A Groom For The Taking: The Wedding Date. Элли Блейк
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barman asked.
‘No thanks, mate,’ he said, his voice ragged. ‘I think I’ve done enough damage for the night.’
‘Very good, sir.’
Bradley hauled his heavy self from the bar stool and walked slowly to the lift. Standing on the very spot where for the sake of that mouth he’d ignored the signs and kissed her anyway.
The lift door opened and he stepped inside. He looked at his feet rather than his reflection in the mirrored doors, not wanting to look himself in the eye as he considered things again.
Hannah liked him. He’d never use that to his advantage. If he did he’d be no better than those who’d hurt him in the pursuit of making their own lives a tad more comfortable.
Even though she kissed like a siren. As if there was a fountain of untapped heat bubbling beneath her small frame. As if she wanted nothing more than for him to be the one to release it.
All he could hope was that by the time he got back to their shared suite Hannah’s room would be dark and quiet. Then he could retire to his own room, strip down, open his bedroom window as wide as it would go and let lashings of bitterly ice-cold air do what will-power and boiling hot coffee could not.
Bradley shut the suite door behind him as quietly as humanly possible. Ears pricked, he couldn’t hear anything beyond the faint swoosh of winter wind gently buffeting the unadorned windows that stretched the entire length of the shared living space.
He shucked off his shoes and lifted a foot to sneak to his room. Then he heard a noise. His whole body clenched and adrenalin kicked his senses into overdrive.
He heard it again. It sounded like the clink of glass on wood. Probably a tree branch scraping against the window. Only one way to be sure.
He padded down the wide steps into the lounge, to find all the lights were off bar a lamp at one end of the modern cream leather fourseater couch. Beneath the lamp a magazine was open and turned face-down. In the far corner of the room embers burned red in the fireplace. It seemed Hannah hadn’t been able to instantly fall into the sleep of the innocent either.
The clink pinged in his ears again and he turned towards the sound. It was coming from the corner of the room in which the spa pool sat, tucked into an alcove with a window overlooking the forest. It was hidden discreetly from view behind a half-wall.
Blood pumping in his ears, Bradley took two more steps. The deep dark blue of a large square dipping pool came slowly into view …
And there she was.
Hannah. Awake. Sitting on the edge of the pool. Top half covered in a loose pale grey sweater. Naked legs dangling into the lapping water. A half-glass of red wine at her fingers. A hot pink cowboy hat sitting incongruously atop her head.
The groan he swallowed down was deep and painful. For she couldn’t have looked any sexier if she’d tried.
He could walk away right now and pretend he’d never seen her. Pretend to who? a strangled voice shouted inside his head. Because sure as you’re a grown man you ain’t ever going to forget it!
Her fingers reached out and played with the stem of the glass, twirling it back and forth. The edge of her top slipped, revealing the creamy skin of one beautiful bare shoulder. Skin he’d tasted less than an hour before. Skin that tasted of honey and heat and such sweetness he couldn’t get it out of his head.
He took a step closer.
She turned her head. He stopped, the toes of his right foot clamping together as he held himself statue-still. But she only looked as far as her glass, her long hair shielding half her face like a curtain of brown silk. She dipped a finger into the glass and brought it to her lips, slowly sucking the red droplet into her mouth.
Something finally alerted her to his presence—probably the fact that his blood was pumping so hard and fast through his body people could hear it three floors down—and she turned with a fright, her hand to her chest.
‘Where did you spring from?’ she asked, breathless.
‘The bar,’ he said, sounding as if he’d swallowed a ream of sandpaper. ‘Had a coffee. They do pretty good coffee. Now I’m back.’
Bradley Knight, the great communicator.
‘What’s the time?’ She glanced at her huge watch, her eyes opening wide as she saw how long had passed since they’d parted.
‘It’s late,’ he agreed. But he didn’t give a hoot. It might as well have been ten in the morning. He felt so alert. So conscious of every sound, every movement, every shift and sway of her nubile half-naked form. ‘What’s with the hat?’
‘The—? Oh.’ Her eyes practically crossed as she looked up. ‘You wanted to know what was in my suitcase? This. And feather boas. A hot pink veil. Dozens of packets of condoms. A box of dried rose petals. A veritable traveling maid-of-honour’s just-in-case bag of tricks.’
She took off the hat, strands of her dark hair catching in the weave. She ran her fingers through the waves till they fell in messy kinks across her shoulders.
His feet moved as though driven by a deeper force.
‘Couldn’t sleep?’ he asked.
She twirled the hat around one finger and caught it before it tipped into the pool. ‘Wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to.’
She shot him a quick glance. Far too quick for him to be able to read it fully. But the fact that she was up, waiting. It would be rude not to join her.
‘Perhaps that’s because we never did get to finish that dance,’ he rumbled, hating himself even as he said it. If he was Catholic he’d be spinning Hail Marys in his head. As it was he was pretty sure he was going straight to hell.
‘Mmm,’ she said. ‘We were rudely interrupted before the big finale.’
‘It did feel like we were building up to … something.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘I was all prepared for a grand Hollywood dip. You?’
Despite the tension swirling about the room, Bradley laughed.
She laughed too, her cheeks pinkening charmingly. She pulled her knees up to her chin. Water glistened down her lean pale gold legs. Toenails painted every colour of the rainbow twinkled in the misty light reflecting back off the water. She had been busy while he was away. And he didn’t blame her. If she felt anything like he did she’d have to climb a mountain to have any chance at burning off the adrenalin rocketing through her system.
Damn, but she was something. Sexy, playful, smart, and completely unpretentious. And in his world—a world peopled by pretenders—that was a truly unique quality. All this from a woman who, somewhere in her room, had dozens of packets of just-in-case condoms. Just sitting there. Going to waste.
She watched out of the corner of her eye as he slowly rolled up the legs of his jeans. She rubbed her chin on her shoulder, her eyes straying over the flecks of hair covering his mountaineer’s calves.
In two steps he was beside her, sinking down onto the cool tiles, his bare feet all but sighing in pleasure as they dipped into the glistening hot water. The temperature came close to matching the heat his body was already radiating now he was sitting within touching distance of that shoulder, that hair, those legs. That mouth.
It was all there for the taking. If only her expectations weren’t too high. Or his too low. If only they could meet somewhere …
‘I have a proposal,’ Bradley said, before he even felt the words coming.
She blinked at him. ‘Do you, now?’
‘I do. And here it is. You’re here another three days. I have nowhere else to be. And this suite is built for all the decadence and debauchery a wild weekend can muster.’
Her chest rose and fell as she breathed