Chapter 22

22

‘ W ould you like to dance?’

Brock’s whispered invitation in her ear made Jayda’s skin pebble. Thank goodness this dress had padded bra inserts otherwise she would’ve given the entire ballroom an eyeful of rigid nipples poking through the satin. Not a good look when she’d already caught some of the older gentlemen peering at her cleavage.

‘I’d love to,’ she said, glancing up at him as he pulled out her chair and she stood, taking his offered hand. ‘You okay?’

‘Yeah, I needed some air.’ He tugged her close to murmur in her ear. ‘Pat’s aftershave smells like rotten seaweed.’

She whacked him playfully on the chest, allowing herself the luxury of letting her hand linger against it. ‘He smells fine and you’re a terrible liar.’

‘Guilty as charged.’ He released her hand and held up his in mock surrender. ‘Let’s take a whirl around the dance floor before I change my mind.’

And miss the chance to be in his arms? Not likely.

As they wound their way through the tables, Jayda noticed the women casting covetous glances at Brock. She didn’t blame them. But she did square her shoulders and stand a little taller, revelling in his hand in the small of her back, proclaiming her as his.

Something had seriously freaked him out ten minutes ago and she’d stifled the urge to go after him when he’d bolted. She’d wanted to, boy, had she wanted to. But Brock had been rattled since she’d met his folks earlier and she didn’t want to push the issue.

Besides, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what had him in a funk. His parents had thought they were a real couple and Brock didn’t want that. It saddened her that the mere mention of it had him in this much of a tailspin, but in a way it was the reality check she needed.

They would never be anything more than a fling.

The sooner her impressionable heart got the message, the better.

As they reached the dance floor the band struck up a ballad from the nineties and Brock grimaced. ‘The music is as corny as the ancient suits most of these dudes are wearing.’

‘I like ballads.’ She stepped into his arms, pressing her breasts against him as she gazed up and batted her eyelashes. ‘Don’t you?’

He grinned and pulled her closer. ‘I’m developing a distinct liking for them.’

He lowered his head to nuzzle her neck. ‘Especially when I get your luscious body up close and personal like this.’

She gave a little wriggle, noting his sharp intake of breath. ‘We’re in a public place. Behave yourself.’

‘I’ll try.’ He pressed his pelvis against hers and she bit back a groan as his semi-hard dick rubbed against her. ‘But you’ll need to back off a bit because this is what you do to me.’

Holding the power to turn him on usually made her feel invincible. Tonight, she couldn’t help but wish he wanted her for more than her body.

‘Fine.’ She took a small step back, instantly missing the warmth of him pressing against her. ‘I believe you promised me a dance?’

‘I did.’ He took one of her hands in his and placed his other in the small of her back, an innocuous gesture that never failed to make her feel special. His palm burned through the satin, branding her.

When Brock touched her like this, in a non-sexual way, she dared to dream.

What would it be like to have him in her life for more than two weeks?

What would he say if he knew she trusted him as she trusted no one else in her life?

What would he do if she told him the truth, that she might have come a long way from that insecure girl who’d clung to him one fateful night after revealing too much of herself, but their connection now was so much stronger and she wanted more?

She might have dwelled on their unexpected connection on grad night for years afterwards, but what they had now blew that out of the stratosphere.

Phenomenal sex, mutual admiration, teasing banter, and laughs: a lot of relationships started with less.

As if sensing her wandering thoughts, he eased back a fraction and glanced down at her. Their gazes locked and she wished he could read half of what she was feeling.

Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t, but when he pulled her close and gently guided her head to rest on his chest, she knew that she couldn’t walk away without telling him how she felt.

If she didn’t come clean about her developing feelings for this quiet, stoic, sexy man, she’d regret it for the rest of her life.

When Sasha had died she’d been devastated, plagued by a host of ‘what-ifs’. What if she’d confided in her big sis about her innermost fears? What if she’d told her how she resented her perfectness and how it made her feel secondbest? What if she’d told Sasha she loved her even while being eaten away by jealousy?

She’d hated those ‘what-ifs’ because they echoed through her head on replay all through the funeral, the memorial service, and every day for years, when her parents had done their utmost to make her feel as if she could never fill her big sister’s shoes.

No way in hell she’d make the same mistake with Brock.

She’d tell him how she was feeling and if he chose to walk away, so be it.

His heart thudded beneath her ear and as they swayed in time to the music she willed herself not to cry. This felt too good, too right, too much. Being in his arms made her feel cherished and she liked it too much to be good for her.

The song ended all too quickly and he drew back, placed a finger under her chin, and tipped her head up. ‘I want to get out of here so badly.’

‘We have to stay for main course but we’ll skip dessert,’ she said, wanting to leave too but knowing the news would filter back to his father that they’d left early and he’d be disappointed.

‘Deal.’ His gaze roved her face, as if searching for clues to her sudden quietness.

‘You should talk to Pat. He knows your dad quite well.’

Shadows clouded his eyes and a tiny vein pulsed at his temple. Yeah, Brock definitely had daddy issues. She knew the feeling.

‘Let’s get back to the table. The faster we eat, the faster we get out of here.’ Sounding gruff, he cleared his throat, but when they reached the table, she saw him cast a speculative glance Pat’s way.

Pat appeared overjoyed to have Brock back and topped up his wine glass, even though Brock hadn’t touched it yet.

‘Jayda is a delight,’ Pat said, raising his glass in Brock’s direction. ‘You’re a lucky man.’

‘I am.’ Brock picked up his glass and clinked Pat’s while shooting her a small grin she had no hope of interpreting. ‘Very lucky indeed.’

‘And about to get luckier,’ she murmured, resting her hand on his thigh and inching her fingers upwards.

He flexed his muscle and slid forward a little, meaning her hand ended up inches away from his sizeable inches. His eyebrow arched in provocation, daring her to touch him, but her teasing only made her squirm with need so she gave him a quick squeeze and removed her hand.

Pat, oblivious to the sexual tension arcing between them, beamed. ‘How’s George? Is his hip healing?’

‘He’s doing well, off to rehab next week,’ Brock said, with the slightest inflection in his voice. Only Jayda would’ve noticed because she heard the same tightness every time he’d mentioned his dad to her before. ‘He wishes he could’ve been here tonight.’

Pat nodded. ‘Your dad’s a good guy, most of the time.’ He swirled his wine and took a sip, his ruddy expression indicating he’d had more than enough. ‘I’ve known him for a long time. Used to be a bit of a prick, especially to your mum, but I guess you already know that?’

Jayda struggled to keep her expression impassive as she shot Brock a concerned look. He sat rigid, his jaw clenched, his face shuttered.

Oblivious to the tension, Pat took another sip and continued. ‘To their credit they’ve stuck it out and he’s well respected in our industry. Never rips off his customers. Happy to refer people to other yards if he doesn’t have what they’re after. And has softened towards your mum, having a good word to say about her these days.’

Brock remained still but the pulse of a vein at his temple indicated he wished he could be anywhere but here with his family’s issues being laid bare by a garrulous old man.

‘They’re a good team now, always looking out for each other.’ Pat’s mouth downturned. ‘A lot of broken marriages in this business but those two are like this these days.’ He intertwined his fingers. ‘After the ups and downs they’ve withstood, good luck to them.’

‘Yeah,’ Brock said, but he looked shell-shocked. He cast a quick glance at the main doors and Jayda hoped he wouldn’t bolt again. This time, she wouldn’t let him.

‘Anyway, enough of my ramblings, let’s make a toast.’ Pat raised his glass in the air. ‘To those lucky bastards and their better halves.’

Jayda smiled and clinked glasses with Pat, but while Brock did the same the haunted look in his eyes worried her. If she had a fraught relationship with her folks, it looked as if Brock had a host of conflict with his.

Hopefully he’d trust her enough to tell her. If not, she knew exactly how to distract him.