The Right Side of Mr Wrong (4 page)

Damn. She knew she shouldn’t have stopped, definitely shouldn’t have met his gaze. Although looking him in the eye was preferable to staring at him in the other place her eyes were invariably drawn to. Not that she made a habit of ogling men’s groins, but his was particularly … 

Particularly what? She shouldn’t even be going there!

Attractive? Promising? Illegally sexy?

Yes to all of the above.
Riveting. And also entirely off limits.

What
was
she thinking?

Her brain had been well-behaved when she was moving. If she didn’t get going she’d have mentally undressed him before she knew it.

Damn. Too late.

The carpet pile spread beneath her bare toes as she propelled herself forwards into a gallop. ‘Okay, great, thanks Brando! See you!’

Forward, as far as possible, as fast as possible.

Then she’d be okay.

Sour worms, there was his bed again!

Already made. Almost looking as if it hadn’t been slept in, she decided as she flew by, heading towards the office.

His teasing tones echoed after her as she scuttled away.

‘Give my love to your mother!’

* * *

In her immediate panic to flee from Brando, and fit in an early morning check-in with her mother, there’d been no time for Shea to worry about the film crew, which turned out to be one understated guy called Pete, looking for a couple of shots, on his way to another location.

So much for the whole ‘lights-camera-action’ team she’d been fearing.

All he’d done was to point a large video camera at her for ten seconds whilst she pretended to sit and drink coffee over the remains of her breakfast tray. And now they were going down to the terrace to take a shot of her approaching the front door.

She looked out of the window to check the weather. Blustery, but dry, judging by the whirling leaves. A movement in the distance caught her eye; a figure, running through the parkland, seemingly hurling themselves at every tree, then flipping back over, and landing on their feet again.

The pure exuberance of it made her smile.

There was something mesmerising about the relentless repetition, and although she was supposed to be following Pete downstairs, she hung on to watch until the person disappeared from view behind a distant copse.

Hurrying down the gracious staircase, she sighed ruefully, still thinking of the bouncing figure, as she wound her scarf around her neck. How great must it be to feel happy and carefree enough to want to do that?

* * *

Brando cursed as his feet hit the gravel at the top of the drive.

He’d been out running for an hour now, had already done two hours before his very early breakfast, and he’d been throwing himself over roofs in the dark last night, yet he still felt no sense of release.

He never slept well. He’d long since given up the hell of sleepless tossing and turning in bed, getting by on snatched naps in the office chair, but last night he hadn’t been able to sleep at all. What was it going to take to make him feel better? The sheer concentration and physical effort his free running took were usually enough to wipe out his tension within minutes. But he wasn’t usually this hyped up.

Damn this country life.

Nothing wound him up like a day at Edgerton, but he didn’t usually suffer this much. He suspected it had something to do with the blasted woman Bryony had dropped on him, but he certainly wasn’t going to let a woman take credit for landing him in this state. Okay, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his damned brain since he set eyes on her, but where women were concerned he was immune and untouchable. End of.

He approached the avenue of trees along the south drive. Sixty-three trees each side. He’d do all hundred-and-twenty-six of them. Somehow he doubted he’d feel unwound afterwards, but at least he’d achieve the oblivion of exhaustion.

He bounced on the balls of his feet.

Damn Shea Summers.

Then flung himself at the nearest tree trunk.

* * *

Seventy two trees in, sensing movement in front of the house, he broke his rhythm to pause, and watched two people emerge, then walk around in animated discussion.

Bingo, it was her!

Had to be. And a guy with a camera.

Without thinking, he veered off across the park towards them, sprinting over the grass. He prided himself on his low heart-rate, but right now his pulse was banging through his body. Springing up the steps onto the terrace, he vaulted over a wooden seat, and arrived beside the pair with a grin, his hands stuffed as far into the pockets of his low-slung jeans as he could reach.

‘Nice morning for filming!’

Shea and the cameraman turned to include him now. He met Shea’s glance, and gave a wide, unrepentant, laid-back grin. ‘I hope you’re wearing … ’

But she was too fast for him. Before he could finish, she’d jumped in.

‘Yes Brando, I do have underwear on.’ She gave him a glib smirk. ‘I’d ask if you do, but given that half your Y-fronts appear to be on public display already, the question seems unnecessary! Good to see you shop at Calvin Klein.’

Nice one! Who’d have thought Miss Frosty-morning would have had that in her.

Feisty he could deal with.

Her hair was scraped back and he found himself wanting to pull it free, shake it loose, bury his fingers in the strands.

‘Pete just wants to get a shot of me walking into the house. It shouldn’t take long and then we’re done here.’ She was speaking to him brusquely now, her elbows by her ears, as she fiddled to replace a pin at the back of her hair. He caught a blinder of her breasts as she spun around.

‘Fine! Whatever you say,’ he chortled, chewing his thumbnail absently, aware that his eyes had locked on target as if they’d been superglued. ‘It’s a bit chilly out here, even for cashmere. You may want to add some nipple shields before you do the final take, but then what do I know?’

Shea glanced down, swung her arms around herself quickly, then recovering with enviable speed, turned her back on him firmly.

‘Not a problem, Pete’s mostly filming my back in any case, so it seems you’re the only one here worried by my nipple status.’ She flashed him a smile over a carefully positioned shoulder. ‘Shall we carry on, Pete?’

Blast. He shot himself in the foot there, now she’d be keeping her back to him for sure.

Yes Pete, no Pete.
He gritted his teeth, and rocked on his heels as he watched her walk towards the door. Then she walked back, tilting her head towards that darned cameraman as they shared some joke, then she went again, this time shooting a smile over her shoulder as she disappeared into the house. Then she reappeared, and it looked like they had a wrap.

‘You do realise this is all bull, don’t you Pete.’ Brando knew he was sounding belligerent now, but somehow he couldn’t stop, and he didn’t give a damn. ‘It didn’t happen like this at all. I know you guys aren’t big on truth, but you might as well go one more time, and get close to what really happened.’

Brando stepped towards Shea, and had her scooped up, caught fast in his arms, before she had time to let out so much as a squawk. ‘There you go, that’s a lot more like what happened yesterday, if it’s an action replay you’re after.’ He clasped her close to his chest. ‘Shea Summers being carried over the threshold, I hope you’re getting this Pete!’

Jeez, she felt soft … 

With long steps, he strode across the terrace with her in his arms, her bottom bouncing all the way on his rapidly growing erection, pausing only to throw the door open. He bounded into the house, kicked the door, and it slammed resoundingly behind them.

Time seemed to stand still in the echoing calm of the hall. Shea was lying, completely passive in his arms. He stole a glance down at her, and met her expression of long-suffering disgust.

‘Well done, Brando. Great shot, which I’m sure the viewing public will no doubt appreciate. Now will you please put me down.’ That was a fierce, no-messing command.

Suddenly reluctant to give up her warm yielding curves, he gripped her more tightly to him, took in the fullness of her mouth.

‘No, as it happens, I’m not going to put you down!’ He flashed her a defiant grin.

Not before he’d taught her a lesson.

As the pattern of his breathing broke, he felt the echo of a shudder pass through her. The slightest tremble of her bottom lip sent a twang through his chest.

Not before he’d had his fun.

No point delaying what had to be done. No point at all. He dragged her closer to his face, brought his mouth crashing down onto hers.

Wham-bam!

Not a shred of resistance! He slid straight through the strawberries-and-cream of lip gloss, and plunged to the sweetest, raspberry and vanilla depths. And, morning stars, she was not only letting him in, she was kissing him back! Kissing him back, kissing him big, kissing him bravely and hard and hungrily.

Desperately hungrily.

He hadn’t bargained for being belted practically into orbit, nor for being left hanging in some crazy airless free-fall, that progressed into a glorious, gyroscopic tumble. He had no idea how long he’d been kissing her, only that he never wanted it to end. Then a frenzied fist hammering on his head yanked him halfway back to earth.

‘Brando! What the … ’ Shea’s shriek hauled him the rest of the way back to reality. ‘I said put me down, not eat my face!’

Remembering his manners now, he obligingly tilted her gently towards the floor, and set her down as neatly as his wobbling legs and gigantic erection would allow.

Wobbling legs? Since when had his legs ever wobbled?

Shea staggered backwards, and sent him a searing glare as she rearranged her sweater. The way she pulled at the hem to cover that flash of bare skin was delicious, and thunderously arousing every time, but sending his erection to places it shouldn’t go. Dragging his belt higher, he attempted to stall the escape bid. No way should he be hanging round Shea Summers, and those luscious boobs of hers, in low slung jeans.
She needed the nipple shields more than ever now, he noted with satisfaction.

So she hadn’t been totally unappreciative. Was she still reeling, like he was? For a second he had a mind to pick her straight back up again, carry her to his bed, and ravish her properly, but one more blast from her blow-torch glare, made him put that thought on hold.

‘What?’ He made one short inscrutable exclamation.

He might as well get in first here, if Miss Not-so-frosty-after-all was going to turn arctic on him, although now he looked closely, she seemed to be more volcanic than polar. He adjusted his jeans again – erection still barely contained – and flashed her an inscrutable boyish grin.

‘You can’t pull the ‘indignant of Edgerton’ stunt on me – you enjoyed that as much as I did, and you know it. You only need to look at the state of your n … ’

Her formidable shout stamped on his words.

‘Stop it Brando! That’s enough!’

Great, he’d got her riled. Miss Buttoned-up-tightly was unravelling. One more nudging push to get his own back for how far she’d pushed him. ‘Do you know how sexy you look when you’re annoyed? I still think you should go with the nipple shield idea – if we’re going to have film crews around regularly that is.’ He could practically feel the steam coming off her, and he bit his lip to keep his laughter in check as he watched her flush scarlet, then threw in a placatory after-thought. ‘Still, it’s up to you, obviously.’

He’d leave it there. In the unlikely event that she turned the tables, and retaliated by talking about erections of another sort, he wouldn’t have a leg to stand on. Another twitch at his belt failed to ease the constriction. An avaricious, grasping opportunist she might be, but boy, she was hot!

‘Yes, thank you, it
is
up to me!’ Her snapped hiss zipped across the hall, and razored him like a sharpened penny.

‘And you’re sure you don’t want me to whisk you to bed as part of this morning’s country house experience?’ His offer was on the table, and he was beyond ready for action. Knowing he was in for a straight rebuff, but he couldn’t resist throwing that in, if only to luxuriate in the scowl she fast bowled him.

He grinned, broadly. ‘I’ll take that as a no, then, shall I?’

When she didn’t bother to reply he watched her collect herself, sniff, shuffle, pull her sweater down again.
Jeez, he loved how the fabric hugged her curves, leaving nothing to the imagination.
He’d definitely have to lay off the boob quips. He’d hate her to stop pulling her sweater down like that.

She raised her head, looked him straight in the eye, and dished out a chilling smile that somehow managed to both dazzle and freeze him at the same time. ‘So what about the organising?’

An admirably fast recovery, he noted, coupled with a change of subject. Wise move. The only problem was he had no idea what she was talking about.

‘Organising?’ He screwed his face up, trying hard not to think about the oral explosion they’d just shared, or the fact that his erection was in immediate danger of going into orbit, and tried instead to concentrate on whatever she was alluding to. He didn’t get there.

He cocked her a questioning eyebrow.

‘Well from what I saw on TV, or rather, from what Bryony told me, I got the impression that Edgerton was in complete chaos, and that I was going to be able to help sort it out. Organising? Streamlining? System implementation? You know, the stuff I do?’

His spirits sank.
Bryony told me … 
Why did that phrase always have an ominous ring? ‘I’m afraid Bryony is too damn good at misappropriating the truth as everyone else knows it, in pursuit of her own ends.’ He shook his head, apologetically. ‘The thing is, the TV crew did mess things up for dramatic effect when they were here before, but putting things to rights again was part of the deal too. Most of the rooms in the house are in perfect order under their dust sheets – admittedly they’re full of profoundly depressing antiques, which I’d personally shudder to spend ten minutes with, let alone a lifetime, but that’s heritage for you. And as you’ve probably seen, Mrs McCaul keeps the rest of Edgerton in pretty good shape, with a generously large staff, and mostly there’s no-one here to tidy up after anyway. Organising just isn’t an issue.’

He watched her smile fade, and an expression of quiet desperation creep across her face.

Crikey.

How could anyone look
that
put out just because they’d been told there wasn’t any work to be done? This was not the way to go. He needed to keep her calm, relaxed and amenable, so he could push on with his bed-the-husband-hunter plans ASAP. Jeez, he didn’t have all year, he needed to think on his feet!

‘I thought we’d leave work for today, if that’s okay with you? But now I come to think of it, I’m sure my office would benefit from a spot of streamlining, so we can get onto that tomorrow.’ There. He was winging it, but it was sounding good! Bryony wasn’t the only one who could play around with the truth. ‘As for today, I thought I could show you around a bit, take you to lunch, we could go for a walk around the Estate?’

He paused for her reaction. Somehow he’d expected her to look more enthusiastic.

‘I was really hoping to get my teeth into something straight away.’

His vision blurred momentarily, at the fleeting thought of what
he’d
like her to get her teeth into. He racked his brain wildly, trying to think of an implementation task that centred around a king-sized bed, and failed.

‘Come on, it’s obviously important that we get to know each other, given that’s what we’re both here for. I’m not going to be staying forever, you know!’ He gave a rueful grimace at the thought that by rights he should have been back in London last night, and another at the realisation that he was having to push this audacious gold-digger so hard to make her begin her prospecting.

But after the taste of her he’d just had, he knew he wouldn’t be going anywhere without tasting more.

* * *

‘Another boy’s toy!’

Shea rolled her eyes as the sleek sports car scrunched towards her on the gravel. It wasn’t just the car she was reacting to. She was accustomed to wealthy men and their expensive cars, but something in Brando’s childish exuberance as he sat behind the wheel made her sigh hard and shake her head in despair.

He threw open the door for her, and she climbed in, aware of him scrutinising her legs, inch by inch, from her dizzy heels to her jean-clad thighs, as she slid into the car.

‘Snug fit!’ She wriggled down into her seat, and raised her eyebrows as she pulled on her seat belt. She shot him a smile. ‘Or would you rather call it cosy?’

Cosy. That was his word. Cosy, in his sitting room last night.

Cosy, how she’d felt in his arms this morning.

She shuddered at the recollection, and shuddered again at how treacherous it made her feel. The heat of his body as he had gripped her tightly to his chest had been sweet agony. She’d spent a lot of last night reliving the moments when he’d carried her into the house as she’d arrived, longing, in the those wakeful, early hours, for an action replay. Thankfully by morning she’d beaten that misplaced desire back into line again, but the moment he swept her into the air for a second time, she was ashamed to admit she hadn’t fought him. She’d simply given in to the dizzy thrill. That was even before
that
kiss.

‘Everything okay?’ His husky question dragged her back to reality with a shiver that zithered through her, and ended between her legs.

‘Just so long as you keep to your side.’ She shifted in her seat, kicked her lust into line, and flipped a placatory smile in his direction.

‘As if I’d do anything else.’ His reply was way more indignant than it should have been, given the small matter of that furnace of a snog.

Her heart was still skittering, still refusing to pump normally, and her insides seemed to have dematerialised. She knew that kiss was wrong.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

And she shouldn’t let it happen again. Couldn’t let it happen again.

Wouldn’t
let it happen again.

‘Are you shaking?’ He looked at her with lazy amusement. ‘Don’t worry! There’s no danger of me diving on top of you given the space restrictions. The worst I might do is put a hand on your knee, and even that would be difficult.’

As she closed the door, the full impact of his scent hit her, and she fought a sudden urge to grab him. Where the heck had that come from, and what’s more, how was she going to deal with it? She floundered for something to comment on other then the impracticality of the car.

‘A lot of my clients have expensive cars, but I’ve never accepted a ride in one before.’
Maybe I shouldn’t have now.
The engine was roaring like a jet plane, and Brando accelerated with such force, her head was thrown back against the head-rest.

‘Sorry about that! I haven’t driven this baby for a while.’ He turned and flashed her a sheepish grin, raising his voice to be heard over the engine noise. ‘The sheer power always takes me by surprise, but it’s a great way to blast away the tension.’

At least he was slightly less fanciable when spinning the wheels like an idiot, so long as she kept her eyes away from his hard muscular thighs. And his beautiful, tanned fingers tapping on the steering wheel. And the lump of his Adam’s apple in the column of his neck. And …  dragging her eyes away, she forced out a reply. ‘Obviously. Though the scenery is just a blur when you’re doing triple the speed limit.’

‘You scared?’

One heart stopping flash of a grin from him she could have done without there.

‘Nope.’ She wasn’t sure if it was his gritty strength or his air of über-cool, but somehow she felt safe. A lot safer than when he’d grabbed her.

‘It’s Edgerton. The damned place stresses me like nothing else.’ His face contorted in a bitter grimace. He dragged his fingers through his hair, rubbed the stubble shadow on his jaw, shook his head distractedly and closed his tanned fingers around the wheel again. ‘Give me twenty miles and I’ll be better.’

She tried to concentrate on something other than how beautiful he looked.

‘Everyone has their own problems. Money and wealth are no guarantee of a happy life. I see that on a daily basis with the people I work for. Anything I can do to help?’ She felt she had to ask, even though she doubted she could do anything to help a guy this twitchy.

‘You could kiss me again … ’ His voice was low and he turned his face towards her for a moment. The broad, pushing-it, cheeky grin she anticipated wasn’t there. What was left of her stomach plummeted as she met his serious, stone-grey gaze.
Oh lordy.

‘Nice try, but you can forget that!’ She tried for a forceful, angry, no-nonsense snap, but it came out shakily. She hoped he hadn’t clocked that tremor.

‘Always worth asking, I guess.’ He came right back with a flashy smile that held for a second, before it fell away. ‘It did work – the kiss, I mean. It melted the stress right away – for a while at least.’

Nice to know. Not.

Strange how he’d chosen the word melt, seeing as he’d given her a complete melt down in the process. So typical of men like him. She’d seen it over and over, the way the rich guys kept women on hand to help them de-stress but nothing more. So, Brando was no different. There was no reason why he should be. It was only to be expected, and she wasn’t here to judge. But neither was she here to share kisses with him. Alarm bells were clanging loud and clear in her subconscious, but they were only reminding her what she already knew. Women like her didn’t mess with guys like Brando.

And she would do well to remember that.