The Best Man for the Job

TWELVE


Over the course of the next few weeks that was what they did.

They met in restaurants, bars and various parks. Despite having known each other for nearly twenty years, so much of that time had been clouded with animosity that they’d never really talked.

Now, though, they did nothing but.

They discovered that, while they disagreed about many things, about the big things, the important things, they were more or less on the same wavelength. They also found they had plenty in common. An interest in obscure French cinema. A deep dislike of cats. A love of chilli and being terrible patients, amongst many other things.

And, of course, the still-scorching chemistry.

That hadn’t gone away, thought Celia, blotting her lipstick and trying not to think about the evening she and Marcus had had fish and chips and he’d reached out to rub away a blob of ketchup at the corner of her mouth.

If anything it was getting worse, because mature and sensible and not at the mercy of her hormones? Who the hell had she been kidding? Her hormones were going so mental that she couldn’t believe that at one point she’d seriously thought that ignoring what was going on between her and Marcus was an option.

It had taken all her strength to walk away that night she’d gone for supper at his house. She’d been so very tempted to simply fall into his arms and yield to the need that had been clawing away at her, especially when he’d so clearly been up for it. But some sixth sense had warned her against it, and thank God she’d got out of there before she’d given in to temptation.

Their conversation that night had been unsettling. Not the subject matter—although that had revealed more about him than she ever could have imagined—but the way she’d responded to it.

When he’d asked what her family thought about the pregnancy it had occurred to her that he didn’t have anyone to tell, and her heart had wrenched. When he’d told her he had no intention of falling in love or ever marrying because of his experience, it had wrenched a little more. And when he’d been talking about his mother’s suicide and the note she’d left, well, that had just about torn her apart because it clearly affected him, making him think that somehow he wasn’t good enough when he was. He so was.

It had been disconcerting, because Marcus wasn’t supposed to tug at her heartstrings. He wasn’t supposed to have as much depth as he did, although quite why he wasn’t when he’d been through such a tough time she didn’t have a clue.

She wasn’t supposed to like him so much either, but there was another anomaly, because she did. A lot. He made her laugh. Entertained her. Challenged her and made her think and question and argue. So much so that the days they were meeting up she woke up on a high and then spent the rest of the day fizzing with excitement and counting down the hours until she could leave to go and see him. Sometimes she even left work early, which, given that she was meant to be doing everything she could to win the partnership, was madness.

She ought to be wary of seeing him, not excited. Because every time they met up the occasions were underscored with such a strong current of tension that she’d started to think that perhaps they should have gone to bed that night. Perhaps Marcus had been right and it would have got things out of their system. Maybe the fact that they hadn’t was what was making the idea of it so compelling.

Frankly, it was hard to see how sex would have made things any worse because the tension between them was sky-high. Every date that wasn’t a date was filled with fleeting touches. Laden looks. Conversation that tailed off. Sizzling, thundering silences and a hundred electrically charged moments before they said an awkward goodbye and each headed home separately.


Not that it ended there, for her at least. Marcus was in her head pretty much constantly. Her dreams were full of him, and during the day she frequently found herself storing tiny things away to tell him later.

She didn’t know how he was dealing with it all, but for all her fine words about sense and manageability her resistance was rapidly weakening. She couldn’t remember why sex with him had seemed like such a bad idea. She’d been thinking it might be a very good idea indeed for a while now. Now she was thinking that tonight, finally, she’d like to do something about it.

It might be reckless and it might be rash, but she’d had enough of the excoriating frustration and the agonising tension. She’d had enough of the sleepless nights and the feverish dreams that assailed her when she did eventually manage to drop off. It wasn’t doing her nervous system any good at all and, heaven knew, she didn’t want her palpitations to reappear.

So today she had a plan. This afternoon she’d find out whether she’d got the partnership, then later she and Marcus were going out for dinner at a three-Michelin-starred restaurant. And whether they were celebrating or commiserating, one thing was for certain: they were going to end the night together, in bed and having fabulous, hot, sweaty sex.

* * *

Tonight Marcus was going to end this ‘getting to know you’ crap.

He stood at the basin in his bathroom, leaned forwards and wiped away enough condensation from the mirror to be able to see his reflection, which was actually pretty grim. No surprise there, he thought darkly as he picked up a can and squirted a ball of foam into his hand. He’d been feeling grim for days. Tense and grumpy and frustrated as hell.

With hindsight, agreeing to her plan to get to know each other had been nuts. Going along with it had been even more insane. Where the hell had the intention to make that night she’d come for supper a one-off gone? When she’d suggested they stick to meeting up in public and he’d said fine without a moment’s consideration, what on earth had he been thinking?

Shaking his head in disbelief and wondering when exactly he’d lost his mind, Marcus began lathering up his face.

As if simply meeting up in public was the way to handle the scorching attraction that sizzled between them. Hah. They might not be able to act on their feelings in public but that didn’t make them go away, did it? No. It was simply making them worse. For him, at least.

He had no idea how Celia was dealing with it but he was handling it badly, because over the past three weeks or so that they’d been seeing each other he’d been finding it increasingly hard to resist her.

At first it had been fine. Well, not exactly fine, but he’d told himself that he could keep his impulses under control, and he’d more or less succeeded knowing it was a bad idea and, more importantly, why. Lately, though, they met up and it was all he could do not to grab her arm, hail a taxi and take her home. He was in a permanent state of confusion and arousal, and it was driving him crazy.

Picking up his razor, Marcus tilted his head and cut a swathe through the white cream and winced as he nicked his jaw. Dammit, he had to put a stop to these meetings. They’d been an indulgence he could ill afford and it was time to end them.

Anyway, the whole idea behind them in the first place had been to get to know each other and by now they knew plenty. Too much, in fact. Celia had told him things he didn’t want or need to know. Things that had him wondering how on earth he could ever have thought her an uptight, judgemental pain in the arse. Things that had him thinking that, on the contrary, what with her sharp wit and her spot-on insight, her warmth and her self-deprecation, she might be rather wonderful.

In return he’d found himself telling her things he’d never told anyone. Big things. Small things. Either way, a lot of things. He’d given her so many little pieces of himself over the past three weeks, in fact, that she nearly had the whole.

As much as he might have wanted to prevent it she’d got under his skin. And he could tell himself all he liked that it was merely down to the fact that he hadn’t had the chance to build up those all-important defences, but that didn’t eradicate the feeling that even if his defences had been the height of Everest she’d simply have bulldozed them down.

He didn’t know what it meant. Wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

What he wanted, he thought, finishing up and wiping his face clean, what he needed, was space. A bit of distance and time to get some perspective and figure out what was going on here. And then, if necessary, put a stop to it.

So after tonight that would be that. He’d tell her he needed a break, and tomorrow he’d make plans to go away.

If he still lived by the principles he’d had at eighteen—and right now he wished he did—he’d have cancelled this evening. But he knew how important this partnership deal was for her and how hard she’d worked for it. And he knew that despite her apparent confidence that it was in the bag, that she’d worked so hard it had to be hers, she was nervous about the outcome.

So they’d go for dinner as planned and he’d order a bottle of champagne just in case she wanted half a glass whatever the result, he’d be as charming as she was expecting him to be, and after that, as he’d done so many times before, he’d bid her goodnight and put her in a taxi.

And then tomorrow, in a bid to get that distance, he’d be off.

* * *

Celia stood on the pavement outside the restaurant from which she and Marcus had just emerged, her body buzzing and her pulse racing. Not with delight about getting the partnership, which, if she was being honest, didn’t come anywhere near the thrill of being out and celebrating it with him, but with the thought of what, hopefully, was coming next. Which was, with any luck, her.

Dinner had been sublime. The heavenly array of food, the seductive lighting and incredibly romantic atmosphere and above all, Marcus, who’d gone out of his way to make tonight special.

He’d ordered her a bottle of champagne and then asked for it not to be opened so she could keep it and drink it when she was back on the hard stuff. He’d told her to have whatever she wanted or everything, if that took her fancy. He’d asked her all about her meeting this afternoon, and had seemed more enthusiastic about the fact that she’d got the partnership than she was.

And now... Well, now, come hell or high water, she was going to take him home with her.

He wanted her; she knew he did. Even if they hadn’t spent the past three weeks communicating it with everything other than words, every now and then this evening she’d looked up to find him watching her, his eyes blazing with hunger and desire before the shutters snapped down and he made some comment designed to make her laugh and forget about what she’d seen.

But she couldn’t forget. Nor did she want to because she’d hungered for him for so long and she couldn’t stand the frustration any longer. She didn’t think he could either.

‘Thank you for a lovely evening, Marcus,’ she said, her voice husky with the desire that she couldn’t be bothered to hide any more.

He glanced at her, his jaw tight and a faint scowl on his face as he shrugged on his jacket. ‘No problem.’

‘And thank you for supper.’

‘Least I could do,’ he said, adjusting the collar and then tugging at the cuffs of his shirt beneath his jacket.

And, OK, so his mood seemed to be worsening with every second they stood on the pavement, which wasn’t particularly encouraging, but what the hell? He could always say no. She’d been thinking about this for what felt like for ever and she had to give it her best shot because she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t.


‘Marcus,’ she said, her heart thundering and her mouth dry as she inched towards him.

‘What?’ he said, thrusting his hands in the pockets of his trousers and looking down at her unsmilingly in the darkness.

She stepped closer and fought the temptation to sway slightly as her body responded to the magnetism he exuded, and then took a deep breath. ‘Will you come home with me?’

* * *

Marcus wanted nothing more than to go home with her. And nothing less.

Tonight had been agony. Celia had sparkled from the moment she’d sat down at the table where he’d been waiting for her, and he’d known practically right then and there that he was doomed. That it was going to take every drop of his control to put her in a taxi alone at the end of the night.

But he’d got through it. And had thought he’d succeeded.

But dammit, he should have known that Celia would suggest something like this. He’d seen the desire in her eyes all evening, not banked as his was, but alive and burning and so very tempting.

He should have realised that excitement and the high of success would spill over into recklessness. He should have been prepared. Even better he should have cancelled in the first place, he thought grimly, mentally cursing every principle he possessed.

But as he hadn’t, right now he just had to be stronger, more resolute and more ruthless than he’d ever been before. For both their sakes.

‘Stop it, Celia,’ he said, his voice as rough as sandpaper with the effort of holding onto his control and not grabbing the next taxi that passed, bundling her in and clambering in after her.

‘Why?’

‘You know why.’

She tilted her head and her hair rippled, gleaming in the light of the street lamp, and he fought back the urge to reach out and wrap a chunk of it round his fingers. ‘I thought I did,’ she said softly, ‘but now I’m not so sure.’

Then he’d make her sure. ‘It would screw everything up.’

‘Isn’t everything pretty much screwed up anyway?’

His jaw tightened. ‘And you want to make it worse?’

‘I want to make it better.’

No. He was going to make it better. ‘I’m going away.’

She stared at him, wide-eyed and momentarily speechless. ‘Where to?’

‘I don’t know. Anywhere.’

Her eyes filled with understanding. ‘I see. When?’

He’d have gone now if he had a plan, which he didn’t because right now he wanted her so badly he could barely think. Which was bad. Really bad. ‘Tomorrow.’

‘Then we still have tonight.’

‘We’d be mad to even consider it.’

‘You want it as much as I do.’

Of course he did. He was as hard as rock and had been since for ever, but even though his self-control was stretched more than it had ever been it was still holding firm. ‘So what?’

‘This has been brewing for weeks.’

‘I know.’

‘What’s the point of resisting it any more?’

‘There are a billion points.’ Although he was damned if he could remember any of them.

‘I’m tired of it, Marcus. And I know you are too.’

‘I’ve never stayed on friendly terms with any of my exes,’ he muttered, and then wondered what the hell that had to do with anything, because he wasn’t seriously considering this, was he? God. No. He couldn’t be...

‘Nor have I,’ she said. ‘But one night does not an ex make.’

‘What does it make?’ he said, his head swimming as much with confusion as desire.

‘I don’t know. Heaven?’

Heaven sounded good. So good... ‘And then?’

‘Who knows?’ she said with a small smile that just about undid him. ‘But what if you were right?’

‘About what?’ he said, his voice sounding as if it came from a million miles away.

‘Maybe we should try and get it out of our systems.’

‘No,’ he said, but the denial was weak. ‘You’re not thinking straight.’

‘Actually, I’ve never been thinking straighter. Avoiding it doesn’t seem to be working, does it? So what other choice do we have but to confront it? Because it’s not going to go away.’

‘It has to.’

‘What if it doesn’t?’

If it didn’t they’d have a lifetime of it, tearing them up inside.

At the thought of that Marcus went dizzy, his heart hammering and his stomach churning. A lifetime of this? How would he stand it?

Especially when he didn’t even have to.

Collapsing under so much pressure, so much need, Marcus felt what was left of his self-control disintegrate. He’d clung on for as long as he could and he knew it was the worst idea in the world to take Celia up on her suggestion but he was only a man. He had his limits like everyone else and she was pushing him way past his.

He’d tried to resist, so hard, he had for months, but the pleading in her voice, the hunger in her eyes, the sense she was making when it was everything he wanted had chipped his resolve right away. He was a man at the end of his tether, and, really, she was right. What was one night?

‘Whatever happens after,’ she said, stepping closer, putting her hands on his chest and splaying her fingers, her proximity scrambling his head even more and making him feel quite weak, ‘I know what I want, Marcus, and I know what I’m doing.’

‘Do you?’ he grated as the last of his resistance shattered and he gave in, body and soul. ‘Really? Because I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.’

And with that, he pulled her into his arms, one round her waist and the other at the back of her head, and crashed his mouth down on hers.

Her hands slid up his chest, burning a trail he could feel right down to his toes. She wound them round his neck and locked them there as she pressed against him.

She moaned and he pulled her tighter and it was as if someone had thrown a match on a tinderbox. Heat surged between them. Fire ran through his veins. His heart thundered and desire surged through his blood, thick and drugging and nearly making him forget where they were.

But not quite.

He pulled back, breathing harshly, and she whimpered.

‘Don’t stop,’ she mumbled, pulling his head down and kissing him again.

‘We have to,’ he said, somehow finding the strength of will to unwind her arms from around his neck and peel himself away.

‘No,’ she protested. ‘Why? Surely you’re not going to turn all scrupulous on me now.’

‘God, no,’ he said, thinking he was too far beyond the point of return to come up with all the reasons they shouldn’t be doing this.

‘Then why?’

‘Because for one thing,’ he said, taking her arm and scouring the street, ‘if we don’t we’ll be arrested for indecency, and for another we need to find a taxi.’