The Bridesmaid's Secret. Sophie Weston
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of the Regency rake poets. And the air of a man who would say any damned thing he liked.
She was still startled when he said coolly, ‘Are you naturally cynical? Or has somebody hurt you?’
She jumped as if she had driven a splinter under her fingernail. He watched, interested.
‘Still in recovery, are you?’
Bella folded her lips into a thin line to stop them trembling. ‘None of your business.’
‘Don’t worry. You’ll get over it. We all do.’
Suddenly she didn’t want to talk to him any more. No matter how exciting he was on the dance floor, this was altogether too dangerous to her peace of mind.
She drained her cup and looked at her watch.
He sighed. ‘All right. I’m insensitive. Always was. But I’ll be sensitive later, when there’s time. Tonight—’
‘This morning,’ corrected Bella with a wide, false smile. ‘And late. I really need to get home.’
She stood up.
He said, ‘Stay. Just for five minutes.’
But she was not looking at him. Not at the wide dark eyes that could go from melting to mocking with such disconcerting speed. Not at the mobile, expressive mouth. Not at his un-gloved hands.
‘But we still don’t know anything about each other.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she said drily. ‘You’ve taken a few layers of skin off me. How much more do you want?’
She eased out from behind the table and pulled her big shoulder bag in front of her.
‘You don’t know anything about me.’
‘I know as much as I want.’
She held out her hand to him to shake hands and say goodbye. He did not take it.
Instead he got up too and threw some notes down on the table without looking.
‘At least let me get you a cab.’
She shook her head. ‘Not necessary. I only live a couple of blocks. I can walk. If we see a cab, you’d do much better to take it yourself.’
The sensual mouth set in a stubborn line. ‘I’ll walk you.’
She shrugged, indifferent. They went out into the street.
‘You’re not the least bit worried, are you? You think you can handle me,’ he said in an odd voice.
Bella huddled her coat up round her ears. She was only too aware that, underneath it, she was wearing silken straps and a bare midriff.
‘You’re not going to jump on me in the middle of the street. It’s too cold.’
‘Cold is the ultimate passion killer?’
His breath turned to smoke in the icy air. She was conscious of a sudden flicker of that awareness again. Under her chilly flesh there was warmth and it was turning to him.
She said breathlessly, ‘Usually works, yes.’
She was striding out, almost running. To speed up her circulation, she assured herself. Not to get away from the disturbing feeling that if she let him put his arm round her he could keep her safe and warm for ever.
He kept pace with her without effort. She remembered how, in the club, she had had the sensation of extreme fitness. Now it was confirmed. He kept up a steady monologue.
‘I’m thirty-three. No wife. No dependants of any kind. I live in Cambridge—that’s Cambridge, England—but I travel a lot. I don’t like being tied down. And I only do one thing at a time.’
‘What do you do?’ Bella said, in spite of herself.
He seemed to hesitate. But it was so brief that she could not be sure.
‘Research,’ he said vaguely. ‘I’m a sort of boffin.’
She snorted derisively. ‘A boffin with a management consultant on the staff? What do you research into? How to make a million on the Internet?’
He looked annoyed. At least, she was not looking into his face but he felt annoyed. His long legs ate up the paving stones until she had to break into a trot to keep up with him.
‘You’ve got a good memory. I barely mentioned my management consultant.’
She was puffing. ‘I told you I knew something about you.’
‘You told me you knew as much as you wanted to.’ He sounded angry and suspicious. ‘Was that it? Man with a management consultant must be a good bet?’
Bella was furious. ‘What do you think I am, an industrial spy?’ she panted.
He stopped suddenly and swung round on her. ‘Well?’
She stopped too with relief. She had a stitch. Pride prevented her from putting a hand to it. But not all the pride in the world could stop her grateful in-draught of breath.
‘If you remember you were the one who came on to me,’ she pointed out when she could speak. ‘I’ve been trying to get rid of you half the evening.’
They were two doors from the brownstone where she had the top-floor apartment.
‘And now I’m home. So goodnight.’
She offered an ironic handshake. It did not turn out like that. He took her hand and pulled her towards him.
Bella felt her feet skid on the icy pavement. She fell forward into his arms.
In a second that seemed like a lifetime, she saw his eyes widen. Then narrow…focus on her mouth…grow dark with desire…
Bella found that it was not too cold for a kiss. A kiss so passionate that it seemed to light up the sky. A kiss so intimate that it set her blood humming, reminding her that under the coat she was nearly naked. A kiss so new that it left her shaken and silenced when he put her away from him.
It seemed to have shaken him too. He looked down at her, unsmiling.
Under his breath he said, ‘This is crazy.’
‘Yes,’ said Bella, stunned.
He looked at the stone steps to her front door.
‘Let me come up.’
She nearly did. So nearly. And not because she did not want to be alone in the cold blue morning.
But then she looked at that curly rakish mouth and got a grip.
‘Oh, you can’t risk me prising any more of your secrets out of you,’ she said nastily.
And ran away from him, her feet slipping every which way on the icy surface. Bella did not care. She had her key out as she ran up the steps. She did not know if he tried to follow her. But she closed the door and leaned against it with her heart hammering.
‘The sooner he gets on that damned flight of his the better,’ she muttered.
She ran all the way up the stairs to her flat as if he was watching her and it was a point of honour not to stop and look back.
CHAPTER THREE
IT WAS an interesting night.
For weeks, months, every time Bella had closed her eyes, she had seen nothing but her own horrible mistakes. This time there was someone else in her head. Well, he was so insistent, he might as well have been in her head. Everything he’d said echoed.
‘You look like a girl who likes to live on the edge.’
What made him say that? Was it true?
‘We exchanged pheromones.’
‘Oh