Penny Jordan's Crighton Family Series. PENNY JORDAN
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dance with you now, David,’ she told him huskily. ‘The caterers—’
‘Of course you can,’ he told her. ‘The caterers can wait, but I can’t. Mmm … you feel good,’ he murmured as he turned her into his arms and began to dance.
Helplessly Jenny realised that David wasn’t going to let her go and that it would cause less fuss to give in and dance with him than to go on protesting.
Unlike Jon, David had always been a good dancer, a natural dancer, and her face grew hot in the darkness of the subtly lit dance floor as she remembered what was said about men who were naturally good dancers. Too good, she decided shakily as he ignored her efforts to keep a respectable distance between them and pulled her closer to him.
‘What’s wrong?’ he whispered against her hair. ‘You used to enjoy dancing with me like this once.’
Jon was standing on the opposite side of the dance floor talking to Ruth. He didn’t appear to have seen them.
‘You look wonderful tonight,’ David told her softly, his hands sliding up to caress her back. ‘You look wonderful, you feel wonderful … you are wonderful, Jenny, and I wish to hell I’d never been stupid enough to let you go.’
‘David …’ Jenny protested, finding her voice at last.
‘David what?’ he demanded roughly.
His breath smelt faintly of drink, which must surely be why he was talking to her like this, Jenny decided.
‘How many years is it since we last danced together like this, since we last held each other like this?’ he asked her.
Jon had seen them now, and out of the corner of her eye Jenny could see him frowning slightly as he watched them. Max had seen them, as well, and there was no mistaking the expression in his eyes as he glowered at David’s dinner-suited back.
‘Do you know what I’d like to do right now?’ David was murmuring to her. ‘I’d like to—’
‘David, we really ought to get back to the table.’ Jenny almost gabbled the words in her haste to bring the situation back to normality. ‘There are still the speeches and the toasts.’
‘And the congratulations and the kisses,’ David agreed, turning his head to look right into her eyes. ‘You haven’t kissed me yet, Jenny.’
‘Yes, I have,’ she corrected him. ‘I kissed you earlier when you arrived.’
‘No, you didn’t,’ David denied. ‘You gave me a dutiful, sisterly peck on the cheek, yes, but you didn’t kiss me. I can still remember the first time you kissed me, Jenny. You tasted of blackberries and fresh air….’
‘David …’ Jenny protested. ‘Stop it.’
‘You tasted of blackberries and fresh air,’ he repeated, ignoring her, ‘and it was the most delicious kiss I’ve ever had. You were the most delicious …’
To Jenny’s relief the band stopped playing.
‘We must go back to the table,’ she told David firmly. Her heart was beating far too fast and her face was far, far too flushed. She felt … she felt …
The last thing, the very last thing she needed tonight was to be reminded of how she had once felt about David or how … When he finally let her go with obvious reluctance, Jenny made her way quickly back to their table, but she knew that the damage had already been done.
‘I can still remember the first time you kissed me,’ David had told her. Well, so could she, although her memories of it were, she suspected, different from his.
It was true that she had been picking blackberries and no doubt her hands and her mouth had been stained with their juice, but it had been David and not she who had instigated the kiss, David who had teased and challenged her by guessing that she had still not been properly kissed, demanding, when she denied it, that she prove it to him by showing him just how expert and experienced she actually was.
She had put down her basket of blackberries and walked slowly towards him, her head held high, her pride refusing to allow her to back down and inwardly feeling more terrified than she had ever felt in her whole life.
From before the previous Christmas the other girls in her class had been boasting about their new-found skills in the art of snogging and whilst she had smiled and pretended not to care that she was excluded from this new game, in private she had secretly studied every kiss she’d seen in films, endlessly wondering and worrying how she would fare when a boy finally kissed her. And now that that day had come it wasn’t just any boy; it was him … David Crighton.
Screwing up her courage as tightly as she had already screwed up her eyes, she pursed her lips and made a despairing dart in David’s direction and then stopped, her face burning with humiliation as her lips made contact only with thin air.
Opening her eyes she saw that David had moved to one side and was watching her in amusement, his mouth curled into a wide smile.
‘You really haven’t a clue, have you?’ he had told her, shaking his head.
‘Yes, I have,’ Jenny had fibbed.
‘Liar,’ he had chided her softly, adding with a smile, ‘It doesn’t matter, though. In fact, I rather like the idea of being the one to teach you.’
‘I don’t need anyone to teach me anything,’ Jenny had stormed at him.
‘No?’
She had turned round, intending to retrieve her basket and walk away, only David moved faster, planting himself between her and the blackberries, walking towards her slowly as she backed away from him until she could back away no longer. He had, she discovered, trapped her very neatly between his body and the stone wall behind her.
What happened then was, of course, inevitable. He had kissed her tightly closed lips once briefly and then a second time less briefly and then … and then he had bent down and picked up a handful of blackberries from the basket, popping one into his own mouth before offering one to her.
Naïvely she had opened her mouth for it—and for him. The fate of the rest of the blackberries he had removed from the basket was something that left her trembling and weak-kneed for weeks afterwards every time she thought about it, although the sensual intimacy of it was spoiled for ever for her when illuminatingly she later overheard another girl describing David’s favourite trick of passing sweets from his own mouth to a girl’s.
She had ended up with her mouth ripely stained by blackberries, a fact that gained her a scolding from her mother for eating the fruit she had wanted for a pie but that thankfully, at the same time, helped to disguise her tell-tale swollen lips.
Odd, but she never ate blackberries these days, blaming her aversion on the seeds.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Jon shifting uncomfortably in his seat; the toasts were about to begin. Apart from that one small hiccup when David had insisted on dancing with her, everything had gone perfectly and according to plan. Even Ben had praised the food and Jenny had lost count of the number of guests who had come up to her and praised the décor of the marquee and in particular the richness of Ruth’s floral arrangements as well as doing a very gratifying double take as they noted her own appearance.
The quartet engaged to play through the meal had been an excellent if expensive idea and the cream backdrop had provided exactly the right touch of quiet elegance for the women’s gowns and the men’s dinner jackets. Even the younger members of the family had behaved impeccably. So why did she have this dull, heavy feeling, of emptiness almost, of … disappointment …?
David was getting to his feet whilst the eagle eye of the catering manager checked that everyone had a full glass of champagne; Jenny could see the look of pride and love in Ben’s eyes as he watched his heir, his most loved son; and she knew without having to check that the same look would be mirrored in Jon’s eyes. The feeling of heaviness intensified.
David