу A Bride for the Runaway Groom - Scarlet Wilson, Scarlet Wilson - Страница 9

CHAPTER THREE

WILL WAS STARTING to freak.

What had started as a bit of flirting and curiosity was turning into something closely related to the things he normally fled from.

It didn’t matter that this was someone else’s wedding. Weddings were the last thing he wanted to get involved in.

Except, he’d said that before. Four times exactly.

And he always meant it. Right up until he met the next girl—the next love of his life—and things went spectacularly. The romance, the love, the inevitable engagement, the press and then the plans started.

Everything always started swimmingly. Beautiful, fairy-tale venues. Wonderful menus. Great bands.

Then, things started to get uncomfortable. Fights about meaningless crap. Colours, ties or cravats, kilts or suits. Sisters and mothers-in-law interfering in he didn’t even know what.

Arguments about wedding vows, dresses—spectacular scenes about dresses having to be ordered eighteen months in advance and not arriving in time. Ridiculous costs for ‘favours’—things that no one even cared about and everyone left lying on the dinner tables anyway.

Tantrums over cakes. Tantrums over cars.

And love dying somewhere along the process. But it wasn’t the wedding process that really did it for him. It was that feeling of for ever. That idea of being with one person for the rest of your life. Whenever his bride-to-be had started talking about wedding vows Will always felt an overwhelming sense of panic. And all of a sudden he wasn’t so sure.

It didn’t help that he knew his friend Arral’s wife had walked out and left Arral when he’d lost his job. It had all contributed to Arral sinking into depression and ending up homeless. For better or worse. Someone to grow old with. The theory was great. But what if when the chips were down his potential bride-to-be decided she didn’t want for ever any more?

He didn’t really understand why, but as the wedding date drew nearer Will always had a massive case of cold feet. Actually, it wasn’t cold feet. More like being encompassed by the iceberg that had sunk the Titanic.

The trouble with being a nice guy was that it was hard to realise when exactly to back out. Once, he’d got right to the main event, but had backed out in spectacular fashion, earning him the nickname the Runaway Groom.

Even now he winced and closed his eyes. His bride-to-be had sensed his doubts and made veiled threats about what she might do if he didn’t turn up.

So, he’d turned up. And made sure when he left she was surrounded by family and friends—even if all the family and friends were about to do him a permanent injury.

Violet had a theory on all this. She said that he hadn’t met the right girl yet. Once he had? Everything would fall into place. Everything would click and he wouldn’t have any of these doubts and fears. But what did Violet know about all this?

‘I’m not the guy for this,’ he said quickly.

Rose seemed capable. From what Violet had told him Rose ran her life like clockwork. She never missed a deadline and made sure all those around her never missed one, too. He would only get in the way of someone like that.

Rose was standing in front of him. Her pale blue eyes fixed on his. ‘Oh, yes, you are.’ There was an edge to her voice. A determination he hadn’t heard before.

But he recognised the trait. She was obviously her father’s daughter.

‘Oh, no, I’m not.’

Rose folded her arms across her chest. It was very unfortunate. All it did was emphasise her breasts in her pale yellow sundress. He could hardly tear his eyes away.

‘Will Carter, you are not going to leave me in this mess.’

It felt as if the room were crowding around him. The walls, slowly but surely pushing forward. Sort of the way he normally felt when he knew he had to run from a wedding. None of this was his making. None of this was his responsibility.

‘This isn’t anything to do with me, Rose. It’s bad enough that you cracked me over the head and scarred me for life with some vase. Now, you’re trying to force me to help with your parents’ wedding plans. This is nothing to do with me. Nothing at all. I’m far too busy for this. I’ve got a hundred other things to do to get publicity for my homeless charity. That’s where I need to focus my efforts right now. Not on some celebrity wedding.’ He flicked his hand, and she narrowed her gaze.

She was mad. And not just a little.

‘Don’t you give me any of your crap.’ She poked her finger into his chest. ‘You slunk your way into my bed uninvited. You’ve forced me to be around you for the next twenty-four hours when I should be working. I’m good at my job, Will. I manage my commitments. But this? On top of everything else I’ve got to do? I know nothing about weddings. Nothing. Ask me to design the jewellery—fine. Ask me to do anything else? I don’t have a clue.’ She poked his chest again. ‘Which is where you come in.’

She lifted her chin and gave him a smug smile. ‘You want publicity for your homeless charity? Oh, I can get you publicity. I can get you publicity in ways you might never even have imagined. But it comes at a price.’

Boy, she could look fierce when she wanted to. He wondered whatever happened to any guy that crossed her. He could barely begin to imagine.

‘Weddings give me cold sweats,’ he said quickly.

‘Weddings have you running for the hills,’ she countered.

There was no way she was going to back down. He was beginning to regret virtually blackmailing her into coming back to his house for twenty-four hours. Somehow him doing the blackmailing didn’t seem quite so bad as her doing it back.

That would teach him.

But something happened. Rose seemed to change tack. A smile appeared on her face and she reached over and rubbed his arm. ‘This one won’t require you to break out in a cold sweat, Will. You’re safe. This is someone else’s wedding you’re organising—not your own.’ The smile stayed fixed on her face. He had a sneaking suspicion she was used to getting her own way.

But something was burning away underneath. It didn’t matter that the face was identical to his best friend’s. The personality and actions were totally different. She even smelled different. And her scent was currently winding its way around his senses. Something fruity. Something raspberry.

She flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder and he got another waft. Shampoo. It must be her shampoo. Rose Huntingdon-Cross was a knockout. And he was in danger of being bitten by her quirky charm. Her words had already captured his attention but the image in front of him and that enticing scent were in danger of doing much more.

He tried to focus. He needed PR for the homeless charity, he needed the rest of the world to understand why people ended up that way and help put in place things to prevent it.

‘What exactly do you mean? Forget about the wedding stuff. Tell me about your PR ideas.’

She wagged her finger at him. ‘Oh, no. Not yet. You have to earn the privilege of my PR expertise. You help me, and I’ll help you.’

What mattered more to him? Giving some crazy recommendations for caterers or wedding cars—or raising the profile of the charity he supported? There was no question. Of course he could do this. It couldn’t possibly take that long. Rose looked like the kind of girl who could make a decision quickly. With wedding planning that was half the battle. Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as he thought?

She was biting her lip now, obviously worried he wouldn’t agree. Biting a pink, perfectly formed lip. Perfectly formed for kissing. It was the thing that finally tipped him. Rose looked vulnerable. And he was a sucker for damsels in distress. It had got him into a whole lot of trouble in the past and probably would in the future.

His impulses got the better of him. He reached forward and grabbed her hand. ‘Right, you’ve got a deal. Now, let’s go before your parents appear again and give you something else to do.’

‘You’ll help me? Really?’ He could almost hear her sigh of relief. ‘Fabulous!’ She was practically skipping alongside him as they crossed the room.

What on earth was he getting into?

* * *

Her brain was spinning. The guys from Will’s place had packed up her gear in their van. She’d run after her parents and tried to get them to answer a few basic questions—like a date. But that had been fruitless. Apparently everything was up to her. They just wanted to decide on the guests.

The journey in the car to Will’s place had been brief while she’d scribbled frantic notes in her handy black planner. She didn’t go anywhere without that baby. He’d spent most of his time on the phone talking business. Then they’d turned down a country road that seemed to go on and on for ever.

Then, all of a sudden they were driving alongside a dark blue lake with an island in the middle, all sitting in front of a huge country house. The driver pulled up outside and she turned to him as he pushed his phone back into his pocket.

‘You own a lake? And an island?’ Her jaw was practically bouncing off her knees. Rose had been lucky. She’d had a privileged background. She was used to country mansions and houses costing millions. Seb’s castle had just about topped everything. But this place?