Australia: Wicked Mistresses. Robyn Grady

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ April himself? Or was it more a classic case of “eligible male against marriage” syndrome? Those guys ought to form a club.

      But then her mind scuttled back to his name.

      She’d known a Gabriel once. Of course she hadn’t seen or heard from him in years. Not since the funeral.

      Her stomach double-clutched at the thought of that day and she studied her host’s face again, this time in the wavering firelight. The hawkish nose, the cleft in his shadowed chin, the sharp widow’s peak dead centre of his forehead as he set the poker aside.

      The Gabriel she’d known—Gabe Turner—had been a friend of her brother’s, and they’d made an unlikely pair. While Anthony had been sporty, charming, and much sought after by the girls, Geeky Gabe had sat on the chess squad, had worn his hair parted way over on one side, and had owned glasses with super-thick lenses that darkened when hit by the light. Sadder still, Gabe had been poor … or poor by Petrelle standards.

      One day she’d let Gabe into their house—more like a three-storey mansion—and when he’d taken off his shoes at the front door, the fourteen-year-old Nina had been appalled. A hole in both sets of toes. She’d whispered across, asking whether they could perhaps buy him a new pair, but Gabe had pressed his lips together and, hands clenched, strode off to Anthony’s room.

      She’d only been trying to help, but, thinking back, of course she’d hurt his pride. He’d made a point of avoiding her after that, and heaven knew back then she hadn’t been used to being ignored. Consequently, whenever she’d had the opportunity, she’d pestered him to get a reaction. Any reaction. Give the guy his due, he had never once lashed out.

      “You still haven’t told me your name.”

      The rich timbre of his voice swept her back to the present. He’d moved into the kitchen.

      “I’m Nina,” she said, and as he flicked a faucet to wash his hands she caught the smirk. Her senses sharpened. “Something wrong with my name?”

      “Just the last Nina I knew was as thin as two sticks and went around with a perpetual scowl on her face.”

      An ex? It didn’t sound as if they’d blasted too far off the launching pad. Still, a man with his attributes wouldn’t have pined for long.

      Sauntering back, Gabriel swept the first aid kit off the ledge. Moving past, he took a seat at the foot of the bed and began to sort through bandages and lotions.

      “So, Nina, how do you know the groom? You’re not an old flame here to cause trouble?” He looked up, almost hopeful. “Are you?”

      “We’ve never met.”

      The square angle of his jaw shifted. “You’re not a friend of the bride or the groom, yet you’re attending their wedding?”

      She cleared her throat, formed words in her mind to explain her situation, but those words would not leave her mouth. She wanted to tell him. She needed to. She certainly couldn’t lie about who she was.

      He dabbed a cotton ball with antiseptic, and indicated with a tip of his chin that she should sit too.

      “I’ve got it,” he said. “You’re a wedding planner. One of the experts people hire to make sure everything’s perfect on the day.”

      Smothering a sigh, she shook her head and joined him.

      The line between his brows furrowed again. “You really don’t want me to dig any more, do you?”

      “It’s not that exactly …”

      “Look, if you’re more comfortable sticking with Nina the Mysterious for now, I’ll back off. Privacy can be a huge issue, I know.”

      She opened her mouth to fess up, but something held her back.

      The thing was … she wasn’t sure who she was any more. With each passing day she wondered more. Being here with this delectable man only seemed to confuse the matter. She was a waitress, yet he was treating her like a princess. Once she had been a princess, of sorts, but then her family had lost everything and, not long after, she’d lost her position. Much of her identity had been lost with it.

      The truth was she would rather remain Nina the Mysterious for now. Lately she’d felt so exposed and raw and vulnerable … She wasn’t certain she could stand to peel off one more layer—even to the man who’d saved her life.

      Not that she was embarrassed that she’d taken a waitressing job. She would rather step up any day than lie around fanning herself and hoping for some miracle to materialise and get her out of this jam. If she was embarrassed about anything it was that her performance here could have been better. If she was going to stay—and for now she had to—the other staff were right: she needed to take it up a gear.

      As if agreeing to put an end to the identity discussion, he nodded at her foot. “Let’s fix you up.”

      He first applied antiseptic to the bump on her head, then to her ankle. A large adhesive bandage was fitted, and a crepe one wound around that. When he was done, she ran two fingers over the joint—which didn’t feel nearly as sore as it had.

      “Don’t have much in the way of other provisions.” He pushed on his thighs to stand. “Some bread and spread, if you’re hungry. And I do have a bottle of quite passable red wine.”

      Watching firelight flicker behind his silhouette, shifting ever darkening shapes over the roughly hewn walls, she felt she didn’t need another thing other than that fire’s heat, this blessed mattress, and her host’s not unpleasant company. Despite the sexual awareness bubbling away below the surface—or perhaps because of it—she hadn’t felt this stress-free in ages. Being stranded with a gorgeous man clearly worked for her. Why not go for broke?

      She smiled on a nod. “A glass of wine would be nice.”

      In the kitchen, he opened the bottle of red and dug out a packet of peanuts and filled a ceramic bowl.

      “Here’s a not so interesting fact,” he said sauntering back. “When I was a kid I wanted to run a macadamia nut farm.”

      “Well, I think that’s very interesting.” She accepted a glass and he poured. “I wanted to own a ballet school. What happened to your dream?”

      He hesitated in pouring. “I’m not sure. Maybe I should put it on my ‘to-do’ list.”

      He raised his glass, she raised hers, and they sipped. The wine was mellow, and trailed warmth from her throat to her belly. Repositioning her weight, she leaned back on one elbow and sipped again.

      “So,” he said, getting comfortable beside her, “you dance?”

      She screwed up her nose. “I was awful. I just liked the costumes.”

      Grinning, he grabbed some peanuts from the bowl which he’d set between them. “What else do you like?”

      “You’ll laugh.”

      “All the better.”

      “I like boxing.”

      He СКАЧАТЬ