Jennifer Rae - Confessions Of A Bad Bridesmaid

He coughed and looked away.

‘I prefer someone less...I don’t know...’ She tried to find the right word. ‘Intimidating.’

‘A weak man who’ll put up with your nonsense and bend over when you tell him to?’

‘No. A sweet, sensitive man who’ll love me unconditionally. A kind, gentle soul who needs me.’

‘A pushover.’

Olivia gave him the hardest look she could. ‘You are a cynical man, Edward Winchester. And you don’t have a romantic bone in that great big—’ surprisingly lean and muscular ‘—body of yours.’

A waiter walked past and she reached out to grab another glass of champagne, downing it in one long sip. All the time, Edward watched her.

‘Life is not a romance novel, Olivia. It’s about work and responsibility and doing what you’re supposed to.’

Olivia sighed again. She knew that. She knew it. But she wished life was like a romance novel. She wished there was someone—anyone—who would be willing to love her despite her faults. But she knew that was impossible.

They stood silently, largely ignored by the milling crowd.

‘I know,’ she said suddenly. ‘Why don’t you help me?’ Another waiter wandered past and Olivia grabbed another glass. ‘You seem the type to think things through. Weigh up the alternatives. Make sensible decisions. Maybe you can figure out why everyone always leaves me.’

SIX

Edward looked down at the big blue eyes that were blinking up at him. They were smothered in black eye shadow. She looked like a raccoon. Lost, tipsy and desperate. Three attributes that should make him want to run a mile. Earlier she’d been hard and challenging. Now she seemed needy. It was an intoxicating combination and it brought out something primitive in him. Some protective gene he was sure was purely practical and had nothing to do with the fact that he found her big blue eyes increasingly irresistible.

He had been drawn to her all night, his body on alert when she moved, when she laughed, and when her eyes turned to scan the room. And to be honest he wasn’t sure why. She was abrasive and unpredictable and silly, but there was a sweetness to her that, combined with her captivating sexiness, made her hard to ignore.

And now she wanted him to be honest. To find her flaws and tell them to her. Dangerous. He knew from experience that people didn’t really want to know. People liked being in their little cocoons.

‘Perhaps we should discuss this outside.’ She was swaying on her feet and his uncle-with-the-wandering-hands seemed to be looking their way and licking his lips. The thought of that dirty old man’s hands on her was making him sick.

This time she didn’t fight him. She let him lead her outside and he whisked the champagne glass out of her hands on the way out—swiftly relieving a passing waiter of a glass of water at the same time.

On the terrace, it was cold. The blackness amplified by the new moon that hung grey and high in the sky. Edward closed the doors behind them to block out the noise of voices. When he turned Olivia was leaning over the balcony, looking up to the sky. Her short dress had risen up so high he could see the curve of her buttocks. He quickly averted his eyes and shrugged off his jacket. She must be freezing.

‘The saucepan is upside down.’

Not for the first time Edward found himself intrigued by this woman. What was she talking about now? He moved closer and gently put his jacket around her shoulders, placing the glass of water on the edge of the brick terrace. He moved slowly and silently. He didn’t want to spook her.

Those two great pillocks who’d been plying her with booze had been all over her. When he’d seen them with Olivia he’d known what they were doing. And he’d also known Olivia was in no state to be left alone with them.

Olivia shifted and looked at him as he placed the jacket around her shoulders, but she didn’t throw it off.

‘Why is the saucepan upside down?’ With her strange words she pointed to the sky.

‘The saucepan?’

‘There. See the three stars in a row and the handle? It’s upside down.’

Edward tilted his head. It did look like a saucepan. But it wasn’t. It was the constellation Orion.

‘That’s Orion, the great warrior. The three stars make up his belt.’

‘The great warrior,’ she murmured. ‘Like you.’

Her words were a little slurred and her limbs were loose. Jet lag and champagne were a toxic combination. Prone to make you do and say things you shouldn’t. Which was why he always stopped at one drink.

‘I’m no warrior.’

‘Yes, you are. You saved me from those buffoons.’

‘I thought you were having fun.’ He moved closer. She looked cold. He wanted to warm her up.

Olivia turned to him as she laughed and he held his breath. She’d smiled before, but not like this. He found himself irresistibly smiling back at her. She moved a little closer to him but turned back to the sky. He watched her. Her long eyelashes blinked and a dimple sank into her cheek. She shifted so her chin was resting on her shoulder and turned to look at him. That smile again. He had to move. He’d hardened in an instant.

‘I was. I like to have fun.’

She blinked at him and he moved even closer, letting his shoulder rest against hers. Just in case she fell. He heard her suck in a breath, and she looked down at his shoulder before lifting those big eyes to him. Her lips parted and he almost forgot where he was and, for a moment, who he was.

Her hair was wild around her face and her eyes were glancing at his lips. His entire body went hard and he couldn’t move. He watched as she licked her full, bouncy lips. This woman was dangerous. One of those women who made you forget. But he couldn’t forget. He could never forget.

He had to say something.

‘“The stroke of midnight ceases,”’ he recited. ‘“And I lie down alone. The rainy Pleiades wester, And seek beyond the sea, The head that I shall dream of, That will not dream of me.”’

Edward felt Olivia’s eyes on him.

‘What was that? A poem? You recite poetry?’ She laughed at him and looked away. ‘For someone who is not a romantic that sounded suspiciously romantic, Eddie.’

‘That’s not romantic. It’s extremely unromantic. The man in that poem is dreaming of a woman who isn’t dreaming of him. That’s not romantic. It’s foolish.’

And you’re being foolish, he reminded himself as he dragged his eyes away from her plump lips. Kissing someone like Olivia would not help. Dragging a woman into his life was not something he could do. Especially not a fun-loving, free-spirited woman like Olivia. She’d hate it, and she’d resent him and they’d both end up unhappy. He moved away, put some distance between them so he could no longer feel the warmth of her skin or smell her cinnamon scent.

‘The man who wrote that is not foolish. He’s romantic. Wistful.’ Olivia sighed and looked back to the sky.

Edward noticed she’d pulled his jacket closer.

‘Probably not a man. Probably a woman. Dreaming of finding someone she can never hope to find.’

A rush of sympathy invaded his bones. She sounded so sad. So unlike the angry woman in the car or in the drawing room, threatening that she hadn’t ‘finished’ with him.

‘Then you fill your life with something else,’ he said softly.

He could feel her pain. Olivia sounded confused. He suspected she didn’t know what she wanted. She needed someone strong. Someone to take care of her. Edward’s shoulders stiffened. Definitely not him. He caused pain; he didn’t relieve it. That realisation poured a stream of cold water over him.

‘You should strive for something that will give you back exactly what you put into it.’