Page 2 of Marry Me…Maybe?
Looking at his face, now it was revealed in all its glory, she noted that he wasn’t what she’d describe as classically handsome – he was a little too rugged, his features too irregular – but there was something darkly appealing about him. Something dangerous. Something devilish.
‘Can I help you?’
His voice was low and husky, but it had the clip of good breeding about it. Perhaps the owner only employed people from the upper classes here, to make him feel more cocooned in his embarrassment of riches.
‘I’m looking for the idiot who owns this place. Any idea where I can find him?’ she said, flashing the guy a winning smile and walking further into the room. Just because she was mad at his boss, it didn’t mean she couldn’t be friendly with him.
He pulled a rag from his back pocket and wiped his hands on it while he seemed to consider her question. ‘What do you want with him?’ He looked back up to meet her eyes, his gaze shrewd and intense, as if he knew what she’d been previously thinking she wanted from him.
A strange prickling sensation ran over her skin.
His eyes were the colour of the lichen that had used to grow on her family’s Cornish beach house – a dense kind of greeny-grey with a hint of gold.
‘From the tone of your voice, I’m guessing it’s nothing good,’ he added, shoving the rag back into his pocket, making the lean muscles in his arm twist and flex in the most appealing manner.
Shaking her head, she attempted to break the weird edginess that had come over her and casually leant one hip against the workbench to steady herself. ‘I’d rather save my wrath for the man in question. He has some serious grovelling to do.’
He raised one eyebrow. ‘Intriguing. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to facilitate your every whim.’ The sarcasm in his voice was so heavy it could have sunk ships.
A loyal employee, then.
She shrugged, giving him a playful grin. ‘He’ll be fine as long as he gives me what I want. Otherwise, I’m gonna have to tear him a new one.’
He raised both eyebrows this time. ‘Sounds like I could be done for aiding and abetting a crime if I tell you what you want to know.’
‘Don’t worry – I won’t give you up.’ She dipped her chin and gave him a wink. ‘It’ll be our secret.’
‘How very generous of you,’ he drawled, still not breaking a smile.
Man, this guy was seriously tough. And hot. And distracting her from her reason for being here.
‘So where is His Lordship?’
Pulling the goggles from the top of his head, he tossed them onto the workbench next to her, not breaking eye contact for a second, his expression remaining impassive. ‘Actually, you’re supposed to address me for the first time as Lord Berkeley, and then as my lord after that.’
She felt as though her legs had been taken out from under her. ‘You? As in, you’re the Earl of Berkeley?’
What were the odds of Lord Snooty being so gorgeous?
He held out both hands in mock surprise. ‘What’s the matter? Don’t I look the part?’
She snorted. ‘Not even close. Where’s your paunch? Where’s your receding hairline? You don’t even have a ruddy nose or an inappropriate leer.’
‘I’m sorry to disappoint you.’
‘I never said anything about being disappointed.’
His brow pinched into a scowl and it suddenly occurred to herthat she was flirting with the scoundrel who was messing with Lula’s happiness when she should have been ripping him limb from limb.
‘Although Iammad at you for ruining my best friend’s wedding,’ she added, a little late to make much of an impact. Advancing on him, she raised an accusing finger and pointed it at the centre of his broad chest.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, cancelling her booking a month before the wedding? Do you have any idea how happy she was to secure this place for her reception, especially after all the hoops you made her jump through?’
He opened his mouth to speak, but she wasn’t finished with him yet.
‘Is this about money?’ She ran her gaze over his dishevelled appearance. ‘Has someone offered you more for that date? Because if that’s the case you should be ashamed of yourself. You can’t play with a woman’s hopes and dreams like that; it’s bloody cruel!’
He sighed and leant back against the workbench, crossing his arms and making his muscles bulge under his tight-fitting T-shirt. ‘She hasn’t been gazumped.’
