Bargain in Bronze (8 page)

Now Jack sat determinedly rigid. He didn’t feel like much of a hero. Sometimes he felt like he’d he hadn’t been there enough for Tom and Anne and that when he had been around, he’d been too hard on them. But he’d tried—as he’d tried with Libby. But it hadn’t worked.

“After Mum and Dad died you just took complete control,” Tom continued. “When I screwed up and it all went to my head and I got in with that party crowd a couple of years ago, you were there for me. You never gave up on me. You never gave up on Anne. You’ve never stopped fighting for us and for what we needed. So don’t you dare stop fighting for what
you
need.”

Jack looked at the man who’d once been the scrawny kid that he’d piggy-backed around. Hell, he’d always be his baby brother. He couldn’t trust that his voice would work.

Tom stood. “You might be older than me, but I’m allowed to lecture you sometimes too.”

Tom was right of course. Jack didn’t give up. He’d never given up. What had he been thinking these last thirty minutes? Why the hell had he just walked away?

Because he hadn’t been thinking. He’d been feeling. And all he’d been feeling was hurt. She’d rejected him. And why was that? Because she was afraid? Or because she didn’t feel the same way he did?

She
knew
why he’d given her the key, why he’d made that offer. Because he cared about her. It wasn’t just a desire to help a friend. It was the same way he’d do anything to help his brother and his sister. Because he loved them. And he loved her—
not
brotherly.

Hell. Could it happen that quick? Really
?
Or was it just lust making him cross-eyed? But while he’d had the best sex ever with her, he also adored her passion for her product, her humor, her quick lip, and her generosity and desire to help Tom… everything about her won Jack’s heart.

His nerves skittered. Maybe she just wasn’t that into
him
? But she’d laughed at his lame jokes, she’d eaten him up with her eyes and body—warm and lush and welcoming. It felt good—a natural, right fit. He couldn’t believe that only he felt that between them.

She was running scared. Well, he was scared too—more than he’d ever been in his life. Not even when he’d wondered how the hell he was going to care for his kid siblings had he been this scared. But he was wrong to walk away from the fight.

…

A pain pierced between Libby’s ribs like someone had stabbed her with a knife. But it wasn’t just the pain that bothered her, it was the poison of fear. It worsened with every step she took—so she stopped taking steps. She stood with both hands gripping the railing and watched the rowers on the river. She could hear the calls from the coxes, could see the effort the men and women put into each pull of the oars. Throngs of people in shorts and pretty floral dresses passed her on the bridge, ice creams in hand. She had no idea how long she stood there, in the middle of the bridge that overlooked the club, unable to walk to either end.

“Answer me something. That guy, your ex who asked you to marry him. Did you love him?”

She jerked round so quick it hurt. Jack. Jack back and looking fierce and proud and determined and so very hot.

“Is the reason you said no because you really loved him and couldn’t cope with the idea of losing him?”

Libby’s eyes filled. “If I’d really loved him, I could never have said no. I could never have walked away.”

He reached for the railing, gripping it hard as he looked at the muddy water churning beneath the bridge.

“I’m scared, Jack,” she said quickly. “But I can’t walk away from here.”
From you
.

“You’re a very strong person,” he answered. “You have circus skills.”

She shook her head. “But
you
have dealt with enough,” she said vehemently. “What if my heart breaks in middle age like Dad’s did? Or what if I have a child and he or she has Mum’s condition? That’s not fair on anyone.”

“I know how cruel fate can be,” he answered. “And I know that you have to fight on. I know that you have to find happiness in the little things. Take pleasure in the
lovely
every day you have it.” His fingers curled tighter until his knuckles were as white as hers. “Don’t waste a day, Libby. Don’t waste a single day.”

She let go of the bridge. “Jack—”

“I know loss,” he interrupted in a low voice. “I know what it is to survive and to
just
survive. And that’s not enough. Not for you. And it’s not enough for me either. These last few days I’ve had more fun than I’ve had in years. And I don’t mean in bed. I’ve been working so hard for so long, and you’ve given me balance. It comes from relationships Libby—you can’t hide from them. You’ve got to take them on, put your head down and charge. You heal
my
heart. Isn’t that making the kind of difference you wanted? Because who knows how long any of us have? We don’t. That’s why I’m not wasting any more minutes away from you.”

Somehow she’d moved. He’d been speaking so softly, compelling her closer. And now she was near enough to feel his inviting heat. She gazed into his eyes and the brave promise in them. Finally he lifted a hand and touched her hair—so gently.

“I found out something in my Google snooping you know,” he breathed even more quietly.

“What’s that?”

“That Libby is short for Liberty.”

“Oh,” she groaned. She hated her full name.

But he smiled, a half-laugh rumbling, his expression warm and kind and willing her to take him on. “Liberty. Set your heart free. Love me.”

It was knocking in her chest right now, every thump hurting. It didn’t want to be constrained. But if she gave it to him, he’d capture it forever—and wouldn’t that be even more of a risk? For both of them?

“Can you handle this?” he whispered.

It was hard to breathe, hard to think. She could only feel. But now pleasure and excitement and anticipation pummeled her fear into submission because he was smiling at her and offering so much with his arms spread wide. She
wanted
—and she wanted this brave, strong, honest man. And she couldn’t walk away.

“Let’s just take it…each day.” She half sobbed and took that last step into his embrace.

His arms wrapped around her, bringing her home. His lips brushed her forehead for the briefest of seconds as they had that first day when she’d bumped it. Then he lifted her face to his and kissed her. She didn’t open her eyes again for a long, long time. But when she did she saw he had the satisfied look of a successful man who’d won what he wanted. Her heart soared as he whispered his promise.

“
Every
day.”

A preview of
SEDUCTION IN SILVER
, the second novella in the
FLIRTING TO WIN
trilogy!

Chapter One

Nina Breslin gripped the long strap of her handbag, determined not to give herself away. As it was, her abs were tauter than Superman’s and the heels of her nude summer pumps clipped along the concrete at an accelerated pace. Though that could be explained away by necessary haste, right? She had a train to catch.

He shouldn’t be there. Until now, she’d only seen him in front of his building weekdays and well before the commuter rush. But today was Sunday, mid–morning. And it wasn’t his usual corporate casual chinos but ink-blue jeans that encased his long legs—
lovingly
. Even more arresting was the form-fitting gray, long-sleeved tee that skimmed his flat abs and disappeared into those low-slung, leather-belted jeans. That’s why she had to grip her bag strap so hard, because the tee revealed what his more formal shirts hadn’t—his ripped strength. The breadth of his shoulders and the curves of his biceps, triceps, and those other muscles she didn’t know the names of were clearly discernible. Not too-much-protein-powder bulky—they were in proportion to his long limbs and he clearly worked them. Yeah, his physical blessings—and he had plenty—were honed to max their potential. He looked like the statue of an ancient Greek athlete come to life.

But while his tall, striking presence commanded attention, he didn’t offer the same courtesy in return. Instead, he stood aloof, never directly engaging with those so irresistibly drawn to admire his masculine perfection—i.e., everyone. He epitomized the arrogance she avoided outside of work. She had to deal with his kind all day. Intelligent, successful men who had it all—who’d go blow stupid amounts of money on champagne in lap bars at lunchtime. But with his aura of untouchability, this one took it to a whole other level. Without words or movement, he kept that remote distance—emphasizing his place in an upper echelon. No doubt he had extreme success in it all—looks, wealth, work, and of course, sex.

But she wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of knowing he had yet another female fanning herself in the corner as she watched him. And she was most definitely
not
succumbing to the urge to run her hand through her hair, despite the awareness tingling over her scalp.

She’d read the body language book only yesterday during the few quiet spells at work. Heavy on diagrams, it hadn’t taken long to read through the “winning sales techniques” section that was supposed to help up her commission during her last week before hiding out on the Continent. But of course, she’d flipped to the “courtship and mating” signals section straight after, because sometimes a girl needed to be armed with info of the “Is he into you” variety—especially when one’s perception was as far removed from reality as hers was. So now she knew why she had the urge to preen, but she wasn’t going to succumb to it. It’d be a waste of energy, anyway. For two weeks, she’d passed him every morning on her way to the Baker Street Tube station and he’d not once glanced her way.

She was stupidly piqued by that—another nail in her self-confidence coffin. He wasn’t her type—truly—but even so, part of her wanted him to notice. She pushed feminine hormones and pride aside. She wasn’t lifting her hand to her hair and exposing her breasts to his gaze in the process. It was merely an animal reaction—as was the way her nipples had tightened. Such a strong sexual attraction to a remote stranger was that “raiding foreigner” thing—the desire to mate with an outsider so as to widen the gene pool and preserve the species. Utterly cave-girl of her.

Uh-huh. She’d lost it.

Fortunately, he’d be gone in a second. Every day he stood on the path for a few stunning moments before a gleaming black car pulled up and paused only long enough for him to get in before gliding away. No mixing with the plebes on public transport for him.

Nina expected the smooth engine would pass her in two seconds. Except as she watched behind her big sunglasses, the guy stopped on the pavement, glancing impassively down the street toward her. And then he turned and actually started to walk.

While billboard perfection when standing still, when moving he exuded graceful, mesmerizing, power. Like a dangerous animal that’d be invincible should he decide to pounce—the kind who only had to fix you in his sights to have you immobile and in thrall.

Nina didn’t have time to be immobile, but she was enthralled. She followed—pressing her lips together to stop the smile. He was going on the Tube?
Really
? By the time she got into the station he was taking a ticket from the machine. A second later he was through the turnstiles and striding down the escalator.

Nina swiped her weekly pass and went past the tiles with their distinctive Sherlock Holmes silhouette—her smile widened. That she lived in London? That she was going to France and Germany and beyond? She still had to pinch herself to believe it.

The roaring sound grew louder as the escalator descended. She knew what it meant—a train had just pulled in. Her heels clattered as she walked faster. As she got to the platform, she glanced at the board to check the destination. Already the recorded message to stand clear of the door was playing. Damn, it was her train—Jubilee line—and it was going to be ten minutes until the next.

She ran. She couldn’t be late, she was solo at work today and even though it was Sunday there was money to be made and every penny would help her Euro-trip last a few days longer. The mechanism whooshed, signaling the doors were about to close, but she was three meters out. Too far to run or jump and flying wasn’t one of her abilities.

“Nooo,” Nina groaned, still running even though she knew it was useless.

Through the window, the crowd on the carriage didn’t notice her—staring up, down, away from anyone else’s eyes, already in the insular, determinedly isolated poses that only public transport could induce. Nina stared, wishing she were one of them.

She stopped as the doors slid closed. Because there he was, right inside the doorway of the nearest carriage. How typical he’d have made it—no doubt all doors remained open for him. Nina glared at the edge of the platform, muttering bad words beneath her breath. As she did, the doors made that lurching, screechy sound the way they did when something blocked them. Then she heard them slide again—
open
. Her jaw dropped when she saw the obstacle in the way of the door was a broad shoulder—
his
broad shoulder.

She didn’t muck around. She leapt the two steps to get on board. A second later it was a driver’s voice—not a recorded message—tetchily reminding passengers to
please stand clear of the doors
. The gorgeous guy straightened up, no longer making the barrier that had helped her.

Surprised—and thrilled—at his gesture, she smiled at him. “Thank—”

Her voice died. So did her brain. She totally forgot what she’d been saying because she saw he’d taken his sunglasses off. All she could do was stare as a different thrill shivered down her spine and sent her heart drumming into overdrive. She’d imagined his eyes would be a gorgeous brown—glossy and dark and chocolaty. They weren’t. They were blue. Brighter than a kingfisher’s wing, yet cooler than a mountain spring, because though bright, they were
pale
. And right now they regarded her intensely. Startled at the unexpected help he’d offered, she kept staring at the unexpected lightness in his eyes.

His lips curved, ever so slowly, and then that smile tiptoed into his eyes as well, softening the clinical, drilling assessment. “You’re welcome.”

Oh dear heaven, he was foreign. Not “boring” foreign like her. But speak-another-language foreign—his English lilted and tilted and intrigued. Hopeless at identifying accents, Nina reckoned he could be from any land where the Mediterranean lapped. There was warmth in his words and smile and tone that made her think of olives and tomatoes and sweet drizzling oil.

She rapidly blinked. No need to get giddy about it—she could get a grip. She was off to the Continent in a little over a week and there’d be gorgeous Latin types on every street corner. More attainable ones too—this guy was in another realm.

The train raced through the tunnel and Nina grabbed the steel pole at the opposite side of the door to him.

Balance, girl. Calm down
.

She looked away, embarrassed at her gawping. But yeah, for a moment there’d been a connection—when he really saw her and she most certainly saw him—and
Oh my
. But she wasn’t going to turn puppy-eyed and it wasn’t like she’d ever try to talk to him, certainly not in this crowded, quiet carriage with everyone eavesdropping. His action in helping her had been a random act of kindness—not attraction. Nina never attracted guys like that.

She studied the map stuck above the door and followed the silver snail line showing the Jubilee’s route. The train would take them through the center of London and down to the Southside and then out east to the Docklands—where the financial institutions were and the mall where she’d worked for the last four months.

The train traveled fast. Instead of the commuter crush of weekday mornings, there was a hefty number of tourists onboard. She didn’t try to find a seat. Nor did he. She’d have this one journey across from him—sharing the same air.

Yes, she was this tragic. And it was definitely time she went abroad, found her inner fun-time girl, and had a fling. She reckoned she deserved to have a few—just as soon as she built up some moxie. But it was hard to put confidence back together when it had been so brutally crushed. And her confidence had never been all that anyway.

The train pulled into the next station—only a couple more until hers now. As half the occupants exited, Nina concentrated on the big poster across the platform advertising the new Shakespeare exhibition at the British Museum. Super keen to see it, she planned to go on her own and take all the time she wanted, with no one standing crossly beside her sighing with impatience. There’d be no more missing exhibitions or shows she wanted to see because someone else’s priorities were more important. She could be as geeky and boring as she liked. There were many pluses to being single, right?

But as the doors slid shut and the train moved on, Nina couldn’t resist anymore and snatched a peek at the out-of-her-league gorgeous foreign guy. The second she did, she froze. His pale blue eyes were fixed on her—like he wasn’t noticing anything else in the world around them. Only her. Suddenly unable to move, all Nina could do was look right back. Until his eyelids flickered as his focus dropped to her mouth.

Hell. She’d licked her lips without realizing—unconsciously sending him that “I’m interested” signal. Jeez, the human body was a scary thing, giving her away when she least expected. And now she couldn’t help notice his lips curving slightly again and that smile stealing back into his exotic eyes.

Everyone
avoided eye contact on public transport; it was the way things were. People sealed themselves into their own impenetrable sphere, despite the closeness and sheer number of people in such a small space. That way no one thought you were a psycho stalker. But he didn’t politely look away and she couldn’t. She’d become all zombie under the spell of her master.

Suddenly someone started singing—a single voice, female, beautiful, rising high in a bell-like solo. But Nina couldn’t break away from him to look down the carriage. She guessed it was a busker—a good one. But then a second voice joined in—from the
opposite
end of the carriage—in stunning harmony. She sensed movement as a third voice rang out, the tune suddenly lifting as a whole choir joined in.

Good grief, they’d locked eyes and the world had literally started singing?

He still didn’t look away from her and the dreadful thing was that while he didn’t, she
couldn’t
. The curve of his lips deepened. He seemed to light up from the inside as almost the entire carriage broke into song. And then dance. As the movements became bigger, she had to watch—for her own safety’s sake—finally breaking the connection between them.

There were about fifteen of them in sync, pulling some hardcore coordinated dance moves. A flash mob. She looked around, searching for a focal point—but couldn’t see one, and then couldn’t help looking at him again to clock his reaction.

He was still watching her but smiling widely now. And there was no stopping her return smile, or the rocket launch of her heartbeat. Singers danced up and down the carriage, full on energy and volume and infectious enthusiasm. As one passed, Nina leaned to the side to give the dancer space—but she stumbled as the train took a slight corner at the same time. Nina gasped, bracing for an imminent face plant on the floor, sure she’d be pulped by flying, fierce feet. But a firm arm encircled her waist, pulling her back out of the high-kicker’s path.

Frying pan to fire!

He
pulled her to him. She put her hands on his chest, curling her fingers, certain her skin would be seared if she had direct contact.

“Sorry,” she breathed.

“No problem,” he whispered back, amusement dancing in his eyes.

He had to feel her heart pounding against him. He had to feel the shiver that just wracked her body. She cleared her throat and made herself rock back on her heels. She could balance all by herself and put an inch or three between them—right? Yes.

She dropped her hands to her sides. But despite that small distance, he kept his hand on the small of her back. Frankly, the magnetism was too strong for her to resist, so she didn’t step further away.

Flustered, she couldn’t look at him—she watched the show instead. The mob pulled out red and blue flags and she realized they were Olympic supporters. She had no idea which tiny nation they were backing, but it was fun. The fans seemed every bit as athletic as any official competitors they might support—and so enthusiastic.

Then she felt the slightest stroke of his fingers on her back. Insanely sensitized, she glanced at him and he gestured to the now-vacant seats.