Before Dawn: A Free Falling Novella Read online

  Again, whose bright idea was it to pull this off?

  Oh, that’s right. Mine.

  In my champagne-induced haze, I curse myself while trying to shut my mind to the bursting crowd, clapping and cheering in anticipation. They’re tapping Brian on the back as he passes by, but he keeps his cool. On the other hand, I begin to shift restlessly on my feet, his steely control and implacable stare threatening to send me off balance.

  I inhale sharply. Firm about not giving him the satisfaction of seeing me intimidated, I smile and wink at him.

  “You sure you want to do this?” he mouths before returning a tight-lipped fake smile.

  The air between us is filled with tension and I can almost hear what he’s thinking—that I belong in a loony bin, surely.

  Another nervous chuckle escapes my lips, the awareness one too many toasts may have impaired my judgement sending a stab of panic through my chest.

  Shit! He’ll never speak to me ever again!

  Even though he’s obviously not the slightest bit thrilled with any of this, he follows suit and removes his jacket, which he hangs on the back of one of the nearby chairs, his gaze never leaving mine. After loosening his tie and rolling up his sleeves, he jerks his head to the guy on the drums.

  He’s ready. My lowered inhibitions, gone.

  The room dims, a splash of light projecting over us when he places himself by my side, with an insanely sexy, devious smirk lighting up his features.

  Catching me by surprise, he takes a firm hold of my hand and spins me around to face him. My muscles tense and I try to escape his grasp, but he won’t allow it. As I stand before him, his hand settles on the small of my back before he pulls me closer, the sensation of his touch rippling through me.

  Startled, I blink. “Brian! What are you doing?”

  With his arm slid around my waist, he presses me hard against his lean body and tilts his head to whisper in my ear, “Oh, you didn’t think I was going to dance that crap all by myself, did you? Come on, sweetie, the audience is dying to watch the little show you set up for them.” When he catches my eye, he winks, his face breaking into a sardonic grin.

  It all feels like running smack into a glass door you didn’t see. But I guess it serves me right. That was a stupid, really stupid idea and now here I am: in the middle of a crowded room, held steady under his fierce gaze, our faces mere inches apart, his hot breath brushing my face. My heart doing backflips, about to jump out of my chest.

  For a moment I’m stunned, unable to react.

  He places my hand on his shoulder himself and crushes me to him again, this time even closer, his lips touching my hair, our bodies fitting together.

  “Wanted us to dance, smart-ass? Now, dance! Any salsa moves will do!”

  Threaded with a hint of amusement, those whispered words vibrate through me and my face heats. Despite the chaotic mess of feelings stirring within me, feelings I’ve yet to comprehend, I pull myself together and give him a cynical broad smile.

  “I’ll get back to you later, sweetie, don’t you worry.”

  And here we go.

  Softening his grip, he pulls, leading me with firm determination, defining the pace and the way we turn and move our bodies, claiming the whole dancefloor as ours.

  I play along, spinning and dipping, shimmying my shoulders and swivelling my hips to the fast and upbeat rhythm—flirting with him, injecting as much sensuality to it as I possibly can.

  A sultry, half-lidded gaze lands on my mouth and the smirk on his face lets me know he’s not indifferent to it. The frantic fluttering in my stomach intensifies.

  The crowd stands up and screams effusively, and Brian gets carried away by the moment the music erupts, imposing a frenetic rhythm, making me spin over and over again in quick, fluid movements, my head the last thing to turn, catching the fire in his eyes as he pushes me to my limits. My lungs heave, desperate for air. But I’ll be damned if I’ll let him see me crack!

  Gone insane, the crowd chants his name, clapping to the pulsating, explosive rhythms. With a wave of his hand, he invites everyone to jump onto the dancefloor, which they do, enthusiastically.

  In a matter of seconds, we’re immersed in the ever-increasing crowd, slow dancing in the middle of loud, electrifying sounds, swaying bodies and smiling faces. Nothing is said. It’s just our eyes locked on each other, neither one of us wavering, my chest beating against his as I try to catch my breath, his palm gliding along the curve of my side.

  Oblivious to the people around us, he tangles his fingers in my hair and lets his eyes drop down to my lips, which he caresses with his thumb.

  My heart lurches in anticipation. I think he wants to kiss me. God, I want him to, so badly.

  But not in here.

  “You’re not mad at me, are you?” I smile, my eyes still fixed on his.

  Exhaling, he closes his eyes and leans down to rest his forehead against mine. “No. You were right, that was fun… And now we all know you’re still as crazy as a goddamn loon.”

  “I looked all over, where were you? I thought you might be gone already...” Hence, the panic.

  He smiles. “And this was the best plan you could come up with to find me?”

  “But it worked, didn’t it? I finally made it. To get back to you.”

  Leaning down a little further, he breathes against my mouth, our lips nearly touching, “I guess you did…”

  The vague words send me reeling. I can’t read his inscrutable stare either, and silence hangs for what seems like forever. I feel like I’m on the edge of an emotional precipice. The sensible voice in the back of my mind is screaming, telling me to get away from the thin rope I’m walking or I’ll get burnt all over again. Every other part of my body refuses to obey.

  “How about we make our escape now? Outside, to the terrace? To have a drink and catch up a little bit?”

  His low voice against my face causes a prickle at my nape. Biting my lower lip to hide this feeling of excitement, I shake my head.

  Sudden lines of tension settle around his forehead. “No?”

  I rise to my toes and whisper into his ear. “Take me away. Take me away from this place.”

  *

  “Liv, darling! So good to see you. And you’re looking amazing!”

  “Kate.” I smile at the image reflected in the ladies’ room mirror as I apply gloss to my lips.

  She turns on the faucet to wash her hands and looks up, to my reflection. “What a lovely surprise that you could come! Join us at our table for a bit, Ethan would love to see you!”

  “You look amazing! Congratulations! How far gone are you?” I ask, smiling at her pregnant belly.

  “You think? Look at this, twenty-eight weeks and my ankles look like logs.”

  I do a quick examination. “I’m afraid that’s normal; it’s the hormone levels causing you to retain water. Elevate your feet as often as you can, it should help.” I check her hands for pre-eclampsia signs. “But do check with your doctor if your face and hands swell and your vision becomes blurred.”

  “How about this constantly running to the loo? Is that normal too?” She lets out an impatient puff of air. A quick glance in the mirror to recheck her makeup and she asks, “Hey, where’s that sexy doctor you brought last time?”

  “Yes, it’s your uterus pressing on the bladder. In the third trimester the baby will drop even lower in your pelvis, so be ready for even more trips to the bathroom. Try cutting back on fluids in the evening hours,” I explain evenly and give a sympathetic smile, purposely ignoring the last question.

  “You joining us?” She beckons me towards the door.

  “Sorry, but we’ll have to catch up some other time. I was about to leave.”

  “But already? The party just got started.”

  I wave goodbye to Ethan from the distance. “I know, but I’m so exhausted. Was up practically all night. Having a quick drink with Brian and then climbing into bed. Please, give your husband my regards.”

&nbs
p; It takes me a few seconds to process the mocking, malicious grin spread across her face.

  “Alone! Climbing into bed alone.”

  “Oh. Right.” She stifles an amused snort. Apparently, she doesn’t quite believe my words. “In that case, do call us when you’re back in London, okay?” A quick hug and she pulls back to give me a stern look. “Can I give you a little unsolicited advice? Steer clear from trouble.”

  I frown. “What does that mean?”

  “Brian. Charming his way into bed with every woman he wants, that’s what he probably knows best. And I’m pretty certain he’s an amazing flirt—damn, the man is not just good-looking, he’s hot as sin!—but he’s also a hopeless case of messed-up-beyond-repair. Unattainable, no one can reach him. And, darling, what do you do with guys like these? You drop them before they drop you.”

  Fascinating how everyone is always so willing to throw their own pearls of wisdom at you. My stomach rolls into a knot and I instinctively tighten my arms around my middle, my thoughts running to Sue’s words the other day, unsettling me even further.

  ‘He’s my brother and I love that bastard to bits, but right now he’s the kind of prick you should definitely go out of your way to avoid.’

  A hand rests on the small of my back and the awareness it’s Brian’s prickles across my skin.

  “Here you are. Can we go now?” he asks curtly, his eyes shooting a hard glance Kate’s way as if he’d heard what she’s just said.

  With a rather shaky inhalation, I nod.

  “Good.” Without ever taking his hand from my back, he guides to the front door.

  *

  “Feeling dizzy, sweetie? Don’t tell me, you thought I’d go easy on you, didn’t you?”

  Wipe off that silly grin, will you?

  Holding the cue stick with both hands, I lean back and don’t smile. I think I hate him. Him and the smug-ass smile on his face. Him and all the men, for that matter.

  Damn it, could it be I have a natural inclination to feel attracted to idiots or are there so many of them out there the law of probability is to blame?

  “Still feeling sorry for me?” he asks mockingly.

  Okay, I may have gloated a bit over last game, which I won so easily, but still. I narrow my eyes at him in defiance. “You’re an awful person, Brian Anderson.”

  “And you’re a sore loser.” With a glint of mischief in his eyes, Brian walks around the pool table, brushing against my body as he passes. Then he knocks the last ball into the pocket right in front of where I’m standing and looks up with a mock conceited expression on his face.

  It’s official: I do hate him. I absolutely hate him. I hate him with passion—because all I can think of is him. And sex. Passionate sex. Wild sex. With him. With the one man, I’m not supposed to fall for. Again. Or maybe I just hate myself for missing him like crazy, for craving him this much.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  Caging me against the pool table with both hands, he leans his body towards mine, almost touching it, his gaze lingering on my mouth. “Why do you keep messing with me, sweetie? You’ll never stand a chance! Ever.”

  Damn you and your wicked smile!

  “Ah-ah! Now I know why you didn’t want to come to the wedding! You knew we’d meet again after all these years and then you’d have your ass kicked!”

  A twinge of pain squeezes my chest. I can’t do this, enter this flirting game, it’s just insane.

  “Yeah, that must have been it, you’re such a genius, aren’t you? Maybe you think you do, but you don’t know anything about me. I’m not that silly little girl anymore!” I head to the cue hanger. I refuse to let him see me cry.

  My mind’s in overdrive. My life these past months, how drastically it’s changed. These last days at work. The anticipation of seeing a man who’d long stopped being a part of my life, followed by the fear of not seeing him at all—the hopeless case of messed-up-beyond-repair I need to drop before I get hurt. The returning thought of what we could have been if only our story had been different. This pull I can barely control.

  Who could have thought our night would end like this? A total disaster.

  When we arrived at the Nellie Dean, an hour or so ago, Brian gestured for me to sit on the upholstered seat by the window. I glanced around and tried to take it all in, the pub’s dark, cosy atmosphere and the soulful music playing in the background, inviting you to sit back, relax and slow down.

  Nice, very nice.

  Despite the prickling of expectation, there was a sense of quiet washing over me I hadn’t felt in a long time.

  “So, tell me. What have you been up to, Dr Burke?” A smile crept over his features, dark blue eyes fixed on mine, fingers drumming on the wooden table.

  “Why don’t we start with you, Brian Anderson? How’s life these days?”

  “Working a lot, for the most part. Also going to everyone else’s wedding and enjoying the free champagne.”

  A guilty smile peeked through. “May I tell you a secret?”

  “What? You had a little too much of it today? I know. Holding your liquor was never your forte.” With a mischievous smile, he turned to the counter nearby and asked for two pints.

  My cheeks burned and I shrugged.

  “Or could it be your secret is you hate weddings as much as I do? A bunch of folks getting all tearful because the lovely bride is being taken away? For Christ’s sake, this is no longer a business transaction between two men, is it? Why don’t you walk up by yourselves?”

  I let out a chuckle, he was right. “That’s just one out of the many weird things about it! You know why they say it gives bad luck for the bride and groom to see each other before the ceremony?”

  “Can hardly wait for the explanation, Dr Burke.” The mock-dry tone got another chuckle out of me.

  “An old thing to guarantee men don’t back down. When the bride removes the veil and you get to see her for the first time, the agreement is already sealed. If you end up with some ugly ass woman, you can’t run for the hills anymore. You’re doomed to suck it up for the rest of your days!”

  And we went on, discussing crazy wedding traditions and laughing our heads off at some photos we found online that prove wedding photographers are equally crazy people. Seriously.

  But then the conversation grew more serious. Why he was convinced I wouldn’t come today, he wanted to know. I gave some vague answer as I didn’t feel like explaining the boys’ rare condition once again, much less about Filipe’s efforts to keep me out of it.

  Why we’d never met again in all these years, I challenged him, knowing the answer beforehand—because he’d never wanted to, the memory of my failed attempts to restore our friendship unsettling me beyond belief.

  Why he is still single, what’s wrong with English women, I provoked him.

  Why isn’t my boyfriend with me either, he replied with a far from innocent question. I told him the truth. There is no boyfriend. Only a cheat and a liar, who made me wary of all men.

  An enormous weight descended onto my chest and, suddenly, the hurt and frustration had sneaked upon me all over again. Along with them came this bitterness, which always starts out as smouldering resentment and pain you think you’ve got under control, but you don’t. It consumes you to no end, poisoning your life, preventing you from moving forward.

  “Take me back to my uncle’s? Please.” I ask when I return from the cue holder, my throat heavy with emotion.

  He holds my face in his hands as though he’s trying to read it, the tender look in his eyes almost melting me. And then he gathers me into his arms, as if by instinct, burying his fingers into my hair, rocking me gently. “Hey, sweetheart. What’s wrong?”

  “Never mind.” For a moment I allow myself to relax against him, the warmth so comforting. “Please, let’s go. It’s been a long day...”

  He nods, his fingers threading through my hair, offering protection. “Come, I’ll take you home then.”

  Chapter Twelve ~
Brian

  “Flying back tomorrow already?” I ask Olivia, trying to fill the heavy silence that weights the air as we head west towards Holland Park, to her uncle’s. She’s been mostly quiet, pensive, looking out the car window.

  She hums in agreement, but neither looks at me nor makes any effort to engage in conversation and make the short ride a tad less difficult. In fact, not many words have been exchanged since we left the Nellie Dean and I’m trying not to force anything.

  I tighten my fingers around the wheel seeking to release the tension. Though my face gives nothing away, my head’s a mess. How come in a world of seven billion people I’m ending this sodding day with the one single woman I cannot have?

  I’m thinking straight, aren’t I? I mean, lightning isn’t supposed to strike twice in the same spot, everyone knows about that, it’s common sense. Well, except when it forgets where it struck last, I guess. But I haven’t forgotten. In fact, it struck so hard it almost knocked me down, and the damage it caused is still vividly imprinted in my memory.

  “What time then?”

  “In the afternoon,” she murmurs so quietly under her breath, I can barely understand the words.

  I turn on the radio, thinking to fill in the uncomfortable space between us with music. Only Love Can Hurt Like This begins to pulse through the speakers.

  Great, as if the mood in here weren’t odd and depressed enough.

  I quickly change the station.

  “No, leave it!” Olivia emerges from her thoughts, hovering her hand over the radio, trying to find the key to set it back.

  I control the radio system directly from the steering wheel and do what she asks.

  She gives me a thin smile, which I half-heartedly return, and then straightens back up. With her head leant back against the seat and her eyes closed, she asks politely, “Mind turning it up just a bit louder?”

  “Sure. You like this one?”

  It would be nice to get an answer for a change, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she just hums the song, sometimes singing along.