Shirley Valentine Goes to Vegas. Michelle Betham

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ of his skinny black jeans as he followed me further into the room. ‘You seem to have been everywhere else on the planet.’

      ‘He was never that keen,’ I said, still trying to take in everything that was going on around me. ‘And when you’re married you tend to compromise on things like holidays. Not that you’d know anything about that.’ I threw my brother a half-smile.He just pulled a face.

      ‘Why would I want to get married, huh? And disappoint the female population of the north-east of England?’

      ‘Yeah. You keep telling yourself that.’

      He winked at me. I just rolled my eyes. ‘Anyway, sis, if you’re talking compromise, then surely he could’ve suffered Vegas for a couple of days? For you?’

      ‘Not seeing Vegas was a sacrifice I was willing to make, Finn. Because Adam and me, we visited so many other amazing places together. Just, not this amazing place.’ I let my mind briefly jump back in time, to those holidays Adam and I had shared, before things had started to go stale. Stagnate. Before we’d started to drift apart, and a little piece of me felt sad that we hadn’t been able to cling onto those times, because we’d been so happy. Once.

      ‘Why did you marry him, Lana?’

      I turned to face my brother, cocking my head and frowning slightly. That was a question I hadn’t been expecting. ‘I loved him, Finn. And things weren’t always as bad as they ended up being.’

      ‘I never really took to him,’ Finn sniffed, sliding his arm across my shoulders as we ventured further into the room. ‘I mean, he’s like Mister Straight-Laced businessman, all clean-shaven and well-spoken. And then there’s you.’

      I stood still, folding my arms and fixing Finn with a look that almost dared him to say something he might regret. But I couldn’t help smiling, so the stern edge had been slightly lost there. And what he was saying was largely true anyway – Adam was a bit straight-laced, always smartly dressed, and always clean-shaven, even at weekends. And his accent was a touch milder than mine, with him hailing from rural Northumberland rather than the heart of Newcastle. But it wasn’t like he’d been brought up in Downtown bloody Abbey.

      ‘Then there’s you…’ Finn carried on, grinning just a touch too widely for my liking, ‘… with your black-dipped blonde hair and all those tattoos.’

      I didn’t say anything to that, my gaze suddenly dropping to the floor.

      Finn tilted my chin up so I was looking at him. ‘What’s wrong?’

      ‘The divorce. It came through, just before we flew out here.’

      Finn ran a hand through his hair, throwing his head back and sighing heavily. ‘Jesus, Lana, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’

      I shrugged. ‘I didn’t really want to talk about it. Anyway, it’s over now. Time to put it completely behind me, once and for all.’ I slipped my hand into his, smiling again as I stood up on tiptoes to kiss him quickly. ‘And anyway, before I started hanging out with you I was Miss Ordinary, remember? This hair and these tattoos, they were non-existent until my marriage started to break down. Until I finally threw off those shackles of normality and joined the freak show that is your world.’

      He smiled at me, slipping his arm back around my shoulders and squeezing them tight. ‘Yeah. And now there’s no escaping the dark side.’

      ‘I quite like the dark side.’ I hugged his waist, leaning in against him as we walked. ‘Daylight scares me.’

      ‘Weirdo.’

      ‘I learned from the best.’

      ‘Yeah. And don’t ever forget that. Come on.’ He took my hand, pulling me towards a stand that was manned by one of his heroes – a legendary Vegas-based tattoo artist from whom Finn had gained a lot of inspiration due to his edgy designs and use of colour. Finn’s tattoo studio back home had a bit of a reputation for cutting-edge ink itself, and it was something he prided himself on, which was why so many people made that special journey to be “inked” by Finn Black and why I was so excited to be serving my apprenticeship under him. He was an incredible teacher. An amazing tattooist. The best brother I could have asked for, at a time when I really needed one.

      ‘Do they do drinks in here?’ I gasped, out of breath at trying to keep up with Finn’s brisk pace.

      ‘And she’s back.’ Finn pulled a few dollars from the back pocket of his jeans. ‘The bar’s just out there. Get me a beer, will you?’

      ‘What did your last slave die of?’

      He threw me a wink. ‘I don’t have slaves, kiddo. I have willing participants.’

      I couldn’t help smiling at him, rolling my eyes again before I turned and made my way across the crowded space in search of the bar. Catching sight of it, I pushed my way through the maze of people, almost throwing myself against the counter with relief as I ordered a couple of beers.

      ‘That’s not a local accent.’

      I heard the voice coming from right beside me, but I didn’t know whether that comment had been aimed at me or not, so I kept my attention focused on the barman, watching as he flipped the lids off the beer, setting the bottles down on the counter in front of me.

      ‘Newcastle-upon-Tyne, north-east England. Am I right?’

      I paid for the drinks and slowly turned to face the person to whom the voice belonged. And that’s when the same strange feeling I’d experienced last night as I’d left the bar hit me again, causing my breath to catch in my throat. I was rendered speechless for a second or two, which was quite unlike me. But I just couldn’t take my eyes off the man standing beside me. And I wasn’t entirely sure how I could describe him, because he wasn’t exactly handsome in the conventional sense of the word – he was no clean-shaven pretty boy, that’s for sure. Quite the opposite. But he was attractive on a whole other level. A sexy-as-hell, rough-edged kind of way. He had the most beautiful, dark, almost black, eyes. I knew that much. Eyes that seemed to verge on dangerous, which for some reason just made him even hotter. His hair was a dark brown, but greying slightly at the roots, so that gave me some indication as to his age, as did the colour of his goatee beard and moustache – a lighter brown streaked with grey. I was guessing mid- to late-forties. But he looked good on it. He looked really good. And he was tall. That was always a bonus. Then I suddenly realised I was quite obviously staring and immediately looked down at the ground, feeling a touch embarrassed. I didn’t normally do that kind of thing. Ever. I’d just had the weirdest feeling that I’d seen him somewhere before. But, surely, if I had, I’d have remembered him?

      Swallowing down my surprise – and my slight embarrassment – I slowly raised my gaze, giving him what I hoped was a friendly smile. ‘You’re right.’ I was managing to keep my voice quite steady, considering. ‘And, if I’m not mistaken, that’s not a local accent, either. Scottish, huh?’

      He returned my smile; a rather nice smile, actually. No, make that a really nice smile. ‘Glasgow. Place called Newbank, just north of the Clyde.’

      ‘Okay… Well, it’s good to meet another Brit.’

      ‘Aye. It certainly is.’ Those dark eyes were fixed on mine, making it hard for me to look away, but I did so only briefly, taking in his battered jeans, СКАЧАТЬ