by Jane Linfoot
For a fleeting moment he was distracted by the image of her doing just that. Rolling over and giving him his own way. And again the fact she might have a point. Holy crap. What the hell was he doing arguing with Ms Starchy Pants anyway? He should be ecstatic she was going to get her pain-in-the-arse presence out of his blasted camper and give him an evening on his own.
He gritted his teeth. How the hell had he expected anything different? More to the point, why the hell had he wanted anything that ridiculous? More fool him, and great that he’d finally come to his senses.
‘You know, you can give me an invitation to these arguments that you so obviously get your kicks from, but I don’t have to come.’ Fighting fire with fire wasn’t getting him anywhere. He was done with fire. From now on he was going to fight with ice cool irony. ‘Well done, Cherry Bomb. I guess we’ll call that a win-win situation after all, if you insist. You go and enjoy your ironing board. And make sure you get all the creases out of your life whilst you’re there.’ Biting back that too familiar taste of disappointment, he gave her one sardonic smile. ‘And next time I mentally undress you, remind me to fold your clothes neatly.’
Whatever Ms Control-fest-neat-freak thought, he was still on top.
And that was where he was going to stay.
Chapter 15
Forty minutes of stony silence later, back on the road, Bryony gritted her teeth. Someone was going to have to make the first move here if they were going to get any work done today.
‘If you pull over here Jackson, I’ll explain what we need to do for the programme plan… I mean, that’s what we’re here for, isn’t it?’ She braced herself for his resistance.
‘Fine.’ His snort was disinterested, but at least he pulled over.
‘This is the first ride I’ve worked out. It’s a twenty-mile circular route.’ She shoved her iPad towards him.
He studied it then gave a disparaging grunt. ‘Where did you get this from?’
She winced. ‘I found it on google, then changed it a bit.’
He gave another snort. ‘It’s a pretty standard route round the area. I’ve ridden most of it before. You might want to re-do the bit where you’ve re-routed it along that dual carriageway.’
Ooops. Rooky mistake. She grabbed her iPad, and began to change the line on the map where his finger rested. The way he leaned towards her and watched in silence made her fumble.
‘That’s better.’ His voice was almost a growl.
She knew he was the expert here, but did he have to sound so condescending? She grappled to sound cool and authoritative. ‘So what we’ll do now is drive the route slowly, and look out for the places where we might get some good camera shots of us riding the route when the time comes. If we see anywhere suitable, we’ll stop and take photos, and note the exact location, okay?’
‘Okay.’
Put the flags out, he just agreed with her.
‘And then if there are any villages, or specific places of interest we can stop and have a look around for anything that might be good for pieces to camera. I’ll make notes on it all as we go and add more when I write it up later. Okay? Have you got that?’
‘It’s not rocket science, Cherry.’
She searched for the most acidic smile she could find. ‘Whenever you’re ready then…’
An afternoon pottering along the Sussex country lanes, past patchworks of fields and pretty, higgledy-piggledy villages left Bryony in a much better mood. Better still, they were three quarters of the way through the first ride and hadn’t had any major disagreements. In fact, Jackson had become surprisingly compliant, which left her feeling generous.
‘Condom Rik certainly did a good job with this van, even if his taste in going-away presents sucks.’ She ran her palm across the smooth walnut dashboard appreciatively as she pushed a packet of toffees into the glove compartment for handy access. Despite her hearty lunch all the brainwork meant she was in need of a late afternoon sugar-boost.
Now she’d found keeping the man-whore of the century in his place wasn’t going to be so hard as she’d thought, she could afford to throw out a few compliments.
‘Rik and I go way back – hence the gift. We were at school together in Manchester when we were eight.’ Taking one hand off the wheel, he ran his thumb across the stubble on his chin. ‘Getting involved in the van rebuild helped fill the time when I was laid up recently. It’s the first vehicle I’ve ever owned, all the rest have been on loan from sponsors.’
Strong hands. She allowed her gaze to linger on those long fingers. But only for a nanosecond. Just the tip of a very attractive package that she was definitely ignoring, along with the secret butterfly rush in her chest. And also shutting out that the thought of an eight year old Jackson made her stomach squish ever so slightly. Why the hell did her already overactive maternal instinct jump out and go crazy whenever she was around him? Not to mention her altogether less wholesome instincts.
‘The contrast of the distressed grey paint on the outside of the camper, and the fifties colours in the inside work well. Blue, brown and orange. Very cool. And this bench seat in the front is fab too.’ Getting down and dirty with Jackson was so not where she meant her head to be, so definitely needing not to think where those fingers had got to last time they met. ‘Although, it’s obvious it’s been masterminded by guys. Some bunting and flowery fabric would make it more homely.’
‘The paint finish is known in the trade as rat-look. It’s a special blend of distressed and tatty that takes a lot of time and skill to perfect.’ His cheeks creased into a wry smile that played havoc with the butterfly situation. ‘And girly wasn’t what we were after, nor was homely, even though this is probably the nearest I’ve come to a home in years.’
‘Really?’ Trying not to let the shock leak into her voice at that revelation. ‘Although looking at the size of the sink, it’s way too small for any meaningful washing up.’ Now she was talking gibberish. ‘I can’t imagine not having a home. When I’m not working, I’m home-obsessed, always have been – that’s what comes of not dating. I’ve done well out of it though, making my way up the so-called property ladder.’ Somehow, once she’d got a home of her own, pouring all her energy into it made her feel more secure.
‘So that explains your swanky flat. Sorry, but I couldn’t help noticing when I picked you up.’ He shot her an apologetic grimace. ‘Underground car-park, river views. Whereas I’ve seen a lot of the world since I was a teenager but mostly the blur of foreign tarmac and the inside of dingy hotel rooms. True some of the guys with families do establish strong home bases, but I never saw the point myself. And you’re right, I’m not big on washing up.’
‘Must be a weird way of life.’
‘It’s pretty dysfunctional, but it has its rewards.’
She laughed. ‘What – shedloads of cash, recognition, and hot-and-cold running podium-girls?’ There was an unexpected twang in her chest at that last thought. One dig at him that bounced right back to bite her.
‘Something like that.’ Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he gave a dismissive shrug, a half-grin. ‘Although, podium girls are strictly off-limits.’
She laughed. ‘Even for you?’ That slipped out before she could stop it.
No point biting her tongue now. But why her sudden anxiety about podium girls? It wasn’t as if she was jealous. Was it?
‘Especially for me.’ He shot her an almost wicked grin. ‘With my reputation.’
Trying not to bounce with relief at that. Trying not to be so ridiculous. Fighting with podium girls? Over Jackson Gale? When the hell did her world get that upside down? Easy answer. When she slept with him. One wild, ill-considered decision, with repercussions which were turning out like giant waves at sea. She flailed to find a change of subject quickly.
‘S-so what about your accident?’
Bad move. His chin shot upwards as his back stiffened. Talk about a hole in the conversation big enough to lose Brighton.
‘I
’d rather not discuss it.’ Short. Terse. The muscles at the base of his cheek twitched as his jaw clenched and his knuckles shone white as he gripped the steering wheel.
Oh my. ‘Sorry, I had no…’
‘I’m fine.’
She winced at that expression. Instantly proving that he was anything but fine. He was almost shouting. Jumping down her throat. Ooooh. She’d definitely hit a nerve there.
He recovered fast enough to bat a question back at her. ‘So what have you been doing since we last – er – met?’
Nice hesitation; ditto the euphemism. But damn to her having to answer the question.
‘I was on leave, although I did some prep for the trip too.’
‘And when you weren’t planning my every last move?’ He was screwing her down here.
‘I caught up with some girlfriends.’ She missed out how she’d chickened out of her world tour, and the bits about happy-ever-after-land.
‘And did you have wild times?’
‘Hardly.’ She sniffed. ‘My old friends are mostly settled.’ No need to cover the whole domestic bliss thing, or the empty way it left her feeling when she drove away.
‘Settled as in two cars on the drive, two-point-four children?’
‘That’s the one.’
His grimace made her laugh.
‘Highly overrated from what I’ve seen. Why anyone would choose that kind of prison is beyond me. The racing has been limiting, and I’ve had to make sacrifices; but from what I’ve seen, a family grabs you by the balls and squeezes you dry. That’s one full-on trip I won’t be going on.’
Bad boy Jackson doing a ‘don’t fence me in’ rap! No surprise there.
‘My friends seem pretty happy.’ Something about the vitriol in his remark made her jump in to defend them. ‘And kids can be quite squishy and cute.’ Underplaying the last bit, and definitely forgetting all those moments when the smell of clean toddler had made her want one for herself. And definitely not going into how broody it made her when she saw Brando and Shea’s babies. And her niece Emily, with all her ginger curls, was so cute now she was two, it made Bryony’s insides melt every time she saw her. Anyone who said nieces and nephews worked as substitute children was talking rubbish. Hers only served to make her long for some of her own.
‘You’re a woman, you would say that.’ he rapped straight back. ‘At your age your biological clock is a ticking time-bomb. One mention of the “B” for “baby”, and the want is all over your face. If you’re still set on your dating ban, Cherry, you need to take your mother up on her offer and fast. No point risking disappointment later.’
Really? Picking her jaw up off the floor on all counts. Squirming inside that he’d not only remembered the damned egg freezing, but that it was fresh enough in his mind to bring it back out for another airing. Embarrassing or what? And was he implying that she was old? The sheer impudence of the guy made her blood fizz. Not to mention the unsettling accuracy of his observation. No way was she going to admit he’d scored a direct hit, honed right in, like he knew all about the private panic about being on her own forever that plagued her in the wakeful early hours.
‘Whatever.’ She moved on swiftly. ‘The rest of the time I was doing grown up-things. I’d set the time aside for a bedroom make-over.’ And ouch to the way that sounded now it was out there. She really didn’t want him to pounce on the way one night of action, albeit out of the bedroom, had jump-started her sort-out.
‘Upgrading the princess bed, then?’
Not that she was planning on having visitors in that holy-of-holies any time soon. Far from it.
‘Meaning?’
He let out a snort. ‘Your tiara attitude hasn’t gone completely unnoticed.’
What? He had to be joking. Gritting her teeth, she clenched her fists. No way was she rising to that, but she wasn’t letting it go either.
‘Neither has your arrogance, or your need to win every point.’ She rammed a handful of hair firmly behind her ear, preparing to fight.
‘Who just did the compromising back there? Errr, that would have been me. You’re only in a good mood now because I gave in about tonight’s accommodation. Isn’t that right, Princess Cherry Bomb?’
‘Excuse me!’ Hard not to sound like a harpy here, with her voice all high and incensed. ‘That had nothing to do with me winning, it was simply the most sensible decision.’
‘From your point of view maybe.’ Still all cool and collected as he flipped her a sideways glance but the gravelly depth of his voice and the set of his jaw told her how deadly serious he was. ‘But it’s not attractive only being happy when you get your own way, and even if most people do cave in the face of your full-on persuasion tactics, that Princess strut of yours gets right up their noses.’
Oh, my. Was that really how people saw her? Or was this a bad case of sour grapes from a guy who was world champion of arrogance?
‘Thank you for sharing, Jackson. Nothing like a few home truths.’ She dragged in a breath, crossed one leg over the other, grasped hold of her knee – hopefully not too regally. Staring out of the window to take in a fleeting glimpse of the passing whitewashed cottages, she realised how much scenery she was missing by arguing with this impossible guy. Okay. She’d got his number here. ‘This wouldn’t be because you’re a bad loser, would it? Only you could make this into a competition, then go on the attack because I won and you didn’t. Maybe it takes one to know one, Jackson…’
‘Not at all, I’m simply trying to make a valid suggestion.’ Sounded like he was backing down here. ‘That it might be better for you to back-pedal with the spoiled daddy’s girl bit.’
Crash, and he’d fallen. Come slamming down at the finish line. Ridden straight into his own trip wire.
She didn’t mean it to, but her chin was jutting forward anyway. ‘Well I wouldn’t know about that, given that my father left when I was six, and died before I got to find him again.’ Couldn’t say Jackson hadn’t asked for it. Except if she’d had any inkling that was coming she’d have headed him off. Keeping her voice level, she let him have the full blast of her disgust through gritted teeth. ‘Being a spoiled daddy’s girl isn’t something I was lucky enough to experience.’
Not that she made a habit of pulling the sympathy card. She didn’t. Her dad leaving wasn’t something she talked about. It was in the past. He was gone. She’d closed the door on that one long ago.
‘Oh, shit, I’m sorry.’ One arrogant guy folding, hammering his head with his fist. ‘I’m dying here.’
And she wasn’t rushing in to save him either.
‘You weren’t to know.’ She gave a shrug. ‘It’s a long time ago.’
‘Doesn’t mean it hurts any less.’ Looking away from the road, he snagged her eyes with his held them for a second more than she expected – long enough to make her stomach drop. Then steering the van around a left-hand bend, narrowly avoiding the hedgerow, the follow-up grimace he sent her put her stomach on full spin.
Something about the soulful muddy brown of those eyes made her think it was only fair to come clean. ‘I’ve got Harry. He’s a very caring stepfather.’
‘Not quite the same thing though, is it?’
Stretching past the gear stick, his hand found hers and she flinched as the grainy roughness of his thumb grazed her skin. Damn to the way the tan on his knuckles whitened as he squeezed. She turned to him expecting to meet a self-deprecating grin or maybe a glint of flirt, but instead the eyes she met were grave as his concern flooded across the space between them.
Oh my. ‘You understand, don’t you?’
One nod from him. Enough to say there was no need to explain about all the nights she’d wailed. Six years old, and thumping her pillow, not understanding why her dad wasn’t there. As Jackson pursed his lips and withdrew his hand to ease the van around another bend, she caught her gaze lingering on those knuckles again. Pushing back against the seat, she let out a sigh at the sheer unexpected relief of being with someone who understo
od. Jackson Gale, there for her. No words, yet making her feel comfy as an old cardigan. Who’d have thought?
Another hundred yards before he eased out that smile. ‘I guess after this I’ll have to buy you dinner, once you’re hungry again that is.’
‘You know me, Jackson, I’m always hungry.’ Flipping back her hair, she fought the way that lazy growl turned her insides to hot toffee. ‘But shouldn’t we be doing some work first?’
A message flashed onto her iPad screen. Dammit. Yet another text from Brando.
Where the hell are you?
He was so persistent, and she didn’t want to lie to him. Maybe if she ignored him he’d give up.
Jackson’s shout cut into her thoughts. ‘Village coming up. Cue shots to camera.’
If she hadn’t known better, she’d have thought he was enjoying himself.
Chapter 16
‘Whatever you say, you are bossy.’
Jackson had parked up along a quiet patch by the beach edge to catch the evening sun and now as he crouched by the campfire barbie he poked at the sausages, wrinkled his nose at the smoke and hoped this particular princess appreciated crispy.
‘Or, you might say I’m dynamic and highly efficient, depending on where you stand.’ She pursed her lips, and sent him a take-no-prisoners dead-eye over the top of her mirror as she made more adjustments to her make-up.
‘Whatever.’ He raised an ironic eyebrow to that one after the Bryony Marshall whirlwind he’d suffered this afternoon. ‘And what exactly are you doing to your face there?’ Not that he was nosy, but he had to ask.
‘Running repairs.’ There was a mocking twinkle of amusement in her eye as she wound up some kind of lipstick. ‘It’s a girl thing. You wouldn’t understand.’
‘Don’t be so sure, we have team cars to look after that stuff out on the road. We could’ve done with a team car this afternoon, the rate you were driving us.’
