Getting Naughty. Avril Tremayne

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       CHAPTER TWO

      WHAT THE FUCK am I doing? was the thought uppermost in Frankie’s mind as she let those words settle.

      Making an idiot of herself over Teague Hamilton seemed the best answer. It’s what she’d done that whole year in DC—lusting, very obviously, for a man who was hung up on someone else.

      She thought back over that harried phone call from Matt, the to-and-fro about the ring, about Teague, Matt’s slight hesitation before he’d said that last thing and disconnected: You’re a smart girl, Frankie, figure it out, will you?

      Since it was obvious Teague remained hung up on Romy—and damn if she didn’t find that infuriatingly stubborn loyalty as attractive as everything else about him—Frankie wasn’t sure what there was to figure out. Did she want to waste any more time? Because even a normal ménage à trois was overrated, if you asked her; one where the third participant was purely a fantasy in the thick head of one of the active players had to be straight out masochism.

      If only he didn’t look so delicious, standing there all frosty-fronted and buttoned-up.

      If only she wasn’t so sure she could defrost and unbutton him if he gave her a chance!

      If only he’d give her even half a chance...

      He sat again, reached for the whiskey, poured out another nip and wrapped his fingers around the glass without lifting it. She marveled at that magical something he had that could make anything near him transform into something whole and lovely—even that crappy chipped glass.

      Oh, God, she had to have him. Had to try one last time. Maybe if she tamped down the femme fatale, parceled out the offer of sex in digestible chunks, she might not scare him off this time.

      He raised the glass to his mouth at last and took a sip.

      “Better?” she asked, taking her seat again.

      All he did was look at her.

      “Not better,” she said. “Want me to explain?”

      He flicked a vague hand on the tabletop as though he’d reached the end of his stamina, which she interpreted as an invitation to proceed.

      “Remember Kyle?” she asked, starting easy.

      “Big, muscles, tats. Badass.”

      “More asshole than badass,” she said, and sucked in a quick breath. “Well, a year after I came home, he turned up in Sydney, engaged to an Aussie. He clearly has a thing for the accent—not that I’m throwing stones, seeing I’m partial to American ones.” She paused to give him a chance to register that he, himself, had an American accent. But...nope. Blank.

      “A-a-anyway,” she went on, “Laura—the fiancée—understandably wanted to get married here in Sydney, where her family is, and because Kyle really is an asshole, he decided it’d be fun to invite me to the wedding. I was on the verge of sending back a thanks-but-I’m-pairing-my-odd-socks-that-day reply—” she had to pause there, because she needed a moment to rein in the fury that Kyle would dare expect her to turn up, after what he’d done to her “—until a week before the wedding, when he came to King’s Castle, the club where I work, with an entourage of drunks, presumably an early bucks night. At that point, I figured I’d go to his goddamn wedding and take the hottest date I could get.”

      “And you chose Matt.”

      “Well, not exact—”

      “Because Kyle was always jealous of him,” Teague interrupted, pouring himself more whiskey. “I remember Matt and Romy talking about it.”

      “As I was about to say, not exactly.”

      He frowned at her. “But they told me—”

      “Yes, they flew in for the wedding, but Kyle wasn’t jealous of Matt!” Frankie said, watching to see if he noticed the slight emphasis—but he obviously still didn’t have a clue, so she swallowed a sigh and continued. “And I wasn’t intending Matt to be my date. It’s just that I mentioned the wedding in passing on the phone, and he wanted the job because, well, why not? Which tends to be the way Matt and I operate. Why not?” She laughed, because looking back, it was insane. “By the time he and Romy landed, he’d upped the drama quotient and decided we needed to be fake-engaged. Romy, however, insisted Kyle wouldn’t buy a relationship between me and Matt because we had too much of a brother-sister vibe. Go figure, huh?” Pause. “Brother-sister? Because we’re so much alike? And people who are too much alike...?” Pause. Surely he knew what she was saying? Surely he could work out she was alluding to him and Romy? Mr. and Ms. Perfect—a doomed combination, ’cause everyone knew opposites attracted. Bu-u-ut, nope. Not even a blink. “So I guess I’ll cut to the chase. Fact is, Romy said if we wanted to mess with Kyle’s head, you’d make a better fiancé.” Another pause, to see if that sank in.

      But all she got was a confused question. “Why would that mess with his head?”

      “Huh?”

      “I’ve never spoken to him.”

      Dear God, men could be obtuse! “No, you’ve never spoken to him, but he saw you at Flick’s. He saw you...and me...? Watched me serve you...?”

      He was shaking his head, still not getting it. Seriously, did lawyers not need to be smart?

      “What possible reason could you give for you living here and me in the States?” he asked, missing every damn point.

      “That we were still deciding where we’d ultimately settle—here or in New York.”

      “I’d never live apart from my fiancée.”

      “No, you wouldn’t, would you, Mr. Perfect? But Kyle bought it—probably because he’s Mr. Asshole!” she said. “And let’s face it, everyone back in those DC days knew your family was rusted onto the Upper East Side and you’d be rusting on right along with them in due course. Plus I’d made it crystal clear to Kyle during our ill-fated, СКАЧАТЬ