The Right Side of Mr Wrong (11 page)

He gave a dismissive snort, swiped a forearm across his mouth, and slammed his can down the work surface.

‘About before … ’ His brows closed pensively.

She braced herself. She’d been cursing herself for agreeing to go to the ballroom. She didn’t want to hear anything to make her feel more guilty. ‘I’m not expecting an explanation.’

‘It’s better that you know.’ He ruffled his fingers through the spikes of his hair, looked down so she could only see the dark rim of his lashes. ‘It was difficult for me, because the party we saw back there – my best friend left and was killed in a car crash as he drove home.’

‘Oh, shit … ’ Her voice faded.

The muscle in his cheek wavered, but his voice was low, steady, almost without emotion. ‘We were in the band together, that was the last gig we played. The ballroom’s been closed up ever since – it’s fourteen years now.’

Her stomach plummeted to her knees. She opened her mouth to speak and shut it. She tried again.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause problems. This is all my fault.’

‘No, you mustn’t think that.’ His voice, low and reassuring, reverberated through her.

He was making her feel better. Just like when Greg died, she’d often been the one who ended up comforting other people. Her mind flashed back to Brando’s outbursts. As if his home troubles weren’t enough, he’d also lost his best friend. No wonder he was angry.

Oh lordy. Brando and Greg in the same mind space was enough to make her head implode. Except they were from different worlds and different times There was
no
crossover. And if she held on to that thought very tightly she might just keep her sanity.

‘That’s why you run isn’t it?’ She turned on him with the sudden realisation, biting back an unexpected rush of affection.

‘Partly, maybe. There are lots of reasons why I run.’ He shifted, shrugging uneasily under this unexpected scrutiny. ‘I didn’t intend to tell you about Nick.’

‘It’s hard to know what to say to help. When things are bad, sometimes nothing seems right.’ She shook her head, remembered how trite everyone’s comments had sounded after Greg. She resisted the immediate urge to go over and put her hand on Brando’s arm. Couldn’t trust herself to go so close. A sympathetic smile would have to do. ‘Thank you for telling me. It’s not always good to run away. Sometimes it’s better to face things.’

He bit his lip, studied her through narrowing eyes. ‘I could say the same to you.’

A swell of panic choked her as his pointed words sank in. She listened to the dead thump of her heart. Surely he couldn’t know about Greg, think she was running away from that? Swallowing deeply she screwed up all the cool she could muster. ‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning you were about to run away earlier this evening. You were at the door with your suitcase, running away from unfinished business.’

Phew. Was that all? Off the hook. One huge sigh. ‘But I’m still here aren’t I?’

‘Here, but still dodging the issue. Refusing to acknowledge the attraction between us. And that, in my book, is the same as not facing things. Isn’t it?’

Off one hook and onto another. Talk about difficult. ‘You may have me there.’

‘So what to do with the heat then, Shea-rhymes-with-running-away? The fire isn’t out yet for either of us, and we both know it. And as you
so
rightly say, we shouldn’t run away.’ He was screwing her down here, his cheekbones all sculpted in the shadows, his face made even more beautiful than usual by the stress, if that was even possible.

‘That isn’t what I meant, and you know it.’ She gritted her teeth, determined to resist him.

‘You don’t need to worry. I can guarantee heat this fierce won’t last, and it seems a damn shame to waste it. We’ll have burned out by Monday, if not before, and then we can walk away. And walking away is a whole lot different from running away.’ The dark pools of his eyes, fixed on her face, and turned the base of her stomach molten.

‘One night was questionably bad judgement. Another would be too much complication.’ Those controlled, measured words sounded as if someone else had spoken them. Obviously her sane self was still in charge of the talking. She needed to get out of here before lust took over.

‘Rubbish!’ He let out a derisory laugh. ‘Mr and Mrs McCaul are off to London for the weekend, we’ve a whole stately home to ourselves. If you don’t do it, you’re running away and being a hypocrite. If you do, you’ll have a great time and afterwards you get to walk away, integrity intact. So what do you say? From where I’m standing it’s a no-brainer.’

She tried to peel her gaze away from those delectable lips of his. That had to be the sexiest mouth ever …  she shuddered to think how she ached to have it moving, all over her body. Stamp that out. Thoughts like that were way too dangerous.

‘I say you shouldn’t play with fire, Brando.’

How had this unbelievable guy moved from dead friends to sex in one breath? Brash didn’t come close. She felt ashamed that she was even tempted.

She gave a firm, proud nod to indicate that was the end of it, and marched towards the door.

‘Please.’

She stopped, came to a silent halt as she heard his low, grating rasp.

‘Sorry?’ She twisted to glance at him, and caught him, slumped now against the work surface, transformed from a moment ago. Deflated, bereft. He shifted, lifted his eyes to meet hers, and now she was looking into the eyes of that same, hurt boy she’d seen before. Except this time his eyes, were empty and imploring.

‘Please …  Shea.’ Barely a whisper as he walked towards her with slow, weary paces. He grasped her shoulders, spun her gently. Cupping her face in his hands, he pushed his thumbs along her jaw. ‘Don’t run.’

She shivered as he brushed his lips lightly across her mouth, her eyes, her forehead. Then, as he buried his head deep into the crook of her neck, she dragged her fingers through his hair, felt his chest tremble first, then shudder against her body. He snatched his breath as she wound her arms around him, burying her fingers in the heaving muscles of his back to hold him firmly. She held him for as long as it took for that powerful, wracking body to still, all the time aching for that desperate, hurting boy.

It was much later when he lifted his head, ground his wet, stubble-rough cheek against hers, rubbed the salty residue on his skin against her lips. Then a moment later she tasted the sweet warmth of his tongue as he slid into a deep, slow, juddering kiss that seemed to drink everything she had to give and more.

* * *

‘So, remind me again why you’re here Shea?’

He propped himself up on the pillows after a relaxing lunch of champagne and strawberries, and regarded her lazily, ignoring the tiny needle of disquiet which was pricking his euphoria.

It was just that in his book, sex had always been purely for pleasure. He was totally unfamiliar with the concept of sex to make you feel better, but somehow this time sex had done the trick, and there had certainly been a lot of it. Shea was deliciously responsive, and she worked him up like nothing he’d known before, sent him to places he’d never dreamed were possible. Pretty mind-blowing for a guy who thought he’d done it all – hot and turned on didn’t begin to cover it. It bothered him slightly that he still hadn’t persuaded her to strip off completely, but then who gave a damn about a thong here, or a stocking there anyway. Off-the-scale ecstasy, non-stop since last night was all good to him.

‘You know why I’m here.’ She stretched languidly, shook her fingers through her curls, which simply messed them more, making her look sexier than ever. ‘I sent off a postcard, I’m supposed to be trying out for the position of wife. We both know I’m not going to get the job because I’m way too bossy, not to mention busy, and you don’t want a wife anyway.’

‘Too damn right I don’t.’

He couldn’t remember a time when a woman had ever comforted him, made him feel better, and although he was enjoying the benefit, he wasn’t entirely at ease with it. And it was increasingly troubling to him that this woman seemed so far from the grasping user he had originally perceived her to be. Stretching out his hand, he ran his thumb down her cheek, to assuage the guilty squeeze in his stomach which thought brought on. One innocent touch, and he registered an immediate buck in his pants; Shea’s dynamite effect on his libido, again. ‘You still haven’t answered my question?’

‘I wouldn’t be here at all if my client hadn’t cancelled – I should have been doing a full home organise for a football coach who took a last minute transfer. I was about to book a holiday when Bryony persuaded me to come here.’

He tried not to acknowledge how the thought of her in some other guy’s house made him feel uncomfortable.

‘Bryony can be very persuasive.’ He knew that to his cost. She was the only person who could wrap him around her little finger, but then that was what little sisters did. He tried not to think about how Shea seemed to have the same ability to make him do what
she
wanted.

‘She offered to pay me full salary if I came. I couldn’t turn her down.’

‘And who’s paying that then?’ He felt his jaw drop as he anticipated the answer.

‘I’d guess you are, if the paperwork was anything to go by.’

He rolled his eyes and gave a grimace which immediately transformed to a grin.

‘Jeez – one more living example of Bryony’s incredible powers of persuasion.’

So Shea
had
come because of a financial incentive after all. Did that make her more of a gold-digger or not? She wrinkled her nose at him, kicking his erection up a notch.

‘I’m sorry, I assumed you knew. Maybe I should’ve gone to that beach in Bali. If I’d known I was going to have to hang out with a bad tempered sex-fiend like you, I might have thought twice.’ She was laughing at him now. ‘You have way too many issues to be a husband, you know.’

‘And who the hell are you to judge that?’ His indignation was a cover. He knew when he was with her he spilled his secrets without thinking. Somehow she had the ability to see right into his soul with her eyes closed. He hoped the directness of his question would make her back off.

‘I know from experience. Don’t forget I’ve worked for a lot of guys like you, I can read the signs.’ She shot him a knowing smile that made his chest catch, and turned his hard-on to rock. ‘Maybe if you dealt with your issues you’d be happier in the long term.’

‘Did you just call me a sex-addict?’

‘Now you’re changing the subject!’

‘Admit it, you’re as addicted as me!’ Maybe he was changing the subject, but then this was becoming an issue for him. When exactly was the heat going to go? Right now it was not only getting hotter, it was also getting more .… 

‘I so am not!’

He let his eyes slide down to her skimpy top, leaned over, pushed his thumb over one tantalisingly erect nipple, as he tumbled on top of her, and brought his mouth down on hers. As he skidded headlong towards yet another bout of glorious oblivion he knew there was something different, he couldn’t quite define. Whatever, he was about to have the chance to test it out again.

And he still didn’t have a clue about her motives.

‘That was your mother on the phone. I told her you’re tied up until Friday with work, and she can speak to me in the meantime if she wants. And Bryony rang to say definitely hold off on the ballroom and she’ll send a guy on Tuesday to film a ‘before’ shot.’

Brando looked on as Shea rolled over on her pillow, rubbed her eyes sleepily and groaned. He loved the way she was when she woke. An incredibly sexy, rumpled face, hair like a rioting haystack, one foot sticking out of the pile of bedcovers, ready for … 

‘Not too early for breakfast I hope?’ He put his dirtiest thoughts on hold, resting the tray of coffee and croissants on the bedside table. ‘I like you sleepy, that way you’re less likely to boss me around.’

She sat up, stuck out her tongue, and lobbed a pillow in his direction. ‘Have you been running already?’

‘Yep.’ He ducked, grabbed the pillow to shield the tower of his erection which was making an escape bid through the fly in his lounge pants, and watched her eyebrows rise in query, as he reached for the cafetière. ‘Just for half an hour though.’

He’d hardly felt the need to run, but he’d gone anyway. Another morning when he’d woken up beside her, in bed. Another night when he’d slept – in between bouts of sex of course. There’d been plenty of those, and still no sign, as yet, of the heat abating, or the anticipated dwindling of interest. In fact the more he had of her, the more he wanted. He ignored the tick in his jaw which the thought brought on and adjusted the pillow again.

‘You shouldn’t do that to my mum!’

That whine of complaint may be just what he needed to kickstart the disinterest.

‘Although maybe it’s best I don’t have to cover up what’s going on here. She only rings because she cares.’

He snorted. ‘There’s a fine line between caring and suffocation! Your mother needs to grow up, and give you your independence. You need to train her to see you as an adult.’

She opened her mouth to retort, but then thought better of it. Funnily, he often had the impression she was biting her tongue, holding back, guarding her comments. Not that it mattered. In depth conversation was the last thing they were here for.

‘I’ll make you a deal … ’

‘Go on then.’

What was it with her and deals? The fact that she was starting to seem predictable was another good sign. Okay, it meant she’d been round a while, but it also meant he
had
to be closer to the end.

‘I agree not to talk to my mum until Friday, if you ring yours.’

He dragged in a breath. If she only knew. Half an idea of the acrimony between himself and his mother, and she’d steer well clear. ‘But we haven’t spoken for years!’

‘My point exactly.’ She sat up, inadvertently exposing enough luscious cleavage to make him catch his breath. Hell, he almost flipped the pillow out of the window! She sent him a triumphant smirk, with an underlying grimace of determination. ‘Mothers never stop caring you know.’

That burst of an erection proving that his thoughts were anywhere but with mothers.

‘I didn’t think you were awake enough to order people around.’

She smiled at him ruefully. One raspberry pout, pushing him, demanding.

‘I’m always ready to order people round! Even if I’m asleep. You should know that by now.’

Damn. Another reminder of just how long this situation had been going on. He was going to have to work way harder to bring this particular fire under control, and extinguish it once and for all. He slapped the cafetière back on the tray, made a lunge for her ankle, and hauled her towards him, ignoring her indignant squawk of protest.

Too bad. Breakfast was going to have to wait.

* * *

Shea hurried the length of the ballroom clutching her clipboard. As Brando wandered back in, she grinned at him, hitching up the oversized sweatshirt he’d lent her, and fingered a pile of CDs on the table. Weird how her chest tightened every time she set eyes on him. Still breathless in the face of the rugged hunk meets brooding pin-up looks – guilty as charged.

‘We’ve made great progress since the film guy did the “before” shots. Your staff have done a wonderful job clearing up. It’s such a lovely room now it’s clearer, those tall French windows down both sides make it almost transparent.’

‘It certainly had its share of partying back in the day.’ He gave a rueful shrug. ‘The band hung out here pretty much all the time for two years, when we weren’t touring. I only moved to London after the accident.’

‘Talking of which, shouldn’t you be going back to work?’

He snorted and looked aggrieved. ‘This
is
work, or don’t you count collecting ten bin bags of empties as working? And you’re the one who said I should stay in the ballroom and face my demons. I hope you think this is doing me good, because my back is killing me.’

‘Your aching back is down to overwork in another area entirely, and you know it.’ She rubbed a sympathetic hand down his spine, trying to forget how easily she touched him now and how the feel of his taut muscles through his t-shirt sent prickles of desire zithering through her, even though it was barely four hours since she’d last had him. ‘I’m not talking about here, I meant in London.’

Today was Wednesday. And something about Wednesday had set her alarm bells ringing. If it was Wednesday, what the hell was she still doing in Brando’s house?

‘They’re managing fine without me. I have a very good team in place back there, and it’s high time I gave them a break from the big bad boss.’

Not what she wanted to hear.

She should never have allowed herself to come back for seconds, because every day she became more used to him, and more used to being here. And this morning she had woken up with the strangest realisation – she was happy. How long had it been since she felt that? She’d given in to the feeling and was trying to ignore that it made her feel guilty as hell. But how hard was it going to be when this was over?

She watched his profile as he idly flipped through the CDs, spreading them across the table. Insane. No-one had a right to have a jaw-line that beautiful. As for lower down …  She sighed, as her eyes wandered lower, catching on the delicious thrusting curve of his fly, and her knees turned to jelly, dammit. Her own fault; she should know better by now.

‘Here you go!’ His tone was almost triumphant as he waved a plastic case in the air. ‘Take a Bullet, Live in Leeds of all places, from 1996. A blast from the past for you.’

She took the CD and examined it. Another photo of the band. She was getting used to seeing Brando looking baby-faced. But was Brando getting used to seeing the photos of his dead best friend beside him?
Shit.
She hoped this was going to help him.

She turned the CD over and baulked at the image on the back.

‘Lobster Telephone … ’

‘Yep, it’s Dali.’ He eyed her with amusement, one eyebrow raised. ‘And?’

She winced slightly. The memory was sharp in her mind; her friends, their anxious faces raised towards her, as they clocked that she was serious about sending off her own postcard. The way she’d hurtled to her room, grabbed a card from her notice board, hurtled back to the living room.

‘You do realise that picture of the phone with the lobster receiver you’re sending has a load of sexual undertones?’ The words her housemate Guy had said were clear in her mind.

‘Trust you to point that out.’ She’d grinned at him over her shoulder. ‘It’s Dali, it’s art.’ But she didn’t even care. She was only doing this to show that she
could
. Nothing else mattered.

She’d scribbled on her card, and dropped it into the envelope Tash was holding out. At the time she was sure what she’d written would guarantee there was no risk that she’d be chosen. All she’d felt was a surge of triumph rising in her chest as she grinned at her friends, and the certainty that she’d just shown everyone she was finally ready to move on with her life.

Maybe not quite in this way though.

‘It’s nothing important. It was just on the postcard I sent in to Country House Crisis.’ Something about this had jolted her heart to a stop.

‘Well there’s a surprise.’

The slightest tilt of his head, one sardonic smile, a lazy drawl. No clue at all. She had no idea if he was he being serious or sarcastic, let alone if he’d been the one who picked out her card. Thinking about it, it was much more likely to have been Bryony who had decided. A stab of disappointment stung her. Ridiculous. Why should it matter to her who made the selection? Why did it suddenly matter that it was Brando who chose her?

He was staring out of the French doors now, looking across the distant vista of the park, and his mouth twisted into a bitter grimace. ‘We’d argued, you know, the night Nick was killed. Just before he left.’

Just like that. Straight out of left field. She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply. It was probably better that he talked about it. She’d started this. She couldn’t back away now.

‘That’s awful.’ She watched him swallow, saw his jaw flex as he gritted his teeth, followed the shadows which haunted the hollows of his cheeks. Waiting. Dared.

‘You don’t blame yourself?’

‘Of course I bloody do.’ His face contorted, and he spat out the words. ‘It was completely my fault and I’ve lived with that guilt every hour of every day since then.’

She shuddered, hesitated, pulled on a strand of hair, as she struggled to think what to offer him.

‘There’s no point in ruining two lives. Nick wouldn’t have wanted that. You owe it to him to live your life to the full.’ She paused, but his only response was an impassive scowl.

‘Isn’t that what you would have wanted if you had been the one who died?’

He was still stone-walling her.

‘Have you talked about this to anyone?’

Third time lucky.

‘No. Only to myself – when I run.’

‘Maybe you should try. I think it’s time for you to forgive yourself. It’s the only way you can move forward.’

‘You sound as if you know.’ He spat the words, his voice acid, accusing, hollow.

Maybe I do.

But none of that belonged here. Here was where she was practising, trying it out, seeing if she
could
live again. This was where none of it mattered, nobody knew, and nothing was for real. She wasn’t about to spoil all that with her own revelations.

‘I’ve known people who died, Brando. And people who lived, and pieced things together afterwards and tried to move on. It’s the only way.’

‘Easy for you to say that.’

She took a shuddering breath, gulped away the sour saliva that had rushed into her mouth, aimed for a lighter tone of voice.

‘I was just thinking, given how beautiful the ballroom is looking, maybe you should be thinking of changing some of the other rooms too. I’ve heard that change is good. There are some lovely sunny spaces at the front of the house, and you’d enjoy it here so much more if we changed them to your taste. We could move out the depressing stuff and make them more funky, get a few new things. It wouldn’t take a lot.’

Just for a second he looked as if he wanted to kill her. Then slowly, the stormy furrows on his brow melted away.

‘Shea Summers, sometimes you are a complete pain in the butt, do you know that?’

She heard the smallest nuance of humour in his voice as he sidled towards her. He rested his elbows on her shoulders and studied her through narrowed eyes. Just one lazy action sent her heart into overdrive. Then he gave her a half smile, pulled on her tumbling hair, yanked her head back as far as it would go, and held it there.

‘You know the punishment for that, don’t you?’

* * *

‘You do realise my lungs are about to burst! This is so beyond my remit!’

Shea’s gasped breaths formed billowing clouds as her protests collided with the cold morning air.

Brando, jogging along the track beside her, stifled a smile as she tugged up her tracksuit bottoms and brushed wild strands of hair off her deep pink cheeks.
Not the only thing way beyond her remit.

He peeled his eyes away from her bobbing boobs and launched himself into another flip. ‘If you complained less, you’d have more energy for running!’

She groaned. ‘Putting me in trainers is like putting you in stilettos!’

‘It’s our deal – if you insist I’ve got to come shopping to look for furniture for the house, it’s only fair that you suffer too.’ He had to admit she was still turning him on, even in this unlikely situation.

She gave a loud, disapproving grunt. ‘So have you phoned your Mum yet?’

That put his libido on temporary hold. It was obviously a revenge question and the only answer to that was another question.

‘Have you?’

‘No. I promised I wouldn’t speak to my mum and I haven’t. I’ve been good.’ She flashed him a smug smile. ‘I keep my promises. How about you?’

‘Actually, as it happens, I have.’

He watched in satisfaction as her jaw dropped.

‘Oh my! Well done!’ She gave him a congratulatory slap on the back.

‘She was out, but I left a message.’

‘Awww, Brando, I’m so proud of you. You won’t regret it – I can’t believe things were so bad between you.’

He snorted loudly. She didn’t need to know. ‘If you’d ever tried living with my step-father you wouldn’t be asking.’

‘Was he awful to you?’ She turned to him, with a wide-eyed concern that made his stomach catch.

‘I guess, if I’m honest, he wasn’t. Maybe I resented him taking my mother’s attention. I was thirteen. I kicked off, that’s all’ He tried to sound matter-of-fact, head her off.

But this was Shea. There was no heading her off. She was already rounding on him.

‘You mean you were jealous?’

Bang! Got it in one.
Jealousy. The Achilles heel that had derailed his life, not once, but twice. That fierce need he had to possess for himself, when it came to love, the thing that made him vile, unreasonable, and impossible, whenever he cared.

‘I wouldn’t say that.’ He gritted his teeth, drummed his feet against the ground and shot ten yards ahead of her before he knew, shouting back to her. ‘Tell you what, I’ll run on, let you get your breath back. See you back at the house in a bit.’