Last-Minute Bridegroom. Linda Miles

Chaz.

      ‘Well, what did you have in mind?’ said Tasha in exasperation.

      A black eyebrow swooped up mockingly. ‘You could spend the night with me.’

      Tasha stared at him for a moment—then, to her astonishment, burst out laughing. ‘Chaz, you’re impossible. Of all the times to be making stupid jokes—’

      ‘It wasn’t a joke,’ said Chaz. ‘It’s a serious suggestion in that it would probably make you feel better. Of course it’s true I wouldn’t expect you to try it, but that doesn’t make it a joke.’

      Tasha stared at her mad, bad cousin. Except, of course, that he wasn’t her cousin. Chase Taggart was the son of the first wife of the second husband, or was it the second wife of the first husband—? No. Tasha’s parents had got divorced when she was ten. Her mother, leaving her first husband, had gone to stay briefly with her sister, then on her third. Tasha’s Aunt Monica had had a glamorous new husband; the husband had had a son. That son, who was absolutely no relation of Tasha’s of any kind, was Chaz: five years older and five thousand years more sophisticated, black-haired, black-eyed, black-browed, with a razor-sharp wit used unsparingly on whichever of his four or five families he happened to visit.

      Her mad, bad not-really-cousin stared back at her, eyes brilliant with amusement. ‘Well?’

      ‘Well what?’ said Tasha.

      ‘Well, what’s the answer?’

      ‘The answer is I think you’re completely despicable,’ snapped Tasha. ‘I suppose this is something that’s worked for you in the past? You find some woman whose world has fallen apart and who’s completely devastated and instead of showing even an iota of sympathy you take advantage of her vulnerable state to seduce her.’

      A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. ‘There are different ways of showing sympathy,’ said Chaz unrepentantly. ‘Anyway, there’s a limit to how much sympathy I can feel for you when you’ve just escaped being sentenced to life with a complete and utter prat. Look on the bright side, at least you’ll never have to sleep with Jeremy again, or for that matter with that other idiot—what was his name? Oh, yes, Martin, or with the one before that—Malcolm, was it? No, I’m getting mixed up, aren’t I? Malcolm was your first, then there was Colin, then the man like a piece of damp felt—where in God’s name do you find them all, Tash? If you’ve got to fall for a complete loser, why can’t you at least pick one who’s good in bed?’

      Tasha had had plenty of arguments with Chaz over the years, but she hadn’t realised how angry it was possible to be. She felt as if the blood in her veins was foaming with fury. ‘I’m certainly not going to discuss them with you,’ she said coldly. ‘I’d just like to point out, though, that you can’t possibly know what any of them were like in bed—’

      ‘Sure I can,’ Chaz said cheerfully. ‘If you think it’s selfish to seduce someone, as you put it, it must be because you think the man is the only one who can enjoy it, which means, sweet coz, that they can’t have been doing it right.’

      Tasha realised that she was actually grinding her teeth. ‘I don’t want to discuss it,’ she said again, in a tone that had moved from the refrigerator to the freezer.

      ‘Poor darling, was it that bad?’ said Chaz, with the same lurking smile. ‘Mind you, I had my suspicions—’

      ‘I don’t want to discuss it,’ Tasha said furiously.

      ‘Of course you don’t,’ said Chaz. ‘You’d like to hit me for being right. Completely unfair, if you ask me. After all, I’m not the one who left you bored and frustrated through lack of imagination and sheer technical incompetence—’

      Tasha didn’t even think. Rage snapped her hand back and sent it slicing through the air at the handsome, taunting face.

      A hand shot up and caught her wrist.

      ‘I know you’d like to hit me, Natasha,’ Chaz said softly, his deep, slow voice dragging over her name like a caress. ‘But don’t be too hasty.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Here’s the deal. Let me kiss you, and if you don’t like it you can hit me and I won’t hit you back.’

      Tasha tried to pull her hand away, but his grip tightened on her wrist.

      ‘Come on, Tash,’ he said, the smile lighting his eyes. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve never wondered. And it’s just a kiss, after all. What are you afraid of? That you might like it too much?’

      Tasha glared at him speechlessly.

      He laughed. ‘Well, let’s try unilateral disarmament.’ He released her wrist, allowing his hand to fall to his side. ‘Come on, Tash,’ he said even more softly, an eyebrow quirking up. ‘Close your eyes.’

      Later she would never know why she did it. Instead of slapping him across the face the moment her hand was free, she let her hand drop harmlessly to her lap and closed her eyes.

      At first she thought he’d been teasing her, that it was just a joke to see if she’d do it. Then something brushed her mouth as lightly as the wing of a butterfly, and was gone. It brushed her mouth again; it was as if someone had held a lighted match just short of her mouth, grazing her lips with the scorched air just outside the flame. Then it was gone, but her mouth stung from the fleeting contact. Then it was back, but this time it lingered just the fraction of a second longer before dropping away.

      Tasha found that she was holding her breath. The featherlight touch seemed to have nothing to do with her horrible cousin Chaz, who was always so knowing, so arrogant, so convinced that he was a super-stud. Something touched her mouth again, long enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath before it was gone. Her lips parted involuntarily, and now his mouth was on hers and she could taste him, something as smooth and golden as her Scotch, with wickedness lurking in its amber depths. It warmed her like the Scotch, melting a little of the cold, hard core of misery that was like an icy rock in her chest; she breathed in, opening her mouth wider.

      The tip of his tongue traced the sensitive skin of her upper lip, leaving it tingling as if from an electric shock—and the inside of the lip tingled too, as if in anticipation. But the tongue was gone, leaving only the memory of the thrill, a longing to feel it again. Now he ran the tip of his tongue just inside her lips, and the reality was better than imagination, intoxicating in its intensity, as if someone had doubled the strength of her drink behind her back. Tasha breathed out on a long sigh, relaxing into the kiss; the lovely honeyed warmth spread through her body, dissolving the wretchedness—or maybe just shielding her for the moment from its bitter cold. But even if it was just for the moment what did it matter? She let her mouth melt against his, savouring the heady taste of it.

      He drew his mouth away, and she waited to feel his mouth on hers again, but this time it did not come back.

      ‘You can open your eyes now, Tasha,’ Chaz said softly.

      She opened her eyes. It was a shock to see Chaz looking just as he always did; she might have thought she’d imagined those butterfly kisses, but his mouth was still moist. It was smiling slightly; if she put her mouth on his she would feel the smile on her lips.

      She felt slightly sick. The warmth, the lovely sense that nothing mattered except the here and now, had gone with the kiss; the hard, cold rock was back inside.

      She stared at Chaz as if she were seeing him for the first time, taking in the humorous, supple mouth, the brilliant black eyes under the black slash of brow, the hawk-like nose and hard jaw.

      ‘So how was it for you, darling?’ he asked, one of the eyebrows quirking up.

      ‘It was—’ Tasha began. She was still staring at him. ‘You were right,’ she said. ‘I was completely wrong. It has nothing to do with feelings; it’s just a question of technique. You must have practised a lot to be so good.’

      Chaz started to say something and then stopped. He said slowly, ‘So you don’t want to hit me, Tash?’

      Tasha