Lucy King – The Reunion Lie (страница 3)

But he couldn’t think because on impact shock reeled through him, blowing his mind and obliterating almost every neuron he possessed. For a second it rendered him immobile too, but then his body dimly registered the fact that the woman arching herself against him was soft and warm and pliant, the hand on the back of his neck was singeing his skin like a brand and the mouth moving over his was hot and lush, and the whole bizarrely passionate package sent every one of his senses into overdrive.

For one crazy split second he wanted to whip his arms round her and pull her closer. He wanted to cave in to his instincts and the desire that was beginning to spark through him and open his mouth on hers so that they could kiss properly and he could find out what she tasted like.

With his surroundings disintegrating, his brain dissolving and his hands automatically moving to her waist, Dan was on the point of doing just that when something flashed in his peripheral vision. It seared through the haze in his head, lodged in his brain with the force of a blow dart, and he froze. The heat racing through him vanished as if doused with a bucket of iced water and desire evaporated, leaving him numb and stunned.

And then as the implications of that flash hit him his brain cranked into gear and the stunned shock spiralled into appalled disbelief. What on earth was he doing? What was he thinking? Hadn’t he learned anything from seeing the details of his last relationship splashed all over the front page of one of the country’s smuttier tabloids?

With his blood chilling at the thought of just how reckless he’d almost been, Dan jerked back and pushed her away, barely able to believe he’d so nearly fallen for what had to be a ruse because who went round randomly hurling themselves at perfect strangers without some kind of ulterior motive?

He stared down at the woman standing in front of him, flicking a quick glance over her and feeling his stomach tighten at the sight of the body that had so recently been clamped against him, clad in a tight black dress that plunged at the front and stopped an inch above her knees. Below the hem her stockinged legs tapered down into the sexiest pair of black high heels he’d ever seen and he suddenly had a brutally clear vision of those heels sliding up and down his calves as he pressed her into his mattress and reacquainted himself with her body.

Which was not going to happen, he told himself darkly, snapping his gaze back up to hers and deploying the single-minded focus he was supposedly famed for. The way she looked was irrelevant. The way she’d felt pressed against him was irrelevant. What had just happened, on the other hand, wasn’t, and he had to remember that.

‘Who the hell are you,’ he said grimly, ‘and what do you think you’re doing?’

* * *

Well, wasn’t that the question of the century? thought Zoe, staring up at the man she’d spied, selected and then accosted, still buzzing from the feel of him as she’d thrown her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth to his. Truthfully she no longer recognised herself and she no longer had a clue what she was doing, which was rather disconcerting for someone who usually applied logic, reason and consideration to every aspect of her life.

While she could just about make excuses for fabricating a boyfriend for the purposes of getting even, embellishing the poor man’s qualities until he’d sounded unbelievable even to her own ears had gone way beyond the boundaries of a good idea. And as for deciding to bring him to life, well, that had been downright insanity.

She briefly considered blaming the way that what had started out as a simple little lie had spun so ludicrously out of control on the gimlet she’d drunk, but that wouldn’t be fair. Not when she’d only had one and she could usually get through three before feeling a bit on the wobbly side.

No. The truth of it was that the minute she’d mentioned her fictitious yet fabulous boyfriend she’d noticed the abrupt shift in attitude towards her, and as the attention had swung back to her she’d been swamped by a deluge of delight and triumph and above all relief that finally something had worked.

As her former classmates had naturally sought more information about this gorgeous/devoted/brilliant-yet-sensitive man, they’d asked increasingly tricky-to-dodge questions but she’d been so intoxicated by the gasps of envy and admiration at her answers and by the feeling of being accepted for once that she hadn’t thought twice about the inadvisedly elaborate lies that she’d started to spin.

She hadn’t worried she was getting in too deep, that she’d be tripped up. Why would she when she’d borrowed the story of her sister’s whirlwind romance with her ex-husband? Their relationship might have ended in the divorce to end all divorces, but it had started out romantically enough, and Lily had shared details. At length.

The lies had tripped off Zoe’s tongue with surprising ease, so much so that she’d found herself elevating him to practically fiancé status and hinting that he was on the point of proposing. This development had had her worrying that everything was getting a bit out of control, but her audience were so beside themselves at the news that she casually dismissed her concerns.

The admiration and envy that she’d been basking in were utterly shallow, of course, not to mention completely baseless, but it had felt so good to stand there as an equal for a change. To feel her rapidly dwindling self-esteem soar and everything else she’d been worrying about lately melt away. And to have them jealous of her for once. Particularly gratifying was the sucking-on-a-lemon look on the face of Samantha Newark, the newly installed Countess of Shipley and Zoe’s number one tormentor, who might have swapped mousey frizzy hair and pie-crust collared blouses for a sleek blonde up-do and a designer wardrobe at some point in the last fifteen years, but was still, apparently, intent on being her bête noire.

So while inventing a boyfriend had been rash and mad and faintly pathetic, it had succeeded where her professional prowess had failed and Zoe had to admit that she couldn’t entirely regret it.

She did, however, regret deciding to bring him to life, because for that there had been no excuse. She’d been doing marvellously, adeptly treading a fine line between awesomeness and implausibility and just about keeping on top of all the lies she was telling.

So what had happened? What had tipped her over the edge? When Samantha had scoffed at her and said he sounded far too good to be true, why hadn’t she just shrugged nonchalantly and smiled enigmatically and left her to think what she liked? Why had she let it goad her into actually producing said boyfriend?

Had she got carried away by a false sense of security? Had she started to believe her own story? Or had it been wishful thinking that someone as fantastic as her fake boyfriend would actually turn up for real?

Whatever it had been, it had been a mistake, that much was certain. Because even as the words ‘Oh, and here he is!’ were spilling out of her mouth, a little voice inside her head had been yelling at her to stop, and the heady feeling of triumph had rapidly turned into alarm then panic and desperation and complete and utter disbelief that having come so far she was about to ruin everything.

Which she couldn’t let happen, so what choice had she then had but to find a suitable candidate?

When she’d first spotted him she’d had no idea whether he was suitable. She hadn’t even really clocked what he looked like; being a head taller than everyone else he was simply the first person she’d noticed. But then she’d registered the dark hair and the handsome face and, deciding he at least fulfilled the ‘gorgeous’ element of her fake boyfriend’s qualities, she’d wasted no time in going after him.

The idea of kissing him, though, hadn’t really come to her until she was standing in front of him, suddenly feeling warm and tingly all over. She’d somehow found herself staring at his mouth and she’d been filled with a quite desperate urge to know what it would feel like on hers.

Conveniently telling herself that, firstly, if he really had been her boyfriend kissing him would be a totally natural thing to do and that, secondly, even though he wasn’t it would validate the fiction she’d created, Zoe had embraced the role, pressed herself against him and planted her mouth on his.

For the briefest of moments she’d got the impression that he’d wanted to kiss her back, but then he’d pushed her away. Which hadn’t been the most auspicious of starts but perhaps one she would have anticipated had she not completely lost her marbles, because frankly if the roles had been reversed she’d have done the same thing.

However, right now hindsight and retrospective regret were pointless; having staked her claim on him, she could hardly go and find someone else. And with the evening teetering on the edge of a nail-biting climax she didn’t want to leave.

So all she could do now was appeal to his better nature and put her case forward as best she could, and hope he’d take pity on her and agree to help her out.