The Walk of Fame (2 page)

‘Don’t look round,’ he snapped. He propped his elbow above her head, trapping her body against his to look round the pillar. ‘If yer man over there sees me, this trip’ll be a misery.’

Juno sucked in a sharp breath, so shocked she forgot to exhale.

What was happening?

One second she’d been staring into staggeringly blue eyes and thinking Cormac Brody was a lot better-looking than he had any right to be and quite as arrogant as she had assumed.The next she’d been pinned against his lean, muscular body.

She got light-headed and remembered she needed air. One breath gushed out and she sucked in another. She could feel every single inch of him. The solid planes of his chest flattening her breasts. The long length of his thighs pressed to hers and the buckle of his belt, outlined against her stomach. The overwhelming scent of minty toothpaste and man suffocated her.

‘What are you doing?’ she panted, the outraged squeak muffled against his chest.

She hadn’t been this close to a man in six years. By rights she should be screaming her head off. But right alongside the shock was the unfamiliar blast of heat that throbbed in every place their bodies touched.

He moved back a fraction, still looking past her shoulder. She took another gasping breath.

‘He’s gone. Thank the Lord.’ The brush of his breath against her ear lobe had a shudder ricocheting down her spine. ‘I owe you one, gorgeous.’

‘I—I can’t breathe,’ she stammered, her teeth rattling.

He yanked off his cap and the bold, unfathomable blue of his eyes fixed on her face.

‘What’s wrong?’

You’re what’s wrong
, she wanted to yell, but couldn’t say the words. She had to stop shaking first.

He bent his head. ‘Relax, darlin’.’ One calloused palm settled on her neck.

Her breath hitched painfully as he traced his thumb along her chin and then sank his fingers into her hair.

She tried to say something, anything, but all that came out was a choked moan. His hand rested on her nape, holding her steady. ‘How about we try this?’ he coaxed, his lips so close she could taste the minty scent of his breath.

Then his mouth slanted across hers.

The second those firm lips touched hers, her pulse went haywire—as if she’d been plugged into an electric socket. Shock and something much more potent rocketed through her.

Then his tongue slid over her bottom lip and a staggered groan escaped.

She should push him away, her mind screamed. But when her palms flattened against his T-shirt, the muscles quivered beneath her fingers and her hands slid down the hard plane of worn cotton. Her lips parted and his tongue plundered. Fire flashed through her, pulsing in her sex, hardening her nipples—and incinerating the last semblance of coherent thought.

He established a primal rhythm as her mouth opened wider to accept him. Then her tongue duelled with his, tentatively at first but getting bolder as the fire raged at her core. Strong, insistent fingers explored, slipping under her T-shirt, fanning her ribcage and making her buck against him as they caressed over-sensitive skin. Then she felt it. The thick ridge pressing into her belly.

She struggled, trying to wrestle back control of her traitorous body, and he broke away.

‘Whoah. That was something else.’ His ragged breathing matched her own as he rested his forehead on hers. ‘We’d best stop, before things get out of hand.’

Juno stiffened and shrank back as reality returned, dousing the last of the passion like a bucket of ice water.

What had she done? After six years of contented celibacy, she’d snogged a complete stranger in the middle of Heathrow Airport. A stranger she didn’t even like.

‘Please, could you move your hand?’ she said, brutally embarrassed as his thumb continued to rub lazily across her ribs, perilously close to the underside of her breast.

He drew his hand down, rested it on her hip. ‘How about we find somewhere we can continue this in private?’

She fumbled with her T-shirt, frantically tucking it back into her jeans as blood surged into her cheeks. Did he think she was a prostitute or something?

He put his finger under her chin, tilted her head back. ‘Is there something the matter?’

Of course something’s the matter. A nymphomaniac just hijacked my body.

She jerked free. ‘N-nothing’s the matter,’ she stammered.

‘You sure?’ His brows lowered. ‘You’re acting a bit strange.’

You don’t know the half of it.

‘I have to go.’ She had to get away from those prying eyes and that harsh, too handsome face, before the nymphomaniac returned.

His hand clamped on her wrist. ‘Now wait a minute,’ he said with irritating calm.

She tugged, but the warm manacle only tightened. ‘I really have to go.’

‘You don’t kiss a guy like that and then just walk off,’ he said, not sounding the least bit perturbed by what they’d just done. ‘And what about the extremely important thing you had to discuss with me?’

She opened her mouth to demand he let her go instantly. And then snapped it shut again.

Oh, no. The wedding invitation.

How could she have forgotten about Daisy’s wedding? And her mission?

‘Please, l-let go of my wrist,’ she stuttered, the words trapped behind the boulder of guilt stuck in her throat. ‘I have something for you.’

He released her, a sensual smile on his lips. ‘I think we already established that.’

Her blush intensified—and her nipples tightened. Damn him. How did he have that effect on her? ‘I’m not talking about sexual favours.’ She grabbed his wrist and slapped the envelope into his upturned palm. ‘It’s an invitation to your brother’s wedding.’

He tensed and the smile vanished as he stared at the invite.

‘It’s from my best friend, Daisy, your brother’s fiancée,’ she added.

His gaze lifted and she thought she saw something flicker
in his eyes. But it disappeared so quickly she was sure she’d imagined it.

‘I don’t have a brother,’ he replied, crushing the envelope in his fist.

That was one scenario she hadn’t even considered. ‘Of course you do,’ she blurted out, wondering what on earth had happened between this man and Connor.

He looked completely unmoved. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t beg, but after what she’d just done a little begging didn’t seem like such a big deal any more. She took a deep breath. ‘Please. You have to go. It’s really important.’

‘Not to me it isn’t,’ he said with enough arrogance to make her bristle. He lifted the invitation. ‘So you can give this back to your best friend and tell her I’m not interested.’

‘How can you be so callous?’ she asked, before she could think better of it.

‘How come this is any of your business?’ he shot back, a bitter smile twisting his lips.

She stiffened, stunned by the cold, emotionless tone. ‘I told you, Daisy’s my friend,’ she said, hating the defensiveness in her voice.

‘I see,’ he said. ‘So was the kiss her idea or yours?’

Juno’s mouth fell open. She snapped it shut. ‘You know perfectly well that kiss was your idea.’ What exactly was he accusing her of? ‘You know what, Mr Brody.’ Forget begging, she’d had about enough of Mac Brody and his titanic ego. ‘Just because you’re rich and famous it doesn’t give you the right to treat your family like dirt. Daisy and Connor are wonderful people—and they deserve a lot better than you.’

‘Is that right?’ To her fury, he chuckled. ‘So if you think I’m such a low form of life, why did you kiss me, then?’

If he didn’t stop talking about that damn kiss she was going to slap him. ‘I didn’t know you then. I do now.’

His lips quirked, apparently immune to the insult. ‘But you’ve yet to encounter the best bit.’

The vivid memory of his arousal had the blush burning in her cheeks. She thrust her chin out, refusing to acknowledge the strange sensation low in her belly. ‘I think you overestimate your charms, Mr Brody.’

He laughed. ‘But you’ll never know for sure now, will you?’

She didn’t dignify that with a reply, but she couldn’t help hearing his taunting laughter as she marched off.

Of all the arrogant, oversexed, thoughtless jerks.

Juno fumed all the way to the exit doors, her heart pumping in time with her angry strides. She’d been absolutely right about Mac Brody. He didn’t deserve a family as wonderful as Daisy and Connor and their beautiful baby boy, Ronan. Thank goodness he wasn’t coming to the wedding. What a relief to know she’d never have to set eyes on that infernal man—or his so-called charms—ever again.

Mac’s smile died as he watched the girl stalk off. His gaze dropped to the well-worn denim outlining the curve of her bottom. The hum of desire tugged at his groin.

He shouldn’t have teased her, but it had been irresistible once he’d seen the way her temper lit up the vivid blue-green of her eyes. Just as the urge to kiss her had been irresistible. He still wasn’t quite sure what had happened there.

He’d inhaled the clean, fresh scent of her shampoo, caught the panicked flare of arousal in those enchanting eyes—and his brains had gone south so fast instinct had taken over. The driving need to taste her had consumed him. And once he had, her sweet, innocent response had been so intoxicating he’d lost leave of his senses.

Still, spontaneity was one thing, recklessness another.

He searched the terminal, the crowds now thinning. No sign of Danners or any other celebrity snappers—which was a real stroke of luck. If Danners had spotted him while he’d been indulging himself with the girl, the man could have taken twenty pictures and Mac doubted he would have
noticed. He picked up his bag, slung it over his shoulder, then realised he still had the wedding invitation she’d handed him clutched in his fist.

He set off towards the nearest bin. As he’d told the girl, he had no brother any more, no need of family and no intention of going to any wedding. The very last thing he needed was to stir up that whole hornet’s nest of emotions. Or the agonising memories that he’d boxed up and forgotten about a lifetime ago.

But as he reached the wastebasket and went to toss the invitation in his hand stilled. He lifted the creased envelope and inhaled the hint of scent she’d left on the paper. Soap and wild flowers. The thrill of sexual attraction shot through him. A thrill he hadn’t felt in far too long.

He wanted her. He might as well admit it, as after that kiss there was no mistaking it. She was nowhere near as sophisticated—or as amenable—as the women he usually dated, but somehow she’d captivated him. And he didn’t captivate easily.

He stared at the envelope. Maybe her difference was her appeal. With those tomboy clothes, that responsive little body and her prickly temper she represented the one thing he hadn’t had in a long while. A challenge.

And he hadn’t even found out her name.

Cursing softly, he shoved the wedding invitation into his back pocket.

S
ITTING
on the tube train as the leafy, suburban enclaves of west London trundled past, Juno replayed in her mind her disastrous encounter with Mac Brody—in minute detail, over and over again.

As she left Ladbroke Grove station twenty minutes later and walked to the bottom end of Portobello Road, she finally admitted the truth. Mac Brody might be an arrogant jerk who made Casanova look like a monk, but he wasn’t the only guilty party. She had to take a large part of the blame for this morning’s debacle too.

At ten past two on a Thursday afternoon with the market closed, Portobello looked like a ghost town, the empty metal frames of the stalls doing nothing to improve Juno’s mood. A couple of confused tourists who obviously hadn’t read their guidebook properly loitered next to the darkened window of The Rock ‘n’ Roller Memorabilia Emporium, but otherwise the street was deserted.

She hurried past the colourful façade of Daisy’s shop, The Funky Fashionista, and glanced at the window display she’d spent four hours arranging the day before. Her throat thickened with pride as she admired her handiwork—and guilt swamped her.

How could she have been so reckless and irresponsible? How could she have made such a mess of things?

She rubbed her cheek where Brody’s stubble had stung. She knew exactly how. As soon as he’d looked at her, as soon as his lips had touched hers, all her common sense and her good intentions had been burned to cinders in a blast of pure unadulterated pleasure.

Kissing him had been like falling into a sunbeam, making every single cell in her body explode with rapture. But how could her body have picked him, of all people, to respond to with such fervour? A man who had the emotional integrity of a gnat? It was against everything she knew and understood about herself. Against everything she had made herself become in the last six years.

She thrust her hand back into her pocket, turning into Colville Gardens.

Forget about the stupid kiss.

It wasn’t important. She couldn’t let it be. Mac Brody’s dangerous sex appeal and devilish good looks would play havoc with any woman’s hormones at a distance of two hundred yards—and she’d got a lot closer to him than that. That was all. Her shocking reaction was simply an accident of chemistry—and geography. An accident of thermonuclear proportions maybe. But still just an accident. It didn’t have to mean any more than that. Especially as she never intended to step into Mac Brody’s orbit again.

She gave a shaky sigh as Mrs Valdermeyer’s bedsit co-op came into view, looking like the poor relation to Daisy and Connor’s graceful five-storey Georgian next door.

Right now all she wanted to do was hide out in her room at Mrs Valdermeyer’s and spend the rest of her day off catching up on the shop’s bookkeeping and persuading herself this morning had never happened.

She took the first step up to Mrs Valdermeyer’s door. Then stopped.

‘Blast.’ The hissed expletive cut the summer afternoon like a knife.

She couldn’t do it. Six years ago she’d promised herself she’d always face up to what she’d done. This morning, she’d screwed up and let two people she loved down in the process.

Whatever the extenuating circumstances, she owed it to Daisy to come clean and then apologise.