Best Of Makeovers Bundle Part 11

Karl. Think about the sleaze-bag. She wanted to know why Max didn't want her to see him. 'I think he's busy. With a client,' he added, inspired. It was almost the truth; busy-yes, client-no. But it might head her off. He didn't want her to be with Fiennes, but he didn't want her to get hurt, either. 'Why don't we just leave a message for him at Reception?'

'We?'

'Yeah. I'll wait with you until your taxi comes.'

She shook her head. 'Thanks, but I really don't think it's necessary.'

'Look, you've had enough of the party. So have I. Shame we can't share a taxi.'

'Well, we don't live anywhere near each other.'

Yes. His office happened to be at his home, in Bayswater, and she lived in Islington. The opposite side of London. They definitely wouldn't go the same way home by taxi. But there was another way they could travel together.

'Why don't we take the tube? I can see you home, then carry on round on the Circle Line to mine.' It would mean a couple of extra changes of line for him, onto the Northern Line and then back to the Circle Line. So what?

'Max-'

The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. And he'd just had an even better one. 'I don't know about you, but I could do with some fresh air. Why don't we get our coats, take the tube to Bank station, and walk alongside the Thames?'

From the look on her face, he knew he'd said the wrong thing. He'd panicked. A few seconds ago he'd told her not to go out onto the balcony because she'd freeze. Now he was suggesting going for a walk by the river. A complete contradiction; don't go outside; yes, let's go outside. She must be thinking he was such an idiot.

Her words confirmed she knew he'd been trying to distract her. 'Max, what's happening on the balcony?'

'Nothing to worry about,' he said.

'Then why are you trying to stop me going out there?' she asked mildly.

He sighed. 'Look, I just don't want you getting hurt. You deserve better.'

She smiled. 'Karl's chatting someone up, isn't he?'

Max'd been about to say, 'Don't shoot the messenger'-but then he frowned. Her question suggested she knew exactly what Karl was like. And she was smiling. But shouldn't she be crying or wanting to pull the other woman's hair, or something? Just as he'd wanted to punch Karl when Mr Oily had taken Cyn on the balcony to kiss her? 'How did you know?'

She shrugged. 'Because Karl's a player. He dates a different girl every week.'

Umm. That sounded rather too much like Max himself for comfort. But that wasn't the point. 'And you still went out with him, knowing this?'

'I'm not going out with Karl. He doesn't do commitment.'

Max blinked. She'd just said the c-word. The word that could wreck everything between them before it had even started. And she'd just confirmed his worst fears. She wasn't going out with Karl because he didn't do commitment. Which meant...'You're looking for commitment.'

Was she?

Cyn had always sworn she wouldn't make her mother's mistakes. She'd learned the hard way that men didn't commit-the number of 'uncles' in her past taught her that. They'd always been there for a while, then let her mum down. Right from the first one, who'd been a rebound from her father.

So Cyn hadn't expected commitment from her boyfriends. Maybe it was a self-fulfilling prophecy; because she'd always stayed that little bit detached, it had always been easy for her relationships to end. Neither she nor her boyfriends had wanted commitment.

Did she want commitment now? The more she thought about it, the more she was sure she didn't. Her mum was the one who had dreams of being married and settling down. Cyn wanted something else. She wanted to be a star in her world. A top-notch programmer and project manager, respected by all.

Which meant giving commitment to her job, not her social life.

Now she thought about it, all her crushes had been on un.o.btainable men. Film and rock stars as a teenager, men she knew she might see on stage but would never, ever, meet, so it was safe to fall in love with them. And she'd been really picky about dating, to the point where she even had a reputation of being unavailable.

Maybe Lisa was right and her grey suits were suits of armour. Anonymous business clothes that meant that men wouldn't be looking at her legs or down her cleavage, but would listen to her ideas and take her seriously in her job instead. She realised that Max was staring at her-and she hoped fervently that she hadn't said any of her thoughts aloud. 'Sorry, I didn't catch that.'

'I said, you're looking for commitment.'

She shrugged. 'I'm committed to my job.'

'So, you and Karl-it isn't serious?'

'He's a colleague, that's all. But he's a nice guy,' she added, not wanting Max to think badly of Karl. So he might be chatting up another woman, mere minutes after Cyn had told him it wouldn't work between them-but that didn't make Karl a complete louse. 'He wanted to be sure I'd get home tonight.'

'I'm a nice guy, too.'

Mmm, and with the kind of smile that made her weak at the knees. Tonight, Max was wearing black trousers and a black round-necked cashmere sweater. All he needed was the earring and the bandanna, and he'd look like a pirate. Dark, dangerous and utterly gorgeous. And she really wasn't sure it was a good idea to leave the party with him.

'I'd like to be sure that you get home tonight. So let me go with you.' Another one of those killer smiles. How the h.e.l.l was she supposed to resist that? 'And come for a walk, first.'

'You said it was freezing outside,' she reminded him.

'It's March. And it's not that cold-remember, the centre of London's always three or four degrees warmer than anywhere else in the country.'

Enlightenment dawned. 'You just didn't want me seeing Karl-' how could she put this? '-with someone else.'

He nodded. 'It's not pleasant, catching your partner being...'he paused, as if searching for a word, then looked rueful '...unfaithful.'

Had that happened to him? Was that why he threw himself into his work and didn't date? She wasn't sure whether she wanted to hug him, kiss him better-or kiss him until he forgot what day it was, let alone whatever had happened in his past.

Just in time, she bit the suggestion back and mumbled, 'Yeah.'

'You have a coat, don't you?' he asked.

She nodded. 'A wrap.'

'Then let's go.'

Five minutes later, she'd cancelled her taxi, left a message for Karl that a friend was seeing her home and she'd call him at work on Monday, and Max was sliding her wrap around her shoulders. His fingers touched her bare skin, very briefly, and desire shimmered down her spine. Her body could still remember the touch of his: the way he'd danced with her, the way he'd kissed her...The way he'd stroked her until she was almost hyperventilating...

She wasn't far off that now.

'You okay?' he asked.

'Yeah,' she lied. 'Just cold.'

'Here.' He began stripping off his long black coat.

'No, no. I'll be fine in a second.' She'd forgotten his Sir Galahad tendencies. Stupid. He'd rescued her at the wedding and he'd rescued her again tonight. He probably thought she'd been hinting.

She hadn't.

But the idea of wearing his coat-still warm from his body, sheathed in his scent-sent another shiver of longing through her.

'You're really cold.'

'No, no. It's a nice night. Very mild, for March.'

Great. And now she was talking about the weather. How cheesy could she get?

He gave her a sidelong look, as if he didn't quite believe she wasn't really cold, but then nodded. 'Sure you're up to a walk?'

What did he think she was-a woman like one of those professional invalids during Victorian times who only managed to nibble on a corner of a sandwich and then had to go to bed for a week to recover? 'Sure. Where are we going?'

'Depends which station the first train goes to-either Tower Gateway, so we can walk along Tower Bridge and then along the river, or Bank, and we'll come out at the Monument.'

'Sounds good.'

The first train took them to Bank. As they walked through the low-ceilinged tunnel towards the Monument exit, they heard a busker tuning his guitar, then launching into the opening of a song. She glanced at Max, discovered that he was looking at her, and smiled. 'I love this one.'

'Me too.' His eyes crinkled at the corners. Such s.e.xy eyes. She nearly stumbled as a wave of longing hit her. She wanted to see those eyes heat up as he undressed her...

'It's good to hear some decent music. I really hated the faux-jazz they were playing tonight,' he said.

'It wasn't that bad.'

'Yes, it was. Not up to the standard of-' Max named a sultry female vocalist.

'I thought you hated slushy ballads?'

'I like jazz. Piano, that is.' He grinned again. 'But I like smoky voices too.' His expression grew more intense as his eyes raked over her face and settled on her lips.

Cyn's pulse-rate eased up a notch at the thought of Max kissing her. Of him pausing to kiss her under every single lamppost on the Embankment.

She sucked in a breath, telling herself to take it easy. It was just a walk.

A walk with possibilities.

And the possibilities sent ripples of excitement down her spine.

CHAPTER TEN.

'I NEVER really get to see this part of London,' Cyn said. 'Unless I have a client meeting in the middle of the City, but even then I don't see much more than the area between the tube station and the client's office.'

'It's beautiful. Look up,' Max said.

She did, and blinked in surprise. 'Wow. I didn't realise the buildings were so tall-or so pretty.'

'You wouldn't, if you're hurrying to an office or to catch a train. Most people just see what's at eye level, or possibly look at their feet. This is the London n.o.body ever sees. It's a shame the Monument's closed at night-there's an amazing view from the top. But come and look at this.' He shepherded her over to London Bridge.

The sky was overcast so the Thames looked dark; she could see ripples on the water, blown by the wind. Downriver, Tower Bridge was lit up, a streak of red running along its span; globe-like lanterns lit the path along the Thames.

'London by night,' he said softly. 'It's beautiful. Let's have a closer look at the lamps.'

'The lamps?' Mystified, Cyn followed Max down some steps to the Thames pathway.

'The Sturgeon Lamp-standards, created by George Vulliamy,' he said. 'They're cast iron-every one has a sea creature wrapped round it, and either the date it was made or Queen Victoria's initials at the base. The further east you walk, the newer the lamppost; they were made specially to illuminate the Albert Embankment.'

'I never knew that,' Cyn said.

'Tell you something else I bet you never knew. You know the lion on Westminster Bridge?'

'Mmm-hmm.'

'It used to be painted bright red, because it used to stand on the roof of the Red Lion Brewery. But the factory was damaged in the war and it was knocked down to build the Royal Festival Hall for the Festival of Britain in nineteen fifty-one. That was when King George VI had the lion moved to Waterloo station, and finally to Westminster Bridge. The lion was one of the last products made from Coade stone-and it weighs thirteen tons.'

Cyn gave him a sidelong look. 'I bet you've got all the volumes of Pevsner.' The architectural history of Britain. And she'd bet he read and digested them, too; they wouldn't be on his bookshelves just for show. She could imagine him sitting curled up on the sofa, studying the book; he'd wear that intense look...focused-just as he did when he was making love...

She pushed the thought away. They were just going for a walk, that was all. She was not going to leap on him. Even though she wanted to.

'I've got all the Pevsners for London and elsewhere,' he admitted. 'They're fascinating. Every time I dip into them, I find something new.'

'And then you go and see for yourself?'

He nodded. 'I know. It's sad.'

'No. You just really love your job. You do what you love, and you love what you do.' She knew what she'd love him to do, right now. Take her into his arms, hold her very, very close-so close that her body was almost merged with his-and kiss her. Take tiny nibbles at her bottom lip, teasing and coaxing and demanding until she opened her mouth to let him kiss her properly. Slide his mouth down her neck, rediscovering all the sensitive areas that made her gasp when he touched her. And- Oh, for goodness' sake. Anyone would think she was a giddy teenager, not a sensible twenty-seven-year-old. She just hoped she didn't have a stupid look on her face. Or, if she did, that he'd guess what had put it there.

Do what you love, and love what you do. Cyn was the first person he could ever remember understanding the pa.s.sion he had for his job. Max smiled at her. 'Most people start snoring when I talk about work. Thanks for staying awake.'

'Actually, it's interesting. And I'd rather see something like this with someone who knows exactly what they're looking at and can point things out to me.' She smiled back. 'Were you always interested in architecture?'

'Pretty much.' Maybe she was just being polite; maybe not. He gave into the impulse to tell her. 'There was this old tumbledown manor house in the village where I lived as a child. All the kids used to sneak in through a hole in the fence and play there. The other kids were all more interested in making dens in the garden, but I found a window I could climb through. I used to wander round the house and imagine what it looked like years before, when the windows weren't broken and the paint wasn't peeling off and there were carpets instead of crumbling floorboards.'

She frowned. 'If it was in that sort of state, it sounds dangerous. You could have been hurt.'

He nodded. 'Our parents didn't know what we were up to. Well, not until I got caught there, a few weeks after the house was sold. The other kids stayed away, but I couldn't-I wanted to see what they were doing to the house, so I sneaked back through the fence. The builders caught me trespa.s.sing and marched me off to my parents.'

'Ouch.'

Ouch didn't even begin to describe it. He could still remember his mother shouting at him. At the time, he'd thought it unfair. Now he was older, he had a different perspective and could recognise the panic in her voice. 'My mum went mad. She said I could have been really badly hurt.' He spread his hands. 'I was only ten. I didn't think about things like broken gla.s.s and severed arteries, or bricks landing on my head from a great height, or falling through the floor and getting stuck and people having to send a search party out to find me. I just wanted to see how they were making the house better.'

'And did you?'