Best Of Makeovers Bundle Part 4

Just you wait, he thought. It's only going to get better.

If she didn't get two minutes to herself, Cyn knew she would scream. She hated being on show like this. She hated smiling and smiling, and pretending everything was fine, when she knew they all still despised her as much as they always had.

She excused herself to go to the loo, and was sitting quietly in a cubicle, just glad of the breathing s.p.a.ce, when she heard a door open and footsteps echoing.

'I can't believe that was Cynthia Reynolds,' a voice said.

Ella Hopcroft-Brown. Cyn recognised the voice.

'How on earth did she afford those clothes? She was always dirt poor.'

Cyn stayed absolutely still. Here it came. The knife was about to go in.

'And the guy she's with-he's really hot. I never thought she'd end up with someone like that,' the second woman said.

A touch of envy. Better. She relaxed.

'If she's really with him,' Ella said.

Cyn stiffened again.

'How do you mean?' the other woman asked.

'Look at their body language, sweetie.' Ch.e.l.le pointed it out. He puts his arm round her, but she doesn't lean into him. So it's an act. Bet you anything he's married to a friend who's lent him to her for the day.'

Now was her cue, to walk out of the cubicle, act cool, and tell them that Max gave her better o.r.g.a.s.ms than either of them would ever experience in ten lifetimes.

Except she was too angry to trust herself to speak. And, by the time she'd done enough deep breathing to cool down again, they'd switched to another topic. If she came out and said anything now, she'd look stupid for having sat there and eavesdropped.

Too late.

So she'd wait it out.

She waited.

And waited.

How could women spend such a long time painting their lips or brus.h.i.+ng their hair? How?

But at last she heard footsteps and the door closing, and the room was silent again.

Cyn counted silently to ten, then unlocked the door, washed her hands, scowled at her reflection, and returned to Max.

She leaned over his shoulder, trying to make it look as if she were whispering sweet nothings into his ear. 'We need to leave quietly.'

'Why? Did you punch the bride on the nose, or something?'

'No. All her cronies know we're fake.'

'What?'

'Ella and another woman. I heard them talking about it in the loo.'

'Right.' He took her hands from his shoulders, kissed her fingers, and stood up, still holding her hands. 'Let's show them.'

'What?'

'Prove we're a couple.'

Cyn remembered the kiss in the car and a s.h.i.+ver ran up her spine. 'We can't.'

'Why not?' he asked, as he manoeuvred her away from the chair.

'Because I've just borrowed you for the day.' And they'd guessed it straight away.

'So?' He gave her a lopsided grin filled with mischief. 'Can you dance?'

She shook her head. 'I've got two left feet. Why?'

'No problem. Just follow my lead.'

'Max-'

He held one hand up, forestalling her words. 'Just stay here for a second. And do not run away, under any circ.u.mstances. We're going to do some serious eye-poking.'

She stayed put, too confused to move-and then she saw him moving towards the DJ. Oh, no. Please don't let him announce anything over the microphone. Please.

She wanted to run up to the stage, kick Max in the s.h.i.+ns and tell the DJ to ignore everything he'd said, but her legs refused to comply.

'What have you done?' she whispered when he returned.

'Don't worry. This is going to be fun.'

'Fun?'

'Yeah. Trust me.' He grinned. 'Ever seen Dirty Dancing?'

She stared at him, horror mounting. 'I told you, I can't dance.'

'And I told you, don't worry. I can,' he said softly. 'I took salsa lessons to impress a girl I lost my heart to, when I was seventeen.'

'Oh, my G.o.d. You're going to make me salsa, when I can't dance. You're going to make me a laughing stock for the rest of my days.' Not just her, either. Her mother was never going to be able to walk into a shop in the town again, without someone commenting about her daughter's embarra.s.sing performance at the Wilson wedding.

'Au contraire. I'm going to wipe the smiles off some faces. Walk with me, babe,' he said, in a hammy accent that would ordinarily have made her laugh. Right now, panic was gluing up every single muscle. She couldn't move.

He sighed, leaned forward and touched his lips to hers. Lightly. A promise. 'Trust me. We can do this.'

The first notes of 'I've Had The Time of My Life' filtered through the room.

Oh, no. He was going to make her dance to that tune. The one all the girls had sighed over in their teens, wis.h.i.+ng that Patrick Swayze were theirs. She couldn't do it.

Earth, please open and swallow me right now, she thought.

Still, at least the dance floor was reasonably crowded. There was a chance they'd escape notice. Then they could leave. Fast. Preferably after the first step.

'You hate this sort of music,' she hissed frantically.

'Doesn't matter. Just follow my lead,' he whispered, and began to dance with her.

It was amazing. Like nothing else she'd ever done. A touch of his hand on her hips here, a flick of his wrist there, and she was spinning round the room with him. Lighter than air, arching back over his arm, then spinning into his arms so that they closed round her. They were dancing cheek to cheek-except he was standing behind her, his arms wrapped round her waist and his hips moulded against her, and...Oh, this was barely decent. Mrs Wilson would have a fit at two of her guests virtually having s.e.x on the dance floor!

But the room shrank until there was nothing except her, Max and the music. Max, who spun her back round to face him and kept his eyes on her as if there were n.o.body else in the whole room. Max, whose hands were directing her to move in a way she'd never, ever been able to do before. Max, whose eyes glittered with desire.

And, right now, he was all hers.

The music finished; he pulled her into his arms, bent her backwards, and kissed her. Thoroughly.

Time stopped.

The universe collapsed.

When his mouth left hers, she became aware of a noise. Applause. Everyone was clapping. They were in the middle of the dance floor, a spotlight was somehow trained on them, and everyone was clapping.

How long had they been dancing solo?

How long had Max been kissing her?

Why wasn't the earth opening up and swallowing her?

Cyn felt like a rabbit trapped in headlights. Just let the lights go down. Please. Let them go down and let her slink out of the room, and she'd never darken the doorstep again.

Max didn't seem bothered. He just put his arm round her shoulders and shepherded her off the floor.

'Mission accomplished,' he whispered in her ear. 'All the women want to kill you, all the men want to be me, and there won't be any more rumours about you and me not being a couple.'

Uh. She couldn't even string two thoughts together right now, let alone two spoken words.

His lips brushed her earlobe. 'You owe me a favour, Cyn Reynolds. And I'll collect...some time.'

CHAPTER FOUR.

SHE wasn't sure whether it was a threat or a promise. Or whether it scared her more or thrilled her. Collect...in what way?

Did he mean he expected her to go to bed with him to say thank you?

No. Max Taylor wouldn't need to call in any favours for a woman to go to bed with him. All he'd have to do was look at her. Those blue, blue eyes would do it all for him. One little, questioning look.

If he asked her...

Though he wouldn't. He was Cyn's trophy boyfriend for the day. That was the deal. They'd said nothing about s.e.x. So why couldn't she stop looking at his mouth? Why was it, even when they were dancing fast, she found herself accidentally brus.h.i.+ng against him? Why was her spine tingling like this?

Max lifted a gla.s.s of champagne from the tray of a pa.s.sing waiter, and handed it to her. 'Dutch courage,' he whispered.

To help her deal with the wedding reception? Or to help her deal with him?

She shut the thought off as soon as it formed. 'Why aren't you having one?'

'I'm driving,' he reminded her.

So he was. And Cyn didn't need the champagne. She needed a cold shower. Especially when she noticed that Max was watching her mouth, too. But a cold shower wasn't an option, so she gulped her drink instead. The bubbles from the champagne burst against her lips, reminding her of the way Max had kissed her. Oh, this was bad. She wanted Max to kiss her again.

But did he want the same?

She'd gone nervous on him, Max thought, and the champagne hadn't helped. Maybe he shouldn't have danced with her like that. But it had been the best thing he could think of at the time; dancing with her, kissing her in front of everyone to prove that they were an item.

Problem was, now he wanted more. A lot more. He wanted to dance with her in this room. And dance with her when they were all alone. In a room that contained a big, wide, soft bed.

Dance with her horizontally...

But Cynthia Reynolds wasn't a player. For her, a date wouldn't be just a good night out, a chance to have fun. It would be part of something more serious. He wasn't ready for serious. Might never be ready for serious. He should keep his distance.

All the same, Max didn't stop dancing with her-except for the few moments when Cyn said goodbye to her mother. And he didn't let anyone else dance with her, either.

'Sorry. I'm greedy about my woman,' he said, when one annoyingly persistent man asked for the third time.

Cyn knew Max was just protecting her, in case the other man couldn't dance as well as he could. But the words still thrilled her.

Greedy about my woman.

As if he wanted her. Really wanted her. Wanted to touch and stroke and kiss and taste. As if it would take a long, long time to slake his hunger. As if he'd devour her bit by bit.

It didn't matter what was playing. Fast, slow...whatever, Max kept her close. Little touches on her hips, her back, her shoulders. Spinning her round so she ended up with her back against his chest and his arms wrapped round her waist. Dipping his head to steal a kiss. Rubbing his nose against hers.

By the last dance, she could almost believe that he found her as attractive as she found him. Everything exploded into her senses. The way his body felt against hers. His scent. The deep rumble of his laugh. That mischievous twinkle in his eyes. The promise of his mouth. The touch of his hands.

She forgot about being sensible, about being safe, about not looking for Mr Right or Mr Right Now. All she could think about was Max. Just kiss me, she thought as the DJ played the last song, a slow, soft number. She ached for this man to kiss her properly. For the heat to flare up between them and scorch the rest of the world away.

She stroked the back of his neck, hoping the movement of her fingers would make him take the hint. That he'd dip his head, touch his mouth to hers. Lightly, softly, just brus.h.i.+ng his mouth over hers. Teasing her until her mouth opened beneath his. And then he'd- The lights came up, and she could have howled in disappointment. Just a few seconds more. That was all she'd needed. Just a few seconds more and Max would have kissed her. But, no. The lights were on full and the DJ was telling everyone to drive safely and making the kind of slushy comments DJs always made at weddings.

Now it was midnight. Time to leave. When Max slid her jacket round her shoulders and didn't move his arm away again, Cyn slid her arm round his waist. All right, so he wasn't actually hers; but he was hers until he dropped her back in London. She was going to enjoy the last hour or so before the carriage-turning-back-into-pumpkin thing happened.

Just as they were walking down the steps from the hotel, they heard a bang and a sharp splintering sound.