Modern Romance May 2015 Books 1-8. Кейт Хьюит

from that tiny sliver of flat, toned, creamy-skinned stomach and cleared his throat, reminding himself that this was business.

      ‘The flight or—?’

      ‘Both,’ she cut in quickly.

      ‘The company jet was available, so not long for the journey. The wedding I’ve arranged so that we can stop off on the way to the airport.’

      ‘That sounds ideal.’ Her voice was clear and cool but Seb could see her hands were shaking as her gaze flickered around the room; she was looking anywhere but at him. She reminded him of a trapped animal.

      She accused him of pride, but Seb suspected that Mari’s stiff-necked version of that sin would make her walk over hot coals before she’d admit she was nervous. It was an exasperating characteristic, almost as much as her wildly misplaced loyalty to her brother and he was not above exploiting this misplaced loyalty.

       Which makes you...?

      She was a consenting adult; she knew what she was doing. Somehow this didn’t stop his pangs of conscience.

      ‘It’s all right to be nervous.’

      ‘I’m not nervous. I’ll just be glad when it’s over.’

      ‘Is this all you have?’ He nodded towards the moderate-size holdall that was propped against a sofa that had bespoke and expensive written all over it. The open-plan living area suggested that the owner had expensive taste.

      ‘I fit a lot in. I wasn’t sure what to bring.’ She hurried and clumsily snatched the bag up before him. ‘I can manage,’ she said with the attitude of someone expecting a fight.

      No fight materialised; he simply straightened up and watched as she flung it purposefully over her shoulder, allowing himself a faint smile when the impetus as it hit her hip almost knocked her off balance.

      ‘Fine by me.’

      ‘That’s good, then,’ she said, knowing the response sounded lame.

      Mari lived on the fourth floor in a small nondescript brick building that had no lift, and by the time they had reached the third floor she was regretting he hadn’t argued her out of her decision. Halfway down she swallowed her pride and paused to catch her breath.

      He paused, too, not breathless obviously, just looking like a Hollywood film star who had drifted onto the wrong set. This peeling paint and worn carpet really wasn’t his natural setting.

      He looked down at her through the mesh of his crazily long dark eyelashes and nodded to the bag. ‘Manage that, can you?’

      She gritted her teeth, straightened up and produced a sunny smile. The weight had almost yanked her shoulder from its socket, but she’d die before she’d admit it or accept his help. ‘I’m fine, thank you.’

      He stood aside as she exited the flat door sideways, not making allowances for the bulk of the bag as she eased past him carefully.

      ‘Sure you don’t need help?’

      ‘Yes,’ she said shortly, requiring all her breath to negotiate the last flight of stairs. They passed one of her neighbours, whose plucked brows almost vanished into her hairline when she saw Seb.

      ‘Moving on, are we?’

      ‘A holiday,’ Mari puffed.

      ‘I don’t think she believed you,’ Seb said in a voice that echoed spookily down the stairwell.

      ‘Shh, she’ll hear you,’ Mari hissed as she prepared to swap shoulders, resting her bag for a moment on the step long enough to give him ample opportunity to repeat his offer of help. She’d refuse, but it would be nice to have the option. When he didn’t, she gritted her teeth and wished she hadn’t packed the books or the pair of boots.

      ‘The reporters knocked on every door in the building. I think they offered money for—’

      His lip curled. ‘Dirt.’

      She turned her head; he was standing two steps behind her.

      ‘I was surprised,’ he admitted, stepping down one step and pausing just one above her.

      Too close...too close... Struggling to pacify the panicky voice in her head, she took a jolting backward step.

      ‘Really? I thought knocking on doors and buying stories was par for the course?’

      ‘It is, which is why I was surprised when I didn’t get to read the lurid details, both fictional and true, of your love affairs in the tabloids. Anyone would think you have a blemish-free past.’ The humourless smile that tugged the corners of his mouth upwards faded as his hooded gaze slid covetously over the curves of her athletically slim body. She had an innate sensuality that had to make every man she met think about taking her to bed—he had.

      Still was thinking, said the voice in his head.

      The difference was he wasn’t going to act on it, despite the sizzle whenever they were in near proximity. This might be a long eighteen months.

      It didn’t matter how hard they dug, she didn’t have a past, at least not the sort he was talking about, but Mari was not about to admit her embarrassing lack of lovers to him. She turned her head quickly. Trust issues aside, she had suspected for some time that she simply wasn’t very highly sexed. With Adrian she had been in love with the idea of it, the romance of it, which was why having her illusions shattered had been such a big deal.

      She’d trusted him and he’d betrayed her and rejected her. She’d prefer to stay single than risk feeling that way again.

      ‘Some of us are discreet.’

      ‘Yeah, I had a grandstand view of your amazing discretion in the cathedral,’ he drawled, replaying the scene in his head and feeling the acrid aftertaste of anger and humiliation all over again.

      Mari clamped her lips together. She was pretty sick of having her nose rubbed in it. It wasn’t as if she needed reminding she had set in motion the events that had led her to this place and this moment. ‘Are you going to bring that up often? Just so that I know.’

      ‘You’re right.’ Anger was a waste of energy and an indulgence; he needed to take a less negative approach. ‘I’m not in the best of moods.’

      Astonished by the admission, Mari didn’t say anything.

      ‘After a long absence, my parents have made the news.’

      The story dug up from years back by an enterprising hack told of another bride left standing at the altar. His father had been the groom, his mother the ‘other’ woman, and his father had jilted his new bride just as Seb had done.

      The only downside to this story from a journalistic point of view had been that the woman left at the altar had not gone on to lead a tragic life, but instead had been inconveniently happy combining a career as a respected trauma doctor with marriage and four children.

      ‘Today might be better if you remind yourself that a marriage of convenience is a hell of a lot better than one of inconvenience, and there are a lot of those out there,’ he mused, fighting the impulse to grab the damned bag off her as she staggered awkwardly down a step. All she had to do was ask, but she didn’t, and with a bloody-minded stubbornness she made it to the poky communal hallway where she paused.

      He correctly interpreted her hesitation. ‘There were no reporters outside when I arrived.’

      Still she hesitated, raising herself up on tiptoe to peer through the dusty pane of glass high up on the door.

      ‘Are you sure?’ If she was seen leaving complete with luggage and Seb, she could only imagine how they would spin it. Ironically nothing could be as strange, or crazy, as the truth!

      With a grunt of irritation he snatched the bag from her and strode out through the door.

      Left with little choice Mari followed him,