Too Charming (6 page)

‘Well, it seems to have worked with Sally,’ her mother remarked.

‘Only because she hasn’t met anyone like him before.’ She turned to look long and hard at her mother. ‘I have, and I’ve still got the scars to prove it. Whatever you’re thinking right now, don’t. I’m not going down that route again.’

‘It seems to me that you’ve decided not to go down any route, which is a crying shame.’ Her mother reached out and took hold of Megan’s hand. ‘You’ve got a warm, loving heart my darling. It’s wrong that you’ve let one mistake put you off men forever. You should be out there having fun, dating, finding your soul mate.’

Megan knew there was more than a grain of truth in what her mother was saying. It probably
was
time she dared to dip her toe back into the dating pool again.  For a woman who prided herself on being able to stare down a knife-wielding thug, it seemed she turned into a giant wuss when it came to dating. But it was one thing getting back into it again, and quite another doing it with Scott Armstrong. He had ‘danger, beware’ written all over him in bold red letters.

Chapter Six

Scott unzipped his backpack and carefully placed the things he needed for the evening into it: a set of artist’s pencils, two bottles of wine (one red, one white, as he didn’t know the Taylors’ preferences) and three bunches of flowers. The latter were the most problematic, but he went with the theory that it was the thought that counted, not the state of the actual flowers when they were received. After closing up the bag and donning his
well-worn, black leather jacket, he left the house, shutting the front door firmly behind him. There she was, waiting for him. Gleaming in what was left of the evening sun, all wicked lines and screaming power. His Harley. To Scott, transport wasn’t about getting from A to B. It was about living the moment. Sadly, the Harley wasn’t entirely practical for day-to-day use. Travelling on it lost some of its appeal when he was forced to carry books, case files and a computer on his back: which was why he’d invested heavily in the sports car. To some, the car would be a luxury but to Scott, it was an absolute necessity. If he had to drive a car, it needed to be one whose engine he could actually feel throbbing when he put his foot down. But it was travelling on his bike in the evenings and weekends that he enjoyed the most. Sometimes he’d just set off and go, with no destination in mind, simply for the thrill of feeling the wind on his face. Being as one with his machine.

Knowing he was grinning like a damn schoolboy, he slipped on his helmet, swung a jean-clad leg over the powerful machine and gunned the engine. The evening might turn out to be a disaster, but what the
heck, at least he would enjoy the drive there and back.

The house Megan lived in with her parents was a rambling old cottage, set on the edge of a leafy part of the town, about fifteen minutes away. At least by Harley time. Enjoying the satisfying crunch of
tyre on gravel, he pulled on to the driveway and turned off the engine. Shaking off his helmet he noticed the small but immaculate front garden, the honeysuckle around the front door, and wondered who the gardener of the house was. Somehow he couldn’t picture Megan on her hands and knees, weeding flower beds. Getting dirty, yes, but he imagined her more at ease chopping up firewood or mowing the lawn. There was definitely a hint of the tomboy about her. Something he was surprised to find himself appreciating more than the dainty, feminine style of most of the women he spent time with.

Megan was upstairs, pretending to herself that she wasn’t obsessing about whether she looked okay, when she heard the deep throb of an engine coming up the road. It was about the right time, but surely that sounded more like a motorbike than a car? Poking her head out of the window, she felt the sudden race of her pulse when the powerful bike entered their drive and a familiar muscular figure climbed off. All she could think was: wow. She’d been prepared for his sleek sports car, the one that suited the image she wanted to have of Scott: smooth, polished, slick. She wasn’t prepared for the sexy, slightly edgy man who climbed off the bike. A man she wasn’t sure she knew at all.
Especially when she watched him take off his rucksack and produce a small bunch of flowers for the little girl who opened the door to him. The beam of delight that crossed her face was so huge Megan had to swallow against the unexpected lump in her throat. Flowers for her and her mother she’d expected, as it fitted the man’s stereotype. But to think of bringing some for Sally? He was either more cunning that she thought he was, or a whole lot nicer than she’d given him credit for.

Following a final check in the mirror, Megan smoothed down her wayward hair, took a deep breath and walked as casually as she could down the stairs. ‘That’s quite some machine you’ve got there,’ she remarked as they met in the hallway.

He smiled at her, a hint of boyish pleasure vying with the usual cocky grin. Her already racing pulse hitched up another notch.

‘Thanks. Are you a bike fan?’

She shrugged. ‘I can’t say I’ve had much experience with them. An old boyfriend used to drive one, but I ditched him before I ever got to ride on it.’

‘I’d better not waste any time getting you on the back of mine, then.’

She was all set to argue that they weren’t even going out, when he thrust a slightly crumpled, but undeniably pretty bunch of large daisies at her. The harsh words died on her lips. ‘Thank you,’ she found herself whispering instead. Ridiculous. Where was her cool indifference now? How was it that men only had to buy women flowers and they became tongue-tied and gooey-eyed? Or was she just ludicrously out of practice?

Aware that her parents were hovering behind her, staring with blatant curiosity, Megan stood aside and made the introductions.

‘Mum, Dad, or should I say Dorothy and Stanley, this is Scott Armstrong. Barrister and occasional childminder.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Scott.’ Her mother smiled broadly at him. ‘And call me Dotty, everyone else does.’

Megan rolled her eyes as she glanced at her mother. Seventy something years old and she was almost simpering. What was it with Scott and the opposite sex? Why did otherwise sensible women go weak at the knees when they met him? She watched as he took her mother’s hand, kissed it and produced a bunch of tulips from behind his back. Oh, he was smooth all right. But surely her mother could see through that? Then she remembered her own reaction to the daisies and had to acknowledge that she was every bit as bad.

Scott liked Megan’s mother immediately. She had the same slight frame as her daughter and, he imagined, the same smile. Not that he’d actually ever had Megan’s full, natural smile directed at him. Her father, however, was a different matter. Though he accepted the bottles of wine politely, Scott had a feeling he was going to have to try a lot harder to get him on side. He remembered hearing that he’d been a police detective, too. No doubt when it came to their opinion of
defence lawyers it was like father, like daughter.

As he was thanking them graciously for the invitation to dinner, he felt a small hand tugging at his elbow and looked down to find Sally smiling shyly up at him.

‘This is Dizzy,’ she told him, holding up a motley looking dog with dark brown eyes and a lopsided face.

‘Pleased to meet you, Dizzy,’ he replied gravely, picking up a black paw and shaking it.

The dog looked nonplussed, but Sally laughed.

‘Would you like to see the pictures I’ve drawn?’ she asked, her voice slightly hesitant.

Out of the corner of his eye, Scott was aware of Megan watching, a tense look on her face.

‘Absolutely.’ Scott grinned at Sally. ‘That’s exactly why I’ve come. Why don’t you bring them down here so we can all take a look?’

He was equally aware of Megan letting out a deep sigh of relief. What, had she really thought he’d ignore her daughter now he’d got his foot over the threshold?

‘So, Scott, I understand from Sally that you’re a dab hand at drawing,’ Dotty mentioned as they sat in the warm,
cosy living room a few minutes later, admiring Sally’s artwork.

‘Well, I …’

‘He’s really good,’ Sally interrupted. ‘Good enough to blow …’

‘Thanks, Sally,’ Scott cut in quickly. No way was he going to have that boast repeated again, and certainly not in front of Megan’s parents.

‘Where did you learn to draw?’ This question came from Megan, who was watching him carefully, as if deciding whether to like him or not. Boy did she look good today. He wasn’t sure whether he fancied her more in the casual skinny jeans and turquoise blue T-shirt she was wearing now, or the smart skirt and sexy heels she wore to court. Then again, the Lycra leggings she’d had on in the gym scored highly in his book, too.

With an effort he tore his gaze away from her and concentrated on the question. ‘I didn’t learn, as such. It’s just something I did a lot of as a child.’ Which was a time he didn’t want to revisit. Not any part after the age of seven.

‘Really?’ Megan arched a perfect dark brow in surprise. ‘I can’t picture you as a boy, drawing. You seem more the outdoors type. Playing football. Chasing the girls.’

Refusing the offer of another drink from Stanley, Scott sat back on the armchair and forced himself to smile, pushing the bad memories firmly back where they belonged.
In a padlocked box in a dim corner of his mind, never to be let out. ‘I did quite a bit of football and girl chasing, too, but I liked to draw. It …’ he trailed off, irritated that he’d almost said what he’d been thinking: that doodling had been a welcome distraction; a comforting world of his own that he could disappear into. ‘The girls seemed to love it,’ he said instead. It was at least partially true, as he’d later discovered.

‘Are your parents still around?’ Stanley asked, his eyes watchful. Scott found he could easily imagine what it must have been like to be questioned by Detective Taylor senior. Clinically methodical, picking apart answers like a micro-surgeon until he had the full picture.

Luckily, this was a question he’d expected. One he’d already worked out a reply for. ‘My father died a while ago, but my mother’s still alive. She lives with me from time to time, in between holidaying and visiting friends.’ It sounded believable. Like she was having the time of her life. If only she was. If only he knew where the hell she’d disappeared off to this time. Or when she was going to bother coming back.

‘How nice. Where is she now?’

Scott paused fractionally. ‘No doubt somewhere warmer and sunnier than here.’

Megan was watching Scott as he answered her father’s questions. He was an expert at not giving away information he didn’t want others to know, but she was a detective, trained to look at body language; the slightest hint that the suspect was lying. Right now, from the whisper of hesitation in his answers, she knew there was something Scott was covering up. It irked her that she wanted to know what it was. Why did it matter that, as a clearly sporty person, he’d spent a lot of his childhood inside, drawing? Or that he didn’t know where his mother was?

Her increasing interest in him worried her.  It seemed the more she was getting to know him, the more he was starting to grow on her. That being said, she was a long way from being convinced that going out with Scott Armstrong was a good way to start dating again. It would be like a minnow taking swimming lessons from a shark.

With a small sigh, she rose from her chair and went to put together the final touches of the meal.
Anything to distract her from thinking too much about dating Scott.

Not that he was going to make that easy for her, she thought wryly a little while later as he gently pushed her mother back into her chair, telling her that she wasn’t to clear up. He and Sally would do it. And yes, that was her daughter now carefully clearing the table, her face a picture of concentration as she carried each plate to the kitchen for Scott to load into the dishwasher.
The same daughter who usually wasn’t seen for dust when there were chores to be done.

‘That’s a Harley Sportster you’ve got there isn’t it?’ Her father asked as they all settled back in the sitting room to drink their coffee.

‘Yep. The XR1200.’

‘I bet it has the Evolution engine? You’ve got to love the sound of those engines.’

Scott was grinning like a proud father. ‘The V-twin engines, angled to give it that distinctive throaty growl. It’s why I bought the bike.’ He took a sip of his coffee. ‘Are you a bike fan then, Mr Taylor?’

‘Used to be. There was a time when Dot and I would race around the countryside together.’ He glanced over at Megan. ‘Life before responsibility.’

‘Not that you regret having me, eh, Dad?’ Megan teased.

He chuckled.
‘Not at all. Still, seeing that Harley of Scott’s on the drive, makes me think back to those good old days.’

Megan shook her head in mock despair. ‘I can’t see what all the fuss is about, personally. It’s just boys and their toys.’

Suddenly Scott levered his large frame out of the low armchair and walked towards her, holding out his hand.

‘What?’

He grasped her by both hands and hauled her on to her feet. ‘I’m about to show you what all the fuss is about.’

Momentarily dumbstruck, Megan felt herself pulled towards him, acutely aware of the warmth of the hands that enclosed hers. Hands that were strong and surprisingly
calloused, not smooth as she’d expected.

‘That’s very kind, but you don’t need to bother,’ she protested when she’d finally found her voice. ‘I’m not sure I really want to know.’

Ignoring her, he let go of one hand and tugged her towards the door with the other.

‘I haven’t got a helmet,’ she heard herself muttering. As excuses went, it was probably pretty desperate because he was bound to have—

He looked back and grinned. ‘I’ve got a spare.’

As a last resort she glanced back at her parents, her eyes pleading. They simply smiled.

‘Go on, darling,’ her mother had the audacity to encourage. ‘You’ll enjoy it. I know I did.’

Before she could argue any further she was standing outside next to the machine itself. She eyed it curiously, prepared to admit that it did look kind of sexy. In a powerful, menacing way. Much like its owner right now.

‘A few rules before we start,’ Scott began as he reached for the spare helmet and then stood in front of her. Very close. So close that she could feel the warmth emanating off his big, solid body. ‘First rule, you have to relax,’ he continued as he lowered the spare helmet gently on to her head, flipping up the visor as he made sure of the fit.