On the First Night of Christmas.... Heidi Rice
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He wrapped his hand round her waist, pulled her flush against him. ‘Not true,’ he remarked, his lips only centimetres from hers. ‘We’ve known each other since school.’
‘But you don’t remember me.’
‘Sure I do.’ His warm breath feathered against her cheek. ‘You’re the little voyeur on the stairwell.’
She tensed and drew back. ‘You remember? But how?’
‘I told you, those eyes are very unusual.’ His lips curved, in that same offhand grin that had captivated her over a decade ago. And suddenly, she understood. This wasn’t a seduction. He was making fun of her.
She placed her hands on his chest, stumbled back, the sweet, heady buzz of flirtation and arousal replaced by embarrassment. ‘I should go.’
He caught her elbow as she stepped back. ‘Hey? What’s the rush all of a sudden?’
‘I just … I have to go,’ she mumbled, pulling her arm free.
‘Don’t be ridiculous—your coat isn’t back yet.’
She tugged down the hem of her tunic, feeling hideously exposed.
‘I’ll wait downstairs, in the lobby.’ It would be mortifying in her bare feet, but what could be more mortifying than simpering all over a guy who was secretly laughing at her?
She crossed the living room, holding her head up.
‘Hang on a minute. You’re being absurd. What exactly are you so upset about?’
The frustrated words stopped her dead. She swung round.
He stood by his walnut coffee table, looking like a poster boy for original sin and the humiliation coalesced in her stomach into a hot ball of resentment.
‘I know I’m absurd,’ she said, and watched his brow crease in a puzzled frown. ‘I had a massive crush on you. Which was my own stupid fault. I admit it.’ She walked back and poked him in the chest. ‘But that doesn’t give you the right to make fun of me. Now or then.’
He grasped her finger, the green of his irises darkening to a stormy emerald. ‘I’m not making fun of you. And I didn’t then.’
‘Yes, you did.’ She tugged her finger free, not liking the way his touch had set off those silly shivers again. ‘I heard you and Jenny Kelty laughing at me.’ Not that it mattered now, but it was the principle of the thing. She had gone over that encounter a thousand times in her mind in the months that followed. And felt more and more mortified every time. Why had she stood there like a lemon? Why had she smiled at him? But she could see now, she hadn’t been the only one at fault. They shouldn’t have laughed at her.
‘Who the hell is Jenny Kelty?’ he asked.
‘Unbelievable,’ she said, exasperated. ‘Don’t you remember any of the girls you slept with back then either?’
‘It was a long time ago.’ He shoved his fingers through his hair, the movement jerky and a lot less relaxed than before. ‘And whatever her name was, I didn’t sleep with her. You put a stop to that.’
‘Well, good,’ she said, righteous indignation framing each word. ‘I’m glad I saved Jenny from becoming yet another notch on your bedpost.’
‘You didn’t save Jenny. She saved herself. Once I found out what a cow she was, my interest in her cooled considerably.’
Jenny had been a cow, and every girl foolish enough to cross her had known it, but Cassie was still startled by the vehemence in the statement.
‘So what changed your mind about Jenny?’ She threw the words back at him. ‘Did she refuse to snog you?’
His eyebrows rose another notch at the sarcastic tone. And Cassie felt power surge through her veins as if she had been plugged into a nuclear reactor.
Finally she, Cassie Fitzgerald, was standing up for herself. And not letting her rose-tinted glasses blind her to the truth. She wasn’t dumb little Cassie who had caught her fiancée on the couch with his lover and was too stupid to see it coming. Or naive little Cassie who felt pathetically grateful just because a sexy guy had said her eyes were an unusual colour and that he wanted to kiss her. She was bold, brash, powerful Cassie, prepared to fight for the respect and consideration she deserved.
‘She didn’t refuse to snog me,’ he said easily.
‘I refused to snog her. After she shouted at you and scared the hell out of you.’
‘I—’ The tirade she’d planned cut off. ‘After she what?’
‘I don’t like bullies and I told her so.’ He slung a hand into the pocket of his trousers. ‘She got the hump and stomped off. And I was glad to see the back of her.’
‘But you …’ That couldn’t be right. That wasn’t how she remembered the incident at all. ‘But you were laughing at me, too. I heard you.’ Hadn’t she?
He shrugged. ‘I very much doubt that, as I didn’t find her behaviour remotely funny.’
‘But I thought …’ Cassie trailed off, the power surge deflating inside her like a popped party balloon. ‘I misunderstood.’
He’d stood up for her. The knowledge should have pleased her. But it didn’t. It only made her feel more idiotic.
How come she’d instantly assumed he hadn’t stood up for her? Why had her self-esteem been so low? Even then? And why on earth had she flown off the handle like that about a minor incident that had happened years ago? And meant absolutely nothing?
He probably thought she was a complete nutjob.
She risked a glance at him. But instead of looking concerned at the state of her mental health, he looked amused, that damn sexy grin bringing out the dimple in his cheek.
‘Now we’ve cleared that up,’ he said, ‘why don’t you sit back down and finish your wine?’
Wine was probably the last thing she needed, but doing what he suggested seemed easier than getting into a debate about what a complete twit she’d made of herself.
She perched on the edge of the sofa and lifted the glass to her lips, another even more dismal thought occurring to her. He really had been planning to kiss her. But there was no chance he’d want to kiss her now.
Nice one, Cass.
He picked up his bottle and saluted her. ‘So let’s talk about that massive crush.’
She sucked in a surprised breath at the bold statement, inhaled wine instead of air and choked.
CHAPTER THREE
JACE rose and stepped over the coffee table as his guest coughed and sputtered. Settling beside her, he gave her a hefty pat on the back. ‘Take a breath.’
The coughing stopped as Cassie drew air into her lungs and cast a wary look over her shoulder. She shuddered as he ran his palm up her back, exploring the delicate bumps of her spine beneath the skimpy dress.
Either she was the most fascinating woman he’d ever met or she was totally nuts, but either way she was proving to be one hell of a diversion. And her little temper tantrum had only intrigued him more.
He’d never met anyone before whose every emotion was so plainly written on their face.
He’d been accused of worse things in his time … most of which he had actually done, so, rather than feeling aggrieved at her accusations, he was oddly flattered that moment on the stairwell had mattered to her so much. And quietly astonished to discover at least one incident from his teenage years when he’d actually done the right thing. Given that his schooldays had sped past in a maelstrom of bad behaviour and even worse choices, that was no small feat.
‘The wine went