The Wedding Date (17 page)

She widened her eyes at her reflection and silently told herself to cool it. He’d probably shaved because the mountain air was making him itch.

‘There,’ she said. ‘Enough preening. That’s about as good as it’s going to get.’

She turned to face him, fully expecting to find him leaning indolently against the door-jamb, nonchalantly flicking a piece of lint from his jacket.

Instead he stood stock still, his broad body filling the doorway, shoulders stiff, jaw clenched, nostrils flared, hands in trouser pockets. He looked as if he wouldn’t have had a clue if his entire suit was covered in lint.

His resolute gaze was locked onto her dress. The long full skirt swished at her toes, but it was the top half that him enthralled. From a twisting halterneck, heavy black fabric cut away at the sides, kissing the edge of her breasts and sweeping low at the back, to come together just above her buttocks, leaving her back completely bare.

She saw the moment it occurred to him that it left no room whatsoever for underwear bar the tiniest hipster G-string. His nostrils flared again, and he dragged his eyes shut. She even thought she heard a groan.

She summoned her inner imp to break the tension turning her insides to knots. She held
out her skirt and let it fall in soft folds against her thighs. ‘So, what do you think?’

Bradley opened his eyes. They followed the movement, and a muscle clenched in his jaw. ‘You don’t want to know what I’m thinking.’

‘Try me.’

When his eyes finally locked onto her eyes she literally swayed towards him, so hot, so brutal, so intense was his expression.

Then his eyes glinted, and his beautiful mouth curved into a corrupting smile. He took a step her way.

She shuffled back—only to bang into the bench. Her fingers gripped the cold marble so hard they hurt.

And Bradley just kept on coming.

‘I’m thinking about poor Roger,’ he said.

‘What?’ Hannah shook her head, but she’d heard him right. ‘You’re thinking about
Roger
?’

‘Poor kid’s going to split a seam when he gets a load of you.’

‘Oh.’

His covetous eyes caressed her throat, as if he was imagining burying his face right there.

The memory of just how it felt when he trailed deep hot kisses across her neck overcame her. Her head dropped back and she let out a long sigh.

At the sound his gaze locked on her mouth. If
possible his eyes turned darker. Hotter. Harder. Completely absorbed. She snapped her mouth shut. All that carefully applied gloss …

All the while he continued edging closer, until he all but filled the bathroom. His beautiful face gazed hungrily down at her from a half-dozen angled mirrors. There was no escape.

He came as close as he possibly could without actually touching her. She had to tilt her head to look at him. To be bewitched by the multiple shades of hot silver glinting in his eyes.

He rested his hand on the cold marble bench, his fingers mere millimetres from hers. She wasn’t sure if it was the taste of her toothpaste or the scent of his that tickled her tongue. Either way, she licked her lips. And this time Bradley didn’t even try to hide his groan.

‘He has a crush on you, you know,’ he said, his voice so raw, so deep, it rumbled through her body, leaving trails of goosebumps in its wake.

She blinked. ‘Who?’

‘Roger.’

She frowned. Again with Roger! She’d opened her mouth to tell him to forget about Roger, for Pete’s sake, when finally she got it.

Bradley was using the guy as some kind of prophylactic in order to get her out of this small room without having her expensive, one-of-a-kind
dress torn from her body an hour before her sister’s wedding.

It was a heady feeling, knowing she could make a man feel that close to losing his grip. Bring him to the absolute cliff-face of sexual need. One touch and she had no doubt she could send him over the edge. The fact that she was doing all those things to
this
man …

Her body felt so quivery and hot her elbows threatened to give way. The sexual tension swirling about the room was intoxicating. It felt as if there was no more oxygen. As if the only way for her to breathe again was to fulfil the need clawing at her insides.

But, dammit, he was right about the dress! There was no getting out of it, or around it, or beneath it, without ruining its soft folds.

She bit her lip.
Damn.
She’d have to redo her lip gloss. Then again, there was plenty more where that came from.

Without another thought she lifted up onto her toes and pressed her lips to his.

For a moment he resisted. He stared into her eyes and held firm. All that effort he’d put into keeping his hands off was binding him as tight as a corkscrew.

Fortunately she was a glass of champagne ahead of him, and not feeling nearly so well-behaved. She closed her eyes, tilted her head, and kissed him again. Slowly. Softly. Teasing
him with the lightest flick of her tongue where his lips pressed together.

When her tongue met his she flinched, but only for the briefest of seconds. For finally he was kissing her back. His lips sliding against hers. His tongue tasting hers. Curling about it, toying with her, showing just how much control he had left in reserve.

After what felt like eons later he pulled away. Without his kiss holding her upright any more she leant her forehead against his chest.

‘Apple-flavoured?’ he asked, licking his lips.

She smiled at his tie. ‘Tasmania is the Apple Isle.’

He laughed, and her stomach did a neat little backflip.

Then he stepped back. And frowned. ‘Something doesn’t look right.’

She spun to check her dress wasn’t tucked into the back of her G-string. ‘What?’

‘I’m not sure. But I think something’s missing.’

He pulled a bag from the gift shop from behind his back.

Her heart skipped and tripped and turned over on itself.

‘Cradle Mountain playing cards?’ she said, with a nonchalance she was far from feeling. ‘Souvenir soap? A really tiny towelling
bathrobe? Though why I’d need any of those things at a wedding—’

‘Shut up and open the damn thing.’ He dangled the pretty green bag from a hooked finger.

Brow furrowed, she pulled out a large hinged box. Clueless as to what it might be, she opened it—and then forgot how to breathe. A hand fluttered to her heart.

‘Bradley?’ she said, glancing up at him.

He took the box from her hands. ‘Here—allow me.’

And then with gentle hands he slid her father’s watch over her wrist and clasped it. Only now it worked. And was a perfect fit rather than slipping up her arm every time she moved.

‘I had Housekeeping suspend it over their industrial dryer in the hope that drying it out might do the trick. It did. Then I asked if they had a jeweller nearby, and they said there was one staying at the hotel as part of the high school reunion party. He took out a couple of links.’

The massive watch sat heavy and familiar on her arm, but her eyes were all for Bradley.

He laughed softly, then took her hand in his. ‘Come on. We’d best be off. Time’s marching on.’

She followed him out of the room. Let him hand her the beaded purse from the kitchenette
bench and help her on with her flat silver sandals.

Time was marching on all too fast. She could practically hear the seconds booming inside her. Time till the weekend was over. Time till they flew back home in his jet. Till they went their separate ways at the airport. Till she reported for duty first thing Tuesday morning.

And went on as though nothing had happened.

As though they’d never made love.

Never been exposed to so much about one another’s most private lives.

A strange kind of pain made itself at home beneath her ribs. She rubbed at the spot with one hand, while smiling blithely at Bradley as he swept her out through the suite door.

Bradley stood next to Hannah, waiting for the lift to take them downstairs. He felt strangely shaken. And stirred.

Seeing Hannah back there, looking amazing in that knockout dress, he’d felt such a riddle of emotions he hadn’t been able to pin down a one. Till now. Now they joyfully lined up one after the other, mocking him.

He spared her a glance. Her face was tilted as she watched the numbers count down. The only giveaway that she was as tense as he was, was the deep rise and fall of her chest.

He ran a hand across his chin, looking for the familiar painful sharp rasp of day-old hair against his palm to knock him to his senses, and was surprised to find it so smooth.

He let his hand drop and glowered at his wavering reflection. Why not get the girl a corsage, if you’re going to act like a sixteen-year-old punk going to the prom?

He needed to get some perspective back. And fast.

This was a fling. Nothing more. A bit of holiday fun.

For her it was holiday fun. She was the one on holiday. He was
meant
to be scouting the place for gorgeous, treacherous locations for a future gig. The only gorgeous, treacherous thing he’d had in his sights was five feet six and nibbling at her ridiculously sexy bottom lip.

The lift doors opened to reveal a handful of people already inside. He ushered Hannah inside, careful not to touch her. Hell, if he was really afraid that a touch would only lead to more then he was in more trouble than he’d thought.

She glanced at him, caught his eye and smiled. Her lovely green eyes grew dark and dreamy, her smile all too knowing, and every inch of exposed skin flushed pale pink.

Desire rocketed through him so hard and so fast he reached out to grip the hip-high rail for support.

He should have left the second he’d realised she had a crush on him. Or at the very least the moment he’d sensed how unusually hard it was going to be to walk away. Enough was enough.

He’d put on a show at the wedding, so as not to embarrass her in front of her family. Then he’d feign urgent work and head off. Cut the weekend short. Organise his jet to pick her up the next night while he scored whatever seat he could get on the next commercial plane off the island.

And then Tuesday morning she’d be back at his side. On her favourite chair in his office, cowboy-boot-clad feet on the corner of his desk, eating store-bought Caesar salad with a plastic fork. And all he’d want to do was wipe his desk clean with one sweep of an arm and throw her down on the table and make love to her until the building shook.

What a wretched ruddy mess.

The lift stopped at Elyse’s floor. Hannah was off to do her maid of honour duties. She turned to say something, glanced at her watch, then laughed softly. With a quick wave she lifted her skirt and walked from the lift.

Watching her walk away, he felt a strange tug somewhere in the vicinity of his chest. He rubbed the spot, figuring his recent feats of athleticism in the bedroom had pulled something.

Nevertheless, as the lift doors closed, inside
Bradley’s head he ran a long list of mountains he’d yet to climb, beginning with the tallest, hardest, steepest, and furthest away.

Hannah stared at a crack in the concrete balustrade on the balcony outside the bathroom in which Elyse was ‘taking a moment’—which in Gillespie female speak was elegant for ‘taking a whizz’.

She sniffed in a lungful of cold mountain air, checked her watch. The watch that had used to be her father’s watch. Only now when she looked at it she saw the watch Bradley had rescued.

She saw that it was only five minutes till the wedding was due to start. She’d reached to knock on the bathroom door when the door opened.

‘Your man is a beauty.’ Elyse slurred the words ever so slightly as she swanned out, continuing the one-sided conversation she’d been having when she first went in. She screwed up her face and held out her hands as if she was pinching an imaginary pair of cheeks. ‘He’s so big, and manly, and rugged. Rock-god-sexy, you know?’

Oh, Hannah knew. All too well. She had barely gone a minute that weekend not thinking exactly those thoughts. And more. In intimate remembered detail. But only four and a half
minutes before Elyse was due to marry sweet Tim wasn’t the time to agree.

When the bride-to-be spun around a turn and a half and began heading back into the bathroom, Hannah took her by the elbow and steered her right.

‘Lyssy, hon, how much have you had to drink?’

‘Just a glass of champagne. I was feeling so anxious I thought I might throw up. And Mum’d kill me if I got anything on this dress.’

Right. Okay.
This
she could handle. In fact it was the most blissfully perfect time for a mini-crisis. She so needed something to take her mind off Bradley. And the watch. And the way he’d looked at her in the lift. And the inconveniently persistent glow that had refused to abate since she woke up that morning.

Time to get her sister married.

Her brave little sister.

Hannah wanted the real thing one day too. She really did. But she couldn’t escape the niggling doubts. What if you stopped loving him? What if he didn’t love you enough? What if you loved him more than life itself and he died?

Elyse flumped down onto a concrete bench. Hannah winced. If she didn’t get moss stains on the masses of ivory silk it would be a miracle.

‘Do you think it’s possible to love one man your whole life?’ Elyse asked. ‘To be happy
sleeping with one man for the rest of your days? Or the rest of his? Or … you know what I mean.’

Hannah knew exactly what she meant.
Look at Mum—do you think we have her genes?
She sat down carefully next to her sister and took her by the hand.

‘I’m not sure I’m the one to ask. I’ve never been in love before.’

Elyse’s eyes opened wide. ‘Never?’

Hannah shook her head.

‘Not even with Mr Heaven in Blue Jeans out there? Jeez, you have high standards.’

Did she? Was that the problem? She knew she’d moved on from men because they didn’t give her that all-important spark, or make her laugh, or have anything brilliant to say, or their fingernails were a weird shape, or their forearms were too short. She’d always told herself she was simply waiting to find everything she wanted in one man. The truth was she’d already found it. In Bradley. Even thinking his name took the warm glow inside her to an all-time high, and Hannah’s cheeks heated so fast she felt slightly dizzy.