Lucy King - The Best Man for the Job

A rogue flame of heat licked through her and she wondered not for the first time what things would be like between them if the antagonism didn’t exist. Kind of secretly wished it didn’t because he was still looking at her as if trying to imprint every detail of her face onto his memory, and every cell of her body was now straining to get up close and personal to him and the effort of resisting was just about wiping out what was left of her strength.

‘Want to take a seat for a bit?’ he murmured, and she snapped out of it because, honestly, what was wrong with her today?

Deeply irritated by her inability to control either her thoughts or her body, Celia pulled herself together and focused. Yes, she’d just had a pretty uncomfortable experience, but what was she, eighty? Besides, she was on edge and restless, as if a million bees were swarming inside her, and she needed to lose the feeling. ‘I’m going to take a walk,’ she said, gripping the edge of the bar and bending down to undo her shoes.

‘I’ll join you.’

No way. ‘I’d rather be alone.’

‘I’d like to talk to you.’

She glanced up. ‘What about?’

‘You’ll see.’

‘No, I won’t.’

He tilted his head and smiled faintly. ‘Don’t you think you owe me for helping you out back there?’

Had he helped her out? She didn’t think so, although that wasn’t his fault. ‘I thought you said you didn’t want anything in return for your help.’

‘Humour me.’

Straightening and dangling her shoes from the fingers of one hand, Celia didn’t see why she should humour him in the slightest, but maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea because on reflection she’d made some pretty inaccurate assumptions about him today. Therefore she owed him at least one apology, and it would probably be less humiliating to do that on the move when she’d have an excuse to keep her eyes on the ground on the lookout for random tree roots waiting to trip her up.

‘OK, then,’ she said coolly. ‘Let’s walk.’

‘This way?’ he said, gesturing in the direction of the walled kitchen garden that would at least afford them privacy for the talk he wanted to have and the apology she had to give.

‘Fine.’

They set off across the lawn and as the chatter of the guests and the music faded Celia felt her coolness ebb and her awareness of him increase. He was so tall, so broad and so solid and every time his arm accidentally brushed hers it threw up a rash of goosebumps over her skin and sent shivers down her spine.

She sorely regretted taking off her shoes. They might be tricky to walk in, particularly over grass, but they’d added inches. Without them she felt strangely small despite the fact that she was well above average height, and a bit vulnerable, which, as she was the least vulnerable person she knew, was as ridiculous as it was disconcerting.

She tried to distract herself by mentally formulating an apology that would let her keep at least a smidgeon of dignity, but it was no use. She couldn’t concentrate on anything except the man walking beside her. There was something so different about him at the moment. He seemed unusually tense. Controlled. Restrained. Maybe even a bit dangerous...

Which was utterly absurd, she told herself firmly, shaking her head free of the notion. Not to mention idiotically fanciful. Marcus wasn’t dangerous. No. The only danger here was her because with every step she took away from the safety of the crowd she could feel the pressure inside her building and her self-control slipping.

‘You can relax, you know,’ he murmured, shooting her a quick smile that flipped her stomach and unsettled her even more.

Suddenly totally unable to figure out how to handle the situation, she fell back on the way she’d always dealt with him and shot him a scathing look. ‘No, I can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘You have to ask?’

‘Clearly.’

She stopped. Planted a hand on her hip and glared at him, all the tension and confusion whipping around inside her suddenly spilling over. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, just get on with it, Marcus.’

‘Get on with what?’ he asked, drawing to a halt himself, a picture of bewildered innocence.

‘The “talk” you wanted to have. Come on, you must be dying to gloat about the sorry state of my love life, not to mention all the other things my father said.’

He thrust his hands in his pockets and looked at her steadily. ‘I’m not going to do that.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah, right. Why change the habit of a lifetime?’

Marcus pulled his hands from his pockets and shoved them through his hair while sighing deeply. ‘Look, Celia,’ he said, folding his arms across his chest and pinning her to the spot with his dark gaze. ‘How about we try a ceasefire on the hostilities front?’

For a moment she just stared at him because where on earth had that come from? ‘A ceasefire?’ she echoed, as taken aback as if he’d grabbed her and kissed her. ‘Why?’

‘Because I’m sick of it.’

She blinked, now blindsided by the weariness in his voice as well. ‘You’re sick of it?’

‘Aren’t you?’

She opened her mouth to tell him she wasn’t. But then she closed it because hadn’t she been wishing the animosity between them didn’t exist only minutes ago? ‘Maybe,’ she conceded. ‘A bit.’

‘I suggest a truce.’

‘And how long do you think that would last? Five minutes?’

‘Let’s try and give it at least ten.’

‘For the duration of the “talk”?’

‘If you like.’ He tilted his head and arched a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Think you could do that?’

Celia didn’t really know what to think. A ceasefire? A truce? Really? Was it even possible after fifteen years of animosity?

Maybe it was. If Marcus was willing. She could be civil, couldn’t she? She generally was. So with a bit of effort she could manage it now. Particularly since, despite herself, she was kind of intrigued to know what he wanted to talk to her about. And besides, she didn’t like the way he was making her sound like the unreasonable one here. She wasn’t unreasonable at all, and she’d prove it.

‘Why not?’ she said, tossing him a cool smile from over her shoulder and continuing towards the kitchen garden.

* * *

Well, that had gone a lot more easily than he’d expected, thought Marcus, going after her. He’d anticipated much more of a battle, much more withering sarcasm and scathing retort, but then perhaps that conversation with her father had knocked her confidence a bit. Not that she’d ever dream of showing it, of course.

Nevertheless a mortified, confidence-knocked Celia was novel. Intriguing. More alluring than it probably should have been. As was a chat without all the acrimony, he reminded himself swiftly, which was the main point of this little exercise.

‘So I’m imagining that wasn’t quite the way you were intending the conversation with your father to go when you asked for my help,’ he said once he’d caught up with her.

Celia snapped her gaze to his and shot him a look of absolute horror. ‘Not exactly.’

‘So much for small talk.’

She shook her head as if remembering the conversation in all its awful glory, and winced. ‘I still can’t believe he said all that stuff about, well, you know, sorting me out and things.’

‘Nor can I.’ Although, to be honest, he was now so aware of her, it was pretty much all he could think about. That and getting to the bottom of why she detested him so much.

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Why? It’s not your fault.’

‘I guess not, but, still, he put you in an awkward position.’

‘I doubt mine was as awkward as yours.’

‘Probably not.’