Page 5 of Not My Little Drummer Boy
He sits up, mercifully releasing me from contact with his muscular arm. His knee jiggles rhythmically as he grins at her without an ounce of shame. The vibration sends my thoughts down dangerous new paths, conjuring lurid possibilities: a hook-up with a drummer, a man with rhythm in his very soul. Matching mine to his could be fun. I close my eyes and swallow hard, pushing the images away—not entirely unwelcome, but definitely disorienting.
“Teddy, get your arse over here.” Ollie’s voice booms from the hallway. “You need to hear what we’ve decided for tomorrow’s schedule.”
“Coming.” Teddy calls back, releasing a frustrated huff before turning to me. “So…areweon the schedule for tomorrow?” He’s all boyish eagerness. “You know, wedding stuff?”
“No, Monday,” Haley interrupts. “Fittings at eleven.”
“Good—that leaves the weekend free for other pursuits.” A smug smile tugs at his mouth. “See you at dinner, yeah?” He stands, brushing off his jeans. “Save me a seat. We can plot our plans then.”
“Sure.” I smile and nod, my face a mask of composure while my insides attempt an Olympic-level gymnastic routine. On the outside I’m sensible Rachel, heeding all the warnings; underneath I’mteetering on a ledge, dangerously susceptible to the reckless whispers running riot in my head telling me to jump.
Fuck it, why not? Just go for it, Rachel.
What have I really got to lose?
Time. That’s what. Teddy’s young. He can afford a string of mistakes, flings that blur into each other, lessons learned then forgotten. Me? I don’t have that luxury. I can’t risk handing what’s left of my heart to the wrong man again.
So yes, I’ll flirt back, maybe even let myself enjoy the game. But that’s all it can ever be this week: harmless fun. Nothing more.
Logical me agrees with Haley—Teddy is a very bad idea.
But god, when has a very bad idea ever looked so damn good?
Chapter 2
“Yousureyou’llbeall right, Bee?” I ask, catching a worrying tremor in my sister’s voice tonight.
“Yeah, yeah, of course I will. Anyway, gotta go. I’m on stage in ten. You know how it is—the show must go on.”
“Sure, but call me later if you need. You know I’m here.”
“Thanks. You know you’re my best brother, Dory.”
She always says that. I’m her only brother.
“And you’re my best sister, okay, but don’t tell the others.”
When she hangs up, I see the time—8:15—and I’m late for dinner, thanks to Briar’s call. Tonight she’s got more man-drama going on, and somehow she always thinks I’m a better sounding board than the women in my family.
No surprise, really. My other two older sisters, Juniper and Rowan, are, despite our unconventional upbringing, playing conservative games of happy families with their safe jobs and boring husbands. Don’t get me wrong; I love them to bits, but their choices have me scratching my head sometimes. So it leaves me, the only boyand baby of them all, as Briar’s best option for help navigating the shit-storm that is her love life. I gave her my advice, but as I bolt from my bedroom, I’m not sure if it was the message she wanted to hear.
I hurry through the maze of corridors from my bedroom in the east wing. The clatter of cutlery and raucous conversation drifts from the formal dining room. There’s a seat at the table with my name on it right next to a certain lanky blonde that I’m determined no one else will fill.
I’ve seen Rachel MacDonald before, and she’s fit as hell, but every time I’ve had another girl on my arm. Despite the reputation, I’m not the kind of bloke who hits on a woman when I’m with someone else. Right now, though, there isn’t a someone else. Hasn’t been for two whole months—a fact the tabloids can’t shut up about. They hate it when you don’t feed them scandal, but I’m totally good with it. For the first time, I don’t mind the quiet; it leaves space to wonder what something real—someonereal—might feel like.
After four years of lapping up the benefits of riding the fame roller coaster—and enjoying the steady queue of beautiful girls keen to jump on board with me—I’m tired. Weary of the ever-changing rotation of women in my bed. Questioning why with each new one, I seem to fall a little less in love, and fall out of it more quickly. What would the journos say if I came right out and admitted it? Maybe Teddy Hargrove is ready to give up his crown as king of heartbreakers.
As I round the final corner, sidestepping yet another hallway table with yet another massive Christmas flower arrangement, I’m forced to brake heavily. My feet almost plough furrows in the thick carpet as I narrowly avoid a head-on collision. Rachel MacDonald and I stand face-to-face, her luscious lips curling into a sultry smile. It’snot the smile that stops me—it’s the flash of unmistakable mischief, the sense she’s fully present in her own skin.
“Running away already?” I tease, slipping straight back into our earlier banter. “Can I come too?”
“Planning to follow me around all week like a puppy, are you, Teddy?”
I’m mesmerised by the husky purr, the soft Scottish vowels rolling around in her beautiful mouth. But it’s the unexpected invitation in those bold blue eyes that has me rooted to the spot; a glimmer that hints she might see through the swagger to the bloke beneath. Maybe it’s her height too—long lines, legs that go on forever, and the confidence of a woman who doesn’t have to tilt her head back to meet my eyes.
I’m no stranger to tall women. Nothing I like better than some long-limbed model wrapping slender legs around my waist while I fuck her against a wall. And I’ve had plenty of those. There’s something hot about watching a woman’s pleasure rise in her gaze with every stroke of my cock. But I’ve never had a woman look me straight in the eye like this one does. The combination of blatant interest and challenge I see there is an absolute turn-on. I stiffen, my erection going from zero to full throttle in seconds, uncomfortable in my jeans.
For once, I’m unable to muster a cheeky retort. Me, smooth-talking Teddy, dumbstruck before this stunning woman.
