Lucy King - The Party Starts at Midnight

But was any of that an excuse? No, it wasn’t. If he’d been thinking clearly he’d have waited for her to explain, would have given her at least the nanosecond of a chance before rushing in with his ridiculous assumptions. He’d have clocked the clipboard earlier and probably come to a very different conclusion.

He’d certainly have kept his mouth shut. Silence was an excellent and effective weapon, he knew that, and if only his brain hadn’t been completely addled he wouldn’t have dug himself into a hole so deep that, despite her apparent acceptance of his apology, he wasn’t sure he’d got out of it.

But then he hadn’t been thinking clearly. Or rationally. He hadn’t been thinking at all. At least not with his head. For the majority of their encounter he’d been thinking with a different part of his anatomy entirely.

At the image of Abby standing there, beautiful blue eyes flashing while she set him straight, magnificent in her indignation and her efforts to hide it, a wave of heat surged through him, making his pulse spike and, to his frustration, his body harden.

Ruthlessly deleting the image, Leo reminded himself of the ice-cold shower he’d just taken, and as the lift doors opened and he stepped out he decided to delete the rest of the episode up there in his bedroom too, because how the hell was he supposed to get through this evening if he kept remembering how much he’d wanted to take her to bed?

Doing up the button of his dinner jacket, he strode in the direction of the venue for tonight’s celebrations, searching for the clarity of thought and steely self-control he’d always taken for granted and just about finding it.

There was nothing he could do to undo what had happened, he reasoned, but with any luck his and Abby’s paths wouldn’t cross again. She’d be working and he’d be doing the thanking of his staff and attempting—though probably failing—to dispense the festive cheer she’d mentioned. Once the evening was over he’d never have to think of her or his fifteen minutes of complete mental meltdown ever again.

Taking a certain amount of comfort from that, Leo felt the churning in his stomach subside and the mess in his head dissolve, and walked through the double doors that led into the room that was being used to serve drinks and canapés.

Inwardly wincing at the noise level—which had to be ten times anything he’d ever encountered on a building site—he accepted a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter, and set about draining it in the hope it might obliterate the memory of that humiliating half an hour in his bedroom.

‘Good of you to make it,’ came a dry, amused voice from his left that had him jolting mid-swallow and nearly choking on the champagne.

‘Thanks for that,’ said Leo, once he’d recovered from both the champagne going down the wrong way and his brother’s efforts to rectify the situation, which had involved a lot of back thumping and drink spillage.

‘Sorry,’ said Jake, not sounding in the slightest bit apologetic. ‘So what kept you?’

‘Jet lag,’ he muttered. ‘Knocked me for six.’

‘Ah. I did wonder. I thought you might be deliberately avoiding the party.’

‘Why would I do that?’

‘You hate them.’

That was true, but, ‘This isn’t a party,’ he said. ‘This is work.’

‘Try telling that to our guests.’

Leo swapped his empty glass for a full one, took a long gulp and forced himself to focus. ‘How’s it going?’ he asked, his gaze drifting over the throngs of people all drinking and eating and full of the Christmas spirit he found so hard to muster up while he identified staff members, clients, architects, planning officers and financiers among the guests, and resolutely did not look for a certain slim, strawberry blonde event organiser.

‘Pretty good so far.’ Jake helped himself to something that looked like a mini Yorkshire pudding. ‘Thanks to Abby,’ he added. ‘Whom you’ve met, I gather.’

‘I have,’ said Leo, annoyed with himself for being tempted to seek her out when she shouldn’t even be crossing his mind, and then thinking that actually ‘met’ wasn’t quite the word he’d have used. Insulted. That was probably an appropriate one. Or offended. That would work equally well.

‘What did you think of her?’

He thought she was gorgeous. Sexy. Very very beddable. ‘I didn’t think anything of her, particularly,’ he said, his voice not betraying a hint of the lie. ‘Why?’

Jake wiped his fingers on a napkin and grinned. ‘Just wondering.’

‘What do you think of her?’ asked Leo before he could stop himself.

‘She’s great. Extremely capable. Has a knack for knowing exactly what’s needed, a talent for solving problems with the minimum amount of fuss and a rare ability to stick to the budget. Plus, she’s single and incredibly hot.’

Leo felt his jaw tighten for a second but channelled nonchalance he really didn’t feel and said, as if he couldn’t give a toss, ‘Is she? I hadn’t noticed.’ Which was another lie because like hell he hadn’t.

Jake grinned. ‘No, well, you wouldn’t, would you? A dozen naked women could parade right in front of you and you’d be oblivious.’

‘I prefer subtlety.’

‘As I don’t, I might ask her for a dance later.’

‘Go for it,’ said Leo, just about managing not to grit his teeth.

‘Although I wouldn’t be entirely surprised if she said no.’

‘Why?’

When Jake didn’t immediately answer, Leo glanced over to find his brother looking at him questioningly. ‘What the hell happened up there?’

Hmm.

Leo picked up a tiny blini topped with sour cream and caviar and ate it slowly, largely to give himself time to work out how he was going to respond, because wasn’t that the question of the night? And one to which there was no answer, because for one thing he still hadn’t entirely worked it out, and for another, hell would freeze over before he shared the details of the misunderstanding that made him look like such a complete and utter fool with anyone, least of all his no-holds-barred brother.

‘What do you mean, what happened up there?’ he said evenly, deciding that bluffing was the only way through this. ‘Nothing happened up there.’

‘Right,’ said Jake, clearly not believing him for a second. ‘Then why did Abby come down looking like thunder?’

Leo shrugged and kept his eyes on the party. ‘No idea,’ he said and took another gulp of champagne.

‘What did you do?’

‘Why would you think I did anything?’

‘It’s that time of year. Makes you morose. Edgy. Unpredictable. But more than that, she was fine when I asked her to go up and find you.’

‘Maybe she had a call. Maybe something’s gone wrong with the catering. Who knows?’

There was a pause and Leo glanced at Jake to find him looking back shrewdly. ‘I think I might have some idea.’

Leo went still, his fingers tightening around the stem of his glass as his pulse sped up. Had Abby said something? Given Jake a minute-by-minute account of what had happened? And were there perhaps ramifications to what he’d done? Hadn’t people been sued for less?

‘Really?’ he said, hedging his bets but bracing himself for the worst.

Jake nodded. ‘Yup. She’s a perfectionist. She doesn’t like things to go wrong.’

‘No, well, what event planner would?’

‘So perhaps finding you passed out after a drinking session piqued her sense of responsibility and orderliness.’

Leo frowned and wondered if his brain was still on go-slow because what on earth was Jake on about? What drinking session? ‘Passed out?’ he echoed.

‘That was her guess.’

‘It was the wrong one.’