Free The Best Man for the Job by Lucy King

right through her. ‘It occurred to me that the sooner Dan and Zoe leave, the sooner we can.’
    * * *
    He might not yet know it but Celia wasn’t going anywhere with Marcus.
    Now that the heat and the recklessness of her behaviour in the kitchen garden had faded, reality had struck with the force of a mile-high pile of legal documents hitting her desk.
    What the hell had she done back there? What had she been thinking?
    Well, she hadn’t been thinking at all, that much was clear. Because if she had, she’d have considered the fact that they’d effectively been in public. That fifty or so people had been within spitting— hearing —distance. That a dozen security people—thanks to Dan’s high profile and his deep dislike of the press—had been monitoring the perimeters of the garden, on the lookout for gatecrashers and long lenses and possibly even couples having wild sex amongst the vegetables.
    If someone had discovered them...
    Dear God. It didn’t bear thinking about. Quite apart from eternal humiliation and probably being the subject of rumours for years to come, she could have been fired. Her partnership prospects would have been history. She could have been struck off for bringing her profession into disrepute. Her father would have been beside himself with the knowledge that Marcus had followed up on the suggestion that he sort her out.
    And OK, so none of that had happened, but the fact still remained that at some point shortly after walking into that garden with him she’d completely lost her mind. A couple of hot and heavy kisses and she’d abandoned the self-control she valued so highly. For the first time in her life she’d given in to the needs of her body. Without a single moment’s consideration. He’d given her an out, given her a chance to put a stop to things, and all she’d said was, ‘Be careful of the dress.’
    Be careful of the flipping dress.
    As if he could do anything he wanted with her and all that mattered was that she looked presentable afterwards.
    Not that she’d even managed that. Her hair was a mess and her face was still burning—although hopefully if anyone noticed they’d assume it had something to do with the hideousness of standing in the drive with Lily, Kit and Marcus while Zoe smiled widely, turned and, to the cheer of the guests, tossed the bouquet high into the air.
    And as for her lack of underwear... Well, even though technically it wasn’t her fault, who went commando at a wedding where there was the possibility of a breeze or an ignominious fall to the ground courtesy of four-inch heels?
    It was as if she’d been taken over by someone else today. Someone who wasn’t cool and collected and totally unflappable, but tense and jumpy and chaotic. Someone who was ruled by emotion instead of reason. Someone who did things like have sex in the open air with a thoroughly unsuitable man.
    And now all those things that had seemed so exciting half an hour ago—the recklessness, the loss of control, the overwhelming desire to slake the clawing lust—now just seemed wrong. Shameful somehow.
    Even though physically she’d adored what she and Marcus had done—who was she to deny the fabulousness of two earth-shattering orgasms in quick succession?—she was beginning to realise that she’d just become one of his conquests. One in a very long line of women he’d taken to bed and then forgotten about. Not that there’d been a bed involved, but still.
    It shouldn’t really have mattered, but, annoyingly enough, it did. Because while she was under no illusion about him, maybe by assuming a quickie with Marcus would deal with the attraction she felt for him, she’d been under an illusion about herself. She’d had a better time with him than she’d expected to. Hadn’t thought that kind of pleasure actually existed. Was kind of knocked sideways by the fact that it did, and that she’d experienced it. And while she’d never fall for the mistake of thinking she