Cross My Hart. Clare Connelly
guy I’d spent two years with, who’d seemed happy and content, was a part of someone else, something else, and I was on the outside of him and that, strangely adrift, as though whatever had anchored me to my place in this life no longer existed.
‘His name—’ Penny pushes a drink across the tabletop to me ‘—is Jagger.’ She rolls the ‘r’ like a tiger, and I laugh.
‘Of course it is.’
‘He’s only in town for tonight,’ she continues, sliding in beside me. ‘And he’d like to meet you.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake.’ I roll my eyes, sure now that she’s making it up, and look towards the bar. But he’s facing us and my heart jolts in my chest. His elbows are lifted onto the bar so that he can recline casually, and he’s watching me with a curiosity that sparks flames in my blood.
My lips part involuntarily and, even though I desperately want to look away, to blink, to anything, it’s weirdly impossible. I am staring at him and he’s watching me and no one else in the bar seems to exist.
His eyes are green, with thick black lashes, and he’s tanned, a deep caramel colour, as though he’s spent a heap of time at the beach lately. I wonder if he’s brown all over? My eyes drift downwards and, holy crap, he’s got a very, very nice body. Pecs clearly defined by that white shirt, toned forearms, lean hips.
Shit.
Pants that show a promising bulge. His hands are what really grab my attention, though. I like nice hands and his are...perfect. Neat nails, long-fingered with coarse hair on the knuckles, tanned, and he wears a scuffed gold ring on his middle finger and some loose leather strings around his wrist. He’s a sort of devil-may-care surfer kind of guy. He’s very, very easy on the eyes.
Heat stains my cheeks and now I jerk my gaze back to Penny, my expression one of mutiny. ‘What did you say to him?’
‘That you’re looking to be distracted for the night,’ she grins impishly.
‘Penny!’ I reach for the drink, taking a gulp to cool my flaming insides. ‘How do you know he’s not...?’
‘What?’ She leans towards me conspiratorially. ‘It’s a one-night stand, Gracie. What do you care about, beyond the fact he’s hotter than Hades and undoubtedly great in bed?’
‘Okay, for a start, how can you possibly know that?’
‘I can tell. I’m good at this.’
‘What, like some kind of sexual psychic?’
‘Exactly.’
I purse my lips. ‘Pen,’ I sigh softly. ‘He could be God’s every gift to women and I still wouldn’t knee-jerk my way into his bed.’
‘That’s a shame because, like I said, he’s interested.’
Against my will, my eyes drag back to him. He’s finishing his drink, but his eyes are still on Penny and me. My pulse ratchets up a gear and out of nowhere I imagine him naked, that shirt thrown across some hotel room somewhere.
‘I’ll tell you what,’ she purrs. ‘I’m going to go talk to that guy.’ She jacks her thumb towards a group of men further down the bar and I can guess which one she means. Silver fox at the head of the group—Penny’s got a thing for older guys, always has. Our take-it-to-the-grave secret is the fact she slept with our high school science teacher on grad night.
‘And I’ll come back in twenty minutes to check on you.’
‘Pennyyyy...’ I groan, shaking my head in exasperation.
‘Six months ago, the bottom dropped out of your world. Gareth fell in love with someone else while you were busy building your business and planning a future with him. He went and fucked some bar girl.’
My heart spins at this frank assessment of our break-up. ‘Yeah?’
‘So at least have a drink with the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. Take a step towards remembering who you are. The you you were before Gareth, the you who built a multimillion-dollar business and is smart and funny and curious and loves to meet new people. He’s from overseas; just chat to him. Have fun. I beg you!’
And not because she’s right, and he’s hot in a way you never see outside of Hollywood, but because she’s my best friend and has never once steered me wrong, just as I have never counselled her badly. The science teacher would never have happened if I’d known about it in advance. I trust her. I believe she’s right and somehow the timing of this, of at least opening myself up to the possibility of flirting with another guy on the eve of Gareth’s marriage, would be strangely meaningful and important and...cathartic.
She’s right. Pre-Gareth, I used to have fun, I used to flirt with guys, hook up. I’m in my twenties—why am I acting like someone’s grandma?
I expel a breath and look towards him once more. He’s turned away and if I have any doubt about whether or not I want to talk to him, the surge of disappointment to see his back answers that.
I stare at his tattooed spine with a frown on my face, but a second later he’s spun back around, two drinks in his hands, and our eyes lock and certainty locks in my chest.
‘That’s my cue,’ I say. Penny grins and I shoot her one last look of bemusement before I’m alone at the table. I have seconds to run my tongue over my teeth, making sure no trace of the beer nuts we shared earlier remains, to wipe my hands on a napkin beneath the table, and then he’s standing on the edge of the booth, his green eyes—aquamarine, up close—boring into me.
‘May I?’ He nods to the seat beside me and I nod, grabbing my hair and pulling it over my shoulder.
‘Grace?’ he prompts, passing a drink towards me.
I smile belatedly, holding a hand out towards him. Our eyes meet as his fingers curve around mine and warmth spears through me. It’s a handshake, the kind of thing I do all the time, but the way he’s staring at me layers an intensity over it that changes everything.
‘Yeah.’
‘Jagger,’ he says, the name on his lips so much sexier than when Penny purred it like some kind of wild animal.
‘Jagger.’ I’m unable to resist the feel of his name in my mouth.
He smiles when I say it.
‘American?’
‘Yeah.’ His grin’s completely disarming. He braces an arm on the edge of the booth behind me and, even though he’s not touching me, I kind of feel like he is. I feel enveloped by his warmth and nearness.
‘Whereabouts?’ I prompt, lifting my drink towards his in salute.
He chinks it back. ‘New York.’
‘Nice.’
‘You ever been?’
I tilt my head to the side a little, considering. ‘Once.’
‘Did you like it?’
‘What’s not to like?’
He lifts a brow. ‘The traffic. The weather. The noise. The pollution...’
‘Resident problems,’ I say, deliberately moving forward a little so our knees brush under the table. I’m thrilled by the sense of power that gives me—the idea that this is all on my terms. That I know what I’m doing, where we’re going.
‘Not tourists’?’ He doesn’t miss a beat.
‘Nope. Not this tourist. I love the snow.’
‘And you don’t get a lot of that here, right?’
‘Not for long, and not in Sydney.’ I sip my drink thoughtfully. ‘I would have loved to move to New York. I used to think I would.’
‘Why didn’t you?’