The Right Mr Wrong

Her gaze clashed with his. He didn’t look away. Nor did she. Like swords crossed to the hilt, their eyes were locked. Neither would disengage.

‘You’re driving,’ she spoke through lips that barely moved.

‘See, you are a coward,’ he answered equally softly.

‘I choose not to take unnecessary risks.’ She broke the fierce challenge by walking round to the passenger side, yanking open the door and sliding into the seat. She really couldn’t afford a bill if she pranged. And given how shaky her hands were right now, a prang seemed inevitable.

After a minute that felt like an hour, she glanced over to where he still stood by the open driver’s door. He was smiling as he stared at her.

‘If you’re not willing to drive either, please let me know so I can catch a train,’ she said impatiently. ‘I need to get home to get on with my work.’

‘Of course,’ he answered ever so politely.

Frankly, she didn’t see how a guy with legs as long as his could actually fit into a tiny roadster like this. But he did with a way-too-sensual ease, pulling sunglasses from a small compartment and putting them on. That was when she registered the next problem. The two-seater was a close fit. It wasn’t big enough for her to be able to slink into the far corner. Instead his shoulder was merely inches from hers.

Too intimate.

Swallowing, she glared out of the window. She’d focus on the external view, not the Greek-god-gorgeous guy sitting so close.

He revved the engine and cruised down the gravel driveway. Victoria breathed again, inhaling the fresh summer air. They’d be on the motorway and he’d put his foot down and they’d be back in Paris in no time and this would all be over. As they reached the end of the drive she braced herself for the acceleration. But when they hit the road, Liam didn’t quit the leisurely pace.

‘What’s with the speed, Grandpa?’ she finally asked. She wanted away from him as soon as possible. ‘Are we anywhere near the speed limit?’

‘If I drive too fast, I won’t be able to hear you.’

Hear her what? Breathe? She wasn’t about to have any kind of deep and meaningful conversation with the man. As far as she was concerned, the less they talked, the better. Her overly sensitive nerves didn’t need to hear more of the laughter that was always audible in his voice. So she sat silent, keeping her eyeballs glued to the window. After five minutes they were still going at that ridiculous pace.

‘You’ll get pulled over for holding up the traffic,’ she finally muttered.

‘There aren’t any cars behind me and, if there were, there’s a lane for them to overtake me.’

See, there it was. That latent lazy humour. As if everything was warm and easy with him. Well, if he was going to insist on the snail’s pace—and he clearly was—then she might as well quench some of the curiosity burning out her brain. ‘Why are you at the chateau so far ahead of the wedding? Isn’t your life so busy you could only fly in the day before?’

‘I’m on holiday. Thought I’d help her out with some arrangements.’

As he’d helped prepare for that Christmas years ago? He’d worked alongside her—helping out in all kinds of ways. As if he, like she, couldn’t cope with sitting around idly all day. She’d always wanted to feel needed. But she didn’t think he craved other people’s approval in the same way she did. ‘You don’t want to laze on the beach?’

He shook his head. ‘I’d want to be on the water.’

‘You’re not good at having a holiday.’ He’d always sought out something to do.

‘I prefer to keep busy.’

‘Why’s that? You can’t relax?’

She glanced at him. His eyes were hidden by the sunglasses, but his mouth curved into that wicked grin.

‘I can relax,’ he said softly.

‘By ‘getting busy’, right?’ she asked sarcastically, knowing that was exactly what he was thinking of. ‘But you can’t cope with quiet? You scared of being alone with your thoughts?

‘I’m a professional sportsman, right? Therefore I don’t have thoughts.’

Oh, he was no brainless jock type. He was smart, successful—you didn’t need to note the expensive watch and discreet-but-mega-expensive clothing labels to know that.

‘So what have you been keeping busy with these last five years?’ Once more she gave into her urges and asked.

‘You don’t know?’

She sent him a cool look. ‘No. You left on Christmas Day and that was that.’

His brows waggled above his sunglasses. ‘You mean you didn’t Google me?’

‘No.’ Laughter bubbled out at his irrepressible arrogance. ‘I’m sorry to deflate your ego, but I haven’t spent the last few years cyber-stalking you.’ Which wasn’t to say she hadn’t ever thought about him. But she’d resisted curiosity then and pushed him from her mind. Now his answer made her wonder. ‘Did you ever Google me?’

He smiled at the road ahead, his fingers rhythmically tapping the steering wheel.

Oh, my. ‘You did.’ She twisted in her seat and stared at him. ‘When did you Google me?’ It would have been easy to find her. She hadn’t changed her name—something that had really bothered Oliver. She had a website—it even had her picture on it. And she was on Facebook like anyone. She frowned, drew her lip between her teeth. What had Liam found out about her online? What info was out there that she didn’t know about?

‘When I heard you and Oliver had broken up,’ he said.

All that time later? A lone butterfly fluttered in her stomach. ‘How did you hear about that?’

‘I’m still in touch with some people in London.’

But not Oliver? ‘You know he’s gone to Canada.’

He nodded.

So he probably also knew Oliver hadn’t gone to Canada alone. What else did he know?

Suddenly cold, Victoria didn’t want to find out. She didn’t want to think what some of her old acquaintances might have said about how it all fell apart.

‘How do you know Aurelie?’ She turned back to stare out of the windscreen, folding her arms across her tummy.

There was a pause. ‘I’m one of her ex-boyfriends.’ Victoria clenched her fingers into fists, glad they were hidden under her arms. She kept her eyes firmly on the window. So he had wanted Aurelie. He’d had Aurelie. Then she remembered the expression that had briefly flared in his eyes when she’d interrupted him hugging Aurelie. Was he hurt because his former love was marrying someone else?

Victoria released the breath she’d held too long. ‘You’re still friends?’

‘We’re close.’ He inclined his head and briefly glanced at her. ‘Is that hard to believe?’

Frankly yes. What woman could be ‘just friends’ with Liam Wilson? He was too intensely attractive.

And what surprised her more was that he chose to remain in touch with Aurelie. He’d been the burning bridges type a few years ago.

‘Is she the one who got away?’ She tried to joke but it sounded flat to her. ‘Do you still hold a torch?’

‘I care very much about Aurelie, but—’