Читать книгу Wedding Party Collection: Once A Bridesmaid... - Avril Tremayne - Страница 12
ОглавлениеLeo stared. Couldn’t so much as blink.
A minute ticked by.
She was waiting for him to speak, her head tilted—the curious bird look.
Had he heard correctly?
Had Sunshine Smart just told him, taking matter-of-factness to the level of an art form, that she wanted to have sex with him? And that she didn’t know how he’d take that confession?
‘What did you just say?’ he asked at last, and his voice sounded as though he hadn’t used it for a month.
‘Just that I want to have sex with you.’ Sunshine pursed her lips, considering him. ‘Are you shocked? Horrified? Appalled? Because you don’t look interested.’
‘Gary. Ben. Marco.’ He listed them without elaborating.
‘Gary, Ben and Marco?’ she said, as though she had no idea what he was getting at.
‘How many lovers do you need?’
She gave him an Aha! kind of look, then said simply, ‘Okay, I’ll tell you. I’m not sleeping with any of them. I’m not sleeping with anyone. I hoped there would be a spark with Gary, but it never developed. Ben? Twice. But that’s ancient history, and we won’t talk about his addiction to cheesy love songs in the bedroom.’
Momentary distraction. ‘Ben and cheesy love songs? What is it with people and cheesy love songs?’
‘I know—it’s crazy! So, of course, it was never going to go anywhere. Marco—well, that would be a cold day in hell.’ She looked at him. ‘But there’s no need to talk it to death. If you’re not interested let’s just move on. We have a tough seven weeks ahead, and there’s just not enough time for us to go through an awkward phase.’
‘How the hell am I supposed to move on?’ Leo asked, incredulous.
‘I said I wanted to have sex with you—not that I wanted to marry you. And only up to four times, which is my limit.’ She looked at him thoughtfully. ‘You don’t suffer from priapism by any chance, do you?’
‘From what?’
‘Guess not. Well, then—are you, perhaps, a virgin who’s signed some sort of pledge?’
‘No, of course I’m not a virgin.’
‘Well, I don’t know why you say “of course” like that. There are more virgins out there than you realise. In fact I read on the internet that—’
‘And what do you mean, only up to four times?’ he asked, jumping in before she could give him virgin facts. Because he did not want virgin facts.
‘Any more than four times and things get messy. You know—emotional. If you don’t want to develop a relationship it’s best to set a limit. And I don’t. Want to develop a relationship. I mean; I do want to set a limit. Hmm, you’re giving me that look.’
‘What look?’
‘That she’s insane look.’
‘That’s because you are. Insane.’
‘I’m just sensible, Leo. Men do this stuff all the time. Pick up a girl in a seedy bar—not that we’re in a seedy bar, of course, but you get the picture—then race her off to the bedroom, then do the I’ll-call-you routine when they have no intention of calling. So why can’t I? Well, not the I’ll-call-you thing—I would never say I’d call someone and then not do it. And there really is no reason not to call. Regardless of whether you want to have sex with them again. Because you had to like them in some way to get into bed with them in the first place, so you should want to see where the friendship goes, shouldn’t you? The sex part is kind of incidental—because sex is just...well, sex.’
Pause.
Thank God. Because his head was spinning.
‘I guess what I’m saying,’ she continued, unabashed, ‘is that it’s better to be up-front about what you want—just sex, just friendship, sex and then friendship. Whatever! But no tragic I love you just to wring an orgasm out of someone.’
‘What if you do fall in love?’
‘I won’t. I never have. And I never will. I told you before: I won’t let myself care that much.’
‘So you’re saying Jonathan and Caleb should give up the idea of marriage and just have sex?’
Her face softened. ‘No, I’m happy for them. And I know the love thing works for lots of people—my parents are a prime example. It just doesn’t work for me.’
‘How do you know if you’ve never been there?’
‘Haven’t we already had this discussion?’
‘Not thoroughly enough, Sunshine.’
Another pause. ‘All right, then. The fact is I’m too...intense. I feel things too intensely.’
‘Not thoroughly enough,’ he repeated.
She bit her lower lip, worried it between her teeth. And then, haltingly, she said, ‘I didn’t recover—not properly—from my sister’s death.’ The tears were there, being blinked furiously away. ‘I can’t describe it. The agony. The...agony.’
‘That’s a different kind of love,’ he said, but gently.
‘A different kind, yes. But the depth... I just think it’s safer, for me, to splash in the shallows—not to swim out of my depth.’ She laughed, but there was no humour in it. ‘Huh. A line of coke and I’d be Natalie.’
‘You’re nothing like Natalie. And you already have strong, deep ties—to Jon, to your parents...’
‘Yes. I love Jon, and I love my parents. But it was too late to do anything about them; they were already here.’ Small tap over the heart. ‘I’m just limiting further damage.’ She tried to smile. ‘And, anyway, the in-love kind of love would be the most damaging. Because I know how I’d be in love. Kill for him, die for him...’
‘The kind I want.’
‘The kind you say you want, anyway. Into the abyss, off the cliff. But you’ll see, when you’ve fallen into the abyss, that there’s anguish there—in the fear of losing the one you love, or even just losing the love. And I can’t—won’t—go through that. Because next time I just don’t know how I—’ She stopped. Blew out a breath. ‘Let’s not go there. Let’s just keep the focus on sex.’
Leo could hear muted noises from outside floating up from the street. Traffic. A laugh. A shout. But inside it was quiet. ‘So you’ve restricted your lovers to a four-night term ever since Moonbeam died? And none of them ever wanted to take things further?’
‘They knew it was never going to happen. And I’ve managed to stay good friends with all of them despite that—which is more than you can say. Well, all of them bar one.’
‘And what went wrong with him?’
‘He just doesn’t like women dictating the terms, so we didn’t even make it to the first...what would you call it?...assignation? Yes, assignation.’ She did the curious bird thing. ‘I’m guessing you’re in his camp.’
Leo had no idea, at that point, what he thought. But he didn’t like Sunshine telling him which camp he was in, thank you very much! ‘No, I’m not in that camp.’
Sunshine smiled. ‘So! Are you saying you would consider it, Leo? Sex, I mean?’
‘No, I’m not saying that either.’
Another smile. ‘Shall we try a little experiment, then?’
Long silence. And then, ‘What kind of experiment?’
‘I’ll kiss you and you can see how that makes you feel.’
He opened his mouth to say no.
But Sunshine didn’t let him get that far.
She simply moved so she was straddling him. She undulated, once, against him, and he thought he would explode on the spot. Holy hell. Then she settled, cocooning him between her forearms as she gripped the back of the sofa, one hand on each side of his head. Jonquils. Red silk. Heat and buzz and glow. She dipped her head, nipped his lower lip.
‘No, that wasn’t the kiss—that was me signalling my intention, as I promised to do.’ She smiled. ‘So! Ready?’
Any thought of denying her went straight out of his head like a shot of suddenly liberated steam. Leo gripped her hips, ground her against him, wanting her to feel his raging erection—although he didn’t know why, unless her form of insanity was contagious—and took over, devouring her mouth with a hard, savaging kiss.
Her mouth was amazing. Open, luscious, drawing him in. His tongue, hot and agile, swept the roof of her mouth, the insides of her cheeks, under her super-sexy top lip. The tart sweetness of the lemony tea was delicious when it was licked from inside her. He could feel that slight gap between her front teeth. He moved his hands, cupped her face to keep her there, just there, so he could taste more deeply.
He could feel his heart thundering. Became aware that her hands were now fisted in his shirt as she rocked against him, forced her mouth and his wider still. She was whimpering, alternately jamming her tongue into his mouth and then licking his lips. And rocking, rocking, rocking against him until he thought he’d go mad with wanting.
Then her hands were moving between them, fingers plucking at the button of his jeans, which opened in a ‘thank God’ moment, then sliding his zipper down, freeing him.
‘Ah...’ he gasped, pulling his mouth away so he could breathe, try to think. But it was no use. He had to kiss her again.
She reeled him back in, pulled him closer, angled him so that when she lay back, flattened on the couch, he was on top of her.
Then his hands were there, pulling up the red silk. Up, up, up. So he could touch her skin, which was like satin. No, not satin—warmer than satin. Velvet...like velvet. His fingers slid higher, closer. He didn’t want to wait—couldn’t wait—had to feel her, to be in her the fastest way he could get there.
Without disengaging his mouth from hers, he plunged his fingers into her. Again. She arched into the touch.
She didn’t speak, but breathed out words. His name. ‘Leo. Yes, yes. Leo...’
And then it wasn’t his fingers but him needing to be there, buried in her as deep as he could go, panting, straining, wanting this, wanting her, silently demanding that she come for him. For him.
He felt her body tightening, straining, heard his name explode from her lips as the orgasm gripped her. He pushed hard into her, and kissed her drugging mouth again as he followed her into a life-draining release.
They lay there, connected, in a tangle of clothes, spent.
After a long moment Sunshine gave a shaky laugh. ‘That was some kiss,’ she said.
But Leo didn’t feel like laughing. He felt like diving into her again...and also, contrarily, like getting the hell away from her. From her rules. Her determination to fix him in the place where she wanted him. Just where she wanted him. No further.
Awkwardly, he disengaged himself from her body.
Sunshine sat up, pushing at her hair with one unsteady hand and at her dress with the other. She looked like the cat that had got the cream.
Infuriating.
Mechanically, Leo adjusted his clothing. He was appalled to realise he hadn’t even seen her during that mad sexual scramble. Did that make him some kind of depraved, desperate sex fiend, that he’d treated her body like a receptacle? But then, he hadn’t really needed to see her to know very well that it was her driving him wild—so wild he hadn’t been able to think past the need to be inside her.
‘Are you sorry?’ Sunshine asked softly.
She was watching him with wary concern.
‘No. Yes. I don’t know.’
Tiny laugh. ‘Multiple choice? How...comprehensive.’
He stood abruptly, shoved his hands in his pockets, not trusting where he’d put them otherwise.
‘Leo, don’t go. We have to talk about this.’
He shook his head.
She got to her feet, took his hand. ‘You will get all angsty if you leave now, because it happened so fast and we weren’t expecting it to go like that. We can’t have angst; we have too much to do. Come on, sit with me—let’s make sure we can get back to normal before you go.’
How did you talk yourself back to normal after that?
How did a kiss turn into rip-your-heart-out sex in one blinding flash of a moment? And that complete loss of control... It had never happened to him before. No condom. Not even a thought of one! He was shaken. Badly.
And—God!—she was still holding his hand, and he was rubbing his thumb over her knuckles, and he hadn’t even noticed he was doing it. He didn’t do that touchy-feely stuff.
He dropped her hand and stepped back. ‘You’re dangerous, Sunshine,’ he said.
She looked startled. ‘It’s not like I’m a black widow spider or a praying mantis.’
‘What the—? All right, I think I get the black widow spider. But what’s so dangerous about a praying mantis?’
Her eyes lit. ‘Oh, it’s really interesting! Praying mantises can only have sex once the female rips off the male’s head. Imagine! At least you still have your head.’
Leo felt his lips twitch. But he was not going to laugh. It was not a funny situation. It was an angsty one. Angsty? God.
‘On that note, I’m going,’ he said.
‘But we have to talk.’
‘Not now. Meet me... I don’t know... Tomorrow. At the Rump & Chop Grill. Five o’clock. It’s only a few blocks from here. I’ll send someone for my kitchen gear in the morning.’
‘All right, tomorrow,’ she agreed, and walked with him to the door, where she stopped him. ‘Leo, just so you can think about it before then...I want to have sex with you again. We have up to three more opportunities, and there doesn’t seem to be a reason not to use them. We just need to schedule them so we don’t get distracted from the wedding preparations.’
He was staring again. Couldn’t help it.
‘Far be it from me to distract you, Sunshine,’ he said.
* * *
So!
Yowzer!
As Sunshine wallowed in her bubble bath, lathering herself with her favourite jonquil-scented soap, she pondered what had happened.
It sure hadn’t been a cheesy-love-song experience. More like heavy metal—hard and loud and banging. But maybe with a clash of cymbal thrown in. She smiled, stretched, almost purred.
She knew she would be reliving the sex for an hour or so—that was par for the course. The sexual post-mortem...a normal female ritual. Remembering exactly what had happened, what had been murmured, who’d put what where.
But at four o’clock in the morning she was still trying to piece it together and parcel it off. She wondered if the difficulty was that she didn’t have a precise anatomical memory of the experience. She couldn’t recall everything that had been said, every touch, every kiss. She just had an...awareness. That it had been so gloriously right, somehow.
Which was strange. Because technically it shouldn’t have been that memorable. They hadn’t taken off their clothes; Leo hadn’t touched her breasts—which she’d always counted as her best assets—and he hadn’t even bothered to look at the goods before plunging in—which was a waste of her painfully acquired Brazilian!
But none of that seemed to matter because the can’t wait roughness of it had been more seductive than an hour of foreplay. She hadn’t needed foreplay. Hadn’t wanted finesse. Hadn’t thought about condoms. Hadn’t thought about anything. She’d been so hot, so ready for him.
She wondered—if that rough-and-ready first time was any indication—just how magnificent the next time would be.
Because there would be a next time. She was going to make sure of it.
* * *
TO: Jonathan Jones
FROM: Sunshine Smart
SUBJECT: Party news
Isn’t the menu great? Leo=food genius.
Just the wedding cake to go. I’d tell you the options, but if you chose one I wouldn’t get my cake-tasting, which you know I’ve always wanted to do.
Leo cooked the most amazing meal last night. He is so different from the men I usually meet. More mature, steadier. Kind of conservative—I like that.
His hair is coming along too.
Sunny xxx
TO: Sunshine Smart
FROM: Jonathan Jones
SUBJECT: Do not sleep with Leo Quartermaine
DO NOT!!!!! That would be all kinds of hideous.
Jon
TO: Jonathan Jones
FROM: Sunshine Smart
SUBJECT: Re: Do not sleep with Leo Quartermaine
Oops! Too late!
But how did you know? And why hideous?
Sunny
TO: Sunshine Smart
FROM: Jonathan Jones
SUBJECT: Re:Re: Do not sleep with Leo Quartermaine
OH, MY FREAKING GOD, SUNNY!!!!!!!!
How do I know? For starters because every second word you’re writing is ‘Leo’!
He’s not the type to enjoy the ride then buddy up at the end. You know his parents were drug addicts, right? You know he basically dragged Caleb through that hell and into a proper life?
He’s a tough hombre, not a poncy investment banker, soulful embalmer or saucy hairdresser. This is not a man for you to play with.
Let’s talk tonight—10 p.m. your time. With video. No arguments.
Jon
Sunshine got to the Rump & Chop Grill fifteen minutes early. Although it was part of a pub, it had a separate entrance on a side road—which was locked.
She decided against knocking and inveigling her way inside to wait. That would have been her usual approach. But Leo already had one bunny-boiler on his tail, as well as being in a state about last night, so it was probably best not to look too enthusiastic.
Fortunately there was a café across the road, where she could wait and watch for him. Which would give her time to think.
Because Jon’s email had thrown her.
The thing with Leo was a simple sexual arrangement. No need for concern on anyone’s part.
So he’d had drug addict parents? And, no, of course she hadn’t known that! How could she have, unless someone had told her? And why did it make a difference anyway? Unless Leo was a drug addict himself—and given his obvious disgust over his ex-girlfriend’s coke habit that seemed unlikely.
Did Jon think the fact that Leo and Caleb had navigated a hellish childhood would put her off him? It clearly hadn’t put Jon off Caleb, so why the double standard? And Caleb had come through unscathed. He was a terrific guy—very different from his brother, of course—at least from what she’d seen during their internet chats. Funny and charming and out there. Not that Leo wasn’t also terrific, but he certainly didn’t have Caleb’s lightness of spirit.
But it was to Leo’s credit, wasn’t it, if he was the one who’d dragged them both out of the gutter? She admired him more, not less, because of it. Liked him more.
Okay—that could be a problem. She didn’t actually want to admire or like him more, because admiration and liking could lead to other things. And what she wanted was to keep things just as they were.
Hot man, in her bed, up to three more times. Finish.
As she would tell Jon, very firmly, tonight.
So! For now she would stop thinking about Leo’s horrible childhood and concentrate on the wedding reception. Not that Jon deserved to have her fussing over it after that email, but...well, she loved Jon. And she was going to make the bastard’s wedding reception perfect if it killed her.
While she sat in the café, disgruntled, sipping a coffee she didn’t even want, she scanned the checklist. Having the function at South was brilliant, but it did add an extra task: finding accommodation for people who wouldn’t want to drive back to Sydney. She figured they would need two options—cheap and cheerful, and sumptuous luxury. If she could get it sorted quickly, hotel booking details could be sent out with the invitations. She was sure Leo wouldn’t want to traipse through hotels with her, so she would shoot down the coast herself and just keep him in the loop via email.
Right. The next urgent thing on the list was what Leo was wearing.
At least it was urgent from her perspective, because his shoe design hinged on it. And so did her outfit.
She was dying to wear her new 1930s-style dress in platinum charmeuse. It looked almost molten. Hugging her curves—all right, a little dieting might be required—in an elegantly simple torso wrap before tumbling in an understated swirl to the ground. It even had a divine little train. And she could wear her adorable gunmetal satin peep-toes with the retro crystal buckles.
But there was no good glamming to the hilt if Leo was going to play it down. And so far, aside from his pristine chef’s whites, she hadn’t seen an inclination for dressing up. Just jeans, T-shirts, sweaters. Good shoes, but well-worn and casual.
She heard a roar, and a second later a motorbike—it had to be his—pulled up outside the restaurant. One economical swing of his leg and he was off, reefing his helmet from his head.
Her heart jumped into her throat and her stomach whooshed.
Nope.
This was not going to work.
She couldn’t think about clothes or shoes or hotels when he was still riding that damned bike. She was going to have talk to him about it. Again. And again and again. Until he got rid of it.
She straightened her spine and set her jaw. She was not to going to spend the next seven weeks dreading his death on the road! She stashed the wedding folder into her briefcase, threw some money on the table and exited the café.
* * *
Leo saw Sunshine the moment she stepped onto the footpath, his eyes snap-locking on to her from across the road. She looked good, as usual, wearing a winter green skirt suit that fitted her as snugly as the skin on a peach, and high-heeled chocolate-brown pumps.
‘Leo, I have to talk to you,’ she said.
He waited for that smacking kiss to land on his cheek.
But his cheek remained unsullied. She was clearly agitated—too agitated to bother with the kiss.
Well, good, he thought savagely. She should be agitated after last night. He certainly was.
‘Yep, that was the plan,’ Leo said, and unlocked the door.
Sunshine was practically humming with impatience as he relocked the door and escorted her to a table in the middle of the restaurant.
‘I’ll just check the kitchen and I’ll be back,’ he said, and almost smiled at the way her face pinched. Yeah, cool your jets, Sunshine Smart-Ass, because you are not in control here.
Not that that he was necessarily in control himself, but she didn’t have to know that he hadn’t been able to think straight since last night—let alone make a decision on her offer of three more pulse-ricocheting bouts of sex.
He was a man—ergo, it was an attractive proposition. But sex just for the sake of sex? Well, not to be arrogant, but he had his pick of scores of women if that was all he wanted. All right, the sex last night had been fairly spectacular, although hardly his most selfless performance, but it was still a commodity in abundant supply.
So, did he want more than sex from Sunshine?
Even as the question darted into his head he rejected it with a big hell no.
He didn’t like perky and he didn’t like breezy. Perky and breezy—AKA Sunshine Smart—were synonyms for negligent in his book. Choosing the shallows over the depths, wallowing in the past instead of confronting life head-on, the whole sex-only mantra. That kind of devil-may-care irresponsibility described his deadbeat parents, who’d not only offered up their bodies and any scrap of dignity for a quick score, but had been so hopeless they’d dropped dead of overdoses within days of each other, orphaning two sons.
Okay, the ‘poor little orphans’ bit was overcooked, because he and Caleb had stopped relying on them years before their deaths—but the principle remained.
So, no—he did not want more than sex from Sunshine.
And he didn’t need just sex from her either.
All he needed from cheery, perky, breezy, ditzy Sunshine Smart was a hassle-free seven weeks of wedding preparations, after which he would set his compass and sail on.
Pretty clear, then.
Decision made.
Sex was off the table.
And the couch. And the bed. And wherever else she’d been planning on frying his gonads.
And he would enjoy telling her. Quickly—because he’d made this decision several times throughout the day, then gone back to re-mulling the options, and enough was enough.
But when he sat down across from Sunshine, all primed to give her the news, she forestalled him by saying urgently, ‘Leo, you need to get rid of that motorbike. It’s too dangerous.’
He took a moment to switch gears because he hadn’t been expecting that. Sex, yes. Clothes, yes. Shoes, fine. But not the motorbike again.
‘Yes, well, as it’s my body on it, you can safely leave the decision about my transportation to me.’
‘There’s no “safely” about it.’
He looked at her closely, saw that there was nothing cheery-perky-breezy-ditzy in her face.
‘Whoa,’ he said. ‘Let’s take a step back. What’s really behind this?’
‘I want you to be alive for the wedding—that’s all.’
‘That’s not all, Sunshine. Tell me, or this discussion is over.’
She dashed a hand across her fringe, pushing it aside impatiently. Looked at him, hard and bright and on edge, and then, ‘My sister,’ exploded from her mouth.
Leo waited. His hands had clenched into fists. Because he wanted to touch her again. He felt a little trickle of something suspiciously like fear shiver down his spine.
‘You may think it’s none of my business—and it’s not, strictly speaking,’ she said. ‘But it’s not my way to stand aside and not say or do something when death is staring someone in the face. How could I live with myself if I didn’t interfere and then something happened to you?’
‘And you go around giving this lecture to everyone on a motorbike?’
‘No, of course not—only to people I...’ She faltered there. ‘People I...know,’ she finished lamely, putting up her chin.
Leo considered her for a long moment. Not buying it. ‘Your sister. I want the whole story. I assumed...an illness. Wrong, obviously. I should have asked.’
‘I didn’t want you to ask. I didn’t let you ask. Because to talk about that...to you, with your bike...it would have been a link. And I couldn’t... But now...’ Pause...deep breath while she gathered herself together. ‘Sorry. I’m not making sense. I’ll be clearer. Moonbeam had a motorbike. She crashed and she died. I was on the back and I survived. We were the cliché identical twins—inseparable. And then suddenly, just like...like...’ She clicked her fingers. ‘I was...’
The words just petered out. He saw her swallow, as if she had a sharp rock in her throat.
‘Alone?’ he finished for her.
‘Yes. Alone.’
He waited a heartbeat. Two. Three.
She kept her eyes on his face, but apparently she wasn’t intending to add anything.
‘Sunshine,’ he said softly, ‘death is not staring me in the face. I’m not a teenage hothead burning up the road. I’m thirty. And I’m careful.’
‘What if someone not so careful knocks you off?’
‘Is that what happened? Did someone run your sister down?’
She shook her head, looking as if she would burst from frustration. ‘No. She was going too fast. Missed the corner.’
Leo ran a hand over his head. Tried to find something to say. He was scared to open his mouth in case he promised her that, yes, he would give up the one carefree thing he allowed himself. They’d known each other for one week: she couldn’t really care—had said she wouldn’t care. And he would not be seduced into sacrificing his bike by the thought that she did.
‘Look,’ he started, and then stopped, ran a hand over his head again. ‘It’s not your job, Sunshine, to worry about me.’
‘But I do worry about you. Please, Leo.’
There was a loud crashing sound from the kitchen. ‘I have to check that.’ Leo got to his feet, but then he paused, looking down at her. ‘I shouldn’t have started this. Not here, where there are too many distractions. Go home, and we’ll pick it up another time.’
‘I’m eating here tonight,’ Sunshine said. ‘And, no, I am not turning into a stalker. I have a date. Iain.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘The hairdresser? The ex, who’s now just a friend?’
‘That’s right.’
‘As long as it is ex. Because while you and I are sleeping together—even if it is only four times—there isn’t going to be anyone else in the picture. Got it? I’m not into sharing.’ He heard the words come out of his mouth but couldn’t quite believe they had. Okay, so he’d changed his mind and sex was back on, apparently.
‘Well, of course!’ Sunshine said. ‘Actually, the main reason I asked him to come tonight was to check your head.’
‘Check my head?’ Leo repeated, not getting it.
‘To make sure it’s going to be long enough—not your head, because obviously that’s not growing any more, but your hair.’
‘He is not checking my head, Sunshine.’
That damned nose-wrinkle. ‘But I think—’
‘No,’ Leo said, and strode into the kitchen.
Where he burst out laughing and stopped half the staff in their tracks.
‘What?’ he asked.
But nobody was brave enough to answer.
* * *
Sunshine did not enjoy dinner.
Not that the food wasn’t great—because who couldn’t love a Wagyu beef burger with Stilton, and chilli salt fries on the side?
And Iain had brought sketches of the most fabulous hairstyle for the wedding. Finger waves pinned at the base of the neck and secured with a gorgeous hairclip. Her fringe would be swept aside—please let it be long enough—and similarly clipped above her ear.
But neither the food nor the sketches was enough to take her mind off that damned motorbike, and the fact that Leo, who was so sensible, didn’t seem to understand that it had to go.
So she fumed. And, because she’d always supposed she didn’t carry the fuming gene, the unwelcome evidence that she could get as wound up as a garden variety maniac bothered her.
They’d had sex. That didn’t mean she had a hold over him, of course, but it made him...well...someone more important than a casual acquaintance.
She became aware that Iain was sing-songing her name softly from across the table and snapped her attention back to where it should have been all night.
‘That’s better,’ he said.
‘Sorry, Iain. I haven’t been good company tonight.’
‘You’re always good company, Sunny.’
She smiled at him. ‘You’re too nice.’
‘Nice?’ He gave a short, almost bitter laugh. ‘Was that the limiter?’
‘What? No!’ She looked at him, dismayed. ‘The problem was—is always—that I just don’t want...that.’
‘Someone’s going to change your mind, Sunny—and all of us who have been forced to accept the limit are going to be mighty annoyed.’
All of us? Good Lord! ‘You make it sound like there’s a zombie camp of men out there, slavishly doing my bidding! And nobody is going to get annoyed—because I’m not changing my mind, ever. And I also happen to know you’re dating Louise, so— Oh!’
She stopped abruptly. Stared past Iain.
Because Natalie Clarke, accompanied by a pretty guy vaguely familiar as a model—Rob-something—was being seated at the next table.
Natalie was stunning. Gold skin, glorious copper hair, perfect rosebud mouth, pale grey eyes. She was super-slender, wearing a tight black leather skirt and a cropped black jacket. Black suede boots that made Sunshine green with envy.
Natalie shrugged out of her jacket to reveal a teensy white top; a black demi-bra was clearly visible underneath.
Iain’s eyes went straight to the mother lode!
Sunshine, swallowing a laugh, kicked Iain under the table. Bolt-ons, she mouthed at him.
So? He mouthed back, and the laugh erupted after all.
Natalie, venom in her grey eyes, looked sharply, suspiciously, over at Sunshine and Iain.
Oh. That was just nasty. Imagine if Natalie ever got wind of what she’d done with Leo last night! Crime scene for sure—blood spatter, flayed flesh, ooze, and poison, and possibly a meat cleaver in there as well!
Then Sunshine noticed the tattooed butterflies flitting down Natalie’s arms, and laughed again before she could stop herself.
Oops. Extra venom. And not much of a sense of humour, obviously.
Sunshine shifted her attention back to Iain and made a valiant effort to ignore Natalie—but it was impossible not to hear the overly loud one-way conversation from Natalie to Rob-the-model. All about Leo!
Blah-blah...so boring that Leo never, ever cooked for people outside his restaurants. Ha! Prosciutto fettuccine, anyone? Blah-blah...swank parties with Leo. Blah-blah...celebrities she and Leo had met. Blah-blah...she and Leo, part of the scene. And who said ‘the scene’ with a straight face? Blah-blah, blah-blah!
Natalie was pushing food around her plate as she talked; Rob was at least eating, but he was also smirking. Smirking—was that the most infuriating facial expression in the world?
The two of them would intermittently disappear to the bathroom, then come back talking too fast and too loud. When they disappeared for the fourth time Iain mimed coke-sniffing and Sunshine grimaced.
Natalie and Rob returned to the table and within moments were back on topic: Leo. And then, clear as a bell, ‘I’ll take Leo back when I’m ready—because, no matter what, he’s good in bed.’
Tittering laugh from Rob.
People at about six different tables were staring at Natalie, entranced.
Sunshine felt her blood pressure shoot up. If she wasn’t a pacifist she would want to slap Natalie for doing this to Leo—and in his own restaurant, dammit! Sunshine’s heart was racing, her brain fizzing. She felt light-headed. She was going to have to do something to stop this.
‘Really, really good,’ Natalie continued, taking in her audience, ‘which is kind of psycho, because he can’t even touch you unless he’s fu—’
Sunshine let out a loud, long peal of exaggerated laughter, drawing all eyes. She felt like a prize idiot, and Iain was obviously uncomfortable, but it was the only option she could immediately think of to shut Natalie up.
Sunshine was racking her brain for a way to proceed when Rob solved the dilemma by jumping to his feet and clutching at his neck.
Natalie stared ineffectually at her choking date.
Someone called out for a doctor.
The manager was racing to the kitchen.
Two diffident waiters approached the table, probably hoping someone would get there before them.
The diners—apparently not a doctor amongst them—seemed frozen. No movement. Just watching.
Sunshine got to her feet with a sinking heart. On the bright side, this dramatic development had shut Natalie up. On the not so bright side, Sunshine suspected she was about to star in the next scene. She hovered for a few seconds. Please someone else help...please. But—nope! Sunshine sighed. So be it.
Focusing her mind, Sunshine strode to the table. ‘Out of the way,’ she said, pushing past a still gaping Natalie.
Sunshine thumped Rob on the back. Nothing. Again. Once more.
Nope. Whatever was lodged in his throat wasn’t going to be beaten out of him. Rob wasn’t coughing, wasn’t making a sound; he was just turning blue. His eyes stared, entreating. His hands tugged at his shirt collar.
Okay, here goes. Quickly, calmly, Sunshine moved behind him, wrapped her arms around him and placed a fist between his ribcage and where she guessed his navel was. Then she covered the fist with her other hand and gave one sharp tug upwards and inwards.
A piece of meat came flying out of Rob’s mouth and he staggered, grabbing at his chair, dragging in breaths.
The restaurant broke into spontaneous applause and Sunshine felt her face heat.
Thank God the waiters were now taking control.
She started to return to her table and saw Leo standing just outside the kitchen. He was staring at her as though he’d just witnessed the Second Coming.
Sunshine couldn’t remember ever being so embarrassed.
She was almost relieved when Natalie’s squeal snagged his attention.
His eyes widened, then narrowed as they returned to Sunshine. Not happy!
Sunshine would have laughed if she hadn’t felt so shaken. What on earth did he believe had just happened? That she and Natalie had been having a friendly chat while Rob stood there choking? Maybe that Sunshine was persuading Natalie, mid-Heimlich manoeuvre, to sing at the wedding reception against Leo’s express wishes?
At this point Sunshine would prefer to hire herself to warble a few off-key songs!
She was almost glad when Natalie, squealing again, rushed towards Leo and threw herself into his arms. Leo, looking frazzled, backed into the kitchen, pulling Natalie with him.
Frazzle away, you idiot, Sunshine said in her head, and quickly returned to Iain.
‘You’re amazing,’ he said, standing to pull out her chair.
‘Anyone could have done it,’ she said dismissively. ‘I’m just glad I didn’t break any of his ribs—that’s the main danger. And I don’t want to sit, Iain. I want to go home. I have another high drama to get through tonight: a video call with Jon.’
‘Why high drama?’
Sunshine sighed. ‘You’re not the only one worried about the zombies.’
* * *
‘Jon, you’re wrong.’
Those were the first words Sunshine had managed to edge into the conversation since her initial ‘Hello’ three minutes earlier.
Not that ‘conversation’ described the incendiary soliloquy Jon had been delivering, which covered her unsatisfactory outlook on life, her ill-preparedness to deal with a man of Leo’s darkness, a disjointed reminder to ensure she was taking precautions—which caused her a momentary pang of guilt about the unprecedented lack of a condom last night, although she was on the pill and that had to count for something—and the general benefits of not actively courting disaster.
‘No, Sunshine, I’m not wrong,’ Jon said, and seemed ready to relaunch.
Sunshine headed him off by jamming her fingers in her ears. She raised her eyebrows, waiting. And at last he smiled.
She removed her fingers from her ears. ‘This is not worth so much anxiety, Jonathan.’
‘I’m worried about you, Sunny. About the way you’ve been living—no, only half living—since...’
She held her breath. Watched as Jonathan hesitated...
‘Ever since Moon, Sunny,’ he continued, but more gently. ‘This four-times-only thing. The blocking yourself off from anything more. It’s not you!’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘It’s not.’ Sigh. ‘I know I’m wasting my breath.’ Another sigh. ‘Well, you will not be able to dictate terms to Leo Quartermaine. Look, Leo is going to be my brother-in-law, and you’re like a sister to me. I need you two to like each other. Calmly, rationally, like each other.’
‘I’m always friends with the men I’ve slept with.’
‘He is not like the others.’
She rolled her eyes. The zombie camp! ‘There aren’t that many of them, you know!’
‘I know Sunshine—you talk a good game, but you don’t fool me. You never have. Sleeping with a guy is the exception, not the rule. But, whether it’s two or ten or a hundred guys, Leo is not like them and he will not be your friend at the end. There are other men in Sydney, and a ridiculous number of them seem happy to have you lead them around by their sex organs. Why did you have to pick Leo?’
‘It kind of— He kind of— Look, the situation picked itself. That’s all.’
‘You mean you had no control over it? Neither of you?’
Sunshine thought back to last night. The way ‘no-touch’ Leo had gathered her in when she’d given him that one hug. How she’d melted just from the feel of his fingers in her hair. The way the kiss had spiralled...
‘Apparently not, Jonathan.’
‘This is bad, Sunny.’
‘I promise not to let it interfere with the wedding.’
‘You can’t promise that. There are two of you.’
‘I’m not going to start asking your permission before sleeping with someone,’ she said, exasperated.
Pause. Silence. Jon looked morose.
‘Jon?’
More silence.
‘Jon—where does that leave us?’
‘It leaves us, very unsatisfactorily, at loggerheads,’ he said. ‘And while we’re there I’m going to raise the other subject you hate. Where are Moonbeam’s ashes, Sunshine?’
Sunshine stiffened. ‘They are in the urn, here in my office, where they’ve always been. Want to see them?’
‘Don’t be flippant. Not about this. She’d hate it, Sunny. You know she would. When are you going to do it?’
Sunshine managed a, ‘Soon.’ But it wasn’t easy getting the word out of a suddenly clogged throat.
‘You’ve been saying that for two years.’
‘Soon,’ she repeated. ‘But now I have to go. I have to finish the new handbag designs.’
‘I’ll keep asking.’
‘I will do it. Just...not yet.’
‘I love you, Sunny,’ Jon said, looking so sad it tore at Sunshine’s heart. ‘But this isn’t fair. Not on Moon. Not on your parents. Not on you. You’ve got to let yourself get over her death.’
‘I...can’t. I can’t, Jon.’
‘You have to.’ Another sigh. ‘We’ll speak soon.’
Sunshine signed off.
Work. She would work for a while.
But half an hour later she was still sitting there, staring at the urn that held Moonbeam’s ashes. The urn was centred very precisely on top of the bureau Sunshine had painted in her sister’s favourite colour—‘cobalt dazzle’, Moon had called it.
Sunny tapped at the computer, found her list of Moonbeam’s favourite beaches. The options she’d chosen for scattering the ashes.
But not one of the options felt right. Not one!
She put her head on the desk and cried.
* * *
When Leo left the restaurant, a little after midnight, he intended to ride home, throw down a large brandy, think about life, and go to sleep.
What a night. Sunshine. Natalie. And the Heimlich manoeuvre.
The bloody Heimlich manoeuvre.
Just when he needed so badly to think of Sunshine as frippery and irresponsible she had to go and save someone’s life—and then look surprised when people applauded her for it. The difference between Sunshine’s calm, embarrassed heroism and Natalie’s ineffectual hysterics had been an eye-opener of epic proportions.
And it had come after the Moonbeam story, which had already had his heart lurching around in his chest like a drunk.
So he needed home. Brandy. Thinking time. Bed.
He wasn’t sure, then, why he left his motorbike where it was and walked to Sunshine’s apartment block.
She would be asleep, he told himself as he reached the glass doors of the entrance. But his finger was on the apartment’s intercom anyway.
‘Hello?’
Her voice was not sleepy. And he remembered, then, that she worked mostly at night.
‘It’s Leo.’
Pause. Then buzz, click, open.
She was waiting at her door. Barefoot. In a kimono. Seriously, did this woman not own a pair of jeans or some track pants? Who slummed around alone in their own home after midnight looking like an advertisement for Vogue magazine in a purple kimono complete with a bloody obi?
Her hair was loose, her face pale, her eyes strained.
He was going to thank her for saving Rob’s life.
He was going to ask her why she knew how to do the Heimlich manoeuvre.
He was going to tell her that he’d found out exactly what had happened and that he was an idiot for thinking, when he’d seen her near Natalie, that—
She cleared her throat. ‘I didn’t talk to Natalie except to tell her to move out of the way.’
‘I don’t care about Natalie,’ he said—and realised that he really, really didn’t.
‘Then why are you here?’
‘I’m claiming assignation number two,’ he said, and kissed her.
