Best Of Makeovers Bundle Part 5

'Sounds as if someone's just lost some lights-and put a dent into someone else's car,' Max said. 'Ouch.'

His smile of sympathy faded, though, when they got closer to the car park.

Because the dented car happened to be a low-slung, silver-grey two-seater.

And the 'dent' was a little bit more serious than that. The bonnet had crumpled, the headlights were out-no way could he drive the car home safely in the middle of the night.

He swore under his breath. Cyn tightened her arm round his waist in sympathy. Max's car had been pristine, and now it was crumpled. Very crumpled.

'You'd better go inside,' he said. 'It's cold out here and this might take some time to sort out.'

Cyn bridled; she was far from being a helpless female and didn't like being treated as one. It must have shown on her face, because he added, 'We might be in for a bit of a wait and there's no point in both of us standing around out here, getting cold. If you could sweet-talk someone into making us some coffee, I'd really appreciate it.'

Okay. She could do that.

A waitress had just delivered a pot of coffee and two cups when Max walked into the hotel's reception area.

'Sorted?' she asked, noting the grim set of his face.

'Want the bad news, or the bad news?'

She spread her hands. 'Looks like it's going to be the bad news. Hit me with it, pardner.'

'It's Sat.u.r.day night. The rescue-and-repair people have loads of call-outs and won't get to us for at least four hours.'

She was quick to do the maths. 'Quarter past four in the morning.'

'If they don't get held up.' He sat on the plush sofa next to her. 'And the journey has to be one unbroken trip. They'll drop the car to the coach works, or to your place or to mine, but they won't go to all three-especially because Bayswater and Islington aren't exactly next to each other.'

'Which means calling a taxi when we get back to the coach works, so it'll be a good six hours until we get home.' She poured him a coffee and pushed the jug of milk towards him.

He added milk and took a swig of coffee. 'I've got a better idea. We could stay overnight-then we'll get the rescue van to pick us up at a reasonable time in the morning.'

'If the hotel's got any rooms left.' The Wilsons had probably block-booked it.

'I'll check,' Max said.

He returned a few moments later with the news. 'They have one room left. A double.'

Cyn felt the smile wipe off her face. One room. A double. Which meant that she was going to have to share a bed with Max.

'Problems, Cynthia?'

Oh, great. The one person she really had to be polite to-the woman who'd employed her mother for years and years. Who'd insisted on giving her handouts-and made sure that everyone knew Mrs Wilson had been gracious enough to give Stacey Reynolds her cast-offs.

Cyn forced herself to smile at the mother of the bride. 'Nothing we can't deal with, Mrs Wilson. Unfortunately someone backed into Max's car, which is now undriveable, so we'll have to stay here until the rescue van turns up in the morning. Max was just booking us a room-weren't you, darling?'

'Yes.' He leaned over to kiss the top of her head. 'I'll be back in a minute, sweetheart.'

She was secretly delighted to see how taken aback Mrs Wilson was. No doubt she thought Stacey's daughter couldn't afford to stay at somewhere as expensive as this, and it was a surprise to see Cyn looking so blase about it. Not to mention the fact that Swotty Cynthia happened to have a gorgeous boyfriend.

'Lovely wedding, Mrs Wilson. It must have taken quite some organising,' Max added over his shoulder.

Make that charming as well as gorgeous, Cyn thought. Plus he'd just given her a subtle reminder that her manners needed to be impeccable in front of this woman. 'Yes, it was amazing,' she said as Max headed for the reception desk. 'Thank you for inviting us,' she said sweetly. 'It was so kind of you to let me bring a guest.'

'Mich.e.l.le would have addressed the invitation to both of you, but your mother wasn't sure of your boyfriend's name.'

Cyn heard the subtext there. Meaning that her mum had tried to protect her from sniping, but the village gossips had taken her reticence to mean that Cyn was single. A failure, in their eyes. Cyn gave what she hoped was a nonchalant shrug. 'That's living in the city for you. You know a lot of people.' Which hopefully would give the impression that she had a dizzy social life and stop any deeper probing.

'Max is a lovely boy,' Mrs Wilson said. 'So charming.'

Before she could stop herself, Cyn found herself purring, 'Yes, he's quite a man.'

Oh, Lord. Mrs Wilson looked scandalised. And then there was the faintest hint of 'like mother, like daughter' in her eyes. Given what had happened earlier on the dance floor, Cyn might just as well have carved the word 'trollop' onto her forehead.

'So have you known him long, Cynthia?'

Uh-oh. Here it came. The inquisition. Well, they'd prepared for this. She knew the script. 'Not that long. He's my best friend's boss.'

'Oh.' Meaning: So you're a gold-digger.

'We met a couple of weeks ago. Our paths don't normally cross because I'm fairly busy at work. I'm away quite a bit, seeing clients.'

'I thought you were a computer operator?' Mrs Wilson said.

Cyn smiled. 'Sort of. I do sit in front of a keyboard, a lot of the time-but what I actually do is design computer systems. I write the programs that make them work. So if you've bought chocolates or something on the Internet, you've used the kind of system I build. It sends your order to the shop and it keeps your money safe.'

'Oh. I thought you...Well.' Mrs Wilson gave a dismissive shrug. 'And Max is an architect, isn't he?'

Cyn nodded. 'He specialises in listed buildings. And he's among the best in his field. He's won awards for his work-because he cares about what he does.'

'So how did you meet?'

Just as well they'd prepared this. 'As I said, he's my best friend's boss. He dropped her home after a late meeting, and I happened to be in, for once. We got chatting, and...well.' She spread her hands. 'We just hit it off.'

'We certainly did.' Max came to stand beside her. 'In my job, you learn to look below the surface and see what's really there. And once I'd got past the image of this quiet woman in a business suit-'

What? He'd never seen her in her work clothes!

'-I discovered a girl with the sweetest nature. As well as a brain that puts mine to shame.'

Cyn flushed. 'Max. You have more letters after your name than I do.'

'But not a First from Cambridge. You must be so proud of your daughter's schoolfriend, Mrs Wilson,' Max said relentlessly. 'Because she's made quite a name for herself in London. Her work's really respected and she gets head-hunted practically every week.'

'Oh, um, of course. Cynthia was always bright,' Mrs Wilson said, looking slightly fl.u.s.tered.

Cyn was cringing inwardly. He'd gone too far. 'Max,' she muttered through clenched teeth.

He gave her a don't-worry-it's-fine smile.

'Well, I'll leave you to sort out your room,' Mrs Wilson said. 'Goodnight.'

'Goodnight. And thanks once again for inviting us,' Cyn said hastily.

They watched her walk away. 'I can't believe you said that to her,' Cyn said in an outraged whisper.

'Relax. It did the trick. And let's just say that the round hole they've kept for you might have started to get four corners.' He gave her a half-smile. 'I think the party's over. Shall we go up?'

For a heart-stopping moment, she'd thought he was going to say, 'Shall we go to bed?'

'Sure,' she said, hoping that she sounded completely cool and calm. Inside, every single one of her neurons was on red alert and shrieking an alarm call. She was actually going to spend the night in the same room as Max. The same bed as Max. She remembered his words at the end of their first dance and it made her head spin. You owe me a favour, Cyn Reynolds. And I'll collect...some time.

Would he expect to collect that favour tonight? And how?

Oh, Lord. Her mouth felt as if it had been pegged open in the middle of a windy day in the Sahara Desert. She already knew that Max Taylor had dated women who were far, far more glamorous than she was. Which meant he'd been to bed with women who knew what they were doing. Women who didn't wear tights that held in their wobbly bits. Women who didn't have wobbly bits in the first place!

Not good. She was way out of her league, here. Maybe she should pre-empt the situation and offer to spend the night in the hotel lounge while he took the room. Except it was already too late for that because he was ushering her up to their room.

When Max opened the door and stood aside for her, the panic went up another notch. The room was small-so small that it didn't even have a comfy chair, let alone the sofa she'd hoped to sleep on. And it was dominated by the double bed set right in the middle.

The double bed she was going to have to share with him.

The door clicked behind them, and suddenly there wasn't enough air in the room.

When Max closed the gap between them and slid his arms round her waist, pulling her back against his body, there wasn't enough air in her lungs, either.

'Cyn.' He brushed his lips against the sensitive spot just behind her ear. 'Stop panicking.'

'I'm not panicking.'

'You are, too. If I put my hand over your heart, I bet it'd be beating twice as fast as normal.'

His hand over her heart. Which would mean he would be touching her breast. Through her clothes? Skin to skin?

A tremor ran through her at the thought.

'We're sharing a bed.' Another brush of his lips.

Could knees actually melt? Or were they just rewriting the laws of physics, between them?

'We're adults.'

Oh, yes. And she couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this female.

'We've no commitments elsewhere.'

Young, free, single. He was spelling it out for her. They were going to have s.e.x.

'There's no reason why we can't...'

Make love.

'...be responsible.'

What? Had she just heard that right? Or had she heard what she wanted to hear? What she didn't want to hear, at the same time.

This time, he kissed the nape of her neck. Funny. She'd had no idea it was an erogenous zone, until now. And when you touched an erogenous zone, that made people do things. That was the only reason she was pressing back against him, right now. The only reason why she'd forgotten how to speak. The only reason why she couldn't open her eyes.

'There's no reason why we can't...'

Oh, yes. Another one of those lovely, soft, promising caresses. If he kept this up, she'd agree to absolutely anything.

'...make love.'

He'd said it.

'But there's something you should know.'

What? He'd already said he had no commitments. Had he changed his mind?

'I don't expect you to have s.e.x with me, just because we're sharing a bed. It's been a long day. We're both tired. You're stressed.'

So was he-his precious car had just been crunched. And didn't all the women's magazines say that s.e.x was the best way to relieve stress?

'Stop worrying. I'm not going to pressure you into anything you don't want to do.'

That was the point. She did want to. But she didn't want to make a fool of herself.

'Go take a long, hot shower,' he advised. 'It'll relax you.'

Was he going to join her? She quivered at the thought.

Another kiss, and then she was aware that his arms were no longer round her. There was actual s.p.a.ce between them. This was where she was meant to make a smart, funny comment, right? Except...she didn't trust her mouth not to come out with something different. Something desperate.

Today she was supposed to be an urban sophisticate. And an urban sophisticate wouldn't beg a man to kiss her. Even if he did have the s.e.xiest mouth in the world.

'Just don't use all the hot water,' he added.

Oh. So he wasn't planning to join her, then.

Just as well she hadn't flung herself at him and embarra.s.sed them both. 'I'll try not to.' With a silent command to her knees to unmelt-and unmelt right that second-she walked as coolly as she could to the bathroom. As if sharing a hotel room with a virtual stranger didn't bother her in the slightest.

And locked the bathroom door behind her.

Luckily, this was the kind of hotel that supplied its guests with plenty of toiletries. She showered, then rinsed out her underwear and left it to dry on the radiator.

Then it hit her. What was she going to wear? Surely there was a bathrobe. This had to be the kind of place that left you big, fluffy bathrobes behind the bathroom door.