I stayed as still as I could, trying to keep my face blank and my breathing steady while she told me the entire, very short, story.
“He did me a favor, really. At least I didn’t waste my evening.”
No, it was far worse. That arsehole had ruined her evening and her confidence. “He’s a dickhead.”
“He was just being honest.” She was trying to let him off the hook but I could tell by her sad eyes that cake wasn’t enough to erase what he’d done.
“He was rude,” I replied. “He could have stayed and had a drink.”
“What, and faked an emergency after an hour? Would that have been better?”
“I don’t know.” What was the matter with him? Couldn’t he see how amazing Hartford was? Not that he’d had a chance to get to know her. “He should have realized he was bloody lucky to go on a date with you. You’re clever and funny and beautiful. He doesn’t deserve you if he can’t stick around long enough to find out how bloody great you are.”
She looked from her cake to me and scrunched up her nose in a you-have-to-say-that expression. “You’re excellent BFF material. Did anyone ever tell you that?”
“I’m serious. You have so much going for you, and he wasn’t man enough to stay and find out. So that’s his loss. And fuck Mulberry. I’m going to drop them as a client.”
Hartford laughed and the sound tugged at the corners of my lips. “You are not going to drop Mulberry as a client.”
She was probably right. “I’ll find a way to make him pay.”
“He didn’t break my heart, Joshua. You’re very sweet, but really, I think you’re more upset than I am at this point. I’ve had two mouthfuls of cake and I’m feeling a lot better.”
“You are?” I asked. She seemed to have brightened up a little. “Well, at least I can make you laugh.”
And then all of a sudden, those sad eyes were back. “It’s my own fault. I didn’t exactly put in a lot of effort. I assumed a bit of mascara and something other than scrubs would be enough. But I guess most guys are looking for contouring—whatever that is. And a fake tan and eyelash extensions. I’m never going to be that girl who looks like she just stepped out of a magazine. My arse is always going to be slightly too big, my hair unwieldy in the rain, my smile a little sideways. When it comes down to it, I just don’t care enough to do anything with make-up that takes more than five minutes.”
It was true that Hartford didn’t spend time or effort on make-up or some of the other glamorous things certain women did, but that didn’t make her any less stunning in my book. And whatever she wore wouldn’t make her any funnier, kinder, or more interesting. Those were the things I appreciated about her most, liked about her most . . . All things about her that I didn’t want to lose.
“What are you talking about? Your arse is perfectly . . .” I didn’t know a good way to finish that sentence without sounding like a dick. And her hair was gorgeous whenever I’d seen it down, which wasn’t very often.
She tilted her head. “Joshua . . .” she said, her tone warning me not to bullshit her.
“I mean it!” How did she not see I was being completely serious? I put down my glass and turned to face her. “You don’t need bloody contouring or any of that . . . stuff.” For a guy who was meant to be smooth, I couldn’t find the words to convince her.
She rolled her eyes. “He was just being honest and—”
Before I could overthink it, I stepped closer, closing the distance between us, cupped her face in my hands and pressed my lips to hers. My heart raced like it was freewheeling downhill from the top of a mountain, and my fingertips buzzed like I’d brushed a live wire.
And then a firm hand at my chest pushed me away.
“Joshua.” Her expression was stern. Fuck. I’d made things worse. “I don’t need a pity kiss from you.”
I took a step back. A what? “What are you talking about? That wasn’t pity.”
She rolled her eyes. “Really? We agreed that this . . .” She circled her finger between the two of us. “Is a bad idea.”
“I know,” I said. “I know. It’s just . . . I want to kiss you. And I think you want me to kiss you too.”
Her pale blue eyes widened and I stepped forward.
“If you don’t want this, just tell me. But I don’t do pity kisses.” I scooped my hand around her neck and pressed my lips to hers again, this time, easing my tongue past her soft lips and kissing her properly. I didn’t spare a second thought for what this was, or wasn’t, or might be. Consequences be damned—I was kissing Hartford.