‘Admit it,’ he said softly, his voice so warm and teasing that it did strange things to her stomach, ‘I make you feel tense.’
‘You don’t make me feel anything,’ she said, her pulse drumming with the need to get out of here and away from him.
‘Oh, Celia, you break my heart.’
‘I didn’t know you had one. I thought it was another part of your anatomy entirely that kept you alive.’
‘So cruel.’
‘I dare say you’ll survive.’
‘I dare say I shall.’
And then, thank God, they stepped out into the July sunshine and she felt as if she could suddenly breathe again. She dragged in some air and blinked as her eyes became accustomed to the brightness after an hour in the church, then she took her hand from Marcus’ arm and stepped away.
She didn’t miss the strength of it. Or the heat of him. It was blessed relief that was sweeping through her. Of course it was, because what else could it be when the whole past ten minutes had been a nightmare she never wanted to repeat?
‘Right,’ she said, looking up at him with a bright smile and shading her eyes from the sun. ‘Well. Thank you for that.’
‘Any time.’
‘So I’m going to congratulate the happy couple and mingle.’ And then she was going to find the champagne and down as much of it as she could manage.
‘Good idea.’
‘I guess I’ll see you later.’
‘I guess you will.’
And with the thought that despite the conventional conversational closer hell would probably freeze before either of them sought the other out, Celia gave him a jaunty wave and off she went.
* * *
Marcus watched Celia kiss and hug her brother and new sister-in-law in turn, then laugh at something Dan said, and his eyes narrowed. Ten minutes in her company and already he was wound up like a spring. He wanted to punch something. Wrestle someone. Anything to relieve the tension that she never failed to whip up inside him.
Standing there in the warm summer sunshine while people streamed out of the church, he shoved his hands in his pockets and resisted the urge to grind his teeth because this was supposed to be a happy day and the last thing anyone wanted to see was a grim-faced best man.
But it was hard to relax when all he could think was, how the hell did Celia do it? And why?
Generally he had no trouble getting on with the opposite sex. Generally women fell over themselves for his attention and once they’d got it went out of their way to be charming. But she, well, for some reason she’d had it in for him for years and he’d never really been able to work it out.
On the odd occasion he’d pondered the anomaly, usually after one of their thankfully rare yet surprisingly irritating encounters, he’d figured that it seemed to boil down to the number and frequency of women that flitted in and out of his life, but he didn’t see why that should bother her. The last time he checked it was the twenty-first century, and where he came from men and women could sleep with whomever they liked without censorship.
And so what if he enjoyed the company of women? he thought darkly, watching her peel away to take a phone call. He worked hard and he played hard. He was single and in his prime and he liked sex. He never promised more than he was willing to give and when relationships, flings, one-night stands ended there were never any hard feelings. The women he dated didn’t appear to object, so who could blame him for taking advantage of the opportunities on offer?
Well, Celia could, it seemed, but why did she disapprove of him so much? Why did she care? What he got up to was none of her business. As far as he was aware he’d never hooked up with any of her friends so she couldn’t have a grudge about that. And it certainly wasn’t as if she were jealous. She’d made it very clear she didn’t want to have anything to do with him the night he’d made a pass at her years ago and had been very firmly rebuffed.
So what was her problem? And more to the point, what was his? What was it about her that got under his skin? Why couldn’t he just ignore her the way he ignored everything he didn’t need to be bothered with? Why, with her, did he always feel the urge to respond and retaliate?
Marcus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as the questions rattled round his head, and thought that he could really do with a glass of champagne if he stood any chance of making it through the reception.
‘Is there any particular reason you’re scowling at my sister?’
At the dry voice of the groom and his best friend, who’d evidently managed to drag himself away from his new wife and had stealthily materialised beside him, Marcus pulled himself together.
‘Nope,’ he said, snapping his gaze away from Celia and switching the scowl for his customary couldn’t-give-a-toss-about-anything smile.
‘Sure?’