Bridesmaid with Attitude

‘If we’re going to do this thing we really ought to know each other’s names.’ Stepping forward, she put out a hand. ‘Hi, I’m Emily Applegate.’

He took her hand, enveloping it in his own work-roughened one, and squeezed hard, coating her hand with grease so their fingers slipped against each other.

‘Theo Berkeley.’

‘Okay, Theo, if you promise to pull out all the stops and let Lula hold her wedding here—including the use of your family chapel to hold the ceremony in if she wants to—we’ve got a deal.’

He gave her a discerning look. ‘I’d have to square that with the vicar.’

‘Then square it.’

He snorted in incredulity. ‘She must be a very good friend.’

‘She is.’

She’d swear that she glimpsed the glimmer of a smile in his eyes. So there was some life in there. He might come across as cold, and as hazardous as liquid nitrogen, but she could sense there was a lot going on under that tough surface. She’d bet her life on it.

The idea of breaking through the frigidity to uncover it made her whole body tingle with excitement.

‘Okay, Theo, let’s do it. Let’s get romantic.’

Dear Reader

This is the second part of the first duet I’ve ever written—and I had so much fun with it! After she made a rather striking appearance in FIRED BY HER FLING, as Lula’s best friend, I was desperate to give Emily her own happy-ever-after, and in BRIDESMAID WITH ATTITUDE I got my chance.

Emily is the epitome of an anti-heroine: she’s bolshie, a little on the self-centred side, and very determined to get what she wants—no matter what it takes to get it. And I love her. She’s had a very tough upbringing, but she hasn’t let it beat her down, and even though it’s made it hard for her to let people get emotionally close she lives her life to the max.

In order to force her out of her self-protective bubble she needs a hero with a determination to equal her own—and in Theo she finally meets her match.

These two challenge each other in ways they’ve never experienced before, and through dogged persistence—and some truly testing events—together they finally manage to overcome their worst fears and emerge on the other side as stronger, more confident and much happier people.

I hope you enjoy their journey as much as I did.

With best wishes

Christy x

BK (Before Kids), CHRISTY MCKELLEN worked as a video and radio producer in London and Nottingham. After a decade of dealing with nappies, tantrums and endless questions from toddlers, she’s come out the other side and moved into the wonderful world of literature. She now spends her time writing flirty, sexy romance with a kick (her dream job!).

Christy loves to hear from readers. You can contact her at [e-mail], through her website, www.christymckellen.com, via Facebook, www.facebook.com/christymckellenauthor, or on Twitter, www.twitter.com/christymckellen

Bridesmaid with Attitude

Christy McKellen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This one is for my fabulous courtesy cousins, Vanessa and Fiona, two of the strongest, smartest and kindest women I’ve ever had the pleasure to know.

Table of Contents

Cover

Excerpt

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

EMILY APPLEGATE SWUNG her motorbike in through the open gates of the grand Buckinghamshire estate and screeched to a halt in the car park allocated to visitors, snatching the keys out of the ignition and dismounting in one smooth, practised movement.

Leaving her crash helmet swinging from the handlebars, she marched up the sweeping driveway towards the imposing Elizabethan mansion that sprawled like a hubristic monarch before her.

The heels of her biker boots dug into the golden gravel with a satisfying crunch as she made a beeline for the front entrance.

She was going to have someone’s head—namely the stuck-up Lord of the Manor who’d had the gall to cancel her best friend’s booking to use this grand house for her wedding reception only one month before the wedding.

Ignoring the glares of the two imperious-looking stone lions that guarded the door, she raised the heavy brass knocker and hammered it down hard three times, the tension in her fists matching the determined clench of her jaw.

You did not do that to a bride-to-be. Especially not someone as sweet-natured as her best friend Lula. The poor woman didn’t need complications like this right before the most hotly anticipated event of her life.

She knew from numerous tipsy conversations with Lula over the years that her friend had been dreaming about her wedding day for ever. In fact the fantasy of happy-ever-after had been the thing that had helped keep her friend positive through an emotionally isolated youth with parents who didn’t give two hoots about her.

Their miserable childhoods had actually been the common denominator they’d bonded over after meeting at university, and the fact that they understood and identified with each other’s pain had kept them bound together ever since.

It was funny how they’d reacted to their loveless childhoods in totally different ways: Lula had been determined to marry well, and was convinced her life would be complete once she did, whereas she was determined never to rely on a man to make her happy.

The men she’d had relationships with over the years had only ever been interested in her as a good-time girl anyway; but that suited her fine. All she wanted were good times. There had already been enough bad to last her a lifetime.

And, anyway, she dealt with enough stress fighting to maintain her public profile as host of the popular TV show Treasure Trail. She certainly didn’t need the added hassle of worrying about whether or not a guy was going to call her on top of that.

Not that she believed every man in the world was more trouble than he was worth. To give him his due, Emily knew that Lula’s husband-to-be, Tristan, would have been here to sort this mess out himself if he hadn’t been away in China on business. He was a good guy. One of the very few she’d met. She was glad to have the opportunity to step in on his behalf to help her friend with this crisis today. Lula wasn’t exactly a big fan of confrontation—in fact, she knew the thought of coming here herself would have made her friend feel physically sick.

She missed their closeness now that Lu had Tristan to confide in. Lula was the only person in the world who really knew her—who really loved her for who she was—and she wanted her friend to know just how much that meant to her.

How much she meant to her.

She waited for a few more tense seconds before hammering on the door again, the noise making a dull reverberating echo somewhere deep in the heart of the building.

It sounded very empty in there.

A bit like its owner’s head.

After another minute of frustrated knocking she became aware of a low rumbling noise coming from somewhere behind her. Turning to locate its source, she noticed an open door in one of the mews buildings that must have once been the stables for the estate.

Perhaps there was a groundskeeper in there who could point her in the direction of the troublesome toff of an owner, so she could let His Lordship know exactly what she thought of him for so casually ruining her friend’s wedding plans.

As she approached the open doorway she could make out the figure of a man bent over some kind of industrial-looking machine as he worked with a large piece of sheet metal. She couldn’t see his face clearly, because he was wearing Perspex goggles to protect his eyes and his jaw was covered in what must have been a week’s worth of stubble, so her gaze roamed instead over the oil-stained white cotton T-shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders, then moved back up to his head of sandy brown hair that fell across his forehead in artful clumps, as if he’d deliberately styled it that way—although, based on the rest of his dishevelled appearance, she very much doubted that he had.

She watched with interest as he took a step to the left and seamlessly switched tools, the hand-held machine sending out a shower of sparks that filled the air with silvery-blue shooting stars.

There was no point in trying to grab his attention with all the pyrotechnics going on, so she settled in to ogle the rest of him instead, taking a moment to appreciate the strong contours of his frame: the dip of his waist leading to the lean line of his hips and the long, muscled legs encased in oil-stained, multi-pocketed combat shorts. She could see a spanner sticking out of one pocket, and what looked like a piece of torn sandpaper out of another.

Her gaze dropped further as she noticed a line of dripped grease on one of his robust-looking calves, and she fantasised for a second about what it might feel like to slide her fingertips over the oily toned muscles there.

She shivered in imagined anticipation.

There was something insanely hot about this man, looking all roughed up and dirty as he did, and a low, familiar throb began its beat between her legs.

Judging by her body’s fiery reaction to him, it had clearly been far too long since she’d last had sex. After spending the last couple of months working flat-out filming her show, not allowing any distractions to tempt her, this guy appeared to have rekindled her voracious sexual appetite, and it was now back with a vengeance.

The sparks and noise stopped abruptly and he turned away from the machine to lob a heavy-looking clamp onto a bench to the side of him, where it bounced and settled with a loud clunk-clank.

Something was clearly bugging him today too, if the tension in those work-honed shoulders was anything to go by.

The hairs on the back of her neck lifted as she became aware that he’d finally noticed her standing there and had shoved his goggles to the top of his head so he could give her an impatient glare, one eyebrow raised in apparent annoyance at her unexpected appearance.

Looking at his face, now it was revealed in all its glory, she noted that he wasn’t what she’d describe as classically handsome—he was a little too rugged, his features too irregular—but there was something darkly appealing about him. Something dangerous. Something devilish.

‘Can I help you?’

His voice was low and husky, but it had the clip of good breeding about it. Perhaps the owner only employed people from the upper classes here, to make him feel more cocooned in his embarrassment of riches.

‘I’m looking for the idiot who owns this place. Any idea where I can find him?’ she said, flashing the guy a winning smile and walking further into the room. Just because she was mad at his boss it didn’t mean she couldn’t be friendly with him.

He pulled a rag from his back pocket and wiped his hands on it while he seemed to consider her question. ‘What do you want with him?’ He looked back up to meet her eyes, his gaze shrewd, as if he knew exactly what she’d like to do with him.

His eyes were the colour of the lichen that had used to grow on her family’s Cornish beach house—a dense kind of greeny-grey with a hint of gold.

‘From the tone of your voice, I’m guessing it’s nothing good,’ he added, shoving the rag back into his pocket, making the lean muscles in his arm twist and flex in the most appealing manner.

Shaking her head, she attempted to break the core-tightening hold he had over her and casually leant one hip against the workbench to steady herself. ‘I’d rather save my wrath for the man in question. He has some serious grovelling to do.’

He raised one eyebrow. ‘Intriguing. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to facilitate your every whim.’ The sarcasm in his voice was so heavy it could have sunk ships.

A loyal employee, then.

She shrugged, giving him a playful grin. ‘He’ll be fine as long as he gives me what I want. Otherwise I’m gonna have to tear him a new one.’

He raised both eyebrows this time. ‘Sounds like I could be done for aiding and abetting a crime if I tell you what you want to know.’

‘Don’t worry—I won’t implicate you.’ She dipped her chin and gave him a wink. ‘It’ll be our secret.’

‘How very generous of you,’ he drawled, still not breaking a smile.

Man, this guy was seriously tough. And hot. And distracting her from her reason for being here.

‘So where is His Lordship?’

Pulling the goggles from the top of his head, he tossed them onto the workbench next to her, not breaking eye contact for a second, his expression remaining impassive. ‘Actually, you’re supposed to address me for the first time as Lord Berkeley, and then as My Lord after that.’

She felt as though her legs had been taken out from under her. ‘You? As in, you’re the Earl of Berkeley?’

What were the odds of Lord Snooty being so gorgeous?

He held out both hands in ironic surprise. ‘What’s the matter? Don’t I look the part?’

She snorted. ‘Not even close. Where’s your paunch? Where’s your receding hairline? You don’t even have a ruddy nose or an inappropriate leer.’

‘I’m sorry to disappoint you.’

‘I never said anything about being disappointed.’

His brow pinched into a scowl and it suddenly occurred to her that she was flirting with the scoundrel who was messing with Lula’s happiness when she should have been ripping him limb from limb.

‘Although I am mad at you for ruining my best friend’s wedding,’ she added, perhaps a little too late to make much of an impact.

Advancing on him now, she raised an accusing finger and pointed it at the centre of his broad chest.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, cancelling her booking a month before the wedding? Do you have any idea how happy she was to secure this place for her reception, especially after all the hoops you made her jump through?’

He opened his mouth to speak, but she wasn’t finished with him yet.

‘Is this about money?’ She ran her gaze over his dishevelled appearance. ‘Has someone offered you more for that date? Because if that’s the case you should be ashamed of yourself. You can’t play with a woman’s hopes and dreams like that; it’s sheer cruelty!’

He sighed and leant back against the workbench, crossing his arms and making his muscles bulge under his tight-fitting T-shirt. ‘She hasn’t been gazumped.’

‘Then why? Why would you do that to her?’

‘Unforeseen circumstances.’

‘What circumstances could be serious enough to ruin someone’s wedding day over? She chose this place in good faith. You signed a contract.’

‘Which gives me the option to cancel a month before the event. She’ll get her money back.’

She took another step forward, going for coolly menacing, but he didn’t move a millimetre. There wasn’t even a flicker of a reaction on his face.

Her heart-rate picked up, chasing adrenaline though her body. This close to him she could make out the scent of grease and hard work that radiated from him, and it was doing something crazy to her libido.

What was it about this mixture of good breeding and rough façade that sent her into such a spiral of lust? Perhaps, having lived and mostly worked in London for so many years, she was too used to being surrounded by metrosexual men—men who would be horrified by the thought of being caught looking so unkempt. There was something oddly refreshing about this guy not appearing to give a fig about his appearance. He’d made no move to tidy himself up at all. He didn’t care what she thought.

She kind of liked that.

Focus, Emily.

‘All right, Lord Berkeley, it’s not as simple as getting her money back and you know it. She’s already sent out the invitations. People are coming from as far away as Australia. They’ve booked very expensive flights. And she’s already confirmed food with the caterers, booked the cushion-fluffers and the petal-tweakers—the whole crazy shebang. She’s been planning this day for a whole year. You’re going to ruin the best day of her life.’

‘She’ll find somewhere else.’

Something flickered in his eyes and he looked almost regretful for a second, until he drew the angry shutters back down on his expression again.

Emily huffed out a disbelieving laugh. ‘She can’t arrange another reception venue now; there’s nowhere decent left to host that many people at such short notice.’

‘That’s not my problem.’

She clenched her fists in frustration, feeling her nails dig into her palms. Clearly he was going to be a tough nut to crack.

Okay, time to change tack and crank up the charisma she was so famous for.

Reaching out, she laid a palm against the rock-hard wall of his chest, right over where his heart would have been located if he’d had one, and brought out the big guns, giving him her most coquettish look. ‘Is there some other way I can persuade you to change your mind? It would mean the world to her—and me—if you could find a way to let her have her reception here.’

She watched in surprise as he put his hand over hers, curled his fingers tightly around it and pulled it away from his chest, dropping it the second it was clear of his body. There was no gentle regret in the move; it was a pure and resolute rebuffal.

The rejection rankled. Men never normally turned her down when she was in full flirt mode. She understood the power she wielded with her face and her body and had utilised it well over the years.

Narrowing her eyes, she pulled back her shoulders and squared up to him. ‘I don’t get it—what’s really going on here?’

He frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘There’s more to this than sheer bloody-mindedness. It smells all wrong.’

His expression flashed with contempt. ‘Because I won’t submit to your womanly wiles?’

Hot indignation bubbled in her stomach, chased by a sting of mortification at being outed so bluntly. ‘Because no one could be so evil as to mess with someone’s wedding day without a really good reason.’

He snorted and pushed off from the bench, brushing past her to walk over to the other side of the room.

The brief contact made something pulse and tighten deep in her pelvis.

‘It’s out of my hands,’ he said, his back to her, his upper torso tensing as he braced both arms against the window ledge and stared out through the glass. ‘This house belongs to my mother, although she lives in Spain at the moment and is “allowing” me to live here until I inherit.’

His shoulders seemed to tense even more.

‘She came over to England a few days ago, stuck her nose in here while I was away and discovered that I’ve been hiring out the place for wedding receptions without her consent.’ He turned back to face her and she saw a flicker of embarrassment in his expression. ‘She harangued my events manager until she gave up the details, then phoned around and cancelled all future engagements. I lost my phone in a cab while I was away, so I only found out about it when I got back last night.’

Emily stared at him in disbelief. ‘Why would she do that?’

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his forehead, leaving streaks of grease over the ridges of his frown. ‘She’s punishing me for not bending to her will. She thinks I should be married by now and providing her with a clutch of adoring grandchildren.’ His voice dripped with scorn. ‘She’s worried she’s falling out of social step with the cronies she spends all her time lunching with.’

‘And you’re going to let her get away with it?’

His gaze snapped to hers and the indignation in his glare made a shiver run down her spine. ‘You think I have any choice in the matter?’

If he thought he was going to get her to back down by being hostile he could think again. ‘Why didn’t you tell her about holding the wedding receptions here?’ she asked, keeping her voice firm.

He sighed and swiped a hand through the air in irritation. ‘Because I knew she’d put the kibosh on it. She considers the idea of making money out of the estate crass, and the notion of her son actually working for a living and “associating with riff-raff”—her words—horrifies her. I should be acting all lordly and extending the family line.’

‘Didn’t you see this coming, though? Surely you planned for something like this happening if you were keeping secrets from her? In my experience, secrets never stay buried for long.’

Although she’d somehow managed to keep her biggest secret buried all these years. She knew it was only a matter of time before it reared its troublesome head, though, and then she’d have some explaining to do.

Not that she should be worrying about herself right now. This was about Lula and what needed fixing.

He plucked the spanner out of the pocket of his combats and tossed it into the air, catching it, then tossing it again end to end as he spoke. ‘She’s been threatening to sell this place from under me for years if I don’t fall into line, and I’m guessing it’s all come to a head now because she’s recently split up with her second husband. She’s clearly bored with not having anyone to order around any more, so she’s decided to spend her time making my life hell instead.’

Emily almost felt sorry for him as she noted the tension in his face. He looked tired—as if he hadn’t slept well.

‘Can’t you reason with her?’ she asked, more gently this time. ‘Ask her at least to wait until after Lula’s wedding?’

‘I tried. No dice.’

‘Is there anything I can do to persuade your mother to let Lula have her wedding here? If you think there is, just name it. I’ll do anything.’ She knew she was beginning to sound desperate, but there was no way she was just going to give in and walk away—not when she’d promised Lula she’d fix this. There was always a solution; sometimes you just had to think outside the box to find it.

He stopped tossing the spanner and fixed her with a seriously unnerving expression. ‘Anything?’ he asked, raising both eyebrows.

She took a breath, wondering what she was about to get herself into. ‘Yes.’

‘Then you’re going to have to fall in love with me.’

Theo Berkeley watched in amusement as a range of expressions ran across the woman’s face—from surprise, to disbelief, to confusion and back again.

She was quite something to look at: tall, with a curvy but well-toned body, and a head of long, blonde-tipped chocolate-brown curls. She also had the most striking eyes he’d ever seen. They looked golden in the meagre light trickling in through the workshop windows, and they glowed with the fiery determination that she’d repeatedly exhibited since walking in here.

She was for real—he could tell.

He’d met women like her before—one woman in particular from his past he’d rather not be reminded of had been very much like her—and it made him wary. So much so that when she’d made that move to touch him he’d instinctively snatched her hand away from his chest, as though it might burn him with the fever he felt flickering away at the edges of his memory.