Miranda's Big Mistake - Jill Mansell [91]
It wasn't.
It was his mother's toyboy, Orlando.
Bruce's immediate instinct was to shrink down in his seat. If that was Florence in the passenger seat, he didn't want her to spot him. The prospect of being dragged into the house and having to witness his mother making sheep's eyes at that gigolo was more than he could handle.
But it wasn't Florence, he realised moments later as a
tanned elbow - a young elbow - appeared, resting on the passenger-side open window.
Bruce sat bolt upright. Now this was promising. Well, well, in all honesty he hadn't thought Chloe had it in her.
Then the elbow shifted and the forearm came out, too thin to belong to Chloe. Bruce, peering harder, glimpsed an assortment of vaguely familiar silver bangles, then a flash of telltale blue-green hair.
Not Chloe, the other one… what was her name? Miranda.
Something odd had begun to happen on the way back from the Salinger Hotel. Every time Danny pulled up at a junction or a set of traffic lights, Miranda discovered, he grew more attractive.
It was no longer confined to his ears. Each stolen glance - when he wasn't looking at her, of course - revealed yet another admirable feature. The straightness of his nose, those totally unfair eyelashes, not to mention the way his hair curled over his collar…
It was more than odd, Miranda marvelled, it was astonishing. Like digging a hideous old crimplene cardigan out of the back of your wardrobe and realising that you'd made a mistake, it was actually the cardigan of your dreams, pink and perfect and one hundred per cent cashmere.
Breaking into her thoughts - oh, such delicious thoughts - Danny said abruptly, `We're here.'
`You've been really kind,' Miranda told him. `Really really kind.'
`I know. And you're really really drunk. When did you last have something to eat?'
She shrugged, trying to think.
`Tuesday?'
`You should eat.' He paused. `What?'
`What what?'
`Why are you looking at me like that?'
`I don't know,' said Miranda, distinctly lightheaded. Her elbow slid off the window frame with a thud. `Why are you looking like that?'
`Like what?'
She pointed an accusing finger at him.
`All gorgeous and, you know, sexy and stuff.'
His mouth twitched. Sexily.
`See?' Miranda demanded. `You're doing it again.' `Now listen to me, you've had-'
`Can I kiss you?'
Ha, that stopped him in his tracks! She saw his eyes
flicker. Sexily.
`Miranda.'
Even the way he said her name was sexy.
`Or if you want to be masterful about it,' she offered, `you could always kiss me.'
`I don't think I should.'
Miranda ignored this. He was looking at her with regret, not revulsion. Regret didn't count.
`I want you to.' Reaching over, she grabbed his arms. Gorgeous, sexy arms. `If you don't do it, I will.'
Danny didn't speak.
So she kissed him. Sexily, and for all she was worth.
Bruce, who liked a tidy car, had despaired of Verity's sloppy habit of leaving spare coats slung across the back seat. This
time, twisting round, he sent up a prayer of thanks for sloppy people everywhere. He would never moan at Verity again.
Miranda missed at first, losing her balance and only managing to make contact with - oof - the stubbled edge of his jaw. Undeterred, she levered herself upright and took fresh aim. This time her mouth landed on Danny's and she closed her eyes with relief. Bingo, this was more like it! Oh yes, this is miles better than being squashed into a toilet cubicle together, with his knees going numb and me bawling my stupid eyes out.
Even if the other contestant didn't appear to be giving it his all.
She peeled herself away for a second, to let him know she knew.
`Seven out of ten. Must try harder, could do better.' Miranda cocked an eyebrow at him. `I think what we need is for you to put a bit more effort into this.'
Chapter 38
Danny glanced sideways as a man in a turquoise cagoule shuffled past, clutching an envelope and heading for the postbox at the end of the road. It was a hot, sunny Sunday afternoon but the hood of the cagoule was pulled up and tied firmly around