High Heels & Bicycle Wheels Read online

  If she’d had any breath left, she’d have hyperventilated. ‘If I hold on any tighter my arms will drop off.’ Angry enough to find the strength to protest. ‘Slow down. Pleeeeeeease.’

  Downhill. Accelerating. Out of control. All her nightmares. To the power of ten, at least, if not to the power of a thousand.

  ‘JACKSON! SLOW DOWN!’

  The only upside to freewheeling was that the pedals were still. The noise of people on the pavement edge bounced off her head as the washing-machine thump of the world switched onto full-spin.

  Why the hell wasn’t he doing as he was told? People always did as she asked. That was the effect she had. The ability to make people do as they were told was her special power and always had been; now was not the moment for it to fail her.

  Colours flashing past, faster and faster, and now the bike was tipping sideways as Jackson flung them around the corner. They had to fall. But then they were upright again, momentarily, then she was hurled the other way as they changed course on the bend. She had one fleeting thought through all the panic – she’d get him back for this. Then, the desperate instinct to survive kicked in and before she knew it she’d let go of the handlebars, grappling her the Lycra slide of Jackson’s torso.

  She felt the heat of his lower back as her cheek clamped against the solid sinew of his ribcage. Jackson’s body like an anchor, holding her fast in the hell of the storm.

  As she screwed her eyes closed again, she wrenched some air into her lungs from the hurtling wind that was choking her. Then, something shifted, deep in her core. It was like every emotion she’d ever had was erupting, venting, finding release. Something primal, something deep, some huge animal vibration. Reeling at the shock of the sound, before she even knew it was coming from her. It amplified, as she hurled back her head, threw her jaw wide.

  A shrieking, howling scream.

  Chapter 5

  A win for The Howler then.

  Longer than Jackson cared to remember since that had happened. World event or charity gig, the taste was still sweet. Flipping the front wheel out of the tandem, he hoisted the frame up onto the roof rack and began to secure the fastenings. Wins all round in fact. Kudos for his Aunt and her charities; all his duties for the day looked after, the right hands shaken and enough of them, the right prizes presented, the right smiles smiled, the right egos massaged. A ton of goodwill for Jackson the good-boy, whose whitewash was getting a golden aura here today. And he gave the finger with a right and proper royal wave to the trashy papers waiting for him to mess up.

  The upside of flying across the finish line in first place being slightly off-set by the downside of having a banshee along for the ride. Okay. He howled mildly when the adrenalin rush had nowhere else to go, that he’d concede – but the screeching wail that came out of the Cherry Bomb was barely human. Something else entirely. Although, overall he had to admit she’d surprised him, impressed him even, with the way she’d got a grip of her fear and hung on in there. She was obviously made of sterner stuff than that first candyfloss impression suggested.

  And speaking of cherries.

  ‘Jackson, you’ll give me the heads-up when you’re ready for our interview? A quick chat to camera won’t take long, but sooner rather than later would be better. Like, now would be great.’

  Bryony, seemingly transformed from the wreck of a woman who’d climbed off the tandem; she was still in the bubblegum shorts, though, striding across the car park waving her arms.

  ‘Found your bossy self again, then?’

  And her clipboard.

  That oh-so-arrogant way she assumed people were going to go along with her every whim rubbed him the wrong way.

  ‘No thanks to you.’ Flicking her almost-perfect-again hair over her shoulder, she waggled a microphone in his direction and posted him an iron smile.

  This was one lady who was very used to getting her own way. Super-efficient, super-composed. So long as she wasn’t travelling by tandem.

  He propped the bike wheel against the bumper. ‘Now is as good a time as any.’

  Playing it cool, he stifled a grin and rubbed his back. Still aware of where she had clung on to him, the imprint of her warmth sticking on his spine like a muscle memory that wouldn’t shift. Hell, given those spiky nails of hers, he was lucky she hadn’t shredded his whole stomach along the way, even if it was sending his blood rushing south as he recalled it.

  ‘Dave, Tony.’ A half-lift of one of her perfect eyebrows and a camera guy and a sound man materialised out of nowhere. ‘Here will do, Jackson. Annie’s gone, so I’m standing in to ask the questions. It’s my first time, so please bear with me.’

  It’s my first time… He tried to ignore the way those words made his knees sag momentarily. For an interview virgin, she was showing no sign of nerves.

  Palm on his chest, she slammed Jackson to lean against the car wing, then tucked in neatly next to him. So close he couldn’t escape her woman-cloud; yet they were pointedly not touching.

  Shoving the mike under his chin, she nodded at the camera guy and cleared her throat.

  ‘A great win for you today, Jackson, wouldn’t you say?’ TV voice all pretty now, expecting him to play nice.

  ‘So long as you overlook my perforated eardrums.’ No harm in telling it like it was. ‘That was one major scream you did back there.’

  Contact alert. Nudging him with her shoulder as she stiffened. All huffy, then, with a shake of accusing.

  ‘Which wouldn’t have happened if you’d put on the brakes.’ Judging by the shrill, he’d caught her by surprise there.

  He returned her nudge, just for badness, and saw the whites of her eyes for his trouble. ‘We won. Winning’s what matters every time, even if it was just for fun today and hopefully we raised lots of money for good causes too. But asking a competition cyclist to brake on a final hill… Seriously, it’s not going to happen.’ Leaning back, he gave a low chuckle. ‘It’s like asking a tiger to turn vegetarian.’

  Wow. Great view down her top from this angle. Trying to damp down his grin of appreciation for that and simultaneously ensure that his perving would not be discernible on camera. Good boys didn’t gawp at boobs, full stop, even if the sight was unavoidable. And she was still wearing his jacket. He made an instant mental note to leave it that way.

  ‘So Jackson, you’ve had huge success over the years – what’s your secret? How come you’re such a winner?’

  A bit deep for a Saturday lunchtime in a car park. He blinked away the view of the tender skin at the top of her cleavage and focused on the mic instead as he searched for a suitably swift retort to shut up Ms Sure-of-herself.

  ‘I always get inside my opponent’s head, it’s a great advantage to be a mind reader.’ He tilted his head to see how she took that one, cocked a challenging eyebrow at her. For a first timer she was holding her own alarmingly well.

  ‘On top of all your other gifts you’re a mind reader too?’ Her voice went up an octave and she sent him a disbelieving smirk.

  ‘Yep.’ He felt a grin spreading slowly across his face. It was rare to find an interviewer so delightfully…how could he put it…reactive. That had to be the rookie coming out and he couldn’t resist the fun.

  ‘Okay! Great! So prove it then, tell me what am I thinking now?’

  She pursed her lips determinedly, and dragged in a huge breath that brought her boobs at least six inches closer to his face, making the view he couldn’t resist returning to even better. Hmmm, soft flesh. Delicious, tantalising, even if it did belong to someone, who, now she’d recovered herself, obviously took pleasure in pushing him.

  Half-closing his eyes, he slid out his reply. ‘At a guess I’d say you’re thinking I’m hot…’ Holding back his smile, he waited in anticipation, and wondered how far as a good-boy he could push this. Interview boundaries were new territory for him – his whole career as a bad-boy he’d relished in saying exactly what he pleased and damn the consequences. Come to think of it, he wasn’t su
re he could recall an interview where there’d been underlying smoulder like this.

  Whatever reaction he’d been hoping for, he hadn’t counted on traffic-light-red cheeks, or the spluttering into her hair.

  ‘Wwww…wh…what?’

  He caught the panic in her eyes as she opened and closed her mouth, doing a pretty full-on impersonation of a goldfish.

  Holy crap, he’d meant to needle, not cause the woman to do a total stall on camera. Who’d have thought the shiny armour plating of Ms Bossy would have been so quick to crack? He’d had his fun, but he wasn’t completely heartless.

  He swooped in to rescue her. ‘Easy assumption, bit of a cheat, given most women find me irresistible.’ As she was still picking her jaw up off the floor, he bashed on. ‘Don’t be too hard on yourself, I’ve yet to meet a woman who doesn’t fancy the pants off me!’

  ‘Not at all arrogant, are you?’

  He breathed a sigh of relief as she came back at him and resumed staring down her top. Opponents were way more fun when they were fighting on all cylinders. And what he’d thought was smoulder between them was fast escalating into full blown fire.

  ‘Hey, cheeky!’ One swift smack on his arm from her sent his grin wild. That had to be for the inappropriate sight line, given the way she was dead-eyeing him.

  ‘So Tiger, are they going to let you out of your cage any time soon? Any plans to return to racing?’

  And all credit to her for the way she bounced back from the brink with that blinder of a question he had no intention of answering. Diversionary tactics were called for. He fired up the famous charm. He had no idea at what point exactly this interview had morphed from plain Q&A to out and out flirt, but somewhere along the line it had. And to hell with it; he was going in for the squeeze now, and good-boy was just going to have to suffer the consequences.

  ‘Only if you promise to come with me.’ Stretching an arm around her waist, he squished her hard against him, reeling at the way she smelled like heaven as he struggled to disentangle her hair strands from his chin stubble. However, she was weirdly delighted that she’d pushed him into grabbing her.

  ‘Fabulous offer, Jackson. But you can dream on.’ With a toss of her head, she shot him a wicked smile. ‘Unless you discover the brake lever, that is.’

  Nice retort. She’d had him for breakfast and now she was spitting him out. Not sure if the pain of being publicly humiliated by Candyfloss-on-a-stick was sweet or not. But regardless of the push of those delectable breasts against his chest, he was wrapping this up, and fast.

  ‘Great, well thanks for the ride, Bryony. Screaming aside, you were awesome. We make a great team.’ Giving her one last nudge with his hip, he tipped her a lazy wink. Stuck around long enough to watch the pink flow into her cheeks.

  Then quick handshakes all round to the rest of the gawping crew.

  And he was getting the hell out of here, before good-boy suffered any more collateral damage.

  Chapter 6

  ‘Hey. Without the pink shorts, I almost didn’t recognise you.’

  Bryony knew it wasn’t true. Jackson had clocked her as soon as she strode into the empty hotel bar three hours later, eleven miles up the coast. He’d watched every step of her high-heeled progress across the long room, almost as if he’d been expecting her.

  ‘Pleased I’ve found you. Cressy remembered she’d booked you in here and your car was the final giveaway. I’ve brought your jacket.’ She held it out to him as if to justify her arrival, now strangely reluctant to let it go. ‘I’m the only one staying on tonight; the rest of the crew have gone back to London. I’m off to Northumberland in the morning, so I got the delivery job.’

  Why the heck was she making the frantic excuses? Cressy and her ‘go-geddim’ cries obviously had her running scared. Running guilty more like, given she’d not exactly been mortified when he’d driven off leaving her wearing his top, and not minding at all that she had to leave the elegant streets of Scarborough and wind all the way to this isolated hotel that stood proud and lonely on the wind-raked cliff top. Just because he was the hunk of the century. For one more glimpse of his decorative awesomeness. Nothing to do with the way he’d sent white-hot shivers through her whole body when he’d grabbed her. And totally excused by the fact that she never dated, so she really couldn’t be interested. Could she? She shot him her best pro smile, just to prove this was work and nothing more.

  ‘Miss Organization. Always last to finish. Why does that not surprise me?’ Jackson climbed off his bar stool, and pulled out another for her. ‘Might as well have a drink now you’re here? Bit of a trek, but worth it for the seclusion. And best of all, no press – apart from you, that is.’

  The lazy smile he slid her unleashed a single butterfly in her chest. Then another. Designer-threadbare jeans never looked so good on a guy. Impossible not to lock onto the bulge of his groin as he pushed up onto the bar stool again. Then the whole damn flock were loose. Five hundred butterflies. Choking her, with their frantic fluttering.

  ‘The views here are awesome too.’ Hauling her attention upwards, with that dark grin of his. ‘Once you look out to sea that is.’

  Loving the way his cheeks creased when he smiled, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, that tan that was way deeper than any British summer gave. Just for a minute she soaked up the whole charisma of this super-athletic guy who was entirely at one with being head-and-shoulders above his nearest rivals. The whole superhuman quality was disturbingly familiar, reminding her an awful lot of her older and supremely successful brother, Brando. And, yes, Jackson had picked her up there. Again. But this time she wasn’t playing.

  ‘I’m sure the views are spectacular.’ Determined to keep this professional, not risking an acknowledgement of where her eyes had landed, or that he’d caught her out. Again. ‘So what can I get you to drink, Jackson?’

  His eyebrows raised in surprise at the ease of her offer. ‘Thanks, but it’s my shout. The beer is good and cold, if you like that.’

  ‘Beer it is then.’

  A drink with the boys. No harm in that. She did it all the time. Didn’t usually make her heart thump this badly though. As the barman pushed beer and a glass across the bar, she waved away the glass, picking up the bottle. They were two colleagues, sitting, with their elbows and their bottles on the bar. Nothing more.

  ‘I admire you for what you did today.’ He shot her a sideways glance. ‘It took guts.’

  She shrugged, knowing he didn’t have to say this. ‘I don’t usually make that much fuss.’

  ‘Even so – and before you jump on me, I’m not being patronising – you did really well.’ The gravel in his voice sent a twang through her chest, his lips curving deliciously as he played mischievously. ‘Backside sore?’

  Not holding back, then, although there was something simultaneously charming and disarming about his directness.

  ‘It could be worse.’ She grimaced. Not that she should be discussing it with him, although talking like this made the drink more matter of fact. Somehow safer. Like she was simply one of the guys. Boy-talk was good.

  He swirled his beer round in the bottle, angled his head and studied her through narrowed eyes.

  Dragging in a breath, she stood up to his scrutiny.

  ‘And I like that you aren’t throwing yourself at me.’

  Wow. That came out of left field. Tag-line for Jackson Gale: expect the unexpected.

  ‘Throwing myself at you? As if.’ Incredulity made her voice squeak. ‘Spoken like someone who thinks they’re irresistible.’ She sniffed, definitely not about to reinforce his ego, whatever she thought privately. ‘Or maybe I haven’t got around to it yet?’

  Another smile. All rugged jaw and the darkest twinkle. Many more of those, and she might have to rethink her hands-off policy.

  ‘No. I’m confident that you won’t. You’re nothing like the women I usually come into contact with – or rather, fight off.’ He drummed his fingers on the bar ‘I like it. It’s int
riguing.’

  Was she really hearing this? Not so much of the fighting off either, if you believed the official biography.

  ‘Don’t you get fed up of being so super-sure of yourself?’

  That made him laugh. ‘Spoken in person by Miss Uber-Confident herself.’

  As he drained his beer, the hollow at the base of his neck played havoc with her insides.

  ‘So…’ He cleared his throat, swallowed again. ‘Shall we take this outside? There’s the beach, the terrace, or my log cabin. Your choice.’

  What? Bryony’s stomach officially left the building. A man who knows what he wants and goes all out to get it. Like a line from The Official Biography. Picking up her own beer, she took a like-I-even-give-a-damn swig. The past fifteen minutes had confirmed this as the weirdest weekend of her life to date, and it wasn’t just the tandem fiasco.

  Sadie, her last stoically-single friend, had just signed up for matrimony, she thought to herself, presuming that’s what Friday’s hold-the-date card meant. Okay, Cressy was still single, but Cressy was so far off the couples’ radar she didn’t figure. And Bryony was still reeling from her mum’s approach last night; although to be fair to her mother, how did you sugarcoat an offer like that? It was bound to sound insulting. Suggesting someone was unlikely to meet a partner before it was too late was not the easiest line to spin. Then she’d been shoved in front of the camera for the first time ever, and that was definitely the wrong side, from the mess the interview with Jackson had turned into.

  All going down in Scarborough of all places.

  She allowed herself a latent shudder for what had gone on at the end-of-sixth-form weekend bash, at The Esplanade Hotel in Scarborough, when she was eighteen. Losing her virginity to Aphrodisiac-Alex – who really hadn’t lived up to the name, even though he’d been everyone else’s heart throb at the time – hadn’t been her proudest moment. Drunk on the fire escape at six in the morning – it really had been a just a matter of her wanting to get that milestone out of the way and him being a) there, and b) ready, willing and able, which was more than could be said of the rest of the guys who were largely either spoken for or wasted. Last man standing, so to speak. It didn’t take long and she hadn’t seen him since. And granted that had been back in the day, before she took her teenage grab-all-the-man-you-can tendencies firmly in hand, and before she’d headed off from Lincolnshire to London and channelled her energy into a becoming a go-getting career-success instead. But it would always be there, an indelible shadow on the radar of her memory.