Jennifer Rae - Confessions Of A Bad Bridesmaid

She moved round to the passenger side and put her hand on the slick silver handle, but right at that moment—to her horror—her five-hundred-dollar boots came out from underneath her and she landed with a thud right on her aching butt.

A smart bang followed by squelching footsteps meant Olivia was no longer alone. Trying to get a grip on the icy road, she put her hands down and pushed, but the pointed heels kept slipping.

‘Those are the most ridiculous shoes I’ve ever seen.’

A strong male hand reached under her upper arm and hauled her ungracefully and immediately to her feet. She felt unbalanced, but his arm held her steady and she leaned onto his tall, thick frame, grasping at the lapels of his grey overcoat to stay upright. His grip on her arm tightened and she felt his long fingers biting into her skin through her coat.

She tried to look up, but her precarious position meant all she could do was stare into his chest. ‘I didn’t dress for a hike in the country. I was expecting to be picked up from the airport.’

‘This is Britain...in December, those boots are inappropriate and ridiculous no matter what you’re doing.’

His hand was holding her steady but his other arm suddenly snaked around her waist and she found herself pushed hard up against his coat, her nose level with his neck. His breath warmed the skin on her forehead.

Looking up, she found herself staring into chocolaty dark eyes set perfectly each side of a long, straight nose and a set of high, angular cheekbones. He looked like Will, only...better. Heat flew to her cheeks and neck and to other more intimate places she refused to acknowledge. She would not be turned on by another inconsiderate bastard, no matter how big or how strong or how handsome...

His eyes gazed coolly at her from a height. She couldn’t move. His arm pulled her in tighter and she tried to hide the surprise on her face when she felt something long and hard press against her belly. So she wasn’t the only one turned on? A small smile tugged at her mouth and an uncontrollable urge to flirt bubbled inside her.

‘Perhaps I need a lesson in English dressing?’ She flashed a smile and looked up at him through lowered lashes.

But his angry gaze didn’t move. A muscle in his clean-shaven jaw twitched.

‘Perhaps what you need...’ his deep voice had lowered an octave and was now grumbling against her chest ‘...is a lesson in etiquette. If you’re going to change your flight you should let someone know.’

He let go of her waist and she slipped and slid, grabbing for the sturdiness of his lapels again. Looking up, she realised any seductiveness on her face had evaporated in the embarrassing awkwardness of the moment. A clump of long damp blonde hair was strewn across her eyes and her gloved fingers were slipping from his coat. She felt desperately needy, and her cheeks burned indignantly, so she let go of him and steeled her leg muscles to get a grip on the icy road and move towards the car door.

‘I can manage from here...thank you.’ Her tone was as icy as the road, and she managed to make her way to the door even though her legs splayed inelegantly with each measured step. Her stomach clenched as his gloved hands gently pushed her rear, guiding her into the seat.

He gave her one last push before his irritating head popped in next to her. ‘Would you like me to do up your seatbelt for you as well?’

She threw him her most haughty stare—the one reserved for her sister’s best friend and every slimeball who approached her in a bar.

He huffed out a chuckle, flashing white teeth and a set of deep dimples, before clicking the door shut and walking to the other side to regain his position in the driver’s seat.

* * *

‘We’re late.’

Edward realised he was being unforgivably rude, but he was in no mood to be picking up Will’s friends from the airport. Well, technically it was Fiona’s friend. Fiona—who was nothing to him. Yet they thought it perfectly acceptable to interrupt his day to make the two-hour round trip to the airport and on to his parents’ house. And then the girl wasn’t there. His normally calm demeanour was in danger of cracking.

‘If you had checked with Fiona you would have known about the new flight time.’

Her voice was cool and steady and somehow it irritated him even more. She could at least have the decency to sound shaken. Or guilty. How about guilty?

‘I do apologise. You’re right. I should have checked with Fiona. Would that have been before or after my two o’clock meeting with the Prime Minister?’

It had been the Minister for Trade, actually, but she was annoying him. He flicked her a glance. She seemed the sort not to give a toss about anyone else. Self-centred, vain, and with an over-inflated idea of her own attractiveness if her unsuccessful attempts at flirting were anything to go by.

Although, he grudgingly admitted she had a sort of innate sexiness he couldn’t put his finger on. She was wearing too much make-up, and her long, dead straight blonde hair, obscene fur jacket and tight leather pants were a little too Chelsea for his taste, but something about the curvy figure he’d held against his chest made his trousers feel a little tighter. And when she’d fallen she’d looked up at him, hair strewn across her face, her sexy light-coloured eyes looking at him so trustingly. Was it any wonder his groin had reacted so violently?

An unconscious smile lifted the corner of his mouth. Those perfect pouty pink lips had formed a little ‘o’ as he’d pushed her pert ass into the car and he’d felt an urge to pull her head around and kiss her. Her lips were all glossy and full and...

Great work, Winchester. All it takes is a hot body and a set of shiny lips and your mind is out of control and veering into the gutter. Nothing but a caveman.

Thankfully she appeared to have enough brains to remain silent. For exactly three minutes.

‘I would suggest before you saw the Prime Minister, in case he prattled on a bit. Then you would have known you had to get out earlier and could have hurried him up.’

‘Hurried him up?’

‘Yes. Hurried him up.’

‘The Prime Minister?’

‘Yes.’

‘Of Great Britain?’

‘Yes.’ She turned those big eyes his way finally. ‘He’s only a man.’

Only a man. That simple phrase summed up her stupidity. And he didn’t have the patience for stupid. He decided right then that, no matter how delectable her lips, she didn’t deserve another moment of his conversation and shut his mouth tight.

It took another three whole minutes for her to speak again.

‘Where are we going?’

‘I should have thought that was obvious.’

‘The bloke at the pub told me I was almost there.’

‘My parents’ house is twenty minutes away. You had a long way to go in those...boots.’

‘But I was going to Fiona’s—I need to get changed.’

‘We’re going to be late as it is. There’s no time for you to get changed. What you’re wearing is fine.’

Edward sneaked another look at her outfit. She would certainly stand out. His sister’s tedious friends would have their avaricious tongues hanging out, making complete nuisances of themselves over her. But she was stubbornly persisting.

‘I have been on a plane for twenty-four hours, a bus for an hour and I have trudged up a hill...in the snow. I want to get changed.’

‘I’m afraid it’s too late.’

‘Fine. Stop the car.’

‘What?’

‘I said, stop the car. I’ll get changed in the back seat.’

‘You don’t need to change; you can freshen up when we get there.’

‘I don’t want to freshen up—I want to change. Stop the car.’

Seeing he was getting absolutely nowhere, he stopped protesting. But he let his knuckles whiten on the steering wheel as she got out and shuffled to the rear of the car.