Wedding Date with Mr Wrong. Nicola Marsh
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Название: Wedding Date with Mr Wrong
Автор: Nicola Marsh
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Контркультура
Серия: Mills & Boon Modern Tempted
isbn: 9781472039378
isbn:
He didn’t hesitate, taking advantage of her compliance by deepening the kiss, sweeping his tongue into her mouth to find hers, challenging her to deny them, confident she wouldn’t.
For what seemed like a glorious eternity they made out like a besotted couple. Then he eased his hand out of her hair, his lips lingering on hers for a bittersweet second before he sat back.
What he saw shocked him more than the rare times he’d been ragdolled by a gnarly wave.
The old Callie was back.
Her brown eyes sparkled, her lush mouth curved smugly at the corners and she glowed.
Hell, he’d wanted to get her to lighten up. He hadn’t counted on the winded feeling now making his lungs seize.
Being wiped out by a killer wave was easier than this.
But in the few seconds it took him to come up with something casual to say Callie closed off. Her glow gave way to a frown and shadows effectively cloaked the sparkle.
‘Happy you sneaked a kiss for old times’ sake? Did you want to prove something?’
He shook his head, still befuddled by the strength of his reaction to a kiss that should have meant nothing.
‘I wanted to make a mockery of your “just work” declaration.’
She quirked an elegant brow. ‘And did you think one little kiss would do that?’
He hadn’t. Been thinking, that was. Like feeling the overwhelming rush he got from riding the perfect set on a huge swell he’d done the spontaneous thing. And now he had to live with the consequences: working alongside Callie for the next seven days while trying to forget how incredible she looked all mussed and vulnerable, and how she tasted—like chocolate and coffee.
‘I guess I’m just annoyed by your attitude and I wanted to rattle you.’
As much as it turned out she still rattled him.
He expected her to bristle, to retreat behind a mask of cool indifference. He didn’t expect her to unravel before his eyes.
‘Hell, are you crying?’
He reached out to hold her, but stopped when she scooted away.
She dashed a hand across her eyes before turning to stare out of the window, her profile stoic and tugging at his heartstrings.
‘It’s not you. I’m just juggling some other stuff, and it’s taking a toll even though I have a handle on it.’
He’d never heard her sound so soft, so vulnerable, and he clamped down on the urge to haul her into his arms. Mixed messages be damned.
‘Anything I can do to help?’
‘Keep being a smartass. That should make me laugh.’
The quiver in her voice had him reaching across, gently cupping her chin and turning her towards him.
‘I can back off if you’re going through stuff. Cut the jokes. No kissing. That kind of thing.’
She managed a watery smile. ‘No kissing’s a given while we work together. The jokes I can handle.’
As she gnawed on her bottom lip realisation slammed into him as if he was pitching over the falls.
She probably had boyfriend troubles.
‘Is it another guy? Because I can kick his ass—’
‘Not a guy.’
Her smile morphed into a grin and it was like surfacing for air after being submerged underwater for too long.
She held a hand over her heart. ‘I promise to lighten up. I’m just...overworked and tired and grumpy in general.’
‘That seventh dwarf had nothing on you,’ he mumbled, eliciting the expected chuckle—the first time he’d heard her sound remotely light-hearted since yesterday. ‘Maybe you should thank me for kissing you. Because you’ve had an epiphany and—’
‘Don’t push your luck,’ she said, tempering her growl with a wink, catapulting him back to Capri, where she’d winked at him in a tiny dinghy the moment before they’d entered the Blue Grotto, warning him to be careful because the cave was renowned for proposals and he might succumb.
She’d been teasing, but it had been the beginning of the end for them: no matter how carefree their fling, he’d wondered if Callie secretly harboured hopes for more.
And Archer had already learnt that the price paid for loving wasn’t one he was willing to pay.
‘Okay, so if kissing’s off the agenda, work it is,’ he said, holding her gaze for several long, loaded moments, daring her to disagree, hoping she would.
‘Just work,’ she echoed, before elbowing him and pointing at the road. ‘If we ever get to Torquay, that is.’
As he reversed out of the sidestreet he knew he should be glad he’d cracked Callie’s brittle, reserved outer shell.
But now he’d seen the woman beneath—the same warm, lush woman who’d almost snared his heart eight years ago—he wondered if he should be glad or scared.
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