High Heels & Bicycle Wheels

Chapter 7

The sea was sparking blue in the late afternoon sun. Even though the wind was blowing a gale, no pun intended, Bryony had surprisingly plumped for the precipitous walk down the cliff path to the beach, maybe because she judged it to be the least high-risk sport on offer. Energetic sex back at the cabin or cliff-walking, and she’d opted for the latter. A wry grimace from Jackson to that one; although looking at the height of the heels on her boots, walking anywhere off piste in those could be considered crazy dangerous.

Leaning into the crosswind, those heels obviously weren’t proving too much of a handicap as she picked her way between the wet rocks and the seaweed, hands rammed in her puffa-jacket pocket, hair whipping across her face. Almost like he could feel her heartbeat carried by the wind across the space between them. Those go-on-forever legs in those tight leggings made his mouth water. Something about the sheer strength and exuberance of her making his chest twang, not to mention…

‘So, what drives you?’ A gust snatched his words away as he spoke them, but he wanted to ask. Something to do with the gritty determination of the woman.

She whirled around to face him as he caught her up. Amazing how she still managed to look like a supermodel despite the Force Ten gale.

‘I get a buzz from making things happen. Same as you, getting your rocks off by winning.’

‘Succinct and insightful too. Sharp lady.’

‘I do my best.’ She twitched those delectable lips into a grin that showed her perfect teeth.

Funny how he’d missed that this morning. He’d been too busy watching for cracks in the gloss, to see through to the inside and kicking against the stone-wall of her determination. Je’d been aware of the whole explosion of chemistry, which he’d put down solely to his own need in that department, but he hadn’t fully appreciated the long-limbed wow-factor of the whole package. Not that he was going there. She was seriously off limits, but for some reason he couldn’t bear to let her go before he’d found out more about her. There was this inexplicable urge to keep her with him for as long as he could, just because the combination of her layers and her strength was fascinating; not like any woman he’d come across before.

‘Getting your kicks from making people do what you want. That figures, from what I saw earlier.’ Accidentally on purpose, he bumped his hip gently against hers. Gentle flirting was a contact sport, and there was definitely a buzz here. ‘Used to getting your own way from an early age, A.K.A. being spoiled?’

‘Not exactly.’ She screwed up her face, as if weighing things up. ‘It’s complicated.’

And she claimed full marks for not dismissing the ‘spoiled’ taunt out of hand.

‘Try me?’

‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to send you to sleep with my whole mixed-up childhood life story thing. But when I was eleven my older brother ended up inheriting a country estate. It’s way less glamorous than it sounds. We didn’t have a wealthy upbringing at all, we were a disaster as a family; my parents had spilt up, and it was just an accident that a couple of people died and unexpectedly left my brother, Brando, next in line. From quite a young age I used to go to help with events there. In fact, it was lots of hard work, but it taught me how to handle people and that’s where I got hooked on the satisfaction of pulling off the impossible.’ She broke into a guilty smile. ‘And you’re right – I learned how to wind my brother round my little finger. Back in the day I used to commandeer his helicopter all the time, but I’ve pretty much grown out of that now. But isn’t that what baby sisters are for?’

If she was hoping that would make his eyes widen, then she was in luck; but more strangely still, it appeared to have been a throwaway line. Eyes wider still at that thought. And a fellow survivor of a broken family too. He covered his surprise by blurting out the first thing about families that came into his head.

‘I wouldn’t know, I only have brothers.’ A neat line that no way expressed the train wreck that was his family life, or the screwed up state of relationships with his father and brothers and as they stood now. Connor, a golden boy, who hadn’t screwed up when it mattered like he had, who’d been snapping at his heels his whole life, who was still out there now, feeding their father’s insatiable hunger for glory, providing him with the reflected limelight he loved. And Nic, a self-made success. As for his mother, well don’t even go there. Who the hell started talking about families? ‘Connor’s a famous cyclist. You’ll no doubt have heard of him.’ The wind whipped away the bitter laugh he spat out with that last comment.

‘Or maybe not.’ She shot him a shamefaced grin. ‘I don’t know the first thing about cycling, I was blagging it this morning. The last time I went on a bike I was about six.’

‘Why does that not surprise me?’ Anything was better than discussing the Gale clan. Suppressing his mirth at her embarrassed discomfort, he gave her a shoulder nudge as he polished his next spinner. ‘But bike-riding’s like sex. Once you’ve learned how to do it, you don’t forget.’

Only her eyebrows shooting up showed he’d surprised her. One-all in the surprise stakes then.

‘So like a man to make that link. Or are you simply living up to your perennial reputation as a womanizer?’ Tossing back her head, she let out a laugh. ‘I read the biography, you know. What’s your next line? Asking me if my favourite cocktail is “Sex on the beach?”’

‘Let me think. Slimy rocks, the sea approaching… I don’t think so.’ He jumped to avoid the bubbles of tide running up the sand and steered her up the beach a little. ‘Later maybe?’

And joking. Obviously.

‘Dream on, Mister. I gave up on casual sex years ago because it was meaningless and empty, so I learned to say “No”. Maybe you could learn that too.’ She gave a shrug, but posted him a mischievous sideways glance. ‘One tiny word, but it’s powerful.’

And maybe she had a point. If the faceless sex was so great, how come he’d hardly missed it when he called a halt? Until today, of course, when his groin had been jumping like a jack-in-a box. Still was. Put it down to the adrenalin surge of a win, or more likely, the Cherry Bomb at his side and her explosive promise, which strangely hadn’t lessened any since she swapped her silky pink wrapper for leggings and padded jacket. Still that same bewitching scent, screamingly strong, regardless of the salty, biting air.

‘So I take it you’re not propositioning me, then?’ No idea why he needed to push it, but he did.

Now it was her turn to jump as the surf rushed towards her toes. ‘We’ve already established that.’

A few more hand-in-pocket strides at his side, this human dynamo was walking so fast he could barely keep up, despite her precipitous heels.

She glanced back at him. ‘To be honest I’m so far out of the couples game, my mother has offered to pay to freeze my eggs.’

Conversation stopper or what? Though judging by the way she was chewing her lip and furrowing her brow, she’d shocked herself as much as him with that one. Laying it on the line. Making it clear, her hurling herself at him wasn’t going to happen.

Leaving the first move down to him. When had he ever had to make the first move? Though that wasn’t really happening either, even if he had taken every precaution to keep the press off his tail.

‘So what do you do if you don’t date? Are you implying that you work all the time?’ And when did he become this big on interrogation?

She might be an organisational whizz, but what a waste of all that energy.

She smiled up at him, making the pit of his stomach fizz, making him ache to taste her. ‘A professional cyclist should understand about non-stop work better than most, from what I read.’

So she’d been reading up, had she? When did he ever ache like this? ‘Didn’t you read about the extra-curricular bits?’ Mind reverting automatically. Too bad he wasn’t going to taste.

‘There you go again. You and your one-track, extra-curricular mind.’

Grabbing her was his last intention, but he threw an easy arm around her shoulder anyway. No excuses, other than the caveman in him stepping up to stake his claim. One slight jolt from her. A strike before she organised her opposition may work to his advantage – if he didn’t move in fast enough, he suspected she may well deck him.

Easy. Spinning around, heading for her lips, he pushed away the salty strands of her hair. Her gasp of surprise drew him straight into the luscious heat of her mouth as he traced his tongue along her lip, pushed beyond those perfect teeth. Soft, delicious, sweet as raspberry muffin. And hungry too. One second of hesitation, then she came to meet him, tangling, like he knew instinctively she would, her vitality surging into him. Forging her body against his, strong and arousingly urgent as he dragged her, crushed her against his pelvis. Embracing her exuberance, and doubting he’d ever held anyone this real, this human, her energy flooding through, making him amazingly, resoundingly alive. The ache in his groin thumping as she ground her hip against the thud of his erection. Barely pausing as he tugged past the soft wool of her cardigan, through the yielding cotton of her t-shirt to the hot skin beneath. The bang of his pulse, resounding in his ears, drowning out the wind, hearing that small groan of affirmation vibrating from her throat as he cupped her heavy breast in his hand. The full perk of her nipple strong enough to jut through the padded silk.

The thunder of desire galloped through his body as he slipped down the bra-cup, lightly scratching with his nail to bring her nipple to amazing standing attention. Then, as he rolled it between his fingers, her body sagged against him and the mewing from her throat told him that he’d hit the spot. Dragging the oxygen into his lungs to cope with the double speed pounding of the blood around his body, heart rate racked off the scale by the moans of the woman leaning heavy in his arms.

‘Jackson!’ With a squawk, she yanked away from him. ‘The sea!’

The chill of water engulfed his feet as a wave rolled over his sneakers. Opening his eyes, he took a second to register the ocean fringe advancing towards them and another to decide he didn’t even give a damn. Wanting to carry on pushing the Cherry Bomb past the point of no return, until she exploded and came apart in his arms.

‘Holy crap. We could drown here.’ His survival head coming late to the party, yanking down caveman’s ‘Do Not Disturb’ notice. In a few minutes the tide rushing into the bay would be far enough up the beach to cut off their way back. Where the hell was protective caveman? Significantly AWOL apparently, whilst pillage-caveman got his rocks off.

Grabbing her wrist, he began to run. ‘Come on, we need to get back to the cliff path. Fast.’ Dragging her along the foaming edge of the sea, staying as far away from the mud cliffs as they could. A second super-charge of adrenalin surged through his limbs now as he hauled her into the headwind across the amphitheatre of the bay. Struggling, bumping, sliding, stumbling over the rocks, soupy water up to their ankles, looking up long enough to pinpoint the place on the cliffs they were heading for, where the diagonal line of the path stretched upwards to safety.

Her dead weight pulled on his arm, and he turned to see her, hair strewn across her mouth, hauling her breath in huge gasps. ‘You go on.’ Her panting words, torn away by the gale, as she bent, groaning, hands on her knees. ‘I’ll catch you up.’

‘No way, we’ll go together.’ Catching her arm again, forging forward. ‘Come on, you can make it – it’s not far now.’

The familiar burn in his limbs. Unaware they’d walked this far, the length of the beach foreshortening, playing tricks, like the stones that were repeating beneath their feet in a continuous unending loop. Brine sticky on his face, his chest bursting as he hauled her on. The sun still glinting on the solid mass of the water beside them. Rocks and wind, wind and rocks, splashing, slithering. And then they were there, and he was heaving her up in front of him, shouldering her backside. With one lunge, he propelled her to the safety of the mud and grass on the cliffside path, and scrambled after her.

Chapter 8

‘Is my head too heavy?’

Bryony was lying on the ragged grass on the cliff top, limbs in a heap, staring at the sky, which, incidentally, was broad as any she’d seen lately. The heat of Jackson’s chest was solid against her skull as she watched the cloud wisps and waited to get her wild jiving heartbeats back into line.

‘Your hair’s tangling in my stubble again. Does it hurt?’ His gruff tones reverberated through his ribs.

Hair caught in a guy’s stubble? OMG. How far off-limits was she?

‘Nope’

And how darned okay it was. It was almost as if neither of them had wanted to break the moment by speaking, and then it had slipped into minutes and then a whole lot longer. The wind rushed over her ears, pushing the smell of damp ground up her nose and coating her lips with salt. She tried not to think how easy this felt, how she didn’t want to move ever again.

‘Here, have this, I picked it up on the beach before.’ He shifted under her, pushed a small stone into the palm of her hand. ‘It’s a fossil, an ammonite. So you remember today. ’

As if she’d ever forget it.

‘Thanks.’ She ran her index finger around the curl of the spiral. Still warm from the ride in his pocket. ‘How old is it?’

‘Possibly two hundred million years. Sorry, they don’t make them any newer.’

A fossil from womanising Jackson Gale. Who’d have thought?

‘It’s perfect. Thanks.’

And then there was the tiny matter of that major snog down on the beach. Talking of perfect. Was that really her back there? Diving down his throat and loving it?

She shuddered at the thought of what he’d been doing to her nipples, shut her eyes and shook her head, just to check she was here. In person. Five minutes of ecstasy, then Jackson went on to save her life. Maybe the biography hadn’t been exaggerating about his multi-faceted talents in all areas. Let’s face it; some guys had it all.

Beneath her head his chest heaved in a comfortable sigh. ‘Almost drowning kind of cements you together. Like we’re lying under this sun as it slides down and, not wanting to be melodramatic, but it could have been the last sunset we saw.’ His voice was gravelly, as one thumb grazed across the back of her hand and brought out the goosebumps in places she couldn’t imagine. ‘We might just have become a lost-at-sea statistic. When you get your breath back, we need to go and do something spectacular to celebrate.’

Interesting… what might that be exactly. This guy had charm by the shedload, and it was mighty hard to resist. You only have to say ‘no’. One tiny word. Wasn’t that what she’d told him? Whatever, she needed to make herself clear here.

‘Back on the beach, the last thing I remember talking about was your one-track mind. I’m hoping we haven’t gone there again.’ She dragged in a breath, hating her sensible-self just for a moment. ‘But, on the upside, a man who saves you from getting swept out to sea and then gives you a fossil has to be worth getting to know a little bit more. Possibly.’ Grinning upwards, catching a glimpse of his chin. Capitulating, slightly. ‘Dinner might be nice.’

‘Dinner’s a possibility.’ He grinned back down at her, his teeth up close just as even and spectacular as her tongue already told her. ‘Why don’t we take it as it comes?’ Bringing out those to-die-for wrinkles in his cheeks, he sent her on-the-ground stomach down to the basement.

‘And to think, back there I was taking the flak for making people do what I want.’ Laughing now, she gave him a soft poke in the ribs. ‘It takes a manipulator to know a manipulator, wouldn’t you agree?’

Easing her upwards, he got to his feet. ‘I prefer to think of it as my incurable desire to win.’

Letting her gaze meander up the whole of his beautiful body, she locked him in a dead-eye gaze, lifting an eyebrow. Important to keep the man who knew he was best at everything in line, despite the fact that her head was whirling. Especially because her head was whirling.

He offered her a hand, ‘C’mon then, Cherry Bomb, let’s go.’ One yank, and she flew to her feet. ‘We’ll get you into some dry clothes.’

More crazy talking that flipped her stomach into a triple somersault. Where the hell had her ‘professional’ gone when she needed it? And definitely not reacting to the clothes comment. Apart from with her racing pulse, obviously. Winning? Manipulating? Hot sex?

Whatever.

After a near-death experience anything was excusable.

She only had to say ‘No’.

Chapter 9

‘Two bedrooms, two bathrooms. Made out of Swedish pinewood. It’s a no-brainer. The TV company’s paying, so strictly it’s your place more than mine.’

So that was how Jackson had talked her into the log cabin, which apparently wasn’t his at all anymore. Nice work. Thoughtfully, after this afternoon’s near disaster, he’d omitted all mention of sea views from the list of facilities on offer. Add smooth talking and persuasive argument to his ever-growing list of attributes, and, no question, the guy was a killer opponent. Wheedling his way further into her good books, he propelled her straight in the direction of the en-suite with the spa bath and told her he’d be happy not to see her for the next hour or two, and inadvertently picked up more points when he didn’t offer to throw in a personal massage service. Although, mentioning that thereafter the dress-code was relaxed. Bathrobes would do.

Nice try, Jackson. Dream on.

Pulling on some sweat pants and a slouchy top now, definitely the least sexy of the clothes she had here, she berated herself for only having thongs in her overnight bag. Somehow granny pants would have made her feel better equipped for the challenge ahead, because, regardless of what went on down on the beach, no matter how spectacular that kiss, now that she was back on the cliff top, her land-legs had taken over again – along with her common sense. So much easier to take refuge in the familiar persona of Bryony Marshall, workaholic man-avoider.

‘How’re the aching muscles?’ Jackson was sprawled across the large corner sofa, entirely relaxed, half buried under a confusion of Sunday papers, as she emerged into the open-plan living area.

‘Good.’ Perching on the edge of the coffee table, she flashed him a smile. ‘Considering what they’ve been through.’

Unnervingly, she felt as if she’d walked into her all-time favourite daydream. The one where she came down to Sunday breakfast to find her forever-fantasy-man sitting waiting for her… in their house… because they were married. Just this was the wrong man.

And yesterday the real man of her dreams had married someone else. Not that he’d ever noticed her, all the years she’d known him, even though he was her fallback man. Fall-back man? Who was she kidding? Matt had been her number-one choice, dammit, since she’d set eyes on him at the age of fourteen. Although close friends who knew her secret maintained he was nothing more than a vessel to place her affections in until the real guy came along, as and when she started to look for him, which she knew would be never. Good friend’s brothers? Whoever said you were onto a loser with them was right. Gutting, all the same.

‘You okay?’ Jackson was scrutinising her through narrowed eyes. ‘You look like someone walked on your grave?’

Maybe they just did. Who the hell said men couldn’t be perceptive?

‘Fine.’ Lying through her teeth, for all the right reasons. She’d promised herself not to think about Matt, if not ever again, at least for this weekend. Although, strangely, that kiss on the beach had done a great job of dispatching all thoughts of him and his wedding tux, and his lovely new wife Tia, who, judging by the Facebook pics, was tiny and impossibly beautiful. But, thanks to the beach snog, there was a different man in her head now, which made a change, and he was occupying all of it. But something told her that wasn’t healthy either.

‘May seem better after a drink?’ Jackson dipped into to an ice bucket on the table beside him, and pulled out a bottle. ‘Sparkling white, the best way to smooth the race pains away, and I’ve started without you. Unless you’d prefer something else? Plenty of everything in the kitchen.’

‘Sparkling white’s cool.’ Chilled. Like he was. ‘Only a glass, though.’

He filled two glasses and handed her one. Funny how Jackson in the flesh was a hundred times more mesmerising than Matt had ever been, even though she’d spent the best part of ten years being hooked on him from afar. Although being here with Jackson didn’t exactly feel real either, it was unusual enough to make her shivery in a dangerous kind of way. There was something compelling about the strangeness of the situation. She took a sip of wine, hoping the bubbles that spiked her nose would make it seem more concrete.

‘Cutting back on the alcohol? I thought we were meant to be celebrating.’ Jackson, totally edible in his slouch pants and white tee, smouldering like he was about to devour her.

And her central nervous system on crazy-time, making her whole body buzz every time his gaze traversed her boobs – which seemed to be a lot. Add in that the air felt like it had an electric charge, and she was in weird-city. He had to be mocking her as he studied her through narrowed eyes.