by Jane Linfoot
Leaning back she sucked in a breath, almost taking his eye out with the jut of her breasts as she readjusted her shirt, tucking it into her waistband. Inadvertently re-organised a major cleavage exposure. Talk about blood surging southwards. He forced his eyes back onto the road, and the crawling stream of traffic. Jackson winced as his tightening jeans clamped on a hard-on the size of the Empire State.
Who exactly was doing the bullshitting here? Once it became clear he couldn’t get out of this, he’d given into fantasies of some sex-fest road trip. What the hell had he been thinking? What the hell had possessed him to abandon his own lifetime-survival guide? All credit to the Cherry Bomb for bringing him back to earth here, with a crash hard enough to remind him of his own rules and bump some sense into him. Whatever sexual diversion from the norms his ball-breaking libido had been planning in secret, his sensible head knew it was out of the question. Out of bounds. Talk about being dragged off course, ambushed by your own lust-craving.
From somewhere on her side he heard the beep of a mobile.
She dipped to the floor, delved into her bag dragged out her phone, cursing as she looked at it. ‘Damn, damn, damn.’
‘Something wrong?’
She pushed on her sunglasses and let out an exasperated breath. ‘Not really. Just my brother, Brando, checking where I am. I’d kind of implied I was working from home for the next couple of weeks and didn’t want to be disturbed, but he called the office and discovered I’m not there.’ She gave a sigh. ‘He worries about me, he can’t help it…’
‘And if he knew you were heading towards Brighton on a two week jaunt with me?’ He hardly needed to ask.
‘He wouldn’t exactly be ecstatic.’ She texted madly, put her phone back in her bag, unbent, then pushed on some dark glasses and rubbed on some lip-gloss from a tiny tin. ‘To put it mildly.’
Great news. Not. Add in that as far as Brando Marshall was concerned it looked like he was abducting the guy’s sister, and the day just got better and better.
‘Good thinking on the shades, Bry. Could you grab me my sunnies please? They’re in the front glove box.’
‘In here?’ She leaned forwards and rummaged in the compartment. Then her furious squawk pierced his eardrums. ‘Jackson Gale. You are so full of shit!’
‘What now?’ Nothing good, obviously.
‘Only a mile of condoms, that’s what.’ Enough decibels to shatter the sunshine roof. One yank of her hand and a multi-coloured condom strip zig-zagged through the air. ‘Nice to see you’ve packed for all eventualities. In bulk.’
True, it trailed pretty much to the floor. Hugely incriminating. No place to hide.
Holy crap.
‘It’s not how it looks.’ He was already resigned to the fact that she’d never believe him, even though he was telling the truth here.
‘So how is it then?’ As her stare bored into him, he jumped as she prodded his elbow accusingly.
Dammit that he’d even asked for the shades in the first place.
‘I’m guessing those are a “Happy Holiday” present from Rik and the boys from Vintage VW’s in Manchester. Their little joke. I hadn’t even noticed the damn condoms were there.’
‘Have reputation, will travel?’ She was almost spluttering here. ‘I have to be crazy heading off with the womaniser of the century who lays in condoms by the gross. I really don’t know why I agreed to this.’
How the hell could he have pissed her off so fast without doing anything? Probably not helpful here to point out they weren’t even his size. Colourful though they might be, that brand wouldn’t go anywhere near. Major grovelling called for, and oxygen.
He dragged in a breath. ‘You agreed to come because you’re super-efficient, organised and talented, and you’re the best person to work with me to make some great TV. And with any luck it’ll haul both our careers to a better place than where they are right now. End of.’
All thanks to Dan’s shrewd manoeuvring. Jackson had to admit that Dan worked wonders on his behalf. Here’s hoping his own grimace was contrite enough. ‘We already agreed to be civilised about this. However many condoms are stashed in the dash it’s definitely hands off. On both sides. Okay?’
Her nostrils still twitched but no steam was coming out. Phew to that. Maybe he’d got away with it.
‘So what about the itinerary, Jackson?’ Straight in. Ms Bossy, back to replace Ms Incensed then. ‘That’s what we need to discuss next. I’ve got everything worked out. The details are all on my iPad.’
Or, how about not discussing it? There was no rush as far as he was concerned.
He had Bryony down as a strong woman. Her strength was part of what had him hooked. Hooked? Bad word choice. He’d never be hooked by a woman, not now, or ever. But there was a fine line between feisty and domineering. And he had to keep her the right side of the line, for both their sakes.
An hour of ceasefire would give him time to regroup. Recover the ground the condom fiasco had cost him.
‘No special hurry on the itinerary front. We’ll get onto that later.’ He slipped his phone out of his pocket, slid it across the seat to her. ‘Why not choose something to listen to in the meantime?’
An olive branch of mega proportions. No one was allowed to touch his phone. Ever.
He just hoped she appreciated it.
Everyone knew hungry women were impossible.
He hoped a nice lunch would soften Bryony up, though he suspected the fact she’d been in charge of selecting the restaurant and had phoned ahead to make the booking had already taken care of a large chunk of the much-needed mellowing. Control freaks were so much more manageable when they thought that they were getting their own way.
‘What a lovely terrace.’ Bryony’s bright tone now they’d arrived suggested he was going to reap the benefits of that arrangement. ‘So lucky I found out about the restaurant before we’d gone too far past. What a combination – thatched roof, beamed barn conversions and award-winning food. I can’t think how I missed it when I was planning or I’d definitely have included it as a lunch stop.’ Tucking into the seat the waiter held out for her, flicking back her hair, she wowed first the waiter, then Jackson, with that full-on smile.
Zap. His pulse rate kicked up. Bryony, alarmingly, even more disarming face-to-face as opposed to side-by-side, in the front of the van. He hadn’t been able to help noticing that, as he walked through the restaurant with Bryony, she held the gaze of staff and customers alike. There was something about her that they couldn’t bear to look away from. Just like for him.
And she’d worked her magic earlier too, when, as a late arrival, they’d been shown to a tiny table in a dark corner of the restaurant. She’d simply powered up her smile, and the next moment they were being whisked out to the special reservation-only, outdoor tables. One more beam, and the tables were being shifted around so they could eat in the shade of a clematis-covered bower as per her enthusiastic request, whilst Jackson looked on, shaking his head in disbelief, at both her gall and the lengths the staff were prepared to go to in order to make her happy.
‘You almost sound like you have every detail of the trip worked out already.’ That would be with no consultation with him at all. Regardless of the wow factor, he couldn’t let this pass without comment. ‘Slightly ridiculous seeing as I’m the one calling the shots here.’
She put down the linen napkin she was shaking out and eyeballed him.
‘Er, excuse me?’ For a split-second her mouth fell open, and he basked in the luxury of shocked silence. Then she kicked into overdrive. ‘As production manager here, any shots to be called are technically mine.’
‘Hang on.’ He wasn’t letting her get away with that. ‘I thought you were a production assistant?’
‘Which translates to manager in the absence of a superior team member.’ Her elbows arrived on the table now, her chin resting on neatly-woven fingers. ‘Whereas you’re simply a featured celebrity, which may count for gazillions in terms of fans, bu
t when it comes to organizational decisions out in TV production land, it counts for zilch.’
One uninterrupted view of those perfect teeth of hers as she posted him another inscrutable beam, putting him instantly in mind of how easily his tongue slipped past those teeth back in Scarborough, dammit. He wasn’t fighting with his usual unerring full-strength concentration here. His mind was on the job, just the wrong job, and if he didn’t watch out it was going to cost him dearly. Still she could be bullshitting here, and two could play at that game.
‘Featured celebrity with a possible executive producer’s interest.’ He watched through narrowed eyes as her expression slid.
‘You’re coming in as a backer?’ Her mouth and eyes popped to perfect O’s.
Result. She’d swallowed it.
‘Possibly.’ Backtracking now on every front except the power one and not exactly lying either. Financial involvement had been mentioned in passing. ‘But I already have the final say on input and content, so I’m guessing those shots are mine to call after all.’
Race won. Mentally, he let go of the handlebars, punched the air with a fist, and he was whooshing across the finish line ahead of her when he noticed that she was still smiling. Benignly.
‘That’s what the backers always like to think.’ Was that the tiniest hint of a mocking wink she was sending him? A full-blown satisfied gloat more likely. ‘In practice everyone knows it’s all in the hands of the production assistants. Has to be. We’re the ones who do all the work. Talking of which, I’d better go and shake up that waiter and his menus.’
Chapter 14
‘So you’re sure you don’t want a sweet? Now I feel guilty for ordering three, and eating them in front of you.’ Bryony tucked away her phone, after yet another Brando induced text-fest, and eyed Jackson thoughtfully over her pudding mountain as he stirred his coffee. ‘Don’t you miss chocolate?’
He watched her devour another spoonful, simply for the spectacle of her lips closing around the spoon, and the glimpses of her tongue sliding across those perfect teeth.
‘I’ve avoided it for so long it doesn’t bother me at all anymore. Like the traveling, the physical punishment, the endless hotel rooms; it’s just part of the package.’
Raising her eyebrows, she posted a passing beam of appreciation to their waiter as he sped past across the broad stone flags. Amazing, the way she had the staff eating out of her hand. As he was beginning to realise, only Bryony Marshall, with her dynamite blend of enthusiasm, charm and force could end up in the kitchen ordering the Chef around in a five-star establishment, as she had done earlier. Funny how he saw her as bossy and domineering, yet other people thought she was irresistible. In the face of that persuasive smile, people were happy to roll over and give her exactly what she wanted. Ecstatic even. Or, would that be in the face of that full-on sex appeal? Not that she seemed aware of that. She definitely didn’t flaunt it. It just seemed to radiate off her, leaving casualties knocked helpless in her wake.
‘This amaretti ice-cream is delish – here try a tiny bit.’ She pushed a spoonful towards him.
Giving a half shake of his head, he slid her a playful grin.
‘There’s only one way I ever eat ice-cream.’ He knew he was pushing it, but what the hell. ‘And we’ve both agreed that’s off the menu.’ Probably inflicting more pain on himself than her. Blocking the image of nipples peaking as a melt trail of ice-cream trickled down her cleavage. ‘And probably too sticky anyway for when we’re out in the wilds camping in the van.’
Something about that last thought cut her off in mid eye-roll and stopped her spoon halfway to her mouth.
‘Excuse me. Who said anything about camping?’ Her eyes narrowed in query. ‘Cressy gave me an idea of where you wanted to go, so I made a week of hotel bookings to fit and we can take it from there.’ She bathed him in another of her smiles. ‘I hope that’s good?’
He took a minute to absorb this. Let his eyes wander over the big stone planters cascading with purple flowers. Holy crap, this was going from bad to… He had to stand his ground here.
‘No, it’s not good. Couldn’t be worse in fact. Sorry, but that’s not what I signed up for.’ Who said anything about hotels? Cressy said you’d come in the camper, or there’s a tent if you’d prefer. The whole idea is that we’re independent and we can get to out-of-the-way places.’
‘What?’ She stared at him, brow furrowed in disbelief. ‘I assumed the camper was transport, not accommodation.’
‘I was going on a road trip to try out the van, and Cressy suggested we could combine it with the programme research. Seemed certain you’d be up for it.’
‘Tell me honestly, Jackson.’ Beam turned up another hundred watts now. ‘Do I look like a girl who camps?’
‘I spend my whole life in hotels. They’re soulless, I want a change.’ Realising his muttered tirade wasn’t going to cut it, he upped his game. ‘What’s wrong with camping anyway?’
She shot him a wide-eyed glance of disbelief.
‘It takes a lot more than a quick rub with a wet-wipe to get me ready to face the world. I can’t work the festival grunge look.’ She pulled a face, leaning forward to emphasise her point. ‘My kind of polish doesn’t just happen, Jackson, it takes a lot of time and hard work to look this good, not to mention facilities. Besides, look at my shoes. Jimmy Choos aren’t exactly outdoor equipment.’
‘Facilities?’ He tried to look less bemused than he felt.
True, he mixed with and appreciated attractive, well-groomed women, but quite how they got that way was outside his immediate experience. As for the hooker heels, no hidden messages there. They made his mouth water every time he caught a glimpse.
‘Hot water, baths, showers, hair dryers, straighteners, endless supplies of fluffy towels. A shower-block in a field won’t cut it, and I always iron all my clothes too.’ She snapped her mouth shut, with a case-closed head toss.
‘What, everything?’ She had to be joking. ‘Even your…?’
‘Yes, Jackson.’ She flashed him a trust-you-to-push-it eye-roll. ‘Even my underwear.’
A woman who ironed her knickers and had a double-dose of camping phobia? This had to be his unlucky day, and that was before he got to the bit about her iron will.
‘Fine.’ He spat out the word only as a way to buy time, because it wasn’t fine at all and there was no way he was backing down on this. Bryony wafting round acting regal was bad enough but taking the spoiled princess act to extremes was not on. He leaned back in his chair tapping the table with his spoon handle. ‘So what do you suggest?’
‘Maybe we could start by acting like adults.’ If the withering look she shot him made his blood boil, the follow up placatory smile vaporised it. ‘This isn’t exactly my idea of fun either. Ever heard of the word compromise, Jackson?’
Compromise? Only every second of his adult life, and most of his adolescence too, not to mention the way his bully of a dad trampled all over his childhood. Making yourself best in the world didn’t happen without sacrifice. Decades of it. Which was why now he was temporarily removed from the fray he was damned well going to do as he pleased, regardless of the intervention of Team Royal Cherry Bomb.
‘You seem hell-bent on talking down to the world, so let’s hear your solution.’ He knew the venom in that delivery had a lot to do with this morning’s brush-off, and the miniscule flinch of her cheek in response made his gut churn. But he couldn’t turn soft here and win.
‘Easy.’ She pursed her lips, a smile playing around the corners of her mouth, obviously pleased with herself. ‘I stay in the hotel as planned while you sleep in your camper – wherever – and we’ll meet up again in the morning. Nothing so hard about that is there? That way we both win.’
Smoothly put. Persuasive. Neat and tidy. And the clattering in the background? That would be his dreams of a proper road trip crashing down.
It was the camper van that had got him through, when he’d been in hospital after the bike crash. Li
ke so many of the good suggestions in his life, it was Dan who dreamed it up, putting him touch with Rik and the guys from Vintage VW’s, who, it turned out, they’d been at school with. It was so like Dan to keep in touch with Rik across the years, so like Dan to go to great lengths to travel around the country on Jackson’s behalf, while he was laid up, helping him choose the perfect vehicle to restore. It turned out that the details and the interest of the restoration were just the distraction Jackson had needed to get him through the multiple operations and endless physio sessions that followed.
There was something optimistic and satisfyingly parallel about dreaming of future trips in the van which was being rebuilt, at the same time as the doctors were trying to put his broken body back in working order again. He was the first to admit that he had too much riding on this first camper van trip, given the emotional input poured into it was way out of proportion to a mere van refit – too much emotion for one aged vehicle to hold, way too much expectation on his part. It was bound to fail. And he was the one whose mountain of hugely unrealistic hopes was about to come crashing down.
The disappointment gnawing at his gut suddenly took control of his tongue and next thing he knew he was lashing out. ‘You go to your damned rabbit hutch of a hotel then, Bryony. Only a control-freak like you could make this about winning and losing.’
Her nostrils flared, but he noted the surprise in the widening of her eyes as she shot him a sideways glance. ‘Excuse me? You’re the one insisting on imposing your taste for traipsing round the countryside like an itinerant. That sounds fairly controlling to me.’
He chose to ignore that she might have a point there. ‘Are you scared that if you climbed down off your high heels and your high horse and let go for once, you might accidentally enjoy yourself then?’
‘Actually, I’m not scared of anything of the sort. And I’m not scared of speaking my mind and standing up for my right to my own opinion either.’ This time her eyes flashed angrily. ‘It strikes me that for the first time in your life you’ve met someone who isn’t going to roll over and give you your own way, and you can’t handle it.’
