Читать книгу Wedding Party Collection: Once A Bridesmaid...: Here Comes the Bridesmaid / Falling for the Bridesmaid - Avril Tremayne, GINA WILKINS - Страница 13

SEVEN

TO: Leo Quartermaine

FROM: Sunshine Smart

SUBJECT: Wedding update

Hi Leo

I’m attaching a photo of my dress. If you can send me one of your suit and tie—I’m assuming a tie?—I’ll know if this is okay or if I have to go back to the drawing board. And I can get your shoe design finished too.

So, the shoes. You’ll need three fittings—twenty mins each time—and you can schedule these to suit yourself as I won’t be needed. I’m attaching Seb’s business card—Seb is the shoemaker—and once you’ve approved my design all you need to do is call him.

And, trust me, once you’ve had custom-made shoes you’ll never go back. Which might not be good, now I think of it, because they’re hellishly expensive (not these particular shoes, of course, because it’s a special deal for me, as well as being a present).

The other attachment is of some floral arrangements for the restaurant. I think the all-white ones, so as not to distract from the view. What do you think?

I’m going to scoot down the coast on Sunday to check out some hotel options for guests who want to stay overnight. I know you’re super-busy so I can handle this and email all the info to you.

And then we need to confirm the music—Kate is amazing—when you have a minute.

Hope all is well.

Sunshine

Oh, no, Sunshine Smart-Ass, you are not going down the coast without me.

That was the first thought to leap to Leo’s mind after he read the email.

The second was that she had a bloody nerve adding the ‘Hope all is well’, because she had to know all was not well. Not by a country mile was all ‘well’. ‘All’ wouldn’t be ‘well’ until he had her exactly where he wanted her.

A sudden image of her naked, in his arms, had him erect and almost groaning. Even though that was not what he’d meant. What he’d meant was on her knees and—

Argh. Another image.

Figuratively speaking on her knees, not physically.

But—nope, the image wouldn’t budge.

He took a steadying breath and forced himself to open Sunshine’s attachment, hoping it wouldn’t be her in the damned dress—which, of course, it was. Looking very hot. And, of course, she had her foot stuck out so he could see her amazingly sexy shoes.

And, since he knew he had to see her in the flesh in that dress, he would up the ante on his suit so that he matched the formality—and send her the damned photo so he could get his shoe design.

And he would tell her that he would most definitely meet her at South on Sunday, when they would discuss flowers and confirm music and go and see the hotels together.

Ha!

Hope all is well.

Bloody, bloody nerve.

* * *

Sunshine, who had laboured long and hard over the wording of her email to Leo to give it just the right sense of moving-on friendliness, opened Leo’s reply with some trepidation.

She wasn’t sure what to expect—but the three terse lines certainly hadn’t been laboured over.

Meet you at South at two p.m. Sunday. Will confirm everything then. Suit pic attached.

So! She guessed she’d better start working on getting rid of the horrible fluttery feeling in her stomach before Sunday. Surely she could be her normal carefree self in four days!

Cautiously she opened the attachment he’d sent.

And—oh—flutter, flutter, flutter. And he wasn’t even in the photo!

The suit, photographed on a dummy so she got the full effect, was in a beautiful mid-grey. Three pieces, including a waistcoat, which she adored. The pants were narrow and cuffed. The two-button jacket was ultra-contemporary, but also sexily conservative. A white shirt, a tie in a fine black, silver and white check, and a purple and silver pocket square shoved insouciantly into the left breast pocket.

That suit, his physique, his dourly handsome face, his hair... He would have all the female guests drooling over him.

Maybe she shouldn’t have made him grow his hair... And where did that unworthy thought come from? If three centimetres of hair snares him a new bed partner—good!

Well, every woman might be drooling, but only one woman could design his shoes. All right, that sounded incredibly lame. But so what?

She was going to do the design right now. And give it to him on Sunday. And he was going to love—not like, but love—his shoes, dammit!

* * *

The motorbike was in pole position when Sunshine pulled up outside South. He couldn’t have made it more visible if he’d had it on a dais under a spotlight.

She knew right then that he would be yanking her chain all day. Stealing her sanity!

Her stomach, which had finally started to settle into a relatively stable buzz, started rioting again. She sat in her car, taking some deep breaths and giving herself a stern talking-to: he was not a teenage hothead and he would not kill himself; she didn’t care if he did kill himself; she’d kill him if he didn’t get rid of the bike. And so on.

Not the most intelligent conversation she’d ever had with herself. And completely ineffectual, because her stomach was still going crazy.

If only she’d had the nous to call it quits with Leo after the first time she might still be a properly functioning adult.

Well, spilt milk and all that. She would just have to find a way back to normality before it affected the wedding preparations. Because the wedding was what was important. Not her, not Leo—the wedding!

She straightened her shoulders, flung open the door, and scrambled out of the car. She would have liked to have disembarked from the car, in case Leo was watching, but she was wearing her most complicated shoes and a too-tight dress! Compensating, she practically glided to the boot and, with what she considered great panache, swung her portfolio out. She left the briefcase behind, though—it was hard to look cucumber-cool when you were carrying a briefcase and a portfolio. Not that it usually bothered her, but... Well, but!

She took another deep breath as she entered the restaurant and saw Leo.

His hair was at Number Three buzz-cut stage. His jeans were black. He was wearing a fitted black superfine wool sweater. Sex on a stick. Even the black biker boots didn’t have the power to dampen the desire that hit her like a punch.

He walked towards her—a purposeful kind of prowl that made her tongue want to loll. Not that there would be any tongue-lolling going on today.

She went to give him a reflex kiss on the cheek, but pulled back as it hit her that this was now fraught with difficulty.

His slow smile told her he’d registered her state of confusion. And then, to her shock, he leant down and kissed her. Sweet, slow, warm brush of lips against her cheek.

‘Oh,’ she said inanely.

He simply raised his eyebrows. And she knew what he was doing. He was playing the Dare You game! Dare you to question that. Well, she would not be dared.

He gestured to the dining area. ‘As you can see, the tables and chairs are in,’ he said. ‘We’re basically ready. I’m doing a trial dinner in two weeks, then we’ll have a month to tweak. It will be a full moon on the trial night, so the view should be amazing. I’m inviting mostly locals, and some food and lifestyle media, but because it’s a rehearsal for the wedding you’ll have to come—obviously.’

Dare you! Dare you not to come.

Oh, how she wanted to say she couldn’t make it. But that would be a mammoth case of cutting off her nose to spite her face, which he knew very well.

So, ‘Of course,’ she said.

He nodded at the portfolio in her hand. ‘What’s that?’

‘Your shoe design.’

‘Let’s have a look,’ Leo said.

Ordinarily, Sunshine would have gone a little theatrical, starting with a narrative and then positioning the designs on an easel. But today she merely pulled out the sheets and thrust them at Leo.

She watched, trying not to care, as he flicked through them.

She saw the shock come over his face and wished she could snatch the drawings out of his hands and rip them up.

Leo took them further into the restaurant and laid the pages on a window table, where light streamed brightly through.

He darted a looked up at her. ‘Not what I was expecting,’ he said.

‘What were you expecting?’

Small pause. Quick smile. ‘What’s the shoe equivalent of a pine bookshelf?’

Huh? ‘I guess...black leather lace-ups...?’

‘Bingo.’

‘Not that there’s anything wrong with black leather lace-ups.’

‘And yet...?’

Sunshine shrugged. ‘And...yet.’

* * *

Okay. Leo admitted it. He wanted the damned shoes.

The design was sharp, lean, streamlined. No decorative stitching. Toes that were subtly rounded but also somehow pointed. No laces—monkstraps, fastened with sleek silver side buckles.

Plain and yet edgy.

And the colour was astounding. They looked black, but there was a suggestion...a sheen...of purple.

He cleared his throat. ‘Thanks.’

‘Do you...do you think you’ll wear them?’

‘Can you really get that colour? And those buckles?’

‘I have the black-violet leather reserved. And I’ve already ordered the buckles—they’re real silver.’

Black-violet. Perfect. ‘Then, yes, I’ll wear them, Sunshine.’

She smiled, her eyes glowing with joy, and he felt his heart start that heavy thump he’d hoped wouldn’t happen. Not today—not when he wanted to be securely in the driver’s seat for a change, keeping Sunshine a little off balance.

Of course his first sight of her, hauling herself out of that ancient, minuscule bright yellow car—Holy Mother of God, could a car be more perfect for her?—had almost derailed that plan on the spot, because he was the one who’d felt suddenly off balance.

It was the dress, he told himself. It was a monumental distraction, that dress. Petal-pink, too damned tight, too damned short.

And the black heels—too bloody high, with little black pearls studded in the leather and those crisscrossed ribbons around her ankles. How could a man not think about sucking her toes when he saw those shoes?

Thank God he’d got that first surge of heat under control enough to kiss her cheek instead of shoving his tongue halfway down her throat. Because that had been touch and go!

Now, however, the heart-thump suggested derailment was imminent again.

Well, he would just have to share the derailment around.

‘So, then, let’s go check out hotels,’ he said.

‘Are you—? Are you going to come with me? In the car?’

He thought about saying no—he’d realised that seeing him on the bike was going to be her breaking point and he wanted to get to that point fast. But in that tiny car of hers they would be very close to each other. So close she’d be able to feel him even without touching. He could use that. He was sure he could use that.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘The car.’

But when he squeezed himself into the passenger seat, and the scent of jonquils hit him like Thor’s hammer, he thought perhaps he had made a tactical error. He just freaking loved that smell.

‘Seat belt,’ she said, and waited like a good little Girl Scout until he’d buckled up before starting the car.

He could see a faint blush on her cheeks. She’d get a shock if he touched her there. One finger along the rosy heat.

So he did, finding it shockingly easy to do.

But touchy-feely Sunshine swivelled as though he’d slapped her.

She stared at him.

He stared back.

And then he smiled. ‘You know, Sunshine—your pupils are dilated. Got any internet facts to share about dilated pupils?’

* * *

Yes, Sunshine knew all about dilated pupils.

But she wasn’t answering that.

Not with visions of straddling him right there in his seat popping into her head. He was so close that every time she changed gears her hand brushed his thigh. She had a sneaking suspicion he was deliberately putting his leg in the way. Another yank of her chain? She’d said hands-off, so he—the great un-toucher—had decided it was hands-on, just to needle her into a decision. And she’d thought he’d needed exposure therapy for his touching phobia!

It was just as well the first hotel was close to the restaurant. It was such a relief to be out of the car and in the open air.

Until Leo put his hand in the small of her back to guide her across the car park to the hotel entrance—enough with the touching, already!—and she wanted to slap him.

She was a pacifist—she should not want to slap!

Sunshine stepped away from Leo the moment they were inside the hotel.

‘I loved what I saw on the internet about this place,’ she said, with an enthusiasm that actually managed to sound insincere even though she truly meant it.

That was what Leo was doing to her. Making her over-babble.

She looked around, taking in the use of dark wood, the pale stone floor. ‘I think I’m going to book my own room here. Are you planning on staying overnight? I think you should. You know, you don’t want to...to ride...after the party.’

Babbling. Shut up, shut up!

‘I won’t be riding home if I don’t have a bike,’ he pointed out calmly. Yanking her goddamned chain! ‘But in any case I have a house here, and hopefully there’ll be furniture by then.’

‘A house? By then?’

Ugh. She’d turned into a parrot. A babbling parrot.

‘The house was only built last year, and it’s largely a furniture-free zone.’

‘Are you going to live down here permanently?’

‘Not permanently. I have too much on my plate in Sydney.’

Sunshine knew all about having too much on your plate. It kept you nicely occupied so you only had to think, not feel.

Think. Not feel.

That sounded good.

Think, not feel.

If she just remembered that everything would be all right.

And if she thought—ha—thought!—about Leo’s full plate, it was clear that although he might talk about this mythical abyss-jumping woman of his dreams he was no different from her. He couldn’t fit that kind of commitment into his life. Otherwise he would have it by now. He had enough women to choose from, for God’s sake! She’d looked him up on the internet again yesterday, and seen the paparazzi photos. And, all right, that particular bit of searching had been a weak moment that she would not be repeating!