Lucky Stars, Page 2

  “I don’t like it, I love it. It’s unusual, beautiful and very thoughtful,” Joy replied.

  For the first time since she arrived at the castle, Belle felt unmitigated happiness and her smile deepened.

  They stopped at a small bar set up for the party with a variety of glasses and bottles of liquor with buckets of ice. It was attended by a dark-jacketed, bow-tied bartender.

  “Two champagnes please,” Miles ordered, coming to stand behind Belle and she felt his hand move to rest at the small of her back.

  She looked over her shoulder at Miles and tried to hide her annoyance.

  He did that all the time, ordered for her. And it wasn’t like he knew her preferences because he barely knew her. He just said things like “You have to try this,” or “This is the best thing they make,” and then he’d order it for her without allowing her to say a word.

  She actually didn’t want the meals he ordered her and at that moment she also didn’t want champagne.

  With her nerves, she needed at the very least vodka. If she had the courage of her grandmother and mother, she would have ordered a shot of tequila (or three).

  Champagne wasn’t even in her top five.

  She sighed and let it go.

  One thing she learned from Calvin was to pick her battles.

  And she was not going to have words over champagne.

  The bartender held out the glass to her but Miles leaned in and took it, moving it the scant inch between the bartender’s hand and Belle’s as if Belle was above doing such common things as accepting a glass of champagne from a lowly servant.

  This act so surprised and irritated her, she very nearly said something.

  Of course, she did not.

  Instead, she clenched her teeth a moment before she lifted the glass and sipped.

  “Oh there’s Adele!” Joy cried suddenly, glancing across the room. “I must go say hello.” She turned to Belle. “Now that you have refreshments, I can leave you to it.” Her eyes moved upwards to her son. “Now Miles, don’t let Belle get drunk and dance on any tables,” she ordered and the very idea of Belle “Meek and Mild” Abbot dancing on a table made Belle burst out laughing.

  When she’d controlled her hilarity and her gaze focussed on Joy, the woman’s blue eyes were studying Belle and they were shining with an odd, soft light.

  Then she leaned toward Belle and whispered. “You should do that more often, darling.”

  Then without another word, she was gone, melting into the crowd.

  Miles moved her away from the bar so others could order drinks and Belle braced because she was certain she was going to have to start mingling.

  Belle hated to mingle. She had no talent for small talk and found the effort gruelling.

  They did not, however, sift into the crowd. Instead, Miles’s hand at her waist curled her body toward his and then in so they were hips-to-hips and belly-to-belly.

  Startled, Belle looked up at him.

  Firstly, they were too close, loverly close. It wasn’t seemly and, furthermore, they weren’t lovers.

  Secondly, they’d shared some kisses but she hadn’t even let Miles get to second base and he’d tried on every date they shared, even the first one. She was uncomfortable with this casual but extreme closeness which gave the wrong message.

  They certainly were not at a point in their relationship where he would hold her that close in public.

  In fact, Belle wasn’t entirely certain there ever would be a time in any relationship where she’d allow a man to hold her that close in public.

  Not before Calvin.

  Not during Calvin (not that he was that way inclined, fortunately).

  Not after Calvin.

  She put her hand to his bicep and leaned against his arm, tipping her head back to look at him.

  She opened her mouth to ask him to move away when she felt it.

  A trill shot up her spine causing the small hairs at the hairline of her neck to rise and she felt her belly dip right before it warmed.

  Of its own accord, her head turned to the side, her eyes moved instinctively and locked on a man across the room.

  He was an unbelievably handsome, green-eyed man who stood straight and tall, his body, even at rest, clearly at his command and his gaze was riveted on her.

  Belle’s knees went weak, heat hit her cheeks and her fingers clutched Miles’s arm as she looked upon the indecently attractive James Bennett, in the flesh, for the very first time.

  * * * * *

  Jack

  Jack was listening to Yasmin talk as he took a sip of champagne before the crowds parted and he saw her wearing a blush-coloured dress and pink shoes. Both dress and shoes were feminine and unbelievably sexy in a way they hinted tantalisingly at the charms of the woman wearing them rather than brazenly displaying them.

  He was struck by the sight of her. Struck enough for his body to go completely still, his hand holding the glass arrested in its descent from his lips.

  Then it hit him who she was.

  In the last eight months he’d seen her pictures dozens of times, maybe even scores of times in the media.

  Belle Abbot, “The Tiny Dynamo”, “The Great American Heroine” and half a dozen other nicknames the press had given her when, eight months ago, she’d witnessed an accident in front of her while driving down the road. A bus carrying school children coming back from an outing had flipped over a bridge into icy waters.

  She’d stopped her car, torn out and dove into the freezing sea to save the lives of seven schoolchildren and the bus driver who she’d plunged after, again and again, to pull from the bus.

  Two children had swum free themselves, two children had drowned. Both drown victims Belle had pulled from the watery wreckage and one she was still giving CPR when the paramedics finally arrived.

  This was all caught on other onlookers’ phones, both in photos and video. They did not help Belle Abbot. No. Instead they sold their photos far and wide. Photos of her dripping wet, diving, breaking the surface with a child’s arm wrapped around her neck, dragging the child behind her, kicking toward the shore.

  The press had made a meal of her, as they would because the story was, frankly, astounding.

  They hadn’t, however, as the months passed, lost their interest.

  Mainly because, when Belle Abbot wasn’t cold, wet and saving lives, she was exceptionally pretty.

  Not beautiful, her nose was too pert, her skin was peaches and cream, she was not petite but also not tall.

  But she was uncommonly pretty with shining, unbelievably thick, dark blonde hair streaked with honeyed highlights. Her body was perfectly proportioned and lusciously curvaceous. Lastly, she had a classic, elegant style, a bearing that was nearly regal and she was way too photogenic for her own good.

  Further, she was an enigma. In a time when instant celebrity was coveted to the point of obsession, she didn’t speak to the press. She didn’t sell her story. She didn’t do television interviews. She didn’t pay any attention to the media at all. She kept her eyes averted, head bowed and went about her daily life as if she hadn’t committed an act of selfless altruism. An act which had already, without Belle Abbot’s input or approval, been made into a television movie.

  Her head turned and her grey eyes hit him and Jack felt as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to his gut.

  He was wrong.

  Perhaps she wasn’t as photogenic as he thought.

  In the photos, she was not beautiful.

  But in the flesh, she was a knockout.

  It struck Jack that she was with a man, a man who was holding her close and Jack’s eyes moved to the man.

  They did this as Yasmin breathed, “I don’t believe it.”

  When Jack saw his brother Miles holding Belle Abbot, his still body went rock-solid.

  He felt Yasmin’s hand clutch his forearm as Miles turned to look at what had caught Belle’s attention.

  Jack watched as Miles’s face took on an expressio
n Jack knew very well. Indeed, Jack had seen it time and again for as long as he could remember.

  It was the look Miles got every time Miles engaged him in a competition which happened often between the two brothers. Over the years Jack had vigorously participated, until recently, after their father died (but even before) when Miles’s obsessive competitive streak had turned to unhealthy compulsion.

  The look on Miles’s face was filled with triumph.

  Jack knew at that moment that Miles was not with Belle Abbot because she was graceful, stylish and extraordinarily sexy.

  He was with her to rub Jack’s nose in it.

  “Jack, is Miles with Belle Abbot, The Tiny Dynamo?” Yasmin whispered.

  “Yes,” Jack’s deep voice clipped tersely.

  “My God.” Yasmin was still whispering, this time in shocked horror as Jack watched Miles break away from Belle but he held her close to his side as he guided them their way. “He’s going to eat her alive,” Yasmin finished.

  Her words were Jack’s thoughts precisely.

  Jack didn’t move as Miles and Belle walked the short distance. Only his eyes cut to Belle who was looking at Yasmin then she looked away not even sparing Jack a glance.

  “Jack!” Miles greeted him with a handshake even though this was rude. Any gentleman knew he should greet Yasmin first.

  However, he wouldn’t have called Belle’s attention immediately to Jack if he had demonstrated good manners.

  And called it he did. Jack watched as her head moved and she lifted her eyes to him.

  Fifteen feet away, Jack thought she was a knockout.

  Two feet away, her stormy grey eyes on his, she was phenomenal.

  “Belle, I’d like you to meet my brother, James Bennett. And his girlfriend, Yasmin Delacourt,” Miles introduced them.

  She lifted her hand for him to shake rather than her cheek for him to kiss.

  For some reason this irritated Jack to an irrational extreme. Such an extreme, it brought him to the point of action.

  Therefore, when his hand closed around hers, it did it powerfully and he used it to pull her closer to his body. Taken by surprise, she came up to her toes then over, moving toward him and lifting her hand at the last minute, bracing herself by resting the champagne glass she held against his arm.

  He put his other hand, which also still held his glass, to her waist and he bent his head. He brushed his lips against her cheek at the same time he smelled her subtle, complex perfume. Instead of releasing her and letting her pull away, he lifted his head and looked into her eyes.

  “Belle,” he murmured.

  “James,” she murmured back, her eyes caught on his for the briefest second before they moved over his shoulder, her hand tugging at his, her body tense and trying to move away.

  “Jack,” he corrected, his hand in hers pulling her closer, his other hand curving slightly around her back so she was, effectively, in the circle of his arm. Their hands held between their bodies, her breasts nearly, but not quite, close enough to brush his chest.

  Her remarkable eyes skittered back to his.

  “I beg your pardon?” she whispered.

  “My friends call me Jack,” he told her softly.

  Her eyes grew slightly wider and her mouth parted deliciously when she breathed, “Oh.”

  His eyes locked on her lips.

  With an intensity that startled him, Jack felt the urge to kiss her. This urge was so intense, his hands on her actually tensed as if to pull her closer just as she leaned in slightly. His gaze moved to hers and he saw she was also staring at his mouth, her face soft, her eyelids heavy, her desire to be kissed was written on her features in unconcealed temptation.

  Good fucking God, he thought right before she was pulled away by Miles and Jack lost hold of her.

  Miles positioned her firmly and pointedly at his side.

  This sudden movement surprised her and her head came up, her expression cleared of desire and she looked charmingly cross for a moment before she was able to control it.

  This almost made Jack laugh, however the scheming yet annoyed look Jack caught on Miles’s face wiped away all thoughts of laughter.

  Belle’s head turned to Yasmin and she smiled a small smile before she pulled away from Miles to kiss Yasmin’s cheek.

  “Yasmin,” she mumbled.

  “I’m not Jack’s girlfriend, you know,” Yasmin announced, apropos of nothing, instead of greeting Belle in return.

  “You’re not?” Belle asked, her voice quiet.

  Yasmin’s eyes were moving between Jack, Belle and Miles and Jack saw they were scheming as well but in an entirely different way.

  “Yasmin,” Jack muttered with a warning note in his voice but Yasmin, as usual, ignored it and talked over him.

  “We were, ages and ages ago. Now we’re just friends. Close friends but just friends. We’ve been friends for years. But we’re only friends,” Yasmin made herself perfectly clear and Jack felt Miles’s displeasure without having to look at him.

  “So, you’re friends?” Belle mumbled her dry question and Jack chuckled.

  As he did so, he saw her eyes on him held a hint of shocked pleasure before they quickly moved away.

  “Yes,” Yasmin replied, amusement in her voice, her eyes on Belle. “By the way, Joy showed me the brooch you gave her. It’s stunning.”

  Belle and Jack both looked at Yasmin.

  “What brooch?” Jack asked.

  “Joy told me that the girl Miles brought with him, Belle, obviously,” she nodded her head at Belle and then carried on, “bought her a brooch for her birthday. Very unusual, very gorgeous. I want one,” Yasmin replied throwing a smile toward Belle as Jack’s eyes moved to her as well.

  She was, again, looking anywhere but him.

  “You bought Mum a brooch?” he asked her and her eyes went to his ear.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “It’s fantastic,” Miles put in, pulling Belle closer to his side and Jack watched her body grow visibly tense. “It’s from her shop in St. Ives.”

  “I’ll have to visit your shop,” Yasmin told her.

  Belle looked relieved to have an opportunity to move her gaze to Yasmin whom she gave a nod and another small smile. “I’d like that.”

  “She made her dress,” Miles declared and Jack watched a becoming flush creep into Belle’s cheek as Miles went on. “The one she’s wearing tonight.”

  “Miles,” she whispered, clearly embarrassed and equally clearly wanting him to shut up.

  Miles ignored her and kept talking. “She designs clothes.” Miles’s eyes moved to Jack and his hand not wrapped around Belle’s waist came across his body. Holding his champagne glass, he flicked the ruffle at her collarbone with an extended finger. “Sexy little number, isn’t it?” he asked Jack.

  “Miles!” Belle hissed with now obvious embarrassment as her body went solid.

  “It’s lovely,” Jack murmured, wondering how angry his mother would be if he did physical injury to his brother at her birthday party before turning the conversation off Belle’s more than just lovely dress to something else. “Are you spending the weekend?”

  Belle’s eyes came to his and he thought he saw a hint of gratitude at his change of topic before they moved swiftly away.

  “Yes,” Miles stated, curling Belle possessively closer, his head bending in an openly intimate way toward hers, both actions gave his words more meaning. “We’re staying until Monday.”

  His insinuation was not lost on anyone and Belle’s cheeks flamed.

  “Joy tells me you’re in separate bedrooms,” Yasmin remarked, boldly calling Miles out on his nonverbal lie. Jack would have laughed but Belle’s eyes flew to Yasmin and she looked mortified.

  She turned into Miles and tipped her head back. “You know,” she said softly but somewhat desperately. “I think I need to go fix my lipstick.”

  It was clear she was desperate to escape.

  Clear to everyone but Miles.

&
nbsp; “Your lips are perfect, gorgeous,” Miles replied and Jack watched as something crossed her face. Even in profile he could see it and it looked like she flinched as if she’d been struck.

  Jack found her look both stirring and upsetting.

  He didn’t have time to try and understand this reaction, Yasmin moved forward.

  “Yes, her lips are perfect, Miles. But mine aren’t,” Yasmin declared and linked an arm through Belle’s, forcibly moving her away from Miles before she continued. “Now, as you men know, we ladies have to visit the little girl’s room in pairs so I’m claiming Belle as my second. We’ll be back.”

  Before anyone could say a word, Yasmin led Belle from the room.

  Belle, Jack noted, didn’t look back.

  Both Miles and Jack watched them leave.

  “She’s something, isn’t she?” Miles asked Jack, his eyes still on the door the women had walked through.

  Jack clenched his teeth as anger surged inside him.

  In a low, displeased voice, Jack demanded, “Give it up, Miles.”

  Slowly, Miles’s head turned and he looked at his brother.

  Jack saw a sly look in Miles’s eyes, a look that Jack also knew very well as he’d seen it countless times. It was the look Miles assumed when he knew he was going to lose (which was frequently) and decided to do whatever he had to do to win no matter how devious or underhanded it needed to be.

  “Give it up?” Miles repeated, his face changing to false innocence.

  “Yes, give it up,” Jack returned. “Play your games on the pitch, in the board room and with women who know the score. Belle Abbot clearly doesn’t know the score. Fucking with that woman’s head, Miles, is lower than you’ve ever sunk. And you’ve sunk pretty damned low.”

  Jack watched the red creep up his brother’s neck, signalling his anger.

  He leaned toward Jack and clipped, “I saw the way you were with her. You’re not asking me to give it up for Belle’s sake. You’re asking me to step aside because you want a crack at her.”

  Jack’s first response to his brother referring to anyone having “a crack” at Belle was the nearly overwhelming desire to put his fist in his face.

  With effort, he quelled this desire and realised what Miles said was both right and wrong.