GirlMostLikelyTo (13 page)

“Is right?” he asked.

“Yes. Well done.”

“I help with coffee.”

“Thank you.”

They carried the trays to two tables in the corner.

“You look different,” he said and smiled.

“My hair.” She sat down.
God, he has a gorgeous smile.

“Not just hair. But hair very nice.”

“Thank you. You should say, ‘Your hair looks very nice’.”

“Thank you.” He ran his hand over his head and gave her such
a cheeky grin she couldn’t help but return it.

His hair
did
look nice, dark and shiny, flopping over
his face. Her gaze slipped to the slight hollows under his cheekbones, the
shadows under his eyes, that graze and—
stop it
. She stared down at the
table and hoped her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt.

Duscha rushed up with her book, clearly disappointed to see
she wasn’t the first. Monique followed, then Georg. Wren handed Monique her
change.

“You all got the right books. Well done,” Wren said.

“You made mistakes in title,” Georg said.

“Yes, that was deliberate so you had to ask for help.”

“Ah.” The German nodded.

“What we do with them?” Monique asked.

“We can put them back when we leave, or give them to an
assistant. Or buy them if you want,” Wren said.

“
The Polar Bear’s Mating Habits
.” Monique rolled her
eyes, put the book aside and turned to Wren. “What languages do you speak?”

“Italian, French, some German and a little Russian.”

“And Elvish,” Tomas said.

“Oh yes. I forgot that one.” She grinned.

“So you not just a beautiful face,” he said. “Is right
expression?”

“We say, ‘You’re not just a pretty face’.” Wren caught
Georg’s blank look. “It means there is more to a person than their beauty.”

“But you don’t have to be beautiful,” Monique said.

Wren shrugged. “No, it’s just a saying. A way of showing
admiration for someone’s perhaps unexpected abilities.”

“You
are
beautiful,” Tomas said.

Wren pretended not to hear him but she couldn’t help but be
flattered. She sipped her coffee.

“I like your hair,” Duscha said. “You like snow queen.”

Wren smiled.

“Which salon did you use?” Monique asked.

“I did it myself.”

Monique’s mouth fell open. “Yourself?”

“Wren,” someone yelled.

Benoit ran toward their table pursued by two beefy guys. He
leaped behind her chair as she reared up in shock.

“What’s happened?” she asked.

“We spotted him shoplifting,” said one of the men.

Shit.
“There must be some mistake.” Her heart
pounded. “These are my students. They don’t speak English very well. I’m sure
there’s been a misunderstanding.”
Please let there have been a
misunderstanding.
Olive would kill her. “What happened, Benoit?”

He erupted into a flurry of French and clutched Wren’s arm.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

How to explain that although he’d put the book in his
pocket, he wasn’t trying to steal it? He’d put it there for safekeeping while
he wrote on his notepad. Wren tried. The circle of onlookers grew larger and
Benoit appeared close to tears.

“He had no intention of leaving the shop,” she said. “They
were all supposed to bring their books to show me. The others have. We were
waiting for Benoit.”

“And then you were going to put them back?” asked one of the
security men.

“Yes, or buy them,” Wren said.

“Let me explain.” Tomas drew both men away to the corner of
the café.

Wren bristled. What the hell did he think he could do that
she couldn’t?

“I didn’t, I didn’t,” Benoit kept repeating.

“It’s okay,” she said. “We’ll sort it out.”

Moments later the two men left and Tomas walked over and
slapped Benoit on the back. “Is okay now,” Tomas said.

Wren was intrigued and relieved in equal measures. Benoit
still seemed as though he wanted to cry.

“Don’t worry, Benoit. It was just a mistake,” Wren said.
“Sit down and drink your coffee.”

His head and shoulders were low like an abused animal’s. She
made a mental note to speak to him privately. There might be something she
could do to boost his self-confidence. And that wouldn’t include sending him to
see Belinda.

“How long you teach at school?” Monique asked.

“Nearly two years.” But it felt like fifty.

“You like it?” Georg asked.

“Well,
this
is lovely.” Wren tried to be diplomatic.
“Having a drink in a café with my students? Thank you again to Monique for
paying.” Because there was no way Wren could have afforded to.

Monique shrugged. “It’s nothing. Is Olive Speke good boss?
You like her?”

Why did she want to know that? Still—this was conversation
practice and Wren could lie, say Olive was a wonderful boss, kind, caring and
considerate when she meant mean, nasty and selfish.

“I plead the fifth,” Wren blurted.

Tomas laughed. How the hell did he know what that meant?

Shit, shit, shit.
If Tomas wasn’t more careful, he’d
blow his cover. He’d made Adam suspicious a few hours ago and now he’d been a smart-ass
with Wren. He sat back in his seat, zipped his mouth and listened as Wren
painstakingly explained what she’d said, and in the process avoided answering
Monique’s original question about Olive.
Why?

Benoit kept giving Wren lingering, lustful glances. Tomas
didn’t blame him. She was cute and her new hair color made her even cuter. An
image slid into his mind of Adam and Wren entwined naked, and his cock stirred.
Christ.
He wished he hadn’t unbuttoned his coat. Tomas reached for his
coffee. He wondered how Wren would feel if she knew what he and Adam had done
after the guy left her bed. Disgusted, horrified, excited?

Still, it wasn’t going to happen again, so what did it
matter? He should have gone after Adam last night and made up some story, but
he hesitated too long.

His phone rang and he sighed when he saw who was calling. He
pushed to his feet, muttered, “Sorry,” and walked back into the books.

“Yes,” he said to Marco.

“I want to see you.”

“I’m in class. We’re in café.” He wondered if Marco knew what
had happened in the alley last night.

“Veton will pick you up outside Ezispeke in thirty minutes.”
Marco ended the call.

Now what?

Tomas went back and sat next to Wren.

“Sorry. My boss,” he said to her. “I plead the fifth. I like
that expression. Get me out of trouble. You too.”

Wren shot him a little smile. “We’ve just been discussing
the café. Everyone has to give me a sentence to describe it. You try.”

“A place where dreams are made.”

Wren gaped at him.

“It say on wall.” He nodded to the top of the chalkboard
menu.

She tsked. “Say something original.”

“You have crumb on your coat.”

Wren looked down but he brushed it away before she could
lift her hand. Tomas caught her swift intake of breath and felt the echoing
hitch in his lungs that shot down to knot his balls.

As Georg began to stutter through some crap about the number
of different coffees on sale, Tomas slid his hand onto Wren’s knee under the
table. He had no idea why he’d done it. Well, yes he did. He liked putting her
on edge. She tried to move her knee and he tightened his grip. Soft skin, no
pantyhose, and he wished he could slide the rest of the way up her thigh. Was
she going to slap him?

“W-well done, Georg. Duscha?”

No, the slap wasn’t coming yet. Tomas stroked the side of
her knee with his thumb. She’d stopped resisting. No one could see, but
Monique’s mouth quirked and she stared at him in a way that suggested she’d
guessed. How far could he go? How far would Wren let him go?

“Time to leave,” Georg said.

Wren glanced at her watch. “Ah sorry.” When she tried to get
to her feet, Tomas pressed on her knee to keep her down.

“I need talk to Wren. You go, we follow,” he said.

Tomas could hardly believe it when they all left without
protest. Even puppy-eyed Benoit. Monique bustled them out, which was another
surprise,
and
she took the books back. Wren sat trembling next to him.
Her nervousness turned him on big-time. Her grip on his lower leg excited him
even more.
Fuck.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

“How is backside?” he asked. Keeping up this stupid accent
was a pain.

“What?” she blurted.

“You bruise when you fell?”

“It’s fine.”

“Want to show me?” He really wanted her to show him.

She rolled her eyes but clasped his leg even harder.

“You have other class now?” he asked.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“I don’t know. What am I doing?”

She gulped. “Playing with my knee.”

“Very nice knee.”

“That belongs to me.”

Tomas let out a delighted laugh.

“Let go,” she whispered.

“You first.”

She gave him a puzzled glance and he slid his fingers higher.
Wren released a muffled groan.

Tomas leaned closer and whispered, “My cock’s so hard it
hurts.” Then he waited. He expected a thump or an overturned chair as she
stalked out. He didn’t know what game he was playing but he did know only her
leaving would stop it. Her nails dug into his shin. Her other hand grasped her
mug, but it was empty. He’d checked. He didn’t want to be soaked in coffee.

“You’re very rude.” She glared at him.

“And you’re turned-on.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You arrogant shit.”

He smiled. “You can let go of my leg now.”

Wren released her hold and stared down in horror at her
hand. “I thought I was holding the table.”

“I thought you meant to hold higher.”

Tomas watched her face change. Christ, she’d be no use in
his job. She didn’t hide a thing. He watched embarrassment morph to annoyance
and then change to something cunning. What was she up to? He started when he
felt her fingers back on his leg, clasping his knee. She looked into his eyes
and slowly slid her hand up his thigh, under his coat and put her palm on his
zipper. His breathing faltered. When she flattened her palm over the outline of
his cock and squeezed, he stopped breathing.

“Bye,” she said and walked out.

He groaned and followed her, fastening his buttons. He
caught up with her outside.

“You irresistible,” he whispered.

“Try harder.”

He smiled. “Don’t want to.”

Wren walked faster. So did he. When they reached the corner
of the street leading to Ezispeke, he caught her elbow, swung her in front of
him, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. He was counting on her being
surprised enough to give his kiss a chance to win her over. He’d told himself
at the slightest sign of resistance he’d let her go.

He lied. She struggled and he held her tighter.
Please.
He ran his tongue along the line of her lips and then landed a series of
fluttering kisses around her mouth.
Please.
She no longer struggled, nor
did she kiss him back. Then he felt the tip of her tongue brush against his and
he thought he’d melt where he stood.

“Ahem.”

The cough sent his body rigid and his cock wilted. He didn’t
need to turn to know who this was.
Oh shit.

Chapter Thirteen

Adam sat in Leeds Art Gallery staring at a bronze sculpture
by Rodin. It was a life-size figure of a naked guy standing with his clenched
hand above his head. Apparently Rodin scandalized critics of the time who
accused him of having cast the figure from a live model, though he denied it,
but it enticed people to come and see for themselves. Adam preferred the real
thing. He thought of Tomas and smiled.

Last time he’d noticed this bronze was in New York. There
were likely many others scattered through major museums. It looked like the guy
was just waking up, the figure balanced on the edge of movement, the stretch
about to happen. Tomas was more beautiful, his muscles better defined, his body
more appealing. And he was better hung. Adam stifled his laugh.

He leaned back and sighed. He’d spent the morning going
through his emails, speaking to Daniel his deputy, calling clients, arranging
appointments, writing a talk he was due to give next month, but his mind kept
wandering to the two people who’d recently thrown his world into chaos.

Wren. Who was sweet, pressed all of Adam’s buttons, but
didn’t deserve to be messed around with. Walking out like that had been
cowardly and no matter that he’d thought at the time it was the correct thing
to do, it wasn’t. He needed to speak to her and put things right. Though he had
no idea how he could make amends.

Tomas. Who was
not
sweet, also pressed all of Adam’s
buttons, but appeared to be fucking around with him. There’d been no trace of
an East European accent when he’d talked on the phone. The prick had sounded as
English as him and while he understood people
sang
without accents, he
could think of no reason why talking on the phone would make one disappear.
Conclusion, Tomas was pretending to be Croatian. Why? Adam shouldn’t have
walked out without demanding an answer.

He’d done a search on his name, used channels unavailable to
the average guy and found nothing. Well no, that wasn’t quite true. Some
details were there. Born on the 14th of February in London to a British mother
and Croatian father, both deceased. Tomas had moved to Croatia when he was
twelve and lived there until two years ago. He had no siblings, no living
grandparents, but he did have a respectable math degree from Zagreb University.
Yet he worked in a bar. Adam’s attempts to uncover more information failed and
he’d emailed one of his guys and asked him to work on it.

The biggest question in his mind was what he did now. He’d
come to the museum to think but he hadn’t made much progress apart from
deciding he had to speak to both Wren and Tomas. Adam wasn’t due to attend
Ezispeke today but Wren would be there and he suspected Tomas would too. He
pushed himself to his feet. Maybe he should let fate dictate whom he spoke to
first.

* * * * *

The moment Tomas heard Marco cough behind him, he pulled
away from a puzzled Wren and faced his boss.

“Don’t let me interrupt.” Marco smirked.

Tomas willed Wren to walk away. She didn’t.

Marco stepped closer. “But now I have, introduce me.”

“Wren, this my boss Marco.”

He held out his hand and Tomas wanted to scream at her not
to touch him because she’d get sucked into an alternate dimension, go up in
flames or catch the plague. She smiled, said hello, shook his hand and nothing
happened.

“What’s your answer?” Marco asked her.

“I not ask yet,” Tomas said quickly.

“Why not?”

“She not best choice.”

Wren tensed.

“He’s talking nonsense,” Marco said. “I’m sure you’re an
excellent teacher. Would you consider doing some private work for me?”

Say no, say no, say no.

“I don’t think you need any help with your English,” Wren
said.

Marco chuckled. “Thank you, but it’s not for me.”

Tomas’ heart pounded. “She not allowed teach outside
school.”

“Of course she is.” Marco turned to Wren. “I run several
businesses, including a cleaning company. My employees speak poor English and
I’d like a teacher to improve their language skills so they’re better able to
meet clients’ needs. You could come after work. Two hundred pounds for two
hours.”

Not going to happen. Not going to—

“Okay.” Wren beamed at Marco. “That sounds great.”

Tomas’ stomach clenched.

“Tonight?”

“Fine,” Wren said.

No it isn’t.
He shoved his fists in his pockets. “We
have date tonight.”

“Rearrange it,” Marco snapped. He handed Wren a card. “My
number. What’s yours?”

He took out his phone and as Wren gave him her number, Tomas
memorized it.

“I’ll have you picked up from here at six and taken home
afterward. I need to speak to Tomas now, if you’d excuse us.”

“Of course. Thanks again.” Wren walked away.

Shit, now what?

Marco caught the sleeve of Tomas’ jacket and pulled him
around the corner. “Take that look off your face.”

“What look?” He spoke through gritted teeth.

Marco raised his eyebrows. “Jealous?”

“She’s mine.” He regretted the words the moment they were
out. He knew better than to hand Marco ammunition.

Marco nodded toward his grazed cheek. “Was Sanjay rough?”

What? He means during sex?
Did Marco not know Sanjay
had gone down—and not in a fun way?

Marco put his hand in his jacket pocket and pulled out his
wallet. He peeled off several notes and held them out.

Tomas’ gut roiled and bile rose into his throat. “He paid
you for sex with me?”

“He’s an old friend. I owed him a favor.” Marco shrugged.

“You have good dentist?” Tomas wondered when he’d been more
furious.

“Calm down,” Marco barked. “The way you looked in Cirque, I
could have fancied you myself. I’ve been wasting your talents. Next month you
go with Veton to bring back our…merchandise. No one will be able to say no to
you.”

He felt as though he was being ripped apart. Marco sending
him on a trip to Albania was what he and Julia had been hoping for. A chance to
unravel more strings of the organization, except Marco was not only dragging
Wren into this, but last night the guy had gone too far and Tomas
couldn’t—wouldn’t—stand for it.

“Am
I
not allowed to say no?” He flicked his thumb
over the mark on his cheek. “Sanjay attack me outside Cirque. He pull knife.”

“He what?” Marco sounded shocked but Tomas knew better than
to trust any reaction from this guy.

He stepped forward, invading Marco’s space. “You don’t own
my body. My girlfriend not going to work for you. Take your money and your
fucking job and stick it up your ass.”

He strode away, his heart blocking his throat.
Julia is
going to kill me. I’ve just blown this. Fuck.

“Tomas!” Marco shouted.

He kept going when he knew he should have stopped.
She
really
will
kill me.

“Tomas!”

He’d only intended this as a bit of chest beating, but once
he’d started to walk, the temptation to keep going was very strong. But not
strong enough. Tomas slumped. He stuck his hands in his pockets, and wait for
Marco.

“I apologize,” Marco said. “I was out of line with Sanjay.
Won’t happen again. You drive Wren to Cardigan Street tonight. You drive her
home. Nothing will happen to her.”

Tomas nodded and Marco walked off.
Oh hell. What have I
done?
There was no way he wanted Wren within a thousand miles of that place
and now he’d have to deliver her into Marco’s hands. He took out his phone and
stored her number.

* * * * *

Adam stood in the shelter of a bus stop across the road from
Ezispeke feeling as though he watched a play without words, unable to make much
sense of it. Or maybe too much sense.

He’d watched Tomas kiss Wren. Not for long and she’d looked
surprised, but she hadn’t pulled away. His fingers had tightened on the edge of
the shelter and as he’d tried to figure out how he felt, an older guy had come
up, talked to the pair of them and Wren had left acting as if all her dreams
had come true. A moment later, Tomas stalked off, only to wait as the other guy
caught up to him. After the stranger walked away, Tomas just stood there,
tapping into his phone, shoulders down, managing to look miserable and furious
at the same time.

Adam’s feet had taken him halfway across the road before he
realized it. Tomas straightened when he saw him approaching, shoved his phone
in his pocket and tightened his mouth into a hard line. Adam’s brain frantically
computed what he ought to say and then for the first time in his life, he did
something totally unplanned and out of character. He pulled Tomas into his arms
and there in the middle of the street, he kissed him. For a long second Tomas
was as shocked as Wren had seemed and then he kissed him back.

No sooner had Tomas started to respond than Adam pulled
away.

“Talk to me,” Adam said.

Tomas opened his mouth and closed it again.

Adam sighed. “Try not to lie.”

He glanced around before he spoke. “My boss wouldn’t have
given me the job if I didn’t have a Croatian accent so I manufactured one.”

“Is Tomas Adzovic your real name?”

“Yes.”

“You speak English as well as I do. What are you doing at
Ezispeke?”

“Getting information for my boss.”

He made a guess. “The guy who just walked away?”

Tomas nodded.

“What sort of information?”

“I can’t tell you. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say
anything. I can’t lose this job.”

Adam shoved his hands into his pockets. “Why didn’t you come
after me last night and explain?”

“I didn’t think you were in the mood to listen.”

He frowned. “Yeah, well I don’t like being lied to or messed
around with. Are you messing around with Wren?”

Tomas bristled. “Messing around?”

“I just watched you kiss her.”

His mouth twitched. “You think I’m dicking around with her
when last night you came straight from her bed and a couple of steps toward
mine?”

Adam flinched.

“What happened?” Tomas asked. “She threw you out? You walk
out? Wren’s had a much-too-bright smile on her face this morning.”

“You’re not turning this back on me. I don’t know what
you’re up to at Ezispeke but leave Wren out of it.”

He began to walk away and Tomas caught hold of his sleeve.
“I don’t want her to get hurt.”

“Good.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt either.” Tomas stared straight
at him. “I’m bad news. You should forget about me.”

He lifted Tomas’ hand from his arm and squeezed his fingers.
“I don’t think so.”

* * * * *

Wren walked into Ezispeke, frantically doing math in her
head. Two hundred pounds for one night’s work. So after six months, about
twenty-four weeks, twenty-four days times two hundred.
Oh God. Nearly five
thousand pounds.
That was brilliant, fantastic…
oh no
…unbelievable.
She sagged. Had she make a mistake? Misheard and it was twenty pounds for two
hours? Wren reran the conversation and smiled. Nope, it was two hundred.

“Ooh someone’s happy,” Sylvie said as Wren burst into the
staffroom.

She pulled off her coat and dropped onto the couch.

“You get laid?” Sylvie whispered. “Explain the hair!”

She tumbled back to earth with a resounding crash.

“You did get laid!” Sylvie snuggled closer. “Spill. Who was
the lucky guy?”

Obviously, big mouth Sylvie hadn’t seen Belinda behind her,
pretending to sort out mugs in the cupboard.

“No one,” Wren said and glared at Sylvie.

“Adam? Or was it Tomas?” Sylvie asked.

When pinching didn’t work, Wren hauled Sylvie to her feet
and dragged her over to the window. She’d have to think up something to tell
her. Not the truth, unless she could make it sound like she didn’t care Adam
had slunk out while she pretended to sleep. And what about Tomas? She’d been
both thrilled and horrified when he’d slid his hand onto her knee. She could
still hardly believe she’d put her hand on his cock, even though his jeans were
in the way. What had she been thinking? And that kiss? If his boss hadn’t
interrupted, where would that have gone?

Except she was an idiot. After everything she’d told herself
not to do, she still bulldozed her way down the same path, only two guys were
involved this time, so two paths.

“Oops, sorry,” Sylvie muttered when she finally registered
Big Ears on the other side of the room.

Wren glanced out of the window and gave a sharp intake of
breath. “I—oh.”

Down on the street, Adam and Tomas were kissing. Her head
swirled.
Kissing?
As though a fist had slammed into her gut, she was
overwhelmed by a sense of betrayal. This was happening to her
again
?

“They look hot,” Sylvie muttered.

“Umm.” Hot enough to make her throat close. What did it
mean? They didn’t like her? They liked her too?

“Guess you weren’t with one of
them
last night,”
Sylvie said.

Wren didn’t even register Belinda had joined them until she
heard her chortle.

“Ooh, this is like one of those adverts on the TV,” Belinda
said. “Except not.”

“What a waste,” Sylvie said.

Wren couldn’t stop staring. They couldn’t be gay. She didn’t
believe Adam would have made love to her if he was gay. Her shoulders fell. Not
made love. Fucked. She didn’t understand what was going on.

“Wren!”

She started.

Jolene stood at the door, hands on hips. “Olive wants to see
you. Now.”

For once, she was grateful to be summoned. She grabbed her
bag and made her way downstairs, trying to get her head around what she’d seen.
In an ideal world, this would turn out to be one of those dreams come true, her
and two guys every which way and then some. In the real world, Wren’s world,
she was the odd one out, not really wanted, not fitting in. She felt like a
seal being played with by killer whales, tossed around in the ocean, flying
through the air and crashing through the waves time after time until they’d had
enough and ended it.