He blinked. ‘What?’
She studied his flushed cheeks. ‘Is your breathing okay?’
‘It’s been better,’ he said, ruefully.
She frowned. ‘I thought your asthma was getting better?’
‘It is.’ He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Do you have to stand like that?’
‘Like what?’ Her hands were on her hips, her weight resting on one foot. ‘I often stand like this.’
‘Yeah, but normally wearing more clothes.’ His eyes were dark and hot, and sent something liquid running down her spine.
Her outfit was a little skimpy. Still, it was quite reserved compared to some of the things she’d worn dancing. But then he was Mr Conservative, favouring a suit for all occasions. Although not tonight…and that wasn’t helping her efforts not to jump him.
She went over to Jodi’s desk and removed a handful of wet wipes. ‘Jeans again? You’re listening to my advice then?’ She lifted her top and began wiping. ‘Is it working? Are you feeling more relaxed?’
‘Not right at this moment,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Did you want something?’
‘I came in here for these.’ She indicated the wet wipes. ‘You didn’t answer my question. Why are you working?’
‘I thought I should stay close by in case anything happened. How’s the party?’
She deliberated whether to tell him about Wonder Woman and the Mummy. Probably not. It was his family home, after all. ‘It’s great. Nick and Cassie are ecstatic. The place is buzzing.’ She wiped her sticky hands and binned the wipes. ‘It’s a good dry run for next week. The display in reception is attracting a lot of interest.’
Mentioning the display acted as a trigger. She could tell from his expression that his mind had tumbled back to Tuesday night. The atmosphere between them since had been charged, like an electrical current was crackling around them. It was happening again now.
She cleared her throat. ‘Anyway, I’m hoping people will come back for the showcase.’
‘Let’s hope.’
She sauntered over to him. ‘The stage curtains look great, by the way.’
‘Good.’
‘And the roof is fixed now.’
‘I know.’
She leant on the desk. Two glasses of punch had lowered her inhibitions. ‘Are you going to tell me how we paid for the work?’
His eyes dipped to her bellybutton ring. ‘Nope.’
‘Are you going to explain how we suddenly have printed flyers, a stocked bar and new spotlights in the theatre?’
His mouth twitched. ‘Nope.’
‘Fine.’ She turned and sat on his desk.
He started typing. After a minute, he sighed and sat back in his chair. ‘Are you going to sit there all night?’
‘Depends.’
‘On?’
She smiled. ‘On how resistant you are to joining the party.’
‘I’m not invited.’
‘You can be my plus-one.’
He gestured to his T-shirt and jeans. ‘I’m not in costume.’
‘Costumes aren’t compulsory.’
‘I should be working.’
‘No, you should be relaxing.’ She gave him a look. ‘Remember?’
He sighed. ‘You’re not going to go away, are you?’
‘Hell, no.’ She swung her legs around and hopped off the desk. ‘Dancing is an excellent relaxer.’
‘I’m not dancing.’
She leant over his shoulder and closed his laptop. ‘No point fighting.’ Her face was inches from his. A warning voice in her head told her she was playing a dangerous game. But the alcohol in her bloodstream fuelled her desire to have some fun. It had been ages since she’d enjoyed herself. She wanted to dance.
More significantly, she wanted to strip away Tom’s protective layers and see whether the eighteen-year-old she’d once adored still lurked somewhere deep inside.
There was a long drawn-out moment where they both looked at each other. Her skin began to prickle with heat, but she refused to look away.
Eventually, he let out an exasperated laugh and rubbed his eyes. ‘Christ.’
She took that as victory and sashayed over to the door.
He got up from the desk and came over to her. ‘You should come with a government health warning.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’
He followed her out, locking the door behind him.
She slid her hand into his and led him through the mass of people and into the grand ballroom. The dance floor was packed. The sprung wooden flooring moved beneath them as people jumped about to ‘Love Shack’. He was tentative at first, unwilling to join in. He shook his head in an amused fashion as she began dancing.
Her ‘nightclub’ dancing, as she called it, was no better than anyone else’s. It wasn’t choreographed, or structured. It was gyrating, shaking arms and legs, and letting the music dictate the moment.
He loosened up a fraction during ‘I Gotta Feeling’, moving his feet from side to side. She laced her fingers into his, trying to get him to relax. He laughed at her efforts. When ‘Dancing Queen’ came on she slid her arms around his neck. In six-inch heels, she was almost eye level, able to enjoy the pained expression in his eyes. His shoulders were like blocks of concrete, rigid with tension.
‘Relax your shoulders,’ she shouted above the music.
He rolled his head, trying to loosen up. He only managed it when the music took a slower turn. Ed Sheeran starting singing ‘Perfect’. Tom let out a long breath, his shoulders lowering with the motion.
She set the pace, moving with the rhythm, guiding the pair of them around in a circle, their bodies relaxing into each other.
It was like being transported back to 2006. No longer fighting one another, but in total unison. His arms slid around her, pulling her closer. She rested her head on his shoulder and let the music fill her senses, enjoying his warmth, his smell. The vice around her heart began to slacken for the first time in what felt like forever.
‘What do you miss about being a teenager?’ she asked.
He rested his chin on her head. ‘I can’t answer that without incriminating myself.’
She sighed. ‘I miss snogging.’
His burst of laughter made her head bobble against his chest.
‘We used to kiss for hours.’
He looked down at her. ‘I remember.’
‘You can’t do that as an adult.’
He smiled. ‘You can’t?’
‘When we used to kiss it never used to lead on to anything else…’ She paused. ‘Well, not in the beginning, anyway.’ It was safer not to think about where it’d led after that. ‘I used to love kissing you. You made me feel…I don’t know, like I could just enjoy it without my behaviour being…questionable. You could never snog someone like that now and just stop when you’d had enough. You have to be so guarded, in case things move quicker than you’re ready for them to. I miss that. I think adults skim through the best bits, too eager to get laid.’
He laughed again. ‘You think kissing is the best bit?’
She paused. ‘It’s not just the kissing; it’s what goes with it. That lovely feeling when you can’t wait to see someone and the nervous excitement when you do. Feeling giddy when they touch you and wanting more, but not getting it, and then by the time you do…wow.’ She sighed. ‘Grown-ups miss out on that, don’t you think?’
He didn’t say anything.
‘You don’t agree?’
‘No, it’s just…’
‘What?’
She looked up at him, but his expression was unreadable. ‘That feeling never wore off, Becca. Even after we’d…’
The room seemed to stop spinning.
Chapter Twenty-Six
…later that night
The grand ballroom looked a sorry sight. Gone were the flashing disco lights and thumping music. It was now littered with discarded bottles and glasses, and remnants of food smearing the floor. At least it was em
pty. The drunken partygoers dressed in bizarre costumes had departed, returned to their homes where sore heads and hangovers awaited. It was gone midnight before the party had started to wind down. Tom had intended to clear up, but decided it could wait until the morning when the cleaners would arrive.
For now, he needed to ensure there were no stragglers left in the building and lock up. His bed awaited.
Thoughts of his bed led to thinking about Becca and the image of her dressed as Harley Quinn. Christ, she was hot. She’d always been beautiful. Now she was mind-blowing. As a teenager, she’d been cute with big blue eyes and long blonde hair. Aside from the appeal of her dancer’s physique, she’d always worn a smile, her persona animated and playful. And even though their relationship had developed into intimacy over time, it had been based around love and affection. Most of all fun.
Seeing Becca again after so long had ripped open a wound that had never healed. And that made him angry. He hadn’t wanted to revisit his past. He didn’t want a reminder of how things had once been. It was torture. Gut-twisting. But over the last couple of weeks something had changed. And he was still coming to terms with the shift in their relationship.
It was impossible to stay angry with someone so…adorable. Whatever illegalities she may have been guilty of at sixteen it hadn’t affected the woman she’d become. She defended Jodi with a passion that was admirable, and her desperation to save the playhouse showed the depth of her kindness and desire to help people.
But there was one big difference between the teenage version of Becca and the adult version. And that was sex appeal.
He backtracked through the foyer towards reception.
Liking her again was one thing. Wanting to carry her upstairs and remove her fishnets with his teeth was quite another. He wasn’t sure when things had changed. His attraction had been growing steadily over the last few weeks. Chipping away at the barriers he’d built to protect himself from getting hurt again. But at some point during the last week he’d gone from wishing he’d never laid eyes on her to dreading never seeing her again. And that scared the shit out of him.
But he could no longer deny what he felt. When they’d danced together all remaining resistance had melted away. The feel of her in his arms, the smell of her skin, the sound of her voice and laughter. It was like he could finally breathe. What that meant for the future, he had no idea.
He noticed the door to the art studio was open and the light was on. He hoped he wasn’t about to discover a drunken partygoer passed out on the floor. It was bad enough Captain America had fallen asleep in the bar and needed lifting into a taxi. Tom’s back was still complaining.
There were no partygoers in the art studio. Only Becca. She was balancing on a table, trying to reach the tall sash window. Her arms were raised above her head, lifting her skimpy top and revealing a tattoo of a twirling dancer on her lower back. The muscles in her legs flexed as she reached up, making her shorts ride up. He could see a faint red patch on her thigh where she’d glued herself to the floor. Lust rooted him to the spot.
Only the precariousness of her unstable position prevented him from continuing to admire the view. ‘Need a hand?’
She jolted at the sound of his voice, kicking over the chair she’d used to climb up. She flailed about, trying to regain her balance.
He darted over and grabbed her by the legs. But far from playing the ‘hero’, as she’d accused him of doing on Tuesday, all he managed to do was topple her off the table. He caught her, but as he stepped backwards, he collided with the upturned chair and lost his footing. There was an almighty crash as they landed on the table, which promptly collapsed.
She let out a painful yelp.
He banged his elbow on something, but he was more concerned about her. She was clutching her knee. ‘Shit! Are you okay?’
Her face was screwed up. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, mortified at having injured her. Supposing she never danced again and it was all his fault. ‘What can I do? Do you need ice?’
‘Just give me a minute,’ she said, rubbing her knee. ‘The pain might subside.’ She bent her leg, wincing when she straightened it.
‘I can’t believe I dropped you.’
She managed a self-deprecating smile. ‘It’s not the first time I’ve been dropped. I’ve had my share of inept male dance partners. It’s no big deal.’
He felt himself frown. ‘It’s a big deal to me.’
She surprised him by laughing. ‘Lighten up. It’s only a knock, I’ll live.’
He frowned. ‘You’re bleeding.’
She glanced at her leg. ‘That was Mad Maude, remember? And you’re bleeding too. My bracelet must’ve caught you.’ She trailed a finger down the side of his cheek. ‘Sorry.’
His breath hitched. But that could just be the sting in his face. ‘It’s fine.’
Her eyes stayed locked on his. ‘Are you hurt anywhere else?’
He shook his head. ‘You?’
‘Nothing major. Can you help me stand up?’
He got to his feet and pulled her up. ‘Can you put any weight down?’
She tested her leg. ‘Yep, all good.’ The pained expression on her face didn’t match her words.
He slid his arm around her. ‘Liar.’
She laughed. ‘Stop worrying, will you? I just need to walk it off.’
‘Lean on me, then. Take it easy.’ He took her weight as she hobbled around the room. ‘Why were you standing on the desk?’
‘I was closing the window.’
‘Why was it open? No one was supposed to be in here.’
She laughed. ‘That’s the thing about parties, people get carried away.’
‘And randomly open windows?’
She looked at him. ‘I’m guessing they opened the window because things got a little steamy in here.’ She raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to catch on.
It took a moment. ‘You’re kidding? In here? Tonight?’
She laughed, her purple bunches swaying with the motion. ‘Afraid so.’
‘It wasn’t Superman, was it? I saw him getting frisky with Maleficent in the bar.’ And then he changed his mind. ‘Actually, I don’t want to know.’
She leant against him. The scent of her perfume made him feel light-headed.
‘How’s your knee?’
‘Not too bad. Hopefully, there’s no permanent damage.’ She stopped walking. ‘I might need to sit down for a bit.’ When he picked her up in his arms, she laughed. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Redeeming myself.’ He adjusted her position and carried her out of the room. He’d been wanting to do this for weeks. ‘You’ll never make it up the staircase with a bad knee.’
‘We’re going upstairs?’ She had a playful look on her face.
He stilled. ‘Unless you’d prefer me to call you a taxi?’
‘I’d prefer it if you called me Becca.’
His laughter made carrying her across the foyer more challenging. He could feel the warmth of her body pressed against him, the texture of her skin soft through the rips in her tights. Her arms were snaked around his neck. The brush of her hair against his face made him shiver. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to do more than that. But she was injured and he needed to negotiate the stairs.
He stepped over the rope cordoning off the private quarters. He felt quite manly as he lifted her over. Tarzan, eat your heart out. But then his trail leg snagged on the rope and he toppled forwards. With his foot ensnared he couldn’t stay upright, and his balance had gone south. They fell to the floor together and this time he landed on top of her.
She smothered a yelp.
This was not the way to impress a woman. He pushed himself onto his elbows. ‘Becca…? Are you okay?’
When she laughed, his insides melted. ‘I’m fine, Casanova.’
A tiny voice in his head told him he should move. He was lying on top of her, arms either side of her head, knees either side of hers, trying not to squa
sh her. He was also panting heavily.
It wasn’t the worst position he’d ever found himself in. Despite being sprawled on the floor, it didn’t stop the intensity of the moment registering with a certain part of his anatomy. The feel of her chest rising and falling beneath his only added to the tension. He was close enough to touch her, to whisper in her ear. It was the ideal moment to tell her how he felt…but come to think of it, how did he feel?
He risked a glance down and found her staring up at him. ‘Shall I move?’ he whispered.
She shook her head.
The next thing he knew they were kissing.
Her lips were warm and willing. She responded with such passion it knocked him sideways. Any thoughts of self-control went flying out the window. He’d been dying to do this ever since the moment he’d set eyes on her again. He moved against her mouth, drawing her in, making her moan. He wasn’t sure it’d been anything like this as a teenager. She was clinging hold of him like she never intended to let go.
When she wrapped her legs around him, he nearly lost his mind.
He could taste her, smell her; everything he’d forgotten came flooding back, reminding him why he’d been so crazy for her. Why he’d fallen in love with her in the first place. But that wasn’t going to happen again. This was just snogging.
The hell, it was.
Her hands were laced into his hair, gripping hold, her body pressing against him, urging him on…and he really didn’t need any encouragement.
‘Tom…?’
‘Oh, God, Becca.’ He wanted her so much.
‘Tom?’ Her voice was sharper this time.
He kissed her neck, his tongue trailing over her soft skin. ‘What is it…? What do you want me to do?’
‘Tom!’ This time a command.
He jerked back, his brain drugged with lust and desire. It took a few seconds to compute it wasn’t Becca calling his name, but… Shit!
He dragged himself upright, as though branded by a cattle prod. Becca yelped when his knee hit her thigh. ‘Sorry…sorry.’
It was too much to hope it was an apparition. A bad dream, or his brain playing dirty tricks. Standing in front of him, hands on hips, staring down at him, was his sodding ex-girlfriend. ‘Izzy?’
Starlight on the Palace Pier Page 25
