Perfect (Love in Yorkshire #1)

2

‘Just because you’re beautiful, don’t think it will do you any favours in this world’, my mother had once lectured, her own world somewhere at the bottom of the vodka bottle she’d thrashed around to embellish her point. ‘It’s more likely to cause you problems.’ Mum hadn’t matured well with age and the drinking had only added to her insecurities.

I now realise that she was right and that her words were not just the rantings of a woman whose husband left her for a younger model. Being what society deemed ‘beautiful’ doesn’t give you an easy ride. Nothing does, life is hard no matter what. There is no perfect.

The carriage swayed again and I tried to recover from that seasick feeling. The woman next to me would probably go ballistic if I added the contents of my stomach to the stain I’d caused on her white leggings. I blamed her choice of outfit, who wears white leggings these days? Everyone knows white clothing encourages stains.

Pulling my gaze away from the window, I thumbed my reply to Lisa’s text about Samantha. I didn’t give a shit to be perfectly honest. I’d left all that nonsense behind me for now, but my friends still stalked the popular girls on Facebook and they enjoyed feeding me the titbits.

Nope, this was an adventure for me. I was moving on to new pastures, having no idea what summer on a farm would be like. A hundred possibilities bloomed before my eyes. OK, I knew I’d have some challenges to deal with; one boy-shaped and annoyingly good-looking, for starters. But I’d manage. I was an adaptable girl (in most situations).

I had seen pictures of Daddy’s huge farmhouse and it looked sweet. He’d reassured me that it was dry, clean, and warm; I didn’t do drafts. Daddy also promised me there were not that many creepy crawlies. I hated spiders and would never understand why they existed. I remember he’d said Connor would save me from stuff like that if I needed it. Yeah right. He’d probably catch one and put it in my hair as a juvenile prank.

I hoped I had a bathroom to myself like at home, but I would manage if that were not the case. The thought of sharing one with a smelly boy was not something I relished.

My father had also sent me pictures of the land, it was a beautiful part of the country and I intended to explore as much of it as possible, if the weather allowed that of course. I certainly wasn’t one for tramping through mud and I hated the rain for obvious reasons.

It was all textbook stuff, I imagined that compared to most girls my age, I was fairly low-maintenance.

The speaker bled into the carriage, and a muffled voice announced Pickering as the next station. I gathered up my rubbish and stuffed it into my rucksack. I was beyond grateful to be leaving my seat.

13B placed her book on the table and grunted before standing to allow me to pass. I thanked her, apologising again for the sandwich fail and she shot me one of those forced smiles .

As I approached the luggage rack, struggling to remove my case, a tall, balding man helped me and I thanked him, savouring the gentleman-like behaviour.

After a few minutes, the train slowed and the station platform appeared. Dormant butterflies started fluttering in my stomach, a whole zoo of them. I was now really looking forward to seeing my father and decided that I would embrace the time we had together.

My visit would also allow me to travel to Scarborough to check out the university campus. There was a foundation stage teaching course that I was interested in learning more about. Future plans and all that.

I stepped cautiously over the gap, noting that my painted toes were verging on talons and wondered fleetingly, if I had packed a nail file.

As I struggled across the platform towards the exit, I scanned for my father but he was nowhere to be seen. I exhaled sharply, disappointment thrumming in my chest as I shuffled further down another corridor toward the exit.

It was a bright afternoon; my eyes had to adjust after the darkness of the carriage. A fresh breeze blew against my face, but it held the trace of diesel fumes that wafted from the platform.

As I moved forward, dragging my case, there was a drop-off point with a line of taxis. Clusters of people stood there hugging. I blew out a breath; good for them.

My spirits dipped further. Had I been forgotten? I tutted. I hadn’t expected a welcome banner and balloons, but being on time would have been nice. I had purposefully texted my father my ETA earlier that morning. I felt disappointment chew through me as I searched for my phone, which I then dropped. It clattered against the pavement, and I bent swiftly to check for possible damage. My new iPhone was my life. As I straightened, it was then that I saw him.

A dark thrill chased through me as our eyes locked.

I cursed under my breath, my body stiffening, the dreaded realisation that my father had asked him to pick me up was like taking a bullet. Why on earth would he send him , I’d rather walk ! Daddy knew how I felt about this particular person after the party.

I frantically searched the conscious part of my brain for any other reason he had appeared. Of course, he could have been there to meet someone else, but I seriously doubted it. Did the guy even have any friends ?

The reason for my exasperation was there to collect me in all his male angst-like glory. I sure hoped I didn’t smell as sweaty as I felt. My spine went rigid.

Connor was leaning against a battered black Ford Ranger; I recognised the model as Lisa’s now ex-boyfriend drove one and holy shit, he was still gorgeous. Couldn’t he have put on weight or shaved his head into one of those styles that guys thought looked good but totally didn’t?

Clutching my phone protectively against my chest, I eyed him warily. I had probably gone pale with the shock. He hadn’t moved yet but his eyes were fastened to mine. The urge to punch his face was immense.

After at least a minute of glaring at each other, Connor pushed lazily off the truck and strode toward me with a dark expression like he’d been kept waiting, impatience radiating from him. He had that aura of control and held himself like he was so used to calling the shots. I still hated him on sight. At least my head did. My body was another story; everything literally stood to attention as female hormones raged through me.

My mouth opened and closed in a fish-type motion, and I attempted to shoo my tongue from its hiding place.

He looked uber-league fit in scuffed work jeans and boots and a checked shirt with the sleeves rolled back. Connor’s tanned, muscular forearms were revealed and the sight caused warmth to skirt through my body. He had a sleeve of tattoos on his right arm, and another jet of excitement fizzed in me. I had to get a grip before I melted in a full-on swoon.

What the actual hell? I didn’t even like tats! A hot wave of lust rushed from my belly to my chest, making my nipples tingle. The top he’d worn to the engagement party had been long-sleeved, so I hadn’t noticed his tattoos the first time I saw him.

Connor held the stance of a confident guy who was so sure of himself, his body screaming ‘bring it’. He had a definite Cowper ‘monarch of all I survey’ air.

As I continued my summations, I realised how very different we were, Connor being a pillar of strength (graphite to my porcelain). I felt brutally reminded of the rules of setting one’s sights too high. A twinge of annoyance kicked in. Where the hell did that thought come from? As if I would ever want a relationship with someone who was so severely socially impaired.

You couldn’t even read his thoughts, not really. His face was as complex as his backstory (whatever the hell that was). Why would any girl want to tangle herself up in that web of bullshit?

I swallowed back the reoccurring lump in my throat. The guy was hard work.

Those compelling dark eyes of his narrowed as he spoke. There wasn’t a hint of politeness on his insanely perfectly sculptured face. He hadn’t shaved either. Rough stubble covered his jaw, which made him even sexier.

“About fucking time. I’ve shit to do that doesn’t include babysitting you all day.”

Heat stung my cheeks as the words rolled across my bones. That voice was a low, rich rumble. I remember that deep sound perfectly, a tone that liked to touch. He didn’t have a defining accent, which only made him more mysterious. Goosebumps broke out on my skin, and I went all hot and cold at the same time.

He seemed taller and broader than the first time I saw him. Connor’s gaze skated over me, rudely looking me up and down. Of course, guys did that all the time, but their expressions usually beamed appreciation, not distaste. It made me feel conscious of my free from make-up face.

“I thought my dad was coming to meet me?” My voice was much breathier than I intended. Connor’s eyes were glued to my lips as he came closer, in touching distance and he looked pointedly down at me; like he was humouring a small child or something. “Well?” I prompted determined that he wouldn’t ignore my question.

The space between us seemed to shrink further.

“Daddy is a busy man sunshine. He can’t afford to drop everything just because you finally got your head out of your arse and decided to visit us. Not everything is about you sweetheart.” His tone dripped with icy hostility, the type of sound that chilled you to the bone.

I grimaced at his harshness, hating that I found him so attractive. Why on earth didn’t I see him for the pig he was? My brain was sending out a warning my body appeared to be ignoring.

My eyes clashed mutinously with his. Connor’s jaw was strong and thrust out at a challenging angle. He was pissed off, but I saw a tell-tale sign that he wasn’t as immune to me as he would have liked. It should have given me more confidence. It didn’t .

I buried the observation and decided against rising to the bait. Connor was just one of those guys who got off on confrontation. I’d witnessed it first-hand at the party.

“Well, it was nice of you to come in his place. Thank you, Connor. You really shouldn’t have,” I said sweetly, attempting to sound sincere.

He snorted. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. “You’re right about that. I shouldn’t have and to be clear, I didn’t offer either.”

Pig, pig, pig!

Connor stared at me with a mean scowl, making no move to take my stuff; the fact that he wasn’t a gentleman did not surprise me at all. I shifted my feet under his scrutiny.

“Well, you’re here now, so thank you,” I repeated, attempting to be the bigger person. Something I rarely did as I never needed to. Not where boys were concerned anyway.

His eyes glittered as he leaned toward me, his expression a mixture of annoyance and amusement; I didn’t like either.

“You can drop the fluttery eyelash crap. It won’t work on me,” he bit back, his mouth pulling into a tight line.

I parted my lips to deny his comment but he cut me off, “You see, when it comes to girls, I have standards. You’ll have to save it for the lads. No doubt they’ll swarm around you like flies to shit.”

I’d have preferred my ‘bees to honey’ terminology but what can you do? I felt that bubble of unvented frustration burst.

The guy was impossible to be nice to. I experienced an impulsive desire to kick him. This was a reaction that was alien to me. I reminded myself I was the nice girl. I didn’t do angst or temper. The guy obviously rubbed me up the wrong way and I had to get a grip if I was to be living in the same house as him. I so hoped our rooms weren’t close by. If I was lucky, maybe he slept in a barn or something. He certainly had that unkempt, rough look. His hair was mussed like he'd just crawled out of bed.

I shook off the thought. Damn it, why did he have to be so fit? Couldn’t he have been fat, sweaty, or maybe skinny with spot-encrusted skin or something ?

His following comment momentarily fazed me. “Had a little accident or are you pleased to see me?” he questioned with a cocky smirk.

My brows knitted as I tried to grasp his meaning.

“Sorry?” I said through tight lips. I was frowning so hard my forehead hurt.

The smirk doubled in strength and he glanced downward, motioning toward my crotch with a flick of his hand.

There was a beat of silence before he lifted his gaze.

“You’re wet.” His words dripped with sexual innuendo.

Swallowing, I lowered my eyes.

I almost died inside as I saw the damp patch from the water spillage, which was still evident on my jeans.

I attempted to laugh it off, but it came out like a pig snort, the voice that followed paper thin. “Very witty. I get what you’re insinuating and no, I didn’t pee myself,” I replied, shooting him my best shit-eating smile. I ignored his ‘wet’ comment, knowing exactly what he meant by that, the dirty-minded perv.

My neck ached from trying to retain eye contact. He was so tall; the top of my head barely reached his shoulder.

Connor rasped a hand across the light stubble on his jaw. A movement that was also thoroughly sexy.

“ Insinuating ? Such a big word for such a little girl,” he sneered with a lopsided smile.

I chewed my lip, feeling totally out of my element. He was such a nasty shit. I didn’t cope well with conflict at the best of times, let alone with someone I appeared to be so uncontrollably attracted to. God only knew why, of course. My mind and my body were now standing in two totally different queues. My head suddenly felt like it was full of cotton balls.

I paused, mentally coaching myself through my following choice of words. “Not really that little. I’m seventeen in a few weeks.” The severely pathetic comeback left my mouth before I could swallow it.

Even to my own ears, my words sounded ridiculous. Next to that mature masculinity, I felt every bit like the schoolgirl I was and he wasn’t that much older than me. What was he—twenty, twenty-one? I should have remained mute in the presence of such male sophistication .

I cleared my throat as he took a small step forward, his body looming, yet I didn’t step back; I was rooted to the spot. My reaction to him should have been applauded. Lisa would be well impressed. I usually never let anyone stand so close to me. I silently saluted my backbone.

Connor’s eyebrows were raised and his face held a look that said; ‘is that the best you can come up with’? “I stand corrected Little Miss Mature, now hurry the fuck up, and let’s go. I’ve got to get back.” The ‘tone’ was back. I wanted to punch him in his rock-hard stomach, even though it would probably shatter every bone in my hand.

I glanced around again hoping that my dad would suddenly materialise and save me from being in this impossible boy’s company, but of course, he didn’t. I continued to worry my lip. Now I had to sit in a car in a small space with all this moodiness? Maybe I could ignore him, feign interest in the passing countryside or something?

“Grab your shit and get a move on.”

He turned away as I was toying with whether to tell him where to go but thought better of it. He’d probably physically drag me to his car (by the hair), caveman that he was.

“My—my, aren’t we friendly,” I mouthed at his back, grabbing my stuff. My sarcasm couldn’t have been any thicker if I had tried. He stopped suddenly, twisting back toward me. I almost plastered myself against his chest.

“ What did you say?” he snapped, angling his head down at me.

“You deaf?” I blasted hotly, taking a frantic step back.

He blinked as if momentarily shocked, but he must have heard me. My words had the desired effect and then some. He shot me a look of pure venom, which forced me to back up another step.

“What did you say?” he repeated, now extremely angry. I must admit, I regretted my bitchiness. My brow scrunched as he lifted his hand and jabbed a finger into his ear. It appeared he was trying to clear it.

“Well?” he barked, dropping his arm, his fingers then curling into a fist.

“I said, you’re friendly. It’s called sarcasm,” I informed him, as cool as I could muster, my voice wavering slightly .

Some of the tension left his body as he studied my face. “I can assure you I’m not—friendly, that is,” he drawled out slowly, a twist to his lips; no shit Sherlock.

I wafted a hunk of hair off my cheek and my eyes darted up again as I awarded him with a ‘you don’t say’ type of look.

“As I said, I was being sarcastic,” I muttered again partly to myself, briefly looking away.

When I twisted back, his expression didn’t sit well with his sour comment. Connor’s eyes roamed over my face as if he were looking for something. It was unnerving. His focus then trailed to my lips.

“That’s quite a smart mouth you have on you,” Connor delivered smoothly. “I wonder if you’d be as brave if we were alone.”

His tone made me shiver and those words could have been considered threatening, but they caused heat to pool between my legs. I jammed my thighs together so hard to stop that feeling that I almost fell over.

I attempted to speak but the words left my mouth like vapour.

Connor rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck from side to side before he lowered his head so his lips were almost at the cuff of my ear.

“Watch what you say to me. You really don’t want to be on my shit list flower; just a gentle warning,” Connor purred, drawing back with an accompanying wink.

Tut. Of all the cheek! My mouth fell open but words failed me. He was such a macho pig. I suddenly felt feeble and pathetic but what could you do, I was only just over five feet to his six feet plus! I couldn’t exactly bitch slap him or rugby tackle him and force him to take his meanness back.

Turning away, Connor showed me his broad back again as he stomped towards the car. He left me to clamber along after him, juggling all my shit. Thank God there were wheels on my suitcase. It suddenly felt like my joints were held together by bits of string. He must have seen I was struggling yet he still didn’t offer to help me. He really was a cruel first-class prick.

I felt frustrated as it was a whole new experience for me, boys usually bent over backwards to please me. There was no doubt about it, this one was impossible. Holding a normal conversation was as straightforward as plaiting fog. He was cold and ruthless, ignorant and mean and I wondered fleeting what had made him that way. Something to do with his father maybe? I fully understood the term ‘damaged goods’ at that moment.

I wondered how dangerous Connor would be if he turned on the charm. That’s if he had any. No doubt girls threw themselves at him anyway due to his dark, good looks and amazing body. Maybe that was why he found it so easy to resist me. If he had a fleet of them already lined up why make the effort? Most girls loved a treat them mean to keep them keen approach and this guy had that in spades.

As we got to the car, he opened the boot and rolled his eyes before snatching my case and lifting it into the vehicle like it weighed nothing, the muscles in his arms bulging.

My knight in shining armour he was not but I still thanked him. I was determined not to allow his lack of manners to stamp out my own.

After slamming the boot, Connor stalked off toward the driver’s door as I swiftly moved to the passenger side and opened the back, not relishing the idea of riding shotgun. I threw my rucksack onto the seat which was cluttered with assorted tools.

“In the front, I’m not a fucking taxi!” Connor bit over his shoulder as he negotiated his large frame into his seat. He almost had to fold his body in half to fit behind the wheel.

His use of language made me curl my fingers into fists, pushing my manicure sharply into my palms. I disliked the F word and rarely used it.

Obeying his barked instructions, I closed the door and moved to the front. I took my sweet time of course.

I felt a twinge of moisture developing in the corner of my eye before reluctantly clambering up into his stupidly big car.

I sat there feeling like a massive inconvenience as he started the engine.

Biting my lip, I decided I would not speak until spoken to.

The cab was messy, with old takeaway wrappers and crunched-up coke cans. There was also an oily rag and some letters scattered across the dash. I turned my nose up as I hated mess. A place for everything and everything in its place was my MO. Benjamin Frankin said it best .

My knees jerked as Connor leaned his huge torso over my legs and opened the glove compartment. As he fumbled inside, I saw him smile at my reaction to his nearness; fricking cocksure sod.

I managed to hold on to my gasp of disgust as I saw his hand slide past an open box of condoms. Thoughts of how many girls he’d shagged in that very car contaminated my mind.

Finally, he drew out a phone, shoved the flap closed and pushed back into his seat. I released a puff of air I hadn’t realised I was holding.

Connor swiped the screen, tapped it, and then pushed the phone to his ear whilst he revved the engine; clearly good at multitasking.

“Yes. I’ve got her,” he said with the phone tucked into his shoulder. I couldn’t hear what the voice on the other side said but Connor scowled.

“Fine. Whatever.”

Connor then grabbed the phone and pushed it into a pocket of his shirt. He gave me a brief look, before turning towards the windscreen and ramming the car into gear.

It shot forward, startling me and again, my reaction amused him.

At this rate, the chances of us getting along would have been up there with winning the lottery.

I took a deep breath and told myself not to cry.