The Lawson Boys: Marty (12 page)

Setting down
her glass, Belle looked at Mrs Lawson. “I’m sorry to have to tell
you this, but I’m afraid that I have to leave earlier than
planned.”

Mrs Lawson was
genuinely dismayed. “Oh dear, why?”

“Something
personal at home came up.”

“Your mother?
Is she all right?”

“Oh, Mum and
Dad are fine. It’s just - it’s something. I can’t really discuss
it, but I’m afraid I have to leave tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”
Marty echoed.

“Oh.” Cindy was
disappointed. “I was so looking forward to getting to know
you.”

“Yeah.” Tim
scrutinized her.

“Is there
anything we can do?” Mr Lawson asked.

“No, but thank
you.” Belle smiled at him. “I really am sorry, and I thank you for
everything.”

“It’s been no
trouble, we’ve enjoyed having you.” Mr Lawson assured her. “You’re
welcome back anytime.”

“Anytime,” Mrs
Lawson agreed. “And next time you must bring your mother with
you.”

“Thank you.”
Belle smiled around the table but when she saw Marty watching her
with such intensity, she had to swallow a little nervously and
glance away again.

The rest of the
meal passed pleasantly, though Marty was a lot quieter and spent
most of the time talking business with his father while his sister,
mother and brother-in-law chatted about everyday things. Belle
offered a word here and there but mostly remained quiet.

When Cindy and
Tim finally prepared to leave, she bid them farewell and made her
escape to her room. Closing the door behind her, she went straight
across to the closet and dragged out her suitcase. Setting it on
the bed, she stared at it for several long seconds before dropping
down onto the bed beside it with a groan.

Bloody Marty
Lawson! He’d
known.
He’d known exactly what Trevor had done
to her and not once had he even mentioned it. Not once. She felt
like such a freakin’ fool. Again. Maybe she should just change her
middle name to ‘Fool’. Belle Fool Broune, The freakin’ Other
Woman.

Resting her
elbows on her knees, she stared down at the carpet and sighed. Men.
They were currently the bane of her existence. Well, all except for
her dad and Mr Lawson, they were okay. But as for the rest of them,
led by Marty bloody Lawson, they could all go and hang themselves.
She was done with them.

Now she just
wanted to go home and bury herself in work. Ride out the scandal
and hope someone else in town did something stupid to take the
gossip from her, then she could subside once more into her quiet
little life. Her, her cat and her books. That was the life she
wanted right now.

Men did not
rate in it, and certainly not men like Marty.

Taking a deep
breath, she sat up straight and rubbed her hands briskly up and
down her thighs before standing up. The plan was to pack her
suitcase and just leave out the bare essentials for tomorrow’s
packing, then she was going to get a book and sit outside in the
gardens for the rest of the afternoon. Lie low, basically. Everyone
in the house was working, Mrs Lawson included, as she had a meeting
this afternoon with some charity club, so Belle could pass the rest
of the time in seclusion. It was a great plan.

When the knock
came at the door, she just knew it was Mrs Lawson come to check
that she was all right. Instead, when she swung the door open who
should be standing there but Mrs Lawson’s irritating, treacherous
son with his hands in his pockets.

He took one
look at Belle’s face and raised a dark brow. “Ah.”

“Go away.”

“Running?”

“Going home. Do
you mind?” She looked pointedly down at his foot where it was
placed firmly in the doorway, barring her effort to shut the
door.

“I do,
actually,” he replied mildly.

“Tough.”

“Hmmm. I think
you’re a little angry with me.”

“You think?”
Placing one hand on her hip, she leaned against the door and glared
up at him. “You let me think that you’d guessed what Trevor had
done to me, when all the time he was a friend of yours and had told
you.”

“Okay. Yes, he
did tell me, but-”

“You know, I’ve
had it with you men who think you can just waltz into a girl’s life
and do whatever the hell you want.” Remembering at the last second
not to yell, that she was still a guest in the house, Belle
controlled herself with effort and took a deep, calming breath.
“Just go away, Martin.”

“Not
happening.” Marty strode right into the room, his height and
breadth crowding her, forcing her to move backwards. He kicked the
door shut behind him and then stood there looking down at her, his
eyes scanning her features, a spark in them of either anger or
annoyance, she wasn’t sure, but he certainly wasn’t amused.

Great. That
made two of them.

Folding her
arms across her chest, she scowled up at him.

He continued to
study her.

It was a
stalemate until finally she’d had enough of the lengthening
silence. “What do you want?”

“To
explain.”

“Oh, this
should be good. But how about me taking a turn to guess?” She poked
him in the chest with one finger, determinedly ignoring the
mouth-watering hardness of his pectoral muscles. “You had a bloody
good laugh at my expense, with your old mate Trev. You placated
your parents by taking me out, proceeded to blurt out who I was to
your friend at the pub, and then brought me home and dumped me into
bed. Tell me, Martin, did you happen to tell anyone else about
me?”

Those brilliant
blue eyes gazing down at her were starting to glitter, but she
ignored the tell-tale signs of temper and continued.

“So, come on.
Did you tell anyone else about the poor, dumb sheila who made a
fool of herself over a treacherous bastard and then was fool enough
to actually trust yet another man, and then finally capped off a
whole heap of foolish antics by getting drunk and having to be
practically poured into bed?” She prodded him again, fury burning
through her. “Did you?”

Grabbing her
wrist in a firm hold, he brought her hand flat against his chest, a
move that surprised her into stunned silence. Leaning down to meet
her face to face, Marty looked her directly in the eyes. “No.”

His breathing
was deep and even, controlled, and she could only blink. Dear
heaven, did his skin have some kind of magical properties? Because
the heat of it was coming through his shirt to burn into her palm,
yet it wasn’t leaving scorch marks.

“Belle?”

“Huh?”

“I said,
no.”

“No?” she
repeated like an idiot, and only when she saw the sudden quirk of
his lips, that damned dimple appearing beside his mouth, did she
realise that she was supposed to be having an argument with him,
not wondering at how good he smelled and felt.

“No.” Angling
his head to the side a little, he raised one brow. “Are you all
right, Belle?”

“Of course I
am.” She yanked futilely on her hand. “Do you mind?”

“Actually, yes,
I do. I like being up close and personal when I’m being verbally
flayed alive. It gives me a chance to watch blushes come into sweet
cheeks and lush lips go all prim and proper. It lets me see the
fire up close.”

“What?” Her
mouth gaped.

His smile was
slow and wicked. “I like being burned. Call it a kinkiness of
mine.”

“Are you
insane?”

“My siblings
think so.”

“Look,
Martin-”

“I love it when
you go all prim, Belle. I’ve seen your fire, I’m feeling it right
now.” He moved closer. “I like your fire.”

Uh-oh. This
could not be happening. She had to get her gumption back, gather
her scattered wits and blast him with her tongue.

Though going by
his declaration, he’d probably enjoy that. Pervert.

Belle backed
off as far as her captured arm would let her. He simply moved
forward again, so she moved backwards. He followed her.

“Look,” she
repeated. “You’re Trevor’s friend, and I hate what you did to me.
Okay? So go away. Now.”
Yeah, that’s telling him, Belle.
Sheesh.

The wall hit
her back and in dismay she realised that the man in front of her
had neatly trapped her against the wall. Before she could dart
away, he was leaning towards her, one hand against the wall beside
her head while the other still held her wrist gently but firmly.
Only now his thumb was brushing along her racing pulse in a sweet,
torturous sweep.

She gulped.

“Problem?” His
voice was low and a little husky.

“No.” She
sucked in a deep breath, mentally grasping her skittering thoughts
and trying to rein them in. “Back off.”

“Not
happening.”

Chapter 4

“So, Belle,” he
drawled, ensnaring her gaze with his own. “Now it’s my turn.”

“Your
turn?”

“Yeah, so
listen up, honey. I’m a friend of Trevor’s but not a close one.
Yes, he called me after the wedding fiasco and met me to cry out
his sins and try to shift the blame as usual. I listened to him and
that was it. No, I stand corrected. I told him he was an idiot who
got exactly what he deserved, but ol’ Trev, as usual, didn’t take
that into his thick head.”

“I-”

Shaking his
head, he released her wrist to lay his finger against her lips.
“Uh-uh, Belle, this is my turn, remember?”

Remember his
turn? She was lucky to remember her own name, especially when that
calloused finger slid down to gently stroke across her bottom lip
before sliding down further to tilt her chin up slightly.

His eyes
darkened, but he continued calmly, his voice washing over her like
black velvet - wicked and soft. “I knew who you were as soon as I
saw you, and I agreed to take you out because I liked you on sight,
and that sight was you storming down the church aisle to give
Trevor his comeuppance. We seemed to be hitting it off okay, didn’t
we?” When she didn’t answer straight away, he tapped her under the
chin in a tiny movement. “Belle?”

“Yes,” she
croaked, then cleared her voice and tried to muster her common
sense, which was being sorely tested by his intoxicating nearness.
“I mean, it appeared so, but then you-”

“Ah yes. Alan.
He came to me with the newspaper, knowing that I had been at the
wedding. He was asking about you - although he didn’t know it was
you - and when you came up the stairs and I looked at you, well,
let’s just say that Alan can be an idiot at times, but he’s also
rather canny when he puts his mind to it. Alan’s got a sharp brain,
all right, but only when he chooses to use it. He used it right
then. Don’t ask me how he knew, but he just knew. One look and he
followed his gut instinct. Unfortunately, neither you nor I were
fast enough to hide our reactions and there you have it. You got
mad.” He rubbed his thumb across her chin and smiled a little, his
gaze drifting over her face to stop at her lips.

She could have
sworn he left a blistering path in the wake of his gaze, and she
was amazed that her lips didn’t spontaneously combust when his eyes
turned hot while looking at them. God above, the man was lethal on
so many levels. All she could do was listen to his deep, dark drawl
while literally smouldering in her sandals from his nearness and
touch.

“My
short-tempered little Belle decided that a drinking buddy with a
similar man-hating attitude right then was much more preferable,
until she got drunk enough that I could take her home.” He moved
closer, dipping his head, his breath hot across her lips, his gaze
sweeping up to catch her own. “You’re a sad little drunk, honey.
Did you know that?”

“I am?”
Breathless. Oh God, she sounded breathless. Sounded? She
was
breathless!

“Oh yes. You
cried on my shoulder, I put you to bed and then, sweet Belle, do
you know what you did?”

“N-no.” Oh God,
oh God, what had she done? Vomited? Oh God, no! She sucked in a
deep breath, and immediately every nerve in her body zinged to
life, because that one breath had her breasts pressing against that
heavy, muscular chest.

When had he
gotten so close?

“You tried to
kiss me, Belle.”

She had? Her
lips parted in surprise, and then her knees shook because Marty
blew softly on her lips, his breath slipping past the sensitive
skin to invade her mouth, leaving her wanting more, so much
more.

In a daze, she
realised that her hand was no longer resting against his chest.
Instead, her fingers were entwined in his shirt, hanging on,
pulling him closer.

“But you fell
asleep, bad girl. Right before you kissed me.” His lips hovered
above hers, so close she could almost taste him. “You owe me a
kiss, Belle, and I’m claiming it now.”

Claim it? He
didn’t just claim a kiss, he took it. Marty’s lips were briefly
pressed to hers, a split second of settling, moving softly, and
then he simply ate her up.

Taking control
fast, hard and without mercy, his tongue ran demandingly across the
seam of her lips, an unspoken command to open to him and she could
do nothing more than obey. Immediately he invaded, sweeping through
her mouth, taking everything she had, swallowing her mingled gasp
of shocked delight and need, licking deep and leaving his clean,
male taste everywhere his marauding tongue swept.

His lips worked
hers, controlling, moulding, and how a man’s lips could be so soft
yet so demanding, Belle had no idea.

What she did
know was that her senses swam, her nipples pebbled against the hard
chest now pressed to her, and there was an extremely hard thigh
between her soft ones. Not only that, but while Marty commanded her
mouth, he was rocking his thigh against her mound, his hard muscles
pressing and rubbing against her sensitive flesh, producing fire
when she’d certainly never before had fire.