“I’m sure I heard agreement there as you came.” He grips my wrist and removes my hand from his boxers, kicking back the duvet and swinging his legs over the bed in one swift motion. He glances at my hand and says, “I’d say sorry about the mess, but I’m not.”
“I’m not either.” I push my panties down my legs and follow him out of bed to the bathroom.
Where all of my stuff is still in the shower. Before I can even say anything, Bradley lifts it out, puts it in the hallway and turns on the water. He strips off, steps in and holds out a hand. “You’re joining me.”
Again with the bossiness? I put my hand on my hip and say, “You’re going to have to quit that right now.”
“Quit what?”
“Acting like you have any right to tell me what to do.”
He furrows his brow and a trickle of water runs down his nose. “I don’t think I have any right to tell you what to do.”
I parrot his words back at him. “‘I’m taking you. You’re joining me.’ I’d be a lot more amenable if those were questions.”
“I didn’t mean…” He stops and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m so used to taking charge that I don’t even realize I’m coming across as overbearing.”
Whoa. A full-on apology was not what I was expecting. Maybe it’s meant to disarm me, but it works. I roll my eyes. “Well, I don’t mind you taking charge some of the time.”
“In that case, join me.” He pauses for a breath. “Please?”
I laugh and yank my nightgown over my head. When I step into the warm water, Bradley’s hands go around my waist. I place my hands on his wrists and say, “I hate to say this, but we can’t linger too long.”
“Of course.” Bradley picks up the shower gel and pours a glob into his hands, then starts rubbing the soap over my skin. When he gets to my neck he says, “Lean your head back.”
I lean back into the water and lose myself in his touch while he massages my scalp and the back of my neck. Without speaking, we change places and it’s my turn to wash him. He keeps his eyes closed, allowing me to ogle. God, Bradley Waring-Smith is a fine-looking man. I know this and still it strikes me like a punch in the stomach. That hard chest. Those well-defined abs. I let my finger trace a trail of soap down the middle of his chest and he opens his eyes.
I feel like I’ve been caught with my hand in the biscuit jar and snatch my hand back, pretending to rub a bit of soap from my stomach. Bradley threads his fingers through mine, bringing our clasped hands up between us. I force myself to meet his eyes and there with the water streaming between us, he kisses me. It’s slow and gentle, the opposite of every kiss we’ve ever had. Bradley lets go of my hand and tangles his fingers in my hair and proceeds to kiss me more thoroughly than I’ve ever been kissed in my life.
Which says a hell of a lot considering the number of times in my life I’ve been kissed. I feel it in my toes and when he breaks away, my first reaction is to whine in protest. “No. Stay.”
He laughs. “We have to go soon, remember?”
Shit. What kind of daughter am I that I’m snogging a guy in the shower while my mother’s in the hospital? I reach behind Bradley and turn off the water. “You’re right. Lou will have breakfast on. We can grab something downstairs before we go.”
“Lou?” Bradley asks as I step out of the shower and hand him a towel.
“She’s the chef and kind of like my second mum.” I grab a wide-tooth comb from the shelf and start combing out my hair, the towel wrapped around my chest.
“So no pressure then?” Bradley meets my eyes in the mirror.
“Uh, no. She’s fab, don’t worry.” I grab a handful of hair and look down as I work out a knot. But it’s nothing compared to the one in my stomach. Pressure? There’s no pressure. Bradley and I aren’t that kind of thing.
And even if we were…
I don’t let myself dwell on it while we get ready. And I definitely don’t let myself catch his eye in the mirror again because he’s looking at me like he knows I’m agitated and is trying to figure out why. Some other time I might appreciate his concern, but right now it agitates me more.
I blame the kiss. Which means I blame Bradley. The problem is I’m not sure if I’m irritated by the fact that he kissed me like that. Or the fact I felt something so powerful when he did.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Because I’m unnerved and confused, when we head downstairs to the kitchen and Lou hugs me tight before extending her hand to Bradley, I let him fend for himself while I pinch a piece of bacon from the warming tray. Unfortunately, I can’t block out their conversation.
“It’s very kind of you to bring Scarlett up. I know Paul appreciates her being able to come on such short notice,” Lou says.
“Of course. It’s the least I could do.” Bradley’s tone is sincere.
“Are you going to be able to stay for a couple of days?” Lou’s head swivels between Bradley and me.
Before I can reply, he says, “I need to travel back to London today, but I believe Scarlett is staying through the weekend.”
Now Lou faces me, her eyes wide. “You can stay for the week? What about your job? I can’t imagine that tyrant you work for is going to be okay with having you out of the office all week.”
Kill me now. My face flames and I can’t even look at Bradley. I open my mouth to respond, but Bradley beats me to it. “Scarlett’s boss has agreed to her staying as long as necessary.”
“Well, that’s very good to hear.” Lou takes a breath and I’m sure I don’t want to hear what else she’s going to say.
“You know, we should go. I told Bradley I’d show him around a little bit and I want to be at the hospital as soon as I’m allowed in the ward.” I point to my purse on the counter and train my gaze on Bradley’s left arm as he picks up his duffel bag. “Why don’t you leave that here and we’ll come back to get it after your two-pound tour of Castle Calder?”
“My two-pound tour? Is there a three-pound version?” He sets his duffel over by the wall.
“The three-pound tour includes a bacon bap,” says Lou. She whips some bacon into a roll, squeezes on some brown sauce, and Bradley takes it before either of us can protest.
I give an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. The three-pound tour it is then. Come on.”
Bradley chuckles and says, “I’m fueled and ready. It was lovely to meet you, Lou, and perhaps I’ll see you again.”
“Likewise,” says Lou.
With another flurry of thank-yous we’re out the door, but I don’t speak until we turn into the dining room. It’s still empty, but I imagine the first guests will be down for breakfast soon. I lean on the back of a chair and say, “This is the dining room. As you might expect, it’s where guests eat.”
“It’s beautiful.” Bradley looks around, nodding. “I’d eat here.”
“It is beautiful. Perhaps a bit less so when you’re working.” I make a face.
“Is your boss here a tyrant, too?” Bradley’s voice contains a hint of a smile.
My face flushes as I say, “I’m sorry about that. I may have complained to Lou about my job, but I didn’t mean it.” No, that’s not true. “I mean, I did at the time, but I don’t anymore. I’m sorry.”
A couple come into the dining room, seating themselves at a table behind us, and Bradley doesn’t speak as he follows me to the bar. Even once we’re out of earshot, his voice stays soft when he says, “Has it been that bad working for me?”
Not anymore. But I’m not sure saying that is any better. Still, no one’s more surprised than me when the truth comes out. “You’re the first person who’s challenged me to push myself design-wise, and I’m not very good at taking criticism. It’s a lot easier to say the problem is you than to admit I still have a lot to learn.”
“You do have a lot to learn.” Bradley puts a hand on my arm. “But you’ve also come a long way in a very short time. It was your portfolio that got you the apprenticeship in the first place, but it was your
work in the first six months you were at WS that earned you a position on the workplace design team. I know you want to work on luxury accounts, and I have no doubt it will happen for you.”
I straighten. “It will?”
“Eventually. I’ve already spoken to Tom about some pending clients that might be a good fit for you to hone your skills.” Bradley pauses. “You’re a very talented artist. Some of the artwork in your bedroom is stunning.”
I’m flattered Bradley even noticed. “Thank you. That’s nice of you to say.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not me being nice. It’s a fact. It makes me wonder why you’ve not focused more on the art portion of your Fine Arts degree.”
I listen for judgment in his tone, but there is none. It sounds like a genuine question, so I give a genuine answer. “I’d love to make my living as an artist, but very few people get to do that, so I went the more practical route. I took some courses in undergraduate school in graphic design, but it didn’t appeal to me. Then I tried interior design and I liked the aesthetic element of it, so here I am.”
“Do you ever feel like you’ve settled?” Bradley’s voice is so low it’s difficult to hear over the sound of the lawn mower going by the open window.
Had he asked me this question a week ago, my reply would have been scathing. Today, though, I shrug and sigh, and finally nod. “A little. Do you?”
“Sometimes, but I was never a very good artist.” Bradley gives me one of his self-deprecating smiles. “You are, though.”
“Are you trying to get me to quit WS?” I give him a fake scowl.
“Not at all. We’re lucky to have you.” Bradley pauses before saying, “I just see your passion and talent for art, and I hope you continue to cultivate it somehow because it’s a gift. The work you’re doing for WS won’t fill that void, even on luxury accounts.”
Bloody hell. Nothing like hitting me straight in my most vulnerable spot. Like my funny bone, but decidedly not funny. My eyes fill. Not a lot, but enough for me to know I’ve got to change the tenor of our conversation pronto before I start admitting to Bradley how much I agree with him. “Are you sure you’re talking about cultivating my passion and talent for art? Because I have other talents, too, you know.”
Bradley laughs and squeezes my arm. “Damn right you do. Let the record show, I have no objections to helping you cultivate those talents either.”
We both laugh. Wobble averted. Thank God. The last thing I need is to be falling apart in front of him. It’s bad enough he glimpses the part of me I keep hidden away, even from myself. I chose this career path because it’s practical, and if the passion is lacking, well, I’ll find that elsewhere. One might argue I already have.
I slide my hand into his and pull him into the hallway. “Come on. You’re on the three-pound tour, which means you still have to see the library.”
“You have a library?” Bradley raises his eyebrows.
“Every good castle has a library.” I narrow my eyes. “We also have a cinema, but that’s not on the three-pound tour.”
“Why not?” Bradley asks as we walk down the hallway. We’re still holding hands, but neither of us makes any move to let go.
“Because it’s dark and inviting and we have a time limit.” I wriggle my eyebrows at him. “Same reason none of the guest rooms are on the tour.”
“I’d be willing to upgrade to the five-pound tour, you know, because those sound like can’t-miss items.”
I shake my head. “Any other time, sir, and you’d have yourself a deal. But not today.”
Bradley squeezes my hand. “Maybe next time?”
“Next time you can have the ten-pound tour and a whole suite to yourself if you’d like.” I push the door open to the library. “Provided you leave the door unlocked so I can have my way with you when I fancy.”
“As long as you fancy long and often, that sounds perfect.” Bradley grins, and even though I shake my head and roll my eyes, we both know I don’t mean it. Not after this morning. “Speaking of time limits, I hate to bring it up, but we should go soon. It’s almost 8:30.”
Right. The hospital is twenty minutes away, meaning we need to head back to the kitchen and pick up our bags. Then Bradley’s going to drive me to the hospital, where it’s too optimistic to hope he’s going to drop me off and be on his merry way. That’s not his style and, if I’m being honest, I’d be offended if he did that anyway.
But that means that in thirty minutes or less, I’m going to be introducing Bradley Waring-Smith to my parents.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
When we walk into the hospital, it smells like eggs. Not bacon. Just eggs. My stomach is uneasy already and it makes me want to vomit.
A feeling that intensifies as the nurse directs Bradley and me to my mum’s room. It’s semi-private, meaning there are two beds instead of three or four, but the other bed is unoccupied. The curtain is partially drawn around Mum’s bed and I give myself a second to watch Dad run a brush through Mum’s hair. Her lips tilt up a little before I clear my throat.
“Mum? Hey, it’s me.” I take a tentative step forward and push the curtain back. Bradley’s hand rests on the small of my back, and I’m pretty sure without it I might crumple. Mum’s so pale, even her lips look white up close and the blue sling around her arm makes her look even more ghostly. But it’s the bruise on her cheekbone when she turns her head that makes me gasp. “Oh my God. Mum. How awful.”
She smiles, then winces. “Thank you, lovely. And here your father was trying to convince me it wasn’t that bad.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean–”
Dad cuts me off. “What I said was it could be a lot worse considering the fall you took.” He gives me a half-serious scowl. “Don’t you know by now you need to appeal to your mother’s vanity?”
I smile, a genuine one, even if it is strained. Mum is the least vain person I know. Dad, on the other hand…
“The doctor is expected around ten, but the nurse thinks I can go home today. You didn’t need to come all this way,” Mum says.
“You fell down the stairs and ended up in the hospital. Yes, I did.” I steel myself for the next bit. “And Bradley was nice enough to bring me.”
Both Mum and Dad look up at Bradley behind me, which is a bit of a relief after the not-so-furtive glancing up and away they’d been doing. Dad extends his hand across the bed. “Paul St Julien, nice to meet you.”
Fact: if a person introduces himself using his first and last name, the introducee will follow suit.
Bradley is not the exception to that rule.
“Bradley Waring-Smith, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He turns his attention to my mum. “And Mrs. St Julien, I’m so sorry you’re injured, although it looks like you’re being well looked after.”
“I am. The staff is brilliant and Paul has been a star.” Mum frowns a little. “You’re Scarlett’s boss.”
“He is,” I start.
“I am.” Bradley talks over me and I let him because his hand is still on my back and I know that hasn’t escaped Mum’s notice. He explains how I was in a bind and talks about logistics. In truth, I hardly listen because all my attention is on Mum’s expression. It starts out wary and guarded and by the time Bradley’s telling her he’s going to have to head back to London soon, she’s smiling and inviting him back to visit when he can stay awhile. He’s gracious and ends up leaning down to clasp her hand as he says, “I’ve told Scarlett to please stay as long as you need her.”
“That’s very generous of you.” To me she says, “I appreciate you being here, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“I’m sure you will, but I’m here through the weekend, at least.” I turn to Bradley and say, “How about I walk you out so I can point you towards the motorway?”
And avoid my parents’ inevitable questions. Which, judging by the look on Dad’s face, will be plentiful. I’m surprised he doesn’t agree to see Bradley out himself.
I’m not the on
ly one. The first thing Bradley says when we’ve turned into the main corridor is, “Your parents seem nice, but I think your dad’s wary.”
“My dad wants to believe I’m going to die a virgin, even if I end up with six kids.” I roll my eyes, but it’s half-hearted. “He’s not sure what to make of you is all.”
“And he’s heard I’m a tyrant.”
Bradley laughs, but I cringe. “We talked about this.”
“I’m teasing. Besides, you shouldn’t back down if that’s what you said and how you felt.”
“I’m pretty sure I alternated between calling you a tyrant and an asshole.” I wind my arm around his waist. “You’ve proven me wrong on both counts.”
Bradley leans down and his breath tickles my ear when he says, “I think you’re biased because I made you come in less than four minutes.”
“It is a record, you know.” I grin up at him and his lips graze my nose.
It’s totally innocuous until I catch a nurse walking by smiling. It’s one of those aw-aren’t-they-sweet smiles and I twist to look to see who’s behind us before realizing that her smile is for us. Oh my God. Are Bradley and I…that couple?
I don’t even have the right word because I’ve never been that couple before. And we’re not even a couple. But if that’s the impression we’re giving after spending just a handful of days together, then it’s a good thing I’m staying at Castle Calder this week.
All the better to screw your head on straight, Scarlett.
Bradley and I make our way to the car park and he leans me against the door of his sleek silver car, winding his hands around my waist. “Please let me know how your mom is. I’m sure being home will be difficult for her at first. Part of your job may end up being just keeping her quiet so she can heal.”
“Yes, I can see that.” I scrunch my brow. “It sounds like you have some experience playing the doting son.”
“My mom broke her leg in three places the summer I was fourteen. My father was away and she relied on me a lot.” Bradley smiles. “The only way I could get her to sit still was to lie to her about how much I was cleaning the upstairs of the house and to let her introduce me to the Bollywood canon.”
A Brit Complicated (Castle Calder Book 3) Page 13
