by Jane Linfoot
A sudden clatter made them both jump.
‘Holy crap…’
‘Damn…’ Bryony lurched across the room and grabbed the door handle. ‘That’ll be my breakfast.’
What a time for room service to arrive. Why the hell had the sodding guy at reception insisted on pressing a complimentary breakfast onto Bryony, just because she smiled at him? Damn, damn, damn, to the whole damned morning.
Jackson, clamping the burst of his erection with the heel of his hand, made a dive for the en suite.
‘Great. I’ll grab my shower whilst you eat. Enjoy your Full English!’
By the time Bryony had taken delivery of the breakfast trolley from the waiter and wheeled it into the room, Jackson had disappeared into the shower, and taken his jaw-droppingly edible erection with him. ‘Lucky escape or what?’ her sensible head was telling her, whereas the aching need between her legs was saying something entirely different. If he’d actually made a move there she’d have been straight onto him. That was the kind of moment it had been. Pure, concentrated, unadulterated lust. Two more minutes and she’d probably have jumped him herself.
Damn, damn, damn. Talk about lost opportunities.
She downed three cups of coffee in swift succession, devoured the sausage, bacon, eggs, beans and mushrooms, and she was still kicking herself for letting that one get away. She listened to the drone of the power shower and the water splashing in the en suite as she buttered a slice of toast, spread a thick layer of chunky marmalade, and took a bite. He was actually standing naked under a hammering spray of water a mere two yards away from her. A mouth-watering thought, but how the hell could she concentrate on eating her toast, knowing that?
Instead, she pulled her laptop towards her, flipped it open and switched it on. There was a sudden silence as the shower stopped. Phew. That was better. Now all she had to think about was him drying himself. Not really better at all then. She sent a silent prayer to the God of sex-starved women to send Jackson out of the bathroom draped only in a towel. How sad was that? Coming up to her room with him had been such a bad idea. And her own reaction was so far away from her original intentions for the trip. She needed to take herself in hand, firmly. Now.
She’d just opened a file on her computer as the en suite door opened, letting through a cloud of steam from the bathroom, followed by a wet haired Jackson, looking slightly damp, but definitely fully dressed in jeans and tee.
So much for the power of prayer.
‘Leaving your toast, then?’ He was hovering beside her now.
‘Help yourself. There’s coffee too.’ She reached for the pot and began to pour him a cup. ‘I was too full after the rest.’
He swooped on the piece of toast without marmalade. ‘Is that yesterday’s route?’
‘Yes, I put this together last night.’ She scrolled slowly through so he could see the annotated map, followed by the pictures and the pages of notes. I’ve already sent it through to Cressy. A lot of this will eventually go on the website so viewers can find out about the ride in more detail, and it might even get put out as a book if there’s enough interest.’
Leaning forward, and his arm was already pushing against hers. Even though he’d been in the shower, he hadn’t lost his distinctive scent.
‘That’s awesome Bry.’ He flashed her a grin. ‘And it’s good to see what we’re aiming for too.’
She gulped, and pushed herself up to stand. There was way too much stomach flipping going on for her liking here.
‘Right, well if you’re ready, maybe we’d better…’ Her sensible head told her she needed to evacuate the area and fast.
‘Good idea. You’re right. Another eleven rides to sort. We definitely need to get on.’ Jackson jumped up too, downing his coffee in one. ‘If you’ve nothing left you want to iron, let’s go.’
Chapter 18
This time when she pushed her way through the hotel door, Bryony had a spring in her step and not just thanks to shoes by Mr Louboutin. Blinking in the zingy sun that bounced off the tarmac, she almost fell off her heels as she skidded to a halt. One tall denim-clad guy leaning up against the camper van… Except Jackson was behind her, so it couldn’t be him. Then her heart sank as her gaze slid to the next car along – a smooth sleek Aston Martin that looked horribly familiar.
Of all the car parks in all the world, Brando’s car had to rock up in this one. Talk about interfering brothers. She stomped across the car park as the man in question glanced over his shoulder, and hit her with a glare. With superhuman effort she forced herself to sound upbeat.
‘Brando, what are you doing here?’ As if she didn’t know.
‘Cressy from Sporting Chances told me where you were, and when you appeared to be permanently blocking my calls I thought I’d better check things out.’
Well thanks a bunch, Cressy. She had skirted round telling Shea and Brando the details of her trip because it was just easier that way.
‘Okay, so you’ve found me. I’m on a work assignment, what’s the problem?’ She stuck out her chin defiantly.
‘The problem is the guy who’s crossing the car park now. What the hell are you thinking, going off in a camper van with Jackson bloody Gale?’
It sounded like she wasn’t the only furious one around here.
‘Did someone mention my name?’
And, suddenly, Jackson was there, his broad chest hovering six inches behind her spine, an instant grin on his face, proffering his hand to Brando. ‘Jackson Gale, exceptionally pleased to meet you, you must be Brando Marshall?’
Smooth talker or what? Bryony picked up her sagging jaw in time to see Brando grasp Jackson’s hand.
‘Hi Jackson, great to meet you too.’
What? Would it be mean to point out Brando was being a total hypocrite here?
But Jackson was already in there. ‘As Bryony will have told you…’
Thanks for that one Jackson…
‘…we’re touring the south coast sorting rides for Sporting Chances. Bryony’s staying in hotels making the most of the spa facilities and the fluffy towels, and I’m staying in the van. It’s the first trip since restoration.’
Bryony held her breath.
Brando nodded towards the camper. ‘I’ve heard they’re hard to get hold of now. What are you running in the back?’
Jackson sprang across and flipped up the engine lid. ‘It’s a two-point-one type four…’
‘Are those Webers you’ve got on there?’ Brando was beside him in a second, leaning in for a closer inspection. ‘Ah, fuel injection, that’s interesting…’
Jackson bent in beside him.
Bryony’s eyes widened in surprise. What was it with guys and engines? She retired to sit on a nearby wall. By the time the bonnet on the Aston went up she knew that from the guys’ point of view time had ceased to exist.
‘You know what, guys, I’m going for a coffee – call me when you’re done.’
She swung off back to the hotel, safe in the knowledge they hadn’t even heard her.
Chapter 19
‘So Brando’s a bit of a petrol head?’
Back on the road again, back with her itinerary, albeit a couple of hours late, and Bryony shook her head at Jackson’s level of understatement. ‘You could say that.’
Jackson gave a shrug. ‘Funny, at first I got the feeling he was about to deck me. Does he often wade in like that then?’
How about all the time – not that she was going to spill to Jackson about that. ‘Now and again. People always assume I only get where I do because of his intervention, but actually I try to do things on my own, entirely without his help. Thanks for reassuring him, anyway.’ Not that Brando had ever really needed to warn a guy off before. It was usually Brando jumping in to help with just about everything else she could think of. Career, homes, cars. If he ever got wind of her making a job application, his style of helping was to buy the company. And whereas lots of her friends found it totally awesome, in reality she found it tiresome
at best, and at worst, undermining.
Jackson gave a laugh. ‘Funny, by the end there I got the feeling we were getting on okay.’
And strange as it seemed, she’d had that impression too. Something to do with the way Brando took his leave of Jackson saying ‘Bry’s awesome at her job, but don’t let her bully you!’ That she could have done without, although Jackson had got Brando right off her back, and that could only be good.
‘He’s just a bit protective of his little sister, always with the best of intentions. He’s always done it, ever since he took on the role when I was small…after my dad left and everything.’ She squished her lip sideways as she remembered the time Brando wasn’t there to protect her. How bereft she’d been when he’d been sent away to school because he was getting on so badly with their stepdad. She’d howled and howled, clinging on to him so tightly she’d scratched his hand and drawn blood. It had seemed like she was very much alone for a long time after that – they only became close again once he inherited Edgerton. By then she was old enough to go and stay with him, and it was as though he’d been making up for leaving her ever since. ‘Actually, we both interfere in each other’s lives big time now. I drive him around the bend too, just in a different way.’
‘Why does that not surprise me?’ Jackson grinned at her over the gear stick.
She gave a sheepish sniff. ‘And it’s not just that I hijack his helicopter. One time I thought he needed a wife, so I flew one in to Edgerton Manor for him.’
That sent Jackson’s eyebrows shooting upwards. ‘And was he cross?’
‘He was livid, obviously, except I’d chosen her very carefully, and it took them all of five minutes to fall madly in love. He and Shea are married with two children now.’ She gave him a triumphant smile. Of everything she’d done in life, getting Shea and Brando together was one of her proudest moments, because it had made Brando so happy, Shea was wife of the century, and he and Shea were so good for each other.
‘You and your matchmaking again. You and Brando must be close if you can pull that off.’
‘He’s always been there for me as long as I can remember, and our family situation made us cling together. When our mum remarried he didn’t get on with our stepfather and in the end he went away to school. It’s a long time ago now, but at the time it was hard.’ Oh, shit. She was at it again. Talking about stuff she never usually mentioned to anyone.
‘Hey…’
And there was his hand on her arm again. And here was she leaning into him as he swung the camper around onto the sea front.
‘The pier’s behind us. Look back now and you’ll see it.’ They were speeding along now. Jackson had been pointing out Brighton’s places of note as they passed them since they set off. ‘We’re missing the Royal Pavilion this way, but I’ll show you that another time. We don’t want to get snarled up in the traffic.’
Bryony screwed around, then turned back again, and looked out across the beach to the ocean and the flocks of starlings circling above it, as the elegant Georgian buildings flashed past on their right. ‘Talking of royal, I’d just like to point out it was my so-called princess behavior, which you complained so loudly about yesterday, that got us back into my room at the hotel just now.’ Bryony paused for breath for a minute. Sensible Bryony was already filing the hotel room experience in the “let’s count our blessings and move on” box. ‘Acting regal has its advantages when it opens doors. When you’re on the same side as me you’ll be pleased about it.’ She flipped him a grin. ‘Just not when we’re in opposition.’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’
‘And it got us the washing-up done too. I popped that bagful of dirty crockery in at the kitchens after you dropped me off, and a nice boy brought it up to my room later looking like it had had a sparkle clean.’
‘You’re incorrigible, do you know that?’
‘I gave him a tip obviously, but at least I got the dishes done.’ She twitched her mouth. ‘I admit it’s better when we’re on the same side.’
‘Too right.’ He sent her a grimace. ‘Did you call me “Tiger” back there in the car park?
One swift change of subject that put her on her guard. ‘I might have. Why?’
‘That’s what you called me in the film clip, isn’t it? It’s all due to that clip that we’re here.’
‘Tiger suits you.’ She’d leave out the bit about feeling way more in control when she called him that. ‘Cressy mentioned the clip.’ She deliberately left it vague.
‘Dan, the guy who sorts out my stuff, was watching the tandem race tapes back, and spotted that we sparked.’
‘Sparked?’ Picking up the word and repeating it blindly in a high pitched voice. So not a good idea. And totally not thinking about that one incendiary night when she hadn’t been able to keep her hands off Jackson. Damn to the way that hearing him in the shower this morning dragged that out from where she’d buried it, deep as it would go, but obviously not deep enough.
‘No need to get those hand-pressed granny-knickers of yours in a twist.’ He slid her one wicked grin. ‘He was talking about on screen, not in the…’
‘You have a guy to sort your stuff?’ Another repeat. And worth sounding dumb if only to steer Jackson away from wherever he was heading with that one.
‘I have a few. My trainer, my agent, my PA. I’m damned lucky to have got away without them in tow.’ The shrug her gave was almost shamefaced. ‘All the top sports people have them. Dan sweats the business details and leaves me free to concentrate on the training and the racing – not that there’s been much of that lately.’ He spat that last bit out.
‘But you’re going back to the team soon, aren’t you?’ She made a floundering attempt to chat about cycling. Anything was better than discussing sparks.
‘Who knows what I’ll be doing.’ A bitter statement, not a question. Then he turned on her, jaw set, eyes steel-hard. ‘Not that it’s anything to do with you.’
She’d hit a nerve there then. Rolling her eyes in silence, she drew in a long breath, and bit her tongue. And he was the one accusing her of getting her knickers in a twist? Another outburst from Jackson, a warning to back off from where he didn’t want to go. Did he think she hadn’t heard of people going on the attack at times of weakness? Out of the corner of her eye she clocked him delving in his pocket. A moment later his phone landed in her lap.
‘Put some music on will you.’ And shut up.
The anger in his voice had dulled, but she could read the subtext. Message received loud and clear. Jackson Gale didn’t want to discuss his cycling career. Or his accident. She’d add that to the list.
Chapter 20
‘Are you a natural blonde then?’
Five in the afternoon, and Jackson was feeling particularly pleased with himself. He’d made it his mission today to derail Princess Cherry Bomb and her plans, to knock her off her control-freak perch, and this far it was working like a dream.
‘What is it with you and your random questions?’ She’d noticed his tactic then, for keeping her mind occupied elsewhere whilst he went right on and hijacked her schedule. Helpful for him he had a mind with grasshopper tendencies. ‘Why do you want to know anyway?’
Good question. He’d been asking himself the same. But somehow, since he’d banned himself from his mission to get her into bed again, instead of the loss of interest he’d expected, he’d developed an unnerving full-blown fascination for every detail of her life. As perturbing for him as it was for her, if not more. Yes, he’d always been a guy who asked a lot of questions, who had a healthy curiosity about life, yet usually this meant challenging his coach, pushing his mates, plaguing the team mechanics for answers. As far as he could remember he’d never had the remotest interest in the workings of a woman. Whereas now, here he was, rapt to discover she had a hundred and forty two pairs of shoes – used to be one more before she wrecked her boots in the sea – did Pilates three times a week before work if she could fit it in, hated orange lilies,
owned four pairs of hair straighteners, and had a hypo if she didn’t get cupcakes by four.
‘No reason. Just a way of passing the time.’ He put it down to a measure of how dull his life had become this last year that he’d been driven to this. That in the absence of anything more intellectually important, his overactive brain had seized on the nearest available material to dissect.
‘It isn’t going to take all the way to Bournemouth to tell you my hair colour’s all my own.’
‘Even the streaks?’ Surely all women dyed their hair. As for Bournemouth, he hadn’t broached that part yet.
‘The lighter bits are where I’ve been in the sun. And one tip for the future, Jackson, hair dyeing is like cosmetic surgery. It’s rude to ask.’
‘And have you…’ He paused, enjoying the push. ‘Had surgery?’ He ignored that the word sent a twang through his gut for his own scars, and the knee that still wasn’t right. He pushed that thought right out of his head.
‘Bloody hell, Jackson, no I haven’t had surgery; and don’t you take any notice of what I say? I said it was rude to ask.’
He flipped her his best grin, feeling the smallest twinge of guilt for the exasperation in her voice. ‘I’d have thought you’d have known the answer to that by now.’ He clocked the flare of her nostrils, the dismissive eye closing. ‘I hear you, but unlike the rest of the world, I’m not necessarily going to roll over and do everything you say, especially if my suggestions are better.’
‘You relocating today’s ride route to the New Forest instead of the Isle of White at the last minute was a complete one-off, which we did because I agreed.’ Her jaw jutted defiantly as she flicked her hair back. ‘As you pointed out it’s a popular area for cycling, it gave some great opportunities for good camera shots, and saved us a boat trip.’
