The Wedding Date (10 page)

From out of nowhere fury enveloped him. Fury he could barely control.

He moved himself in closer to Hannah, feeling a need to say … he knew not what, exactly. That he understood her disappointment? That he’d felt it too? That the only way to survive
it was to turn your insides to rock so hard no amount of chipping made a dent?

No, he wouldn’t say any of that. Couldn’t. Not even while she practically crumbled before his eyes.

Besieged by a swirl of raw emotion, this was usually the point where he’d begin to feel icicles forming in his blood.

But then Hannah murmured, quietly enough he was sure only he heard, ‘Please, God, somebody remind her that this is her daughter’s wedding—not the place to pick up her next ex-husband.’

And he felt as if a pair of huge cold hands was squeezing his chest.

The adventure of the moment had been overtaken by too much stark reality for his liking.

He slid his hand from Hannah’s back and moved out of the circle. He clapped his hands loud enough that the small group turned his way. ‘Who wants a drink? My shout.’

‘There’s a bar tab, silly,’ Elyse said.

‘Even better. So, for the bride?’

‘Black Russian.’

‘Excellent. Beer for me. Boston Sour for Hannah.’

‘Hey, that was Dad’s favourite drink,’ Elyse said.

Bradley glanced at Hannah. With a deep breath she turned away from the stage and into
the conversation. ‘The man had great taste—with only the occasional slip.’

Her eyes slid to his, a warm flicker coming back to life within. He couldn’t drag his eyes away even as he said, ‘Roger? Your favourite drink is …?’

‘I’d kill for a tequila slammer,’ Roger piped up.

The warmth in Hannah’s eyes sparked into a flickering fire, and her mouth turned up at the corners as she stifled a laugh. She had a great smile. Infectious as all get out. Bradley felt his own cheeks lifting in response.

‘Now, Roger, while you await your tequila slammer you should ask Hannah about her naked run down Main Street. It’s a classic.’

Hannah’s smile disappeared as she gawped at him—all hot pink cheeks and pursed red lips, bright eyes and huffing chest. Then she slowly shook her head. A warning of reprisals to come.

It was with that image in mind—that dark promise—that he turned and headed for the bar.

What a difference a day makes.

It had been less than a day since thought of Hannah jetting off for a wild weekend and a family wedding on an island she clearly adored had finally spooked him enough to abandon a
long-planned New Zealand research trip on a plane.

Checking out Tasmania was a smart business move, but there was no avoiding the fact that the timing purely came down to his need to keep an eye on her. For losing her from the team at that point in time was exactly the kind of drama he did not need.

What with the Argentina show all but ready to fly, and New Zealand well and truly in the works. And now the germ of a new idea about Tasmania. He didn’t have the time to break in someone new.

He found a spot at the bar where he was a head taller than every other patron. Three rows back, he still caught the eye of a bored-looking barmaid. She perked up, fixed her hair, smiled, and ignored the throng between them.

He boomed out his order and mimed his room number for the bill. She pretended to write it on her hand. Or maybe she wasn’t pretending. She was cute. Willing. Lived miles away. But no part of him was stirred. Literally. Odd …

Drinks ordered, his thoughts readily skidded back to where he’d left them.

Breaking in a new employee was always frustrating. Not Hannah. She’d been a breeze from day one. With the stamina to keep up with him, the temperament to handle him, and a light-hearted nature that made her popular with staff,
crew and station management alike. She could have said
Yes, Bradley, you’re right, Bradley,
a tad more for his liking—rather than contradicting him so readily. But all in all Team Bradley was the better for having her.

He was smart enough to know it wouldn’t last. Nothing ever did. One day she’d move on. It was the natural order of things. Every man for himself. No exceptions. Not for promises. Not even for blood.

It appeared as though she was sticking around for the immediate future. Hell would freeze over before she’d realise how much she missed living near her mum. As for the lightweight best man? Nothing to fear there.

A woman’s voice called out his room number. He reached over and collected the drinks. The barmaid batted her lashes and gave him an eyeful of cleavage. He gave her an appreciative smile, but nothing more. No need to raise the girl’s obvious hopes.

He was a busy man. On a mission to keep his assistant on the straight and narrow and out of the way of any who sought to knock her from her current path.

Hannah’s familiar laughter tinkled through the air. He turned to catch the sound. She was regaling the group with some story or another, and they were laughing their heads off. This
was the Hannah he wasn’t ready to see go. Easy. Uncomplicated. Straight up.

She tossed her head and smiled widely at someone to her left, giving him a view of her profile. She waved and laughed. Bright and vivacious. Confident and extraordinarily sexy.

Several parts of him were stirred in an instant. Dramatically.

The fact that
he
seemed to be one of those with a craving to knock her from the straight and narrow was a whole other kettle of fish.

H
ANNAH
nibbled at her little fingernail until there was nothing more to nibble without taking the top off her finger.

For a weekend that was meant to be about relaxing and recharging, sorting out her head, she felt as if she’d been walking a tightrope blindfolded.

What with Elyse being so unexpectedly fabulous. Her mother driving her even crazier than she’d expected. And poor Roger flirting up a storm every chance he had while she thought him about as interesting as a potted plant.

But they were mere wallpaper compared with the most glaring factor in the story of her lack of a pinky fingernail.

What had got into Bradley?

Even thinking her boss’s name had her teeth aiming for a new nail.

No matter how she played out that first half an hour inside the bar, she kept coming back to the indisputable fact that Bradley had been
hitting on her. The dark glances, the whispering in her ear, the unexpected touches …

She bit down so hard on her fingernail it stung.

Wincing, she snuck a glance across the table to where the man himself sat, all six feet four inches of him, sprawled out in his chair, long fingers clasped around a glass of beer, smiling contentedly as he watched Elyse and Tim belt out ‘Islands in the Stream’ on the karaoke stage.

‘I’m sorry?’

She blinked, realising he was leaning towards her, one eyebrow cocked, the edge of his mouth lifted in the remnants of a smile. How did the man manage to make even the word
sorry
sound so sexy?

‘Did you say something?’ he asked, almost shouting to be heard over the music.

‘Nope. Nothing going on over here. All quiet my end.’

He looked at her a beat longer. His deep grey eyes burning into her. Heat she’d never sensed from him before was now arcing across the table and turning her knees to butter. When he finally looked away she let out a long, slow breath.

Something had shifted back there. But how much? How far? She was confused and jumpy and prickling with anticipation all at once.

Then she asked the question she’d been finding any way to avoid. Was she looking at the early stages of a fling? She gave in to a delicious shiver that tumbled through her from top to toe.

But no. No way. Anything but that. Not with the boss. She’d worked too hard to prove herself indispensable—irreplaceable, even—to turn into a cliché now.

She leant her chin on her palm and bobbed her head in time with the music, all the while watching him from the corner of her eye.

She’d have to see something way beyond fling on the horizon to even
consider
that kind of risk. Whereas Bradley … She knew first-hand that the women who dated Bradley were lucky if they stayed on his mobile phone longer than a month.

Her enigmatic, heartlessly delicious, emotionally stunted boss suddenly picked up his chair and plonked it down beside hers.

She leaned away. ‘If you can’t see from there I’ll happily switch places.’

‘Stay.’ He placed a hand over hers, cupping it on the table. ‘I don’t plan on shouting to be heard all evening.’

She slid her hand away and used it to scratch her non-itchy head.

‘Elyse is a pretty fair singer too, you know,’ he drawled. ‘How
did
you miss that gene?’

Hannah shook the cotton wool from her head.
‘That’s
what you came over here to say? Not
Are you’re having a good time, Hannah?
Or
Can I get you another drink, Hannah?
But what’s with the talent deficiency? You
are
a charmer.’

He laughed softly—a low rumble that whispered to all the deep, dark feminine places inside her. Serious face on, he was heart-stop-pingly gorgeous. Smiling, he was devastating. Laughing, he was … a dream.

This
man had been hitting on her?
Her?
Sensible, back-chatting, small-town Hannah Gillespie? She felt it, but couldn’t quite believe it.

Needing to know for sure, to see if her radar was so rusty it was no longer even functional, she turned in her chair, giving him her most flirtatious smile.

‘Okay,’ she said, ‘just so we can put this topic to bed once and for all—’

He raised an eyebrow. Her heart rate quickened. And all the places his large warm hands had glanced that night pulsed.

Hannah met his raised eyebrow and raised him another. ‘I’m talking, of course, about my lack of singing and dancing skills.’

‘Riiight.’

‘I don’t want you sitting there feeling all
sorry for me because I can’t do a series of triplespins while belting out “I Dreamed a Dream”.’

When he opened his mouth, she held up a hand. ‘Before you ask, all I’ll admit is that routine had fake peacock feathers and sequinned masquerade masks.’

‘I was going to say that I don’t feel the least bit sorry for you. A woman doesn’t have to be able to sing and dance to have it going on.’

He lifted his beer and finished it in one slow swallow. All she could do was stare.

Oh, yeah. Bradley was flirting, all right. Batting her about like a lion with a moth. She wondered what she might do if he decided to stop playing and get serious. The very idea petrified her to the spot.

Even in the low light of the club she could see the gleam in his eyes. The thrill of the chase.

Utterly out of her depth, she reached for her drink.

Bradley got there first, snatching it out of her way. But not before her fingers had brushed across his. Pure and unadulterated sexual attraction wrapped itself around her like a wet rope, slippery and unyielding. And even in the darkness she was sure his pupils had grown so large the colour of his eyes was completely obscured.

From an accidental touch of fingers. Oh, God …

Bradley swirled the ice around in her drink. Once. Twice. Each time ice hit glass her nerves twanged sharply—like an out-of-tune guitar.

She sat on her hands and bit her lip. He’s your boss. You love your job. He’s not looking for for ever. And you are. Just allowing this flirtation to continue is going to change everything.

He lifted her drink to his mouth and took a sip. The press of his lips where her lips had just been made her tingle in the most aching anticipation.

Then his face screwed up as if he’d just sucked on a lemon. ‘Holy heck—that’s atrocious! How can you drink this slop?’

‘It’s not slop!’

‘What on earth’s in it?’

‘Whisky, lemon juice, sugar, and a dash of egg white.’

‘Are you serious?’

He picked up his empty beer glass and practically ran his tongue around the rim in search of leftover foam. Hannah’s limbs went limp so quickly she had to look away.

‘It was my father’s favourite drink. So clearly it’s meant for a palate far more discerning than yours.’

To prove it, she put the glass to her mouth and took a giant swig—only instead of tasting the sharp mix of ingredients that had always felt nothing but warm and comforting, she was
certain she could taste a whisper of beer as left by Bradley’s lips.

She slammed the glass to the table, then pushed back her chair. ‘I need to … do some urgent maid of honour things.’

He crossed his arms and looked at her a long time. ‘Right now?’

‘You know I don’t like leaving things till the last minute.
Boss.’

There. Put things back in perspective. Remind him who you are. Who he is. How things are meant to work between you.

‘Need company?’ A slow smile slid across his face, proving he was apparently happy to forget.

As he began to uncurl his large lanky self from the chair she backed up so fast she bumped into some poor woman who spilt her drink. Hannah pulled her emergency ten dollars from her cleavage and shoved it in the girl’s hand.

Bradley sank back into the chair, his eyes glued to her décolletage as though he was wondering what other secrets she held down there.
None to write home about!
she wanted to shout.

Instead she demanded, ‘Sit. Drink. Grab a lighter and sway. Whatever gets you through the night. I’ll come find you later.’

And with that she spun and, head down, feet
going a mile a minute, took off through any gap she could find.

Until that moment she’d enjoyed her crush on him
because
it had never had a chance of going anywhere. Bradley was impossible. Untouchable. Out of her league. In fact he’d been a convenient excuse not to get close to anyone else while she concentrated on consolidating her career.

And now?

Someone clearly cleverer than she had once said, ‘Be careful what you wish for or you just might get it.’

She wished they were there right now, so she could shake their hand. Or ask if they’d mind slapping her across the back of the head as many times as it took to make sure she made it back to her bedroom that night.