Page 32 of Not My Little Drummer Boy
As we pass one of the downstairs lounges, I catch a flash of green through an open door. I swivel and—bam—there she is. Rachel, in a long dress of emerald satin, her golden hair cascading in waves down her back like she’s just stepped out of her own fairytale.
I’m frozen by the sight of her glowing under the blaze of a chandelier. Her head’s tipped back, laughing in that totally unapologetic way she lives her life, like a breath of summer on a winter day.
She’s standing on a small step-stool, a queen towering above the servant kneeling at her feet. The woman crouched beside her has a mouth full of pins, intensely focused on the hem of the dress. What I’d give to take her place.
I’d kneel at Rachel’s feet, worship her—but my eyes wouldn’t be on the dress. Like now, they’d follow the long line of her leg peeking through a slit that runs almost all the way to her thigh. Her skin is creamy, gently sun-kissed, and I long to let my hand rove across it. I know it would be soft and smooth, like the feel of her stomach under my splayed fingers last night. I want to let my lips taste it, inching up the length of that leg, slowly and delicately making a path to her hidden places while she shivers with want beneath me.
Her eyes meet mine, and her mouth tips up in a small smile. Like a dick, I lift one hand and flex my fingers in a small wave.
Maybe she doesn’t think I’m a total idiot—she waves back. I’m not sure what plans Haley has for us today beyond wedding fittings, but honestly, I’m hoping for some more of her Christmas-themedmayhem. Another chance to spend time up close with this woman who’s totally bewitched me.
I’m frozen to the spot, staring at Rachel while last night in the stable replays in my head. Kissing her, touching her, tracing the curves of her body…
Then, with a jolt, I’m back in reality. Sam appears, blocking my view of heaven. She glowers at me, and I raise my hands in surrender. I try to fix an innocent expression on my face, but I doubt it’s convincing.
Sam knows—Haley, too. I’m totally gone for Rachel, and they’re determined to prevent me from acting on it. She closes the door with a warning clunk, and I catch up to the others making their way behind Haley down a long hallway.
Little do any of them know how hard I’m trying not to go too far too soon, or how Rachel wants me as bad as I want her. They have no ideaI’mthe one riding the brake while, day by day, she drags me closer to driving off the edge of the cliff. Us hooking up before the end of this week is as inevitable as day follows night.
When it happens, her friends will say I’m predictable. Teddy Hargrove never turns down a pretty girl with the hots for him. They’re wrong. No one could have predicted how I feel when it comes to Rachel MacDonald. No one could have guessed how it’s not just how gorgeous she is that captivates me. She’s like a hurricane—her quick mind, her sense of fun, her comfort in her own skin—and I’m caught in the gale. One minute I’m spiralling around her; the next, she flings me into the calm centre where it’s just the two of us and the rest of the world falls away.
She’s like no one else, and I won’t cheapen what’s growing between us by taking her into my bed without a thought, the way I’vedone with every girl before. I like her too much. I respect her too much. I see too much potential for something different with Rachel, and I’m not going to blow it.
In the library, there’s a familiar face waiting for us. We met this guy a month ago in some upmarket tailor’s shop in Mayfair. Declan, or Deacon—no, Donovan—that’s his name. You’d think it would be hard to forget, given the dude’s had his hands on my inner thigh. I’ve never felt so far out of my comfort zone, and not just because of the unexpected hands-on nature of the clothes fittings.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” Donovan gushes. “Good to see you again. Shall we get started? I’m sure you have lots to do five days out from the big day.”
“Groom and best man first,” I say, grabbing any opportunity to delay the torture ahead of me. Christian has got us into this, so it’s only fair he takes the lead. I think Ollie actually enjoys all the fancy clothes so he can step up, too.
Donovan ushers them over to a table stacked with piles of boxes and suit bags. Our wedding finery, and god do I hate it.
One of the best things about being a rock star, you can pretty much turn up at anything wearing jeans and a T-shirt and no-one bats an eyelid. Unfortunately, that won’t cut it for a wedding, especially not when Haley Templeton is the bride.
Still, I should be grateful for Christian’s sway. We’ll be in waistcoats, not full jackets or morning coats. Rather than ties like nooses round our necks, we have bow ties—Christian’s red, the rest of us green—and although I’ve never worn one before, they seem the lesser evil. I’ll only be happy on Saturday night when the drama’s over and I can ditch the lot and slide back into my favourite jeans and hoodie.
I take a seat on one of the sprawling leather couches that seem to dominate every room in this house. Garrett sinks his bulk alongside me. From the look in his eyes, I know—now he’s cornered me—we’re about to have a ‘talk’. I sigh, resigned to the inevitable: whatever he has to say, he’ll probably be right.
Don’t get me wrong—I really like Garrett, even though we’re total opposites. He’s the rich boy with a family estate that I imagine looks pretty much like this one. Posh schools, posh sports—his burly frame lent itself to rugby—and a trace of a posh accent. Yet he’s so down-to-earth.
I think part of that is because he’s been married to Liv, whom he met in high school, for more than a decade. She’s more like me, an ordinary girl. One who just happened to win a scholarship to a flash public school, and fell in love with the youngest son of some Honourable-something-or-other.
At thirty-three, Garrett’s the oldest and wisest of us, and though I drive him nuts, he’s taken me under his wing like a grumpy older brother. He doesn’t judge my lifestyle, mostly comments on my latest lady with a wry smile, but he loves to dispense wisdom to keep me from getting too far in the shit. It seems I’m about to hear some now.
“How’s it going with Rachel?” Typical Garrett, he doesn’t mess about; he dives straight into what’s on his mind.
“Good,” I say. “Good.”
“This one’s different,” he says.
“Yeah, she is. So damn smart. Knows what she wants in life. Not sure what she sees in me.”
“You’re differenttoo. With her.”
“Nah,” I shrug. “Still the same old Teddy.” As always, he’s hit the mark, but I don’t want to admit it. Iamdifferent and it rattles me.
He shakes his head. “Bloody liar,” he says. “Three nights and she hasn’t set foot in your bedroom yet.”
“You’ve been monitoring who goes in and out of my room? Maybe I should ask them to change me to another wing of the house?”
