The Right Side of Mr Wrong (5 page)

‘I’m not some kind of stress-buster.’ That came out far more indignantly than she’d meant it to. No need to give him any clue to her thinking. ‘What about all your gymnastics? It was you I saw throwing yourself at the trees in the park wasn’t it? Doesn’t that calm you down?’

She heard him explode into a guffaw of laughter.

‘That’s not gymnastics, it’s free running. Also known as parkour, though if you don’t know where Oxford is, you’re forgiven for not knowing about parkour.’

She shot him a dirty look in retaliation for that jibe, and for everything else he was doing to her without even knowing, but he carried on regardless.

‘It’s all about freedom, about running through the environment, reacting to whatever comes, making instinctive moves. It’s about breaking the laws of gravity, ultimate fitness, adrenalin, endorphins, and it’s best done in cities – there just isn’t enough concrete round here to make it work. That’s why I end up running at trees.’

‘So what you’re saying is that it doesn’t de-stress you? Not even after all that exercise?’

‘It should, but it doesn’t always work. Not here.’

She gave a disparaging grunt. Anything that looked so vigorous had to do something, surely.

‘You don’t sound very impressed.’ His swift sideways look demanded an elaboration.

‘It’s not about being impressed. It just seems an odd thing for a playboy to do.’

‘Who says I’m a playboy?’ It was his turn to sound indignant now.

‘It’s blindingly obvious that you’re a playboy!’ She turned on him, lashing out because he’d shaken her up when he kissed her, but more so because she’d shaken herself up remembering she should have nothing to do with him. Attack was her only way to slap him back into line.

‘You’re a one hundred percent playboy! Through and through! And what’s more, you’re totally predictable. You only have to look at your house, your car, even that kiss, for chrissakes. All bog-standard, predictable choices for a playboy.’

She was lying about the kiss of course. The thought of it made her insides whirl, and her head go dizzy. She’d never experienced anything like that in her life before. That kiss had been anything but predictable, which was why she needed to mention it now. She needed to drag it into the open, parade it, hang it out in public, and mark it as worthless. Somehow lumping it, burying it, along with this whole rant helped to rubbish it, helped to show him she was dismissing it. This way he’d know it meant nothing to her, nothing at all… Even though it did.

‘Okay, I hold my hands up.’ He was sounding conciliatory now, patronising even. ‘I’ve got a big house and a flash car. As for the kiss, whatever you believe, I
don’t
go around snogging the face off every woman who crosses my path. And I hold up my hands to wild and bad. Okay, I get my kicks from no-ties sex, yes I get with lots of women who like the same, no I never remember their names, even though they invariably tell me. But I’d hardly claim to be a playboy.’

She took a moment to get her head round the information spill. And another to batter down a ridiculous pang of jealousy for the women who made it to his bed. On the bigger scale, she sensed she was gaining ground here, and she wasn’t about to back down when she was about to win the argument.

‘Okay. So how long do your relationships last? On average?’

She watched his jaw drop. Saw him pick it up again. Wondered if she’d pushed too far.

‘It depends. I’d say, on average, what … ’ He hesitated. ‘My relationships, if you choose to call them that, usually last anything between twenty minutes and five hours, give or take a few seconds. Five hours is usually the tops.’

He flashed her a triumphant smile.

She felt her own jaw drop. She considered if he was winding her up, and decided that he wasn’t. What the heck was there to say to that? She struggled to think of an appropriate reply.

‘Thank you for answering that, I appreciate your honesty Brando.’

‘If you knew me better you’d know the truth is something I value highly Shea, something I demand of myself
and
others.’ He cut in harshly.

‘I guess that makes you an honest playboy then!’

She was suddenly aware that she needed to move this conversation on quickly. The last thing she wanted was to have him ask her the question in return. If he was demanding truth, she couldn’t bear to have to tell him her relationships lasted no time at all, because she didn’t have any. She’d backed herself up this blind-alley, and now she needed to get out of it fast.

‘Perhaps you need to think about a more sensible car, Brando, then maybe a more sensible lifestyle would follow!’ She cringed at how judgemental that sounded. No idea where that had come from, but she could already see steam coming from his ears, so as a diversionary tactic it had worked a treat.

‘You sound just like Bryony!’ His loud complaint had the vaguest touch of a whine about it.

Good move. Her lips curved into a smile of relief. He wouldn’t be going back to relationship questions now. She waited, let her next comment hang in the air a few seconds before she dropped it, because she knew it was going to drive a commitment-phobe like him up the wall.

‘Well, let’s face it, you’re never going to fit a wife and three kids in this car are you Brando?’

Whoops!

She held onto her seat tight as the car left the road, took a trip onto the verge, then jolted back onto the tarmac again.

Result! That had sent him firmly into orbit, as predicted. Game to her!

He shot her a killer of a scowl, which she regretted immediately. Feeling moody made him look like he’d just dropped off the page of a Vogue photo-shoot, which was altogether more hunk than she could cope with right now. And a swift recovery like that only went to emphasise his status as a seasoned player.

‘If you promise to keep your life-coaching to yourself, Miss Roll-in-the-hay Summers, I might be persuaded to buy you lunch! How far from playboy does burger and chips sound?’

* * *

‘Brando, you can’t park here, you’re on double yellow lines!’

Brando reeled at the speed of her reaction as he pulled up at the kerb in what seemed to him, little more than a village, but what passed in these parts for a town.

She was onto him before he’d even turned the engine off, dammit.

‘All part of the fun of being a playboy! I park where I like, and my PA pays the fines later! Let’s face it, the absence of tow-trucks for bad parkers is the only upside to life in the sticks.’ He sent her an unrepentant smirk, expecting that to be the end of it, but she rapped straight back at him.

‘Grow up, Brando! There’s a car park the other side of the wall. Stop behaving like a child and go and park there!’

Who the hell went postal over something as minor as double yellows? She was reminding him more and more of Bry here, and not in a good way. But her exasperated cry slapped him into action, and before he knew it he was manoeuvring carefully into the centre of a marked parking bay.

‘Control freak comes out of the closet, or what? That good enough for you, Shea-rhymes-with-do-what-I-say?’ He hoped his query was mocking enough to hide his inner shock.

Since when had he done what some woman ordered him to? And what’s more he’d done so without so much as a question. Hell, he’d offered no resistance whatsoever. He’d just obeyed. Sure, the image he liked to portray was laid-back and cool, but ultimately, beneath the chilled veneer he was
always
the one in control.

‘For future reference, I’m the one who gives out the instructions round here. I have a converted warehouse full of employees in London, who all answer to me. They do it because I’m the one who puts my head on the block, I’m the one who takes all the risks. I’m the boss, dammit, I don’t take ‘do as you’re told’ from anyone, and that includes you!’ He tapped the steering wheel, hoping he’d made his point.

‘Sorry Brando, but if you behave like a complete jerk, I will tell you.’

There she was again. Straight back, fighting. And she was so sexy when she did. There was definitely something different about this woman and the game she was playing. He just hadn’t quite worked out what it was yet. She was fumbling in the footwell for her bag now.

‘Are you going to mess around all day there, or are we going for lunch?’ Annoyance merged with frustration, leeching through his impatient bark, and he thought he caught a flicker of consternation on her face, but when she turned to him she was smiling a winning, confident smile.

‘One minute for lip gloss, then I’m all good!’

‘Lip gloss!’ He gave a double groan. The first, a small one, for the high-maintenance women he dated, and their preening, make-up laden lives, which he had so far managed to steer admirably clear of, the second, a larger, full-blown, shudder as he thought of the taste of her lips when he’d kissed her.

That kiss.

The thought of it sent an ocean tide roaring through his ears. However she’d tried to dismiss it, he
knew
she’d been kissing him back, kissing him hard, kissing him like a demon.

Damn women, damn their lip gloss!

As he slammed his car door, he was aware of her on the other side of the car’s low roof, unfolding, smoothing her jeans, stretching.

‘Almost there!’ She sent him a half mocking smile with the merest hint of apology.

The sheer anticipation of the moment when she pulled her jumper down tight over her jutting breasts had already sent his blood pounding downwards, and suddenly he knew the reason for his unbearably wound-up state, the reason this morning’s free running had offered him no release.

It was her. And the problem was simple. She was racking his desire to levels he was failing to handle.

The more time he spent with her, the more his already heightened libido was rocketing to crazy places. He cursed himself for neglecting the sexual side of his life over the last few months. Not that he’d actually thought about it much. Maybe he was getting old, maybe he was just too busy, but however hot the sex, somewhere along the line, the faceless repetition had ceased to thrill him. Perhaps if he’d given it more priority, he wouldn’t be in this state now.

So much for his boasts about being wild and bad.

He couldn’t particularly remember a time when he’d had this exact sense of urgency before, but he knew for sure there was only one answer to the immediate problem.

He needed to bed Shea Summers, and he needed to do it fast.

Perched on high leather-clad chairs at the bar which ran the length of the restaurant, Brando studied Shea as she opened her mouth to take a gigantic bite of burger, noticed how neat and even her teeth were, and pushed aside an overpowering desire to crash his lips over hers.

Jeez.
He needed to stop being ridiculous. Okay, her eye teeth might be deliciously pointy. So what? He leaned back on his chair, and idly let his eyes slide down as far as her crossed, denim-clad knees, which were almost touching his own.

He forced himself to look up again. To sound laid-back, he asked ‘Want some ketchup? This place is so exclusive, we’ve got our own bottle! The Beef Box is where London escapees come when they’re pretending to be locals, by the way. Rumour has it the fries are individually hand-crafted.’

‘I’ve tasted the love already.’ She smiled as she pushed another chip into her mouth, and caught a stray onion with her little finger.

‘Good burgers?’ He grasped his own mega-stack with both hands.

Not, he hoped, quite what the lady was expecting for her stately lunch out, but all the more fun for wrong-footing her.

She nodded at him in vigorous appreciation. ‘Great thanks, couldn’t be better! Burgers are my fave, but I haven’t had one for ages. This is a brilliant place, have you seen their ice cream flavours? They’re stonking!’

Loving the burgers, stonking ice cream flavours?

Perhaps not so great, then, as a means of knocking her off her stride.

It looked like he was back to the plan of getting her into bed happy. He might yet have to pin his hopes on the champagne ice cream.

‘So have you had Edgerton Hall long?’ Her question, bouncing up off the stainless steel counter, took him by surprise.

Boy, this woman didn’t waste time. He wasn’t sure he was ready for any conversation, let alone this one. He preferred to cut straight to the sex, which would be no bad thing here either.

‘I guess the house has been in the family for generations.’ He posted her a vague smile. No harm in fudging the issue, making her work for her information.

‘No, I mean you personally.’

Straight in, and going for the jugular.

‘I inherited when I was twenty.’ He took another bite of burger.

‘Which was … ?’ She eyed him quizzically, as she turned her bun.

‘Fifteen years ago.’ He watched her suck a slick of ketchup off her middle finger. If that was meant to soften him up, it was working.
Like a truth drug.
‘It wasn’t supposed to come to me. My uncle was due to inherit when my grandfather died, but he fell off his yacht. As he had no family, my father would have been next in line, but as he’d died already it passed to me. Quite a surprise.’

And way too much information. Aware that her mouth was already forming the next question he jumped in fast, nodding towards the bulging bags she’d been clutching earlier, after a lightning dive into the local shops.

‘So what have you been buying then?’

She eyed him darkly, suddenly guarded. ‘Supplies.’

He’d managed to divert her, even if the information she’d given was non-specific.

‘Supplies?’ He raised one eyebrow, sensing hesitation. Had her cheeks turned pink?

‘Okay. Bags of kiddie sweets. Sour worms, cola bottles, Dracula’s teeth – ’ she grimaced, then spun him a guilty smile. ‘– fizzy fish, psycho skulls, strawberry laces. Need I go on? I eat them non-stop, okay, and Edgerton’s isolated. I’ve had to do a bulk buy.’

Before he’d done snorting, she’d already fired the next question.

‘So what’s in
your
bags?’

Tactical error.
Damn.
He’d blown this one. ‘Supplies.’

She cocked her head at him in query.

Bulk buy of condoms – how would summer-day-Shea take that one?

‘Believe me, you don’t want to know.’ He flashed her one wicked grin. ‘How about we look at the pudding menu?’

* * *

By the time they’d rounded everything off with coffee, it was mid-afternoon when they staggered back to the car. They’d called in the local outfitters, and bought Shea some wellies with matching welly socks, a thick parka coat, and a couple of cashmere cardies. At least she was going to be warm now. Warm and hopefully open to suggestion.

‘This is what I mean about the car being impractical,’ Shea pointed out ruefully, as he posted the bags through the car door, and piled them on top of her.

Brando tried to look nonplussed.

‘This car is perfectly fit for its purpose. It’s made for driving, not for shopping, simple as!’ He snorted dismissively, though for the first time in his life he could see her point. ‘Can’t say it’s ever been used for shopping before, or that it ever will be again! Shea, what’s that round your neck?’

As he slotted the box of wellingtons under her chin, and snatched an unscheduled bird’s-eye view down her top, he’d caught sight of something hanging from a gold chain, nestling between her breasts. He watched her hand shoot to clutch whatever it was, saw a crimson flush creep over her cheeks.

‘Just … ’ she faltered.

‘Just what?’ His idle enquiry was hardened by her guilty tone.

She cleared her throat, and her voice was stronger, more assured now. ‘I’m not sure it’s any business of yours, but it’s something I wear all the time. My grandmother’s wedding ring.’

She turned to face him now, with a slow, deliberate grin. ‘Brownie’s motto – “Be prepared.” Never know when I might need it! Waiting for Mr Right and all that!’

Of all the … 

He flung her door shut, hurled himself around the car and into the driving seat, and slammed his own door.

Now he’d seen it all!

A husband-hunter who travelled with her own ring! How perverse was that?

He revved the engine until it screamed, did one crazy reverse out of the parking space, then banged the car into first gear, and accelerated away like a madman.

Fifteen miles down the road, the fast driving hadn’t done anything to reduce his stress. The engine’s violent roar had drowned Shea’s early protests, and now she was hunched and silent.

Small, vulnerable, unthreatening.

Which only served to underline how misleading appearances could be.

She was very different from the usual hard-nosed party socialites with whom he rubbed shoulders, and lots more. Overtly brash and shallow they might be, but at least they did what it said on the tin. Hell, they were pussy cats compared to the woman beside him. She may not have their veneers of sophistication, but with her girl-next-door looks combined with her predatory personal agenda she was ten times more dangerous.

What exactly was she hiding beneath that high class organiser exterior of hers?

She was ambitious and calculating enough to propel herself into the unknown in the hope of hooking herself a random billionaire. Her sights were firmly set upon his house and his wealth, but it suddenly hit him she could be looking for a whole lot more. He was used to women whose ambition in life was to party, whose main aim was to drink until the champagne ran dry.

But this woman was looking for Mr Right, and that was a whole other ballgame.

The thought hit him like a bucket of icy water.

Who would go round searching for that from random strangers? All the more justification to take her down before he sent her packing. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. Someone definitely needed to show this uptight, calculating woman there was more to life than happy ever after. It would do her good to have the taste of a one-night stand, to be pleasured to excess – his own speciality, and the passing thought send him rock hard – then left. And he was happy to oblige, to teach her that lesson.

‘You can forget about wedding rings!’ He roared the words across at her, but the engine’s howl devoured them as soon as he spoke them.

He saw her mouthing at him, shaking her head. She obviously hadn’t heard then.

Except the noise of the engine was dying now, and the car was dragging, slowing, dawdling.

‘What did you say?’

The engine finally spluttered into silence, and the car rolled to a jerking halt.

He spluttered himself, but his was a rising splutter, not a dying one. ‘Great! Now we’re out of eff-ing petrol! I hope you like walking!’

She turned to him, her eyes wide.

‘Was that in the plan?’

She had to be joking? It wasn’t planning which had landed them here. Just him driving like a crazy guy in response to her blasted ring. He kicked himself for forgetting that this car did zero miles to the gallon when thrashed, kicked himself again for being in the goddam countryside in the first place. No petrol stations for miles. No mobile signal.

‘Well some of us have obviously been putting in overtime with the planning!’ His brow came crashing down and he glowered at her accusingly.

‘Excuse me?’

Her tiny query didn’t temper his anger. He spoke through gritted teeth, his voice a growl.

‘Let’s get this clear once and for all! There’s no place for wedding rings here! If you’re looking for Mr Right, you’re hitting on the wrong guy.’

* * *

‘Keep up!’

Brando barely looked behind him as he barked the words at her, for what had to be the nineteenth time since they’d set off on their cross-country hike back to Edgerton.

Shea blew heavily, and pushed a damp strand of hair off her forehead, as she stumbled over yet another grassy tussock. He’d set off at top speed before she’d even had a chance to do up her coat. She’d been running after his broad back for four fields now, and her lungs and legs were burning. She slowed to a walk, trying to get her breath back, caught her hands in her coat pockets and pulled it around her now. Thank sugar she was doing this in wellingtons and not high heels. Ahead of her she could see Brando had already reached the next fence, and was leaning on it nonchalantly, scratching his head.

Looking disgustingly attractive.

She kicked herself for that thought. He was one screwed-up guy. Knotted with tension and with the temper of a two year old. The look on his face when he saw the wedding ring, and she’d tried to cover it with a joke! And what a traitress that made her feel. She didn’t do men, and she didn’t do attraction. Brando was out of the question on every level.

But he did have some crazy male magnetism thing going on. He played havoc with her pulse rate even when he wasn’t kissing her, and when he did – well, best not to go there! As it was she was struggling to keep her hands off him. Thank sherbet he was an arrogant bone-head. If he had been in any way a decent guy, she’d have been in huge trouble, regardless of her abstinence policy.

Too much testosterone for his own good. And hers.

Her stomach flipped as his lazy growl grazed her.

‘Some time today would be nice … ’

Listen to him! Arrogant and condescending didn’t begin to cover it.

He levered himself off the rail, and shot her an unexpected sideways grin, which sent prickles skittering down her spine.

Dizzied by hormones? Guilty as charged.

At least he had waited for her. Without warning he sprang into the air, and landed on the other side of the fence.

‘Nice vault! You could almost have been teleporting there!’

She needed to keep her confident, in control act intact, however much she might be falling apart inside. She began to clamber over the fence herself, and as she twisted and swung her leg over the top rail he stretched up, grasped her around the waist, then set her neatly on the ground. Wow!

‘Not far from home now. Mrs McCaul’s husband, Bob, can pick up the car later. We used to walk this way to the pub in the next village when I first came here. Back in the day, and all that.’ A distant expression clouded his face momentarily, but at least his tone had softened. ‘Come here, I can see I’m going to have to pull you the rest of the way back!’

Before she could protest, his large hand had slipped around hers and tightened. Despite his heat, she shivered.

‘You’re cold!’

Except that shiver had nothing to do with the cold. ‘Not too bad, my coat’s very … ’

One more tug and he’d dragged her towards him. Another and he’d slammed her body up against his. The heady scent of hard, clean man engulfed her, whipping away her ability to think, and her will to protest.

One strong hand gripped her back, one rough finger tilted her chin. His eyes, when she met them, were granite flecked, his voice husky, harsh, taunting.

‘This
is
what you’re here for, isn’t it?’

She opened her mouth to contradict, but before she could speak his lips closed in on hers, sweeping away her words and her breath simultaneously.

Hard and raw.

His stubble stung her chin, he tugged on her hair, jolted her head back further as his tongue plundered her mouth, without remorse.

Hot. Demanding.

Irresistible.

She sank against his hard body, hating herself for allowing this, despising the part of her that wanted it, as the bang of his heart reverberated against her breasts.

More delicious than anything she could remember.

As his hold tightened, his erection ground into her stomach, and turned her legs molten. His tongue tangled deeply with hers now, as she fought against a force field that threatened to turn her upside down and shake her. Then just as she was about to collapse, he pulled away. Sagging, she felt his thumb rasp across her throbbing lower lip, then he grasped her shoulders, and studied her with a derisory scowl. Watched dispassionately as she thrashed to get her breath back.

He waited for her gasps to subside before he spoke.

‘We need to go and finish this … ’

One gruff, non-negotiable order which set her pulse racing again.

A second to take in the chill in his narrowed eyes, against the fading afternoon sky. The set of his jaw. Then he grabbed her wrist with a lurch, and set off towards the next hill.

* * *

Shea Summers. Professional, reliable, cool, detached, capable.

Not.

Twenty four hours away from home, and she’d already snogged the boss. Twice.