Читать книгу Serpent Sting - Toni Grant - Страница 15

CHAPTER 8

“So, have you seen enough of yourself yet?” Johnno ribbed his brother as they watched the fourth news bulletin of the impressive ceremony in the comfort of the hotel apartment.

Each time, the report began with the lone piper, followed by the recipients and the lengthy speech that depicted the heroics of Captain Sinclair McCrae. He stood at attention, received his award and posed for the photographs.

Johnno knew Sinclair’s obsession with the coverage had more to do with Francesca than himself. He poured another scotch, sat back in the chair and waited. After each broadcast, Sinclair turned to his brother and thanked him for the role he’d played.

At last, he decided he’d seen enough and, resting his feet out in front, he helped himself to a drink. That’s the worst part of the day done and dusted, Sinclair thought. Now, we just need to get through the evening’s fundraiser. He flexed tight shoulders.

“So,” he asked Johnno, “what do you and Ruthie have planned for the kids tonight? Thanks for looking after them, by the way.”

“I have no idea. That’s Ruthie’s department. But I do remember her mentioning pizza and a movie. By the way Bella is curled up beside you, I’d say she’s ready for bed.”

Sinclair absently stroked at her hair. Free from its ties, it framed her cherub face. The little girl let out a deep sigh as her eyelids closed, thick eyelashes resting on her pink cheeks.

A delicious scent wafted from the main bedroom. Sinclair guessed Francesca was about ready to go. As if on cue, she entered the lounge room, smiling at the backs of the two men bookending the lounge.

How she’d not immediately guessed that they were brothers at Wild Dog Creek, baffled her completely. In her defence, there were some significant differences.

Johnno with brassy red hair and freckles boasted an extroverted, loud personality. Sinclair, on the other hand, was taller, his hair more a strawberry blonde and his skin tanned from camping for months. Unlike Johnno, his confidence and ability showed in a mild-mannered quietness.

From the back, they had the same head shape. And ears. She chuckled internally. And their hair at the crown grew exactly the same way!

Simultaneously, the boys turned to face her. Johnno exhaled a low, long whistle of appreciation at her appearance.

“Wow! You scrub up all right,” he commented.

“Thanks Johnno. You always know how to make a girl feel special!”

Francesca turned to face Sinclair, who was mute and blushed as every word he wanted to say was written in his molten chocolate eyes. A fissure of emotion trembled through her as she met the intensity with a shy glance.

Sinclair stood, gently displacing Rosabella who stirred just enough to murmur, “You look beautiful mummy,” before dozing off to sleep again. He reached for his coat, shrugging his massive shoulders into the well-fitting tuxedo.

“Goodnight Archie,” Sinclair called to his son. “Have fun. Remember your manners.”

“Good night,” he called distractedly, resuming his important conversation with Ruthie about which pizza they should order and which movie they should watch.

“Obviously, as you can see, our children are devastated to see us going out without them. I hope you can settle them down, Johnno,” Francesca said wryly as she wrapped her hand in Sinclair’s and led him slowly to the door. “Don’t wait up,” she added winking at Johnno.

The seductive sway of her hips enhanced the black floor-length jersey dress. Clasped at the breast by a jewel-encrusted clip and again above the right hip, it smoothed over her full breasts and lean hips. As she stepped forward, a split to mid-thigh revealed long shapely legs. Tonight, she let her hair long, falling in carefree curls at the ends. In her ears, sparkling strands of diamonds.

They’d reached the lift before Sinclair finally spoke.

“Francesca, my god.” He lifted her chin to him and kissed her as the lift came and went. “You are beautiful. I’m so in love with you. Let’s skip this thing. Just spend the night together.”

He nuzzled into her neck, his hands burning hot through the fabric, branding her hips with his fingerprints.

Francesca smiled shyly. When he looked at her that way and spoke in that particular emotional drawl she became quite self-conscious.

“As tempting as that sounds,” she responded coyly, “there are important people waiting for you,” she added, impishly strolling into the open door of the lift and facing him. Her eyebrow raised in a flirt. “Having said that, I’m open to suggestions.”