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.
Chapter Two
SITTING 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.
‘I’m so glad you dropped by.’ Daisy beamed a smile over her shoulder as she led the way down the long hallway of her home. ‘The material for my bridal gown arrived from Delhi. It’s absolutely gorgeous—you have to come and drool over it with me.’
‘Great,’ Juno replied, trying to muster some enthusiasm as they entered the sunny open-plan kitchen at the back of the house. ‘Where’s Ronan?’ she asked, busy postponing the inevitable.
‘Having his nap. The little terror.’ Daisy filled the kettle at the sink. ‘Can you believe it? He woke us up at four this morning.’
Daisy’s eyes lit up as she talked about her son and Juno felt an odd pang in her chest.
‘Enough about He Who Does Not Sleep,’ Daisy continued. ‘We need to have another talk about your maid of honour gown.’ She dropped teabags into a couple of earthenware mugs. ‘There is no way I’m letting you walk down the aisle behind me in jeans and a—’
She stopped talking abruptly as her gaze landed on Juno. Her eyes widened. ‘What on earth happened to your face? Is that a heat rash?’
Juno clapped her palms to her cheeks. ‘Um…maybe.’ How much worse was today going to get?
‘Let me go get some salve,’ Daisy said.
Juno held a hand up. ‘Don’t bother.