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After being dumped, Isla Morris makes a pact with her ex's biggest competition, F1 driver Matthew Carr, to get inside Lucas's head.
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Isla Morris is dating the world's best F1 racer - at least, she w...
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The Shetland ponies, Matthew thought, were a great idea in theory, but the reality of them was not as pleasant.
He skirted around a pile of horse dung. The sprawling lawn of Thorngrove Estate was well and truly soiled, and Matthew watched in amusement as partygoers stepped delicately over the mess, carrying glasses of champagne and croquet mallets.
A woman in a plum gown — the Duchess of Sutherland, if he remembered correctly — looked both ways before ducking behind a plane tree for a cigarette.
Matthew wished he could join her.
It wasn't that Matthew wasn't enjoying his brother's engagement party (which he wasn't) or that the horse dung was rank (which it was); it was the fact that Saint Lucas was here, and Matthew hadn't drunk nearly enough champagne to tolerate his presence.
He sighed.
Bloody Walsh. The man was everywhere. Like mosquitos, or a venereal disease.
Matthew started in the direction of the white tent, nodding at guests as he passed. Melissa — Benedict's fiancée — was gleefully whacking a croquet ball at an elderly woman's ankles, looking happier than Matthew had seen her in ages. Benedict and Walsh sat nearby, their ties loosened, smoking cigars like a pair of Oscar Wilde characters.
He paused in the shade of the tent, checking his phone.
One text from Isla.
Almost there x
Matthew pocketed his phone. They hadn't spoken much since that disastrous dinner with her parents last weekend, and much to Matthew's alarm, he found that he...
Missed her?
No. That wasn't quite right.
But he certainly thoughtabout her, Matthew admitted, making for the bar. He thought about Isla Morris a lot. It wasn't the frequency that worried him — after all, Matthew was a young man with a healthy libido and a working pair of eyes — but when he thought about her. Not just at night, alone in bed, but during the day.
Matthew thought about what Isla was doing. What cereal she'd like. Whether she dogeared her book pages. Whatever had happened in that alleyway, it had changed him; Matthew wanted her body, yes, but he also wanted to know her. Hell, he felt almost protective of the girl. It was profoundly disturbing.
Christ, Matthew thought, signalling for champagne. I need a holiday. I'm going mad.
"Matthew!"
He turned. His mother was making her way towards him, clutching at her frilly pink bonnet. Then again, Effie Carr was always clutching at something: wine glasses, pearl necklaces, metaphorical straws... the list went on and on.
"Mother," Matthew said politely.
He kissed her on both cheeks. Effie swatted him with a handbag.
