The Wedding Date (16 page)

‘Instead of you.’

A spark of hurt flashed across her eyes. His gut clenched unexpectedly. It only made him more determined. He held his ground. This was important. Important he do this now. Before
things got any more complicated than they already were.

‘Why?’

Because you care too much, and I clearly count on you too much, and we’re both setting ourselves up for disappointment,
he thought.

He said, ‘He did everything I asked of him yesterday, and well. I thought I ought to see how he goes with more responsibility.’

‘Right. That’s fair. But
I
set up that meeting. You wouldn’t even be going if I hadn’t wooed the Argentinians in the first place. I had to stay by the phone till after midnight every night for two weeks so as to be able to take their calls. I went above and beyond for—’ Voice getting breathless, she pulled up short and shook her head. ‘Why am I bothering? Do what you want. You always do. You’re the boss.’

‘Glad you remembered that.’

The look she shot him could have cut glass.

‘Because, as your boss, I have a job for
you
to do.’

‘Tell someone who’s not on holiday,’ she threw over her shoulder, and she took off down the path in front of him, her ponytail swinging accusingly at him.

He lifted his voice so as to be heard through the thin air. ‘When we get back I want you to concentrate on putting together a full proposal
for the Tasmania project. Locations. Treatment. Budget. Marketing. Everything.’

Her feet kicked up dust as she screeched to a halt. A full five seconds later she turned and stared up at him. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Have you ever known me to kid about work?’

‘You? Never. Sonja and I behind your back? Every damn day.’ Expression deadly serious, she took three steps up the hill and jabbed a finger into his chest. ‘Now, let me get this straight. If I’m creating the project specs from scratch …’

‘You’ll be producing it.’

She shoved her hands into the pockets of her parka and breathed in, obviously thinking very deeply. The longer the moment passed, the more Bradley began to fidget. He’d expected her to leap into his arms with joy. He hadn’t expected her to consider it. Or, worse, ponder why.

She spun on the spot. Jabbed him in the chest again. Then took a step back. Her eyes widened as she seemed to lose purchase on the loose ground. And suddenly she was halfway to head over heels.

Bradley reached out and grabbed her by the parka, his fingers clenching tight around the handful of slippery fabric while she wavered at a terrifying angle.

She glanced behind her and let out a cry. ‘Bradley!’

‘I know.’ He could see the ground dropping away. He didn’t even want to know the kind of angle she saw.

His fingers ached. Sweat broke out over his forehead. He dug his heels into the ground and, gritting his teeth, all but broke through the outer lining of her jacket in order to haul her back to safety.

She fell into his arms, breathing like a racehorse and shaking like a leaf.

He growled, ‘You scared me half to death.’

‘How do you think
I
feel?’

He couldn’t help himself. He laughed. The sound ricocheted off the surrounding cliffs. It was either that or hold her so tight she’d begin to get ideas.

‘So glad you can take my near death so lightly,’ she said. ‘I’m sure there are
some
who would miss me if I never made it back to Melbourne.’

He breathed deep through his nose and scraped her away from his front to look down into her face. ‘Sonja would miss you once her heat got turned off.’

‘True.’

‘And Spencer. He’d be devastated.’

‘He would. But that’s all? That’s some epitaph. Hannah Gillespie, twenty-five and single, falls to dramatic death from mountain. Terribly
missed by semi-estranged family, chilly roommate, and dorky work-experience kid.’

Laughing, Bradley reached out and stroked the back of a finger across her cheek, sweeping her hair away from her eyes. When a strand remained she blew it out of the way with a shot of air from the side of her mouth.

Her eyes remained locked to his. All but begging for him to put her out of her misery and admit
he’d
miss her.

If she only knew how much. More than was in any way sensible. And it wasn’t just about her work ethic. It was so very much about the lightness she lent to the rigours of his days.

‘Remind me to chastise you for utter stupidity later. But for now …’

He crushed his mouth to hers and kissed her, and kissed her, and kissed her, until the ferocious force of their chemistry took over and nothing else mattered but how soon they could get back to the hotel.

Hannah got back to the room first, as Bradley had been forced to stay behind and read a half-dozen messages at Reception. She could have waited, but the excuse to take a moment apart was welcome.

She tore off her gloves, beanie, scarf, parka and shoes, and stretched out suddenly far lighter
limbs as she padded into the room in jeans and long-sleeved T.

But no stretching could negate the confusion that was rocketing through her. She felt more as if she’d spent the past few hours on a roller-coaster rather than a mountain hike. Her roiling stomach could certainly attest to that.

Bradley sharing things from his past she’d never hoped he might impart. While still keeping his emotional distance any time she tried to close the gap.

Bradley offering her a chance at the Tasmania show. While unceremoniously ditching her from the Argentina pitch.

Bradley looking at her as if he wanted to devour her on the spot. While reminding her in no uncertain terms that the devouring wouldn’t go on past that weekend.

Bradley, beautiful and bombastic and in his element.

No wonder the documentary-maker who’d discovered him halfway up K2, camera in hand, strong, beautiful face peering out from beneath a month’s worth of dark facial hair, looking like the first real man on earth, had appeared unable to control her salivation when asked in the press about that fateful day. The day that introduced the mountaineer to television and Bradley Knight to an unprepared world.

Up, down. Up, down. Her emotions felt so
twisted her heart had yet to stop beating as if she’d run a marathon.

Feeling prickly, and fractious, and uncoop-eratively turned on, Hannah trudged towards her room, stripping off more layers as she went. She passed near the spa. It twinkled darkly at her. As did her half-drunk glass of wine. And the discarded condom packet she’d torn open with her teeth.

And her father’s watch bobbing in the water.

‘No, no, no!’ She ran around the edge of the pool and dropped to her knees, gathering it in her hands.

She’d been wearing it as she’d waited for Bradley to return. Had been wearing it still when she’d slipped into the pool. And now water drops sat suspended beneath the large face on which the hands hadn’t moved since a little after three that morning.

‘What’s wrong?’ Bradley’s voice boomed from the doorway. Her cry must have been loud enough for him to hear it from the hall.

She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’

He was at her back before she could scramble to her feet and walk away. To curl up in a ball and cry. In private.

‘Hannah, I’m sorry, but I need to know that you’re okay.’

She held up her watch. ‘It’s ruined.’

He glanced from her face to the watch, to
the spa and back again. Then his whole body seemed to relax. ‘Thank God. I thought you were hurt.’

Hannah recoiled as though slapped. Her voice rose as she said, ‘Did you not hear me say that my watch is ruined? It’s dead.’

‘Let me have a look.’ He took the watch from her hands and checked it out under the light. ‘Mmm … I’m not entirely sure it was built for underwater adventure. If you really need a watch there’s a gift shop downstairs.’

She grabbed her watch back and cradled it in her palm. ‘I don’t want another watch. This was my dad’s. It’s the only thing of his I took with me when I left.’

Her heart squeezed. The turbulent tension of the afternoon was making it hard for her to see straight.

But it didn’t matter. Bradley just stood there and said nothing. Doing his deer-caught-in-the-headlights impression. He might have been there for her on the side of the mountain, but the man clearly had no idea how to function in the face of real emotion.

It usually amused her when he froze up, as emotion was the only thing she’d ever seen him not do brilliantly. Right then it pissed her off royally. And instead of being able to revel in feeling pissed off she’d now found out
why
he was the way he was. His bloody mother had
screwed him up for every other woman who came into his life.

Hannah had known he was stubborn. Known he was closed off. But the damage done had clearly affected every part of his life. If he couldn’t trust his own mother, who could he trust? He was never going to commit. Not to anyone. Not to her.

In the next half-second everything came to a head. The build-up to her trip, her mother being her mother, having an affair with her boss, the fact that no matter what she did from that point her life in Melbourne would never be the same and, yeah, even the fact that her little sister was getting married before she’d even come close.

She felt angry. And hurt. And exposed. Like a great big throbbing nerve.

‘Are you really going to just stand there and say nothing?’ she asked. ‘Nothing to try and make me feel like my heart
hasn’t
just been torn from my chest? Can’t you even pretend that you care about anything but yourself? Just for a second? You’re killing me here!’

She didn’t even realise she was pummelling his chest in a release of the most rabid frustration until he grabbed her by the wrists. Shaking still, she glared up at him, eyes burning so hot she might have been looking directly into the sun.

Slowly he lifted her hands and placed them
on his shoulders. He didn’t let go until they clamped down hard.

He placed his hands either side of her face, looked down into her eyes, stilling her, quieting her, making sure all she could think of was those eyes. That moment. That man.

His lips brushed hers with less pressure than a whisper. Again, and again, and again. Her bones turned to liquid. Her blood to molasses. She hadn’t the energy to do anything but cling to him as he administered the most endearing kiss of her entire life.

Her earlier confusion and pain and frustration subsided as pleasure in its purest form took their place.

When he slid an arm beneath her knees and carried her into her bedroom she leant her head against his chest, taking solace from the heavy, steady beat of his heart.

He laid her gently on the bed. Carefully peeled her clothes from her warm body. And gazed at her for the longest time. She felt as if she was falling. From a great height. Even the touch of his eyes could send her spiralling over a precipice. Only he’d never be there to catch her emotionally. And it wasn’t his fault. He simply wasn’t equipped to know how.

He knelt over her—big, beautiful, a danger to her heart. He made love to her gently, slowly, with unbridled heat in his beautiful silver eyes.
She didn’t once care that he hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t eased her mind. Hadn’t made any promises he couldn’t keep.

How could she quibble when her body pulsed with a slow burn that steadily built until she felt as if she was made of pure fire?

Hannah woke up hours later, naked in bed, the room pitch-black. No moonlight gave her a sense of time or place. Only the warm thrum of her body reminded her who and where she was.

She carefully slid her foot sideways until it kicked a man’s hairy calf. Bradley hadn’t gone back to his own room. He’d stayed.

The kick must have unsettled him, for he rolled over, draping an arm across her waist, tucking his knees into the crook of hers.

She tucked her sheets to her chin and stared at the dark ceiling, her heart pounding, wondering how she was going to get through the next two days in one piece.

T
HE
afternoon of the wedding Hannah stood staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

After hours at the hands of myriad professionals, her hair hung in long lush waves, a portion kept from her face with the use of a delicate black and silver butterfly clip, and great big dark, smoky eyes looked back at her. Cheekbones most women would kill for. Soft, moist, bee-stung lips.

She looked … changed. But it had little to do with the makeover.

There was a relaxation of the constant furrow in her brow. An ease of movement that came with the most languid muscles in the world. All the make-up in the world couldn’t do as much for a girl’s complexion as a weekend spent in Bradley Knight’s arms.

All of which was going to come to a screaming halt after the next day. After wishing this weekend would fly, she now found herself wishing it would stop speeding by so very fast.

She was swiping on one last layer of gloss on her lips when a light knock sounded at her bedroom door.

Bradley.
Her heart sang. For a moment she had the strangest thought:
He’s not meant to see me before the wedding!
A half-second later, when she remembered rightly that they were just bystanders in today’s proceedings, she felt a right fool.

‘Come in,’ she called, shoving the lipgloss wand back into its tube.

Bradley didn’t wait to be asked twice. He swept the door open and she caught a waft of his familiar scent on the rush of air. She breathed it as if it was an elixir.

Feigning fixing her hair, she shot him the quickest glance.

Black dinner suit cut to make the most of his broad angles. Hair slicked back. Freshly shaven.

He looked so unfairly beautiful she had to remind herself to breathe.

You’ve seen him in a dinner suit before, you goose! Many many times! In tuxes just as many. Heck, you’ve even tied his bow tie before shoving him into cars and off to attend glamorous awards nights.

Only those times it had been business. This time he was all dolled up to be her date. He’d
shaved
to be her date.