The Wedding Date (2 page)

‘If you really want to know why you are so lucky, give that lady’s daughter a call. Take her to dinner. Ask her yourself.’ She waved the piece of paper with the woman’s address and phone number on it. ‘Talk about a PR windfall. “Bradley Knight dates fan. Falls in love. Moves to suburbs. Coaches little league team. Learns to cook lamb roast.”’

She could sense his eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses. He then took his sweet time sitting upright. He managed to make the move appear leisurely—inconsequential, even—but the constrained power pulsing through every limb, every digit, every hair was patently clear to anyone with half an instinct. She could feel the blood pumping through her veins.

‘At this moment,’ he said, his voice a deep, dark warning, ‘I am so very, very glad you are my assistant and
not
in charge of PR.’

Hannah slid the paper into her overstuffed leather diary and said, ‘Yeah, me too. I’m not sure there’s enough money in the world that could tempt me to take on a job whereby I’d
have to spend my days trying to convince the world how wonderful you are. I mean, I work hard now—but come on …’

Frown lines appeared above his glasses as he leaned across the table till his forearms covered half the thing. He was so big he blocked out the sun—a massive shadow of a man, with a golden halo outlining his bulk.

Hannah’s fingertips were within touching distance of his. She could feel every single hair on her arms stand to attention one by delicious one. Her feet were tucked so far under her chair—so as to not accidentally scrape against his—she was getting a cramp.

‘Aren’t we in a strange mood today?’ he asked.

His voice was quiet, dropping so very low, and so very much only for her ears she felt it hum in the backs of her knees.

He tilted his chin in her direction. ‘What gives?’

And then he slid his sunglasses from his eyes. Smoky grey they were—or quicksilver—entirely depending on his mood. In that moment they were so dark the colour was impenetrable.

The man was such a workaholic he never looked to her without a dozen instructions ready to be barked. But in that moment he just looked at her. And waited. Hannah’s throat turned to ash.

‘What gives,’ another voice shot back, ‘is that our Hannah’s mind is already turned to a weekend of debauchery and certain nookie.’

Hannah flinched so hard at the sudden intrusion she bit her lip.

Yet through the stinging pain, for a split second, she was almost sure she saw a flicker of something that looked a heck of a lot like disappointment flash across Bradley’s face. Then his eyes lowered to her swollen lip, which she was lapping at with her tongue.

Then, as though she had been imagining the whole thing, he glanced away, leaned back, and turned to the owner of that last gem of a comment.

‘Sonja,’ he drawled. ‘Nice of you to show up.’

‘Pleasure,’ Sonja said.

‘Perfect timing,’ Hannah added, her voice breathier than she would have hoped. ‘Bradley was just about to offer me your job.’

Sonja didn’t even flinch, but the flicker of amusement in Bradley’s cheek made her feel warm all over. She shut down her smile before it took hold. Not only was Sonja Bradley’s PR guru, she was also Hannah’s flatmate. And the only reason she knew how to use a blowdryer and had access to the kind of non-jeans-and-T-shirt-type clothes that filled her closet.

Sonja perched her curvaceous self upon a chair and crossed her legs, her eyes never once
leaving her iPhone as one black-taloned finger skipped ridiculously fast over the screen.

In fact her stillness gave Hannah a sudden chill. She clapped a hand over her friend’s phone, and Sonja blinked as though coming round from a trance.

Hannah said, ‘If you are even
thinking
of Tweeting anything about my upcoming weekend off and debauchery and nookie, or anything along those lines—even if I am named “anonymous Knight Productions staffer”—I will order a beetroot burger and drop it straight on this dress.’

Sonja’s dark gaze narrowed and focussed on the cream wool of the dress Hannah had borrowed from her wardrobe. Slowly she slid her phone into a tiny crocodile skin purse.

‘Why do I feel even more like I’m on the other side of the looking glass from you two than usual?’

Hannah and Sonja both turned to Bradley.

He looked ever so slightly pained as he said, ‘I’m feeling like it’s going to give me indigestion to even bring this up, but I can’t
not
ask. Debauchery? Nookie?’

At the word ‘debauchery’ his eyes slid to Hannah—dark, smoke-grey, inscrutable—before sliding back to Sonja. It was only a fraction of a second. But a fraction was plenty long enough to take her breath clean away.

Boy, did she need a holiday. And
now!

Sonja motioned for an espresso as she said, ‘For an ostensibly smart man, if it doesn’t involve you or your mountains, you have the memory of a sieve. This is the weekend our Hannah is heading back home to the delightful southern island of Tasmania, to play bridesmaid at her sister Elyse’s wedding—which she organised.’

His eyes slid back to Hannah, and this time they stayed. ‘That’s
this
weekend?’

Hannah blinked at him. Slowly. She’d told him as much at least a dozen times in the past fortnight, yet it had clearly not sunk in. It was just what she needed in order to finally become completely unscrambled.

Sonja had been spot-on. Bradley had a one-track mind. And if something didn’t serve him it didn’t exist.

‘I have the New Zealand trip this weekend,’ he said.

‘Yes, you do.’ Hannah glanced at her watch. ‘And I’m off the clock in ten minutes. Sonja? What are
your
plans?’

Sonja grinned from ear to ear at the sarcasm dripping from Hannah’s words. ‘I’ll be sitting all alone in our little apartment, feeling supremely jealous. For this weekend you will have your absolute pick.’

‘My pick of what?’ Hannah asked.

Sonja leaned forward and looked her right in the eye. ‘Oodles of gussied-up, aftershave-drenched men, bombarded by more concentrated romance than they can handle. They’ll be walking around that wedding like wolves in heat. It’s the most primal event you’ll see in civilised society.’

With that, Sonja leant back, wiping an imaginary bead of sweat from her brow, before returning to texting up a storm.

Hannah sat stock still, feeling a mite warmer in the chilly Melbourne afternoon. Having insisted on planning her little sister’s wedding in the spare minutes she had left each day, in a fit of guilt at being maid of honour from several hundred kilometres’ distance, she’d been so absolutely swamped that the idea of a holiday fling had not once entered her mind.

Maybe a random red-hot weekend was exactly what she needed—to unwind, de-knot, take stock, recharge, and remember there was a whole wide world outside of Bradley Knight’s orbit.

‘The groomsmen will be top of the list, of course,’ Sonja continued. ‘But they’ll be so ready for action it’ll be embarrassing. Best you avoid them. My advice is to look out for another interstate guest—more mystery, and less likely to be a close relative. Or a fisherman.’

Hannah scoffed, and shut her eyes tight against Sonja’s small-town-life bashing.

‘You’re on the pill, right?’

‘Sonja!’

Really, that was a step too far. But she was. Not that she’d found cause to need it much of late. Her hours were prohibitive, and her work so consuming she was simply too exhausted to even remember why she’d gone on the pill in the first place.

But now she had four whole days in a beautiful resort, in the middle of a winter wonderland wilderness, surrounded by dozens of single guys. A small fire lit inside her stomach for the first time in the months since she’d known she was going home.

She was about to get herself a whole load of time, space,
and
the chance she might meet an actual guy. Heck, what were the chances she’d find The One back on the island from which she’d fled all those years ago?

When she opened an eye it was to find Bradley frowning. Though if it was about anything to do with her she’d eat her shoes.

She shoved the last of her papers into a large, heavy leather satchel. Her voice was firm as she said, ‘I’m heading to the office now, to make sure Spencer has everything he needs in order to be me this weekend.’

‘That’s your replacement for a major location
scout?’ Bradley asked. ‘The intern with the crush?’

Her hand turned into a fist inside the bag, and she glanced up at her boss. ‘Spencer doesn’t have a
crush
on me. He just wants to
be
me when he grows up.’

One dark eyebrow kicked north. ‘The kid practically salivates every time you walk in the room.’

That
he notices …?

‘Then lucky for you. With me gone, you’ll have a salivation-free weekend.’

‘That’s the positive?’

Hannah shrugged. ‘Told you—I suck at PR. Lucky for me I’m so good at my actual job you are clearly pining in advance. In fact, it’s so clear how much you’ll miss me I’m thinking the time’s ripe to ask for a promotion.’

It was a throwaway comment, but it seemed to hang there between them as if it had been shouted. His eyebrows flattened and his grey eyes clouded. Behind them was a coming storm. He reached distractedly across the table and stole the small sugar biscuit from the edge of Sonja’s saucer.

Blithely changing the subject, he said, ‘Four days.’

‘Four days and enough pre-wedding functions you’d think they were royalty.’ But, no, the bride was simply her mother’s daughter.
‘The wedding’s on Sunday. I’ll be back Tuesday morning.’

‘Covered in hickies, no doubt,’ Sonja threw in, most helpfully. ‘Her mother
was
Miss Tasmania, after all. Down there she’s considered good breeding stock.’

Thank goodness at that moment Sonja spied someone with whom to schmooze. With a waving hand and a loud
‘daaaarling’
she was gone, leaving Bradley and Hannah alone again.

Bradley was watching her quietly, and thanks to Sonja—who’d clearly been born without a discreet bone in her body—the swirl of sexual innuendo was ringing in her ears. Hannah felt as if all the air had been sapped from the sky.

‘So you’re heading home?’ Bradley asked, voice low.

‘Tomorrow morning. Even though last night I dreamt the
Spirit of Tasmania
was stolen by pirates.’

‘You’re going by
boat?’

She shuffled in her seat. ‘I thought you of all people would appreciate the adventure of my going by open sea.’

A muscle flickered in Bradley’s cheek. Fair enough. A reclining seat on a luxury ferry wasn’t exactly his brand of adventure. Sweat, pain, hard slog, the ultimate test of will and courage and fortitude, man proving himself worthy against unbeatable odds—that was his
thing. She was secretly packing seasickness tablets.

Every time she’d been on a boat with him she picked the most central spot in which to sit, and tended to stare at the horizon a good deal of the time. Trying to keep her failing hidden in order to appear the perfect employee. Irreplaceable.

She was hardly going to tell him that the real reason she’d booked the day-long trip rather than a one-hour flight was that, while she was very much looking forward to the break, she was dreading going home. A twelve-hour boat trip was heaven-sent! She’d been back to Tassie once in the seven years since she’d left home. For her mother’s fiftieth birthday extravaganza. Or so she’d been told. It had, in fact, been her mother’s third wedding—to some schmuck who’d made a fortune in garden tools. She’d felt blindsided. Her mother hadn’t understood why. Poor Elyse, then sixteen, had been caught in the middle. It had been an unmitigated disaster.

So, if she had to endure twelve hours of eating nothing but dry crackers and pinching the soft spot between her thumb and forefinger to fight off motion sickness, it would be worth it.

‘Ever been to Tasmania?’ she asked, glad to change the subject.

He shook his head. ‘Can’t say I have.’

Hannah sat forward on her seat, mouth agape.
‘No?
That’s a travesty! It’s just over the pond, for goodness’ sake! And it’s gorgeous. Much of it is rugged and untouched. Just your cup of tea. The jagged cliffs of Queenstown, where it appears as though copper has been torn from the land by a giant’s claws. Ocean Beach off Strahan, where the winds from the Roaring Forties tear across of the most unforgiving coastline. And then there’s Cradle Mountain. That’s where the wedding’s being held. Cold and craggy and simply stunning, resting gorgeously and menacingly on the edge of the most beautiful crystal-clear lake. And that’s just a tiny part of the west coast. The whole island is magical. So lush and raw and diverse and pretty and challenging …’

She stopped to take a breath, and glanced from the spot in mid-air she’d been staring through to find Bradley watching her. His deep grey eyes pinned her to her seat as he listened.
Really
listened. As though her opinion mattered
that
much.

Her heart began to pound like crazy. It was a heady thought. But dangerous all the same. The fact that he was unreachable, an island unto himself, was half the appeal of indulging in an impossible crush. It didn’t cost her anything but the occasional sleepless night.

She stood quickly and slung her heavy leather satchel over her shoulder. ‘And on that note …’

Bradley stood as well. A move born of instinct. It still felt nice.

Well, there were millions of men who would stand when she stood. Thousands at the very least. There was a chance one or two of them would even be at her sister’s bigger-than
-Ben Hur
wedding. Maybe looking for a little romance. A little fun. Looking for someone with whom to unwind.

Maybe more …

She took two steps back. ‘I hope New Zealand knocks your socks off.’

‘Have a good weekend, Hannah. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’

She shot him a quick smile. ‘Have no fear. I have no intention of dropping off or picking up any dry-cleaning this weekend.’

He laughed, the unusually relaxed sound rumbling through her. She vibrated. Inside and out.