Chapter 7 #2
I resist the urge to scoff. Teddy’s reputation suggests remembering a woman’s name in the morning is enough to consider her a girlfriend.
Fuck, if he actually knew her coffee order, he’d probably call it love.
But there’s an earnestness in those liquid chocolate eyes.
Despite my better judgment, I sweep aside all the evidence to the contrary—I think I might actually believe him.
Strangely, I want to believe him. My cynical heart still holds out hope there’s a man out there who wants to know all about me, and knowing me, chooses me above everyone else.
That’s what my mother has. That’s what I thought I had—a man who respected my strengths and knew all my faults, yet still singled me out as his. That’s the sort of man I want.
I want someone who looks past the smart-mouthed girl who likes to dominate every conversation and the lawyer who never misses a beat.
Someone who understands that the sight of a fox lying motionless on the roadside has me blinking back tears.
Someone who knows that a daft scrap of Scots, at the right moment, will always make me laugh.
Someone who knows me, who sees me, and who loves me for it.
This beautiful man looking at me now isn’t it—I doubt he has the capacity—but it can’t hurt to pretend for a while, can it?
“Okay,” I say, over a hiccup. “Counsel may now cross-examine the witness.”
The freckles dusted across his nose dance, and dimples pop in his velvety cheeks.
I’d love to trail a finger along them, feel the smoothness of his skin, watch my touch ignite the heat that surely lies beneath that playful expression.
His hair glows burnished copper in the lamplight.
The untidy waves curling around his collar add to his boyishness.
“So businesslike, counsellor.” He leans into me, his nose almost brushing mine, the smell of cinnamon and whisky spicy sweet on his breath. “But this isn’t business, and that’s not how we’re going to do this. We’ll do a question each. Right?”
“You’re very bossy, drummer boy. Is that how you like it?”
His eyes darken, and it’s all I can do not to move that inch further and press my lips to his. The memory of their earlier warmth lingers, the feel of his mouth meeting my own, compliant and a little needy. We both enjoyed that kiss way too much. It’s why we’re here now.
“Oh no, you’re the bossy one. And I like that very much.”
“I’ll boss you all you, want, Teddy. Just say the word.” He ignores the invitation in my question and with voice low tosses out his own.
“I want to know about this guy who hurt you, Rachel?”
I jerk back, startled.
“What do you mean? ”
“Sam told me you’d been through a bad breakup. Just before she implied she’d use her bloody martial arts moves on me if I so much as looked at you the wrong way.”
“That’s Sam,” I say, forcing out a laugh. My friend is small but fierce and doesn’t suffer men who don’t respect women. “Blabber mouth. She shouldn’t have told you.”
“Don’t be mad at her. I would have worked it out for myself anyway.”
“Bullshit,” I challenge. “Besides, I’m fine. Nothing to see here except a woman moving on with her life.”
“Bullshit,” he counters. “I see a lot more than that.”
“What the fuck are you on about, Teddy?”
“Exactly what I said. You’re all confidence and laughter out there, but I can tell that’s not what’s going on inside.”
“Don’t be so bloody stupid. Secretly got a therapy degree?”
“No, but I grew up in a household of women. I learned to notice things. I can tell when someone’s sad.”
That’s fucking wonderful. A good-looking guy. Someone I thought I could have a bit of fun with—and he thinks I’m the sad girl. I want to bite back, refute his argument, but the words don’t come. Here I am, the damaged heart I thought I’d hidden so well, caught in the spotlight of Teddy’s gaze.
Tears prickle, and I bite at my lip, trying to hold them back. I don’t cry, especially not in front of men. I learned young. Growing up, I never let my father see how he hurt me with his barbed words and backhanded criticism. His harsh training has served me well.
In my first year at Baddingly and Kennett, when one of the senior partners called me into his office and ripped strips off me for ignoring instructions on a case (even though it was the reason we won), I stood tall and took it without flinching.
Over the years, I’ve had condescending judges and arrogant opposing counsel hit hard with their comments, and god knows there’s been dozens of times I’ve wanted to crumple into tears, but I didn’t.
And I’m proud that I never once broke down in front of Pierre: not when he introduced me as “a close friend” at a work dinner, carefully avoiding the word fiancée, then argued with me about it later; not when he told me he was leaving, tearing apart all my deluded dreams of happiness; not even when he held out his hand for his mother’s ring and said “Maman will want it back.” I stood strong and kept my emotions in check when most would have given in.
Yet here, I have no defence against Teddy Hargrove with his kind eyes. Two traitorous, scalding droplets trickle down my cheeks. He lifts a finger, a featherlight touch brushing them away.
“It’s the booze,” I lie. “Makes me overemotional.”
“It’s okay.” The gentleness makes me want to cry even more. “I’m sorry. Now I’m the bastard hurting you with my dumb questions.”
I blink hard, shake my head, and blow out a breath.
“His name was Pierre.” Even the effort of saying his name exhausts me. “He’s the bastard. We were together for three years, engaged for one, and we broke up two months ago. Now he’s fucking his PA. Such a cliché, right?”
“And a prize arsehole,” he says. “I’d offer to go round and beat him up, but I guess he’s bigger than me.”
“Yeah, like a fucking giraffe in a suit,” I choke out. “Who also has a black belt in taekwondo.” The ridiculous image has us both laughing.
“Perhaps we should send Sam?” he says, eyes twinkling, and I dissolve into another fit of giggles.
I like this man. With a few words, he can pull me back from the edge of the invisible cliff of despair I’ve been teetering on for weeks. He’s barely had a day with me, yet he sees clearer than the friends who’ve watched me for years.
Teddy leans in, swallowing my laughter with a kiss. The air turns molten, and I melt into him, finally giving way to the burning need for his lips. He’s hungry, and I meet his need with my own. His hand cups the back of my head, guiding me closer.
When we finally break apart, his forehead rests against mine, both of us breathing heavily. His fingers trace a gentle path along my jawline.
“I promise you, Rachel, I would never hurt you.”
The bare honesty in his voice catches me off guard. His eyes, a steady brown like smooth river stones, hold mine without wavering.
I nod. “I know,” I say.
I’m not sure why I even believe him. From all I’ve seen and heard, Teddy Hargrove is an unashamed man whore. Love ’em and leave ’em is his standard approach to women. Yet, none of those exes has ever bad-mouthed him in public, even when pressed by persistent muck-raking journalists.
I’m taking a huge leap of faith here, trusting those who’ve walked this path before me.
Trusting Teddy to not do me damage. Yet this already seems to have gone from a bit of casual fun to feeling like something more.
Something that could absolutely see me hurt.
But in the face of the earnestness in his eyes, I brush aside the thought, and bring my mouth to his again.
His hands twine in my hair, roughly tugging my head back to give him access to my neck. Soft lips trace a burning path down my neck, and a soft moan floats up my throat. His fingers tighten in my hair, holding me exactly where he wants me.
“I’ve been thinking about this.” His whisper fans my skin. “Since the moment I saw you in the lounge last night.”
I drag my hands up his chest, feeling the firm contours beneath his shirt.
“Not just since I leapt all over you like an out-of-control dog on the steps earlier?”
He pulls back slightly, a glimmer of a smile. “That was just confirmation of what I already knew.”
“And what’s that?” My voice sounds breathless, even to my own ears.
“That under your buttoned-up lawyer exterior, you’re a little wild. Dangerous even.” His thumb traces my lower lip. “The kind of dangerous I might not recover from.”
Something flutters in my chest—something that has no business being there during what’s supposed to be a meaningless hookup. I push the feeling away and chase the physical instead, capturing his thumb between my teeth, biting gently.
Teddy’s eyes darken further. “Fuck, Rachel.”
I release his thumb and smile slowly. “That’s the general idea.”
“Is it? I’m not sure about that.”
“I am.”
I’ve flung aside any thoughts of not succumbing to Teddy’s charms. He’s sweet, funny, and kind—and undeniably sexy. The perfect remedy for the misery of the past two months—and for the year before it when I think, in my heart, I knew Pierre and I weren’t the love story I’d told myself.
“Do your worst, drummer boy.”
His answering laugh is husky as he shifts our position, laying me back against the cushions, his weight settling half on top of me. The feel of him pressing against me sends electricity sparking through my veins. His hand slides beneath the hem of my blouse, warm fingers splaying across my ribs.
“Is this okay?” he asks, pausing to check.
The question makes something tender bloom inside me. Pierre never asked—he just took what he wanted. The contrast makes me ache in unexpected ways.
“More than okay,” I whisper, arching up to meet his mouth again.
Our kisses grow more urgent, my fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. I need to feel his skin against mine, to lose myself in pure sensation and forget everything else. He helps me, tugging the last few undone for me without breaking our kiss.