Harlequin KISS August 2014 Bundle

by Amy Andrews, Aimee Carson, Avril Tremayne

  ‘Just...something that’s going to have to start now, like right this second, if it’s going to be ready in two months.’

  ‘And are you going to share with me exactly what this all-important thing is?’

  ‘Promise you won’t get mad?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s important.’

  ‘Waiting.’

  ‘I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t absolutely vital. It’s just...’ She stopped, ran her hand through her long hair, widened her eyes at him as though she were trying to impart something telepathically. Ran her hand through her hair again.

  And he—

  God! The eyes. Why hadn’t he noticed her eyes before?

  She huffed out a breath and pursed her lips. Exasperated because he hadn’t read her chaotic mind, probably.

  But all he could think about were her eyes.

  ‘Hair,’ she explained. ‘It only grows one-point-two-five centimetres a month. One-point-three if you’re lucky.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘You have to start growing your hair.’

  He had no answer. Might well have been gaping like a hooked fish.

  ‘Sorry—but if I didn’t raise it now you might have shaved your head tonight and it would be a shame to lose those few millimetres.’

  ‘I don’t want to grow my hair,’ Leo said. Ultra-reasonable. The way you talked to a person who was certifiably insane.

  ‘But you will look so much better in the photos. And you have lovely hair.’

  ‘And you know this...how?’

  ‘I looked you up online and saw the photos from the launch of this place, when you had hair. Now, I’m not saying you’re not very good-looking even with the shaved head. Tall, but not in a carnival freaky way. Lean—which is amazing, for a chef, if you ask me. Wonderful sharp cheekbones, brilliant smile— All right, I’m guessing the smile bit, since I haven’t actually seen it, but I’m a good guesser. And really lovely eyes—amber is such an unusual colour, you know? Tigerish. But if you look quite delectable now, you will be absolutely, irresistibly gorgeous with hair.’

  Leo stood there, gobsmacked. ‘I’ve got to get to work,’ he said when he could trust himself to speak.

  ‘But you’ll think about the hair, won’t you?’ she asked anxiously. ‘And while you’re thinking, maybe keep the razor off your scalp...just in case you do decide to look absolutely, irresistibly gorgeous at your brother’s wedding.’

  He looked at her. Noted her eyes again. Really stunning eyes. She would look absolutely, irresistibly gorgeous herself if she—

  Aha.

  Leo could have crowed, he was so pleased with himself. ‘Let’s make a deal—you go into the bathroom and wash off that eye-goop right now, and I will not shave my head...unless I see that crap all over your eyes again. The minute I see it, I’m reaching for the razor.’

  And, yes! He’d stumped her. She was the gaping fish now.

  He watched as she processed what he’d said. She lifted her bag off the floor and rummaged inside, pulled out a compact. Flipped it open, looked in the mirror. Widened her eyes, then squinted. Turned her head to peer sideways, then switched sides and did it again. ‘You know that I have strange eyes, right?’ she asked.

  ‘Beautiful eyes.’

  ‘Evil eyes.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe lay off the sci-fi.’

  ‘Oh, it’s a real condition. It’s called heterochromia iridum, and there are various theories about how you get it. Genetics, melanin levels, trauma, chimerism—which is kind of creepy because it means another foetus has merged with you in the womb, which in my case would mean there were initially three of us, because— Well, anyway, I don’t like the idea of absorbing a sibling in the womb—hello, Dr Frankenstein!’ Pause for breath. ‘All that aside, I’m pretty sure they used to burn people like me at the stake as witches back in the day.’

  ‘Nobody is going to burn you at the stake in modern-day Australia for having one blue and one green eye.’

  ‘I’ve tried contact lenses, but there is nothing that makes you panic quite like a contact lens that’s slipped up under your eyelid and you think it’s going to be there for eternity unless you race off to the emergency room and have someone stick some implement in there against your poor squishy eyeball. Talk about bloodshot!’ She pursed her lips. ‘But I guess I could try them again—maybe some amber ones.’ She looked into his eyes, considering. ‘Because your eyes really are lovely, and I think I’d look kind of interesting with amber eyes.’

  ‘You do that and I’m shaving my head.’

  Sunshine took another look in the mirror, then snapped the compact shut. ‘All right. Deal. I may need a little make-up on the actual day of the reception, just so I don’t look Plain Janerama, but no camouflage paint in the meantime. I’m keeping the lipstick, though—I can’t go completely naked. So! Where’s the bathroom?’

  Plain Janerama? Leo, speechless, pointed.

  Sunshine got to her feet. ‘No need to wait,’ she told him.

  ‘Oh, I’m waiting.’

  She squared her shoulders. ‘This is going to be weird,’ she said, and tap-tapped away.

  Leo checked that everything was in order in the kitchen, then returned to the table. He went through the checklist again. Swore under his breath. He suspected Sunshine Smart usually got her way in all things. Which meant she was in for a surprise, because just on principle he wasn’t going to let that happen. He hadn’t got where he was today by doing what people told him. His survival instinct told him always to go his own way, to get his own way.

  He started jotting down menu ideas—appropriate for a dinner for twenty-five people—but hadn’t got far when he heard the tap-tap of Sunshine’s returning high heels.

  She plonked herself into the chair opposite and did an over-the-top eyelash-bat at him.

  Leo stared at her. He couldn’t help it. Without the exaggerated eye make-up she looked fresh and clean and sweet as suckable candy. Her dark chocolate hair against the ultra-white skin of her face seemed more dramatic. With the edge of her heavy fringe now damp and misplaced, he could see how fine and dark her eyebrows were, and that they arched intriguingly towards the outer edge. Her eyelashes were thick and black enough to form a fine line around her eyes. And her eyes were simply spectacular. Heavy-lidded, slightly tilted, the colour difference so dramatic without the dark shadow and over-clumped lashes that he couldn’t seem to stop looking at them.

  ‘Well?’ she asked, batting away.

  ‘Better,’ Leo said, with impressive understatement. He got to his feet. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then—an hour earlier, if you can make it. But you’ll have to come to Mainefare—it’s in the Pig and Poke pub. Do you know it?’

  ‘Yes, I know it—and, yes, that’s fine. But before you go can I ask just one more favour?’

  Leo eyed her suspiciously.

  ‘I’m staying for dinner,’ she explained. ‘Don’t worry—I have a booking. It’s just that my date—Gary, his name is—is a massive foodie, and he’d really love to meet you. Perhaps you could just pop out and say hello...?’

  ‘Oh, sure,’ Leo agreed easily. He’d been expecting something worse—maybe that he have a shot of Botox!—and, anyway, speaking to his customers was part of his routine.

  ‘And do you think I could have this exact table? It has a lovely view over the park. If it’s reserved I’ll understand, but—’

  He caught his impatient sigh before it could erupt. ‘You can have the table, Sunshine.’

  ‘And could I have a Campari and soda while I wait for Gary?’

  ‘Fine,’ Leo said, irritated that it made him curious about her—because he would have pegged her for a Cosmopolitan girl. And who the hell cared what she liked to drink? ‘I’ll get one sent over.’

  ‘And—’

/>   ‘Good God, what else?’

  ‘Just that it’s Gary’s birthday...so if there’s a special dessert or something...?’

  ‘Yes. I. Will. Send. Out. A. Special. Dessert. Now, are you all right for socks and undies, or do you need me to get you some of those too?’

  ‘Actually, I never wear socks.’ Sunshine smiled serenely. ‘And I’m not wearing undies tonight—not under this dress!’

  Leo could feel his eyes bug out of his head. ‘Thanks for that mental picture, Sunshine. Anything else you’d care to share?’

  ‘Well...’

  ‘Yeah, hold that thought,’ he said, and made a bolt for the kitchen. Where he leant against the wall and burst out laughing.

  His sous chef looked at him as if he’d grown a gigantic unicorn horn.

  Clearly it had been a long time since he’d laughed.

  * * *

  Yum.

  That was the word that had been popping into Sunshine’s head with monotonous regularity from the moment Leo had sent out a bowl of polenta chips with a gorgonzola dipping sauce to snack on while she drank her Campari.

  Q Brasserie had an open kitchen, so she could not only smell but also see the magic being wrought on an array of seafood and meat—and, okay, vegetables too, although they were a lot less interesting if you asked her.

  She rubbernecked as a steady stream of mouthwatering dishes was whisked past her en route to other diners, agonised over the menu choices and wished she could eat everything.

  Sunshine basically Hoovered up her entrée of six plump, perfectly sautéed scallops, served with a Japanese-style dressing of cucumber, rice vinegar, mirin, and ginger. And it took great willpower not to beg a taste of Gary’s mushrooms with truffle custard. She wouldn’t normally covet a vegetarian dish but, come on, truffle custard? Yum!

  The main meals were sublime. She ate every bite of her Angus beef brisket, served with smoked bone marrow and potato confit, and, giving in to her inner piglet on the date-taste issue, was in the process of polishing off one of Gary’s divine king prawns—chargrilled with coriander and lime, yum, yum, yum—when up bowled Leo.

  He’d changed from his jeans, T-shirt and way cool brown leather lace-ups into a spotlessly clean, double-breasted chef’s jacket, finely checked pants and classy black slip-ons, and he looked sigh-worthy.

  Leo looked at her well-cleaned plate. At Gary’s. At the tiny piece of prawn on the end of her fork. His eyebrows shot up.

  Sunshine knew she was presenting as a glutton—but so what? She liked food! Sue her! She calmly finished the last bite of prawn and laid her fork on her plate.

  She made the introductions, then retreated as Leo engaged Gary in a conversation about food.

  Gary looked a little starstruck. Which was kind of sweet. He was kind of sweet. Not that their relationship was going anywhere. This was their third date and from her perspective he’d settled into purely platonic material. She hadn’t had even one lascivious thought about him.

  The conversation moved on from food and Gary was explaining a little about his job. He was an investment banker—which was more interesting than it sounded. Truly!

  ‘Nice talking to you Gary,’ Leo said eventually. ‘Dessert is on the house. Happy birthday, and enjoy the rest of your evening.

  * * *

  Leo had been aware of Sunshine beaming her approval all through his talk with Gary. It was irritating, like a tiny pebble stuck in your shoe, to have her there—just there...just...there. Like a hyped-up Miss Congeniality.

  In fact the whole evening had been irritating, because that damned table he’d pinched from one of his regulars was in his line of sight from the kitchen, so he’d been in Peeping Tom mode all night. Watching as she ate. And ate and ate. As she made Gary laugh. And laugh and laugh.

  Gary was clearly besotted with her. Poor guy. He was handsome—a nice man—but not in Sunshine’s league. Not that Leo knew what Sunshine’s league was, only that Gary wasn’t in it. Which had been underscored by the expression on Sunshine’s face when the Persian nougat glacé had arrived at the table. The way her glowing eyes had closed as she took the first bite, then opened as the taste hit her. How her mouth had oozed over the spoon...

  And why hadn’t he noticed the shape of her mouth before? Too much coloured gunk, he supposed. But once the lipstick had worn off she hadn’t bothered reapplying it. Which was odd, wasn’t it? He’d never known a girl not to race off and reapply her lipstick ad nauseam during dinner.

  Not that Sunshine’s lipstick habits were any of his business.

  Except that now he couldn’t miss her too-heavy top lip, glistening as she darted her tongue over it. The wide and chewable bottom lip. She had a little gap between her two front teeth that was kooky-meets-adorable. And she moved her mouth over her spoon as if she were having a food-induced orgasm.

  He wondered if he was thinking in orgasm terms because she was going commando tonight. Not that he was going there. No way! And please, God, get the thought out of my head!

  Whatever, she’d clearly appreciated the 2002 Cristal her boyfriend had ordered to go with dessert.

  Leo preferred the 1996 vintage.

  Talk about splitting hairs. What the hell was wrong with him?

  He sighed. Stretched. It had been a long night, that was all. He just needed to get to bed. Right after he emailed Caleb. He was going to get the dinner party back under control at their meeting tomorrow. Put Sunshine the Bulldozer back in the shed.

  Sunshine. Groan! She was like a six-inch electric blue thorn in his side.

  So it didn’t make sense that he would be humming as he thought about that manifesto-sized checklist of hers.

  And damn if it wasn’t that cheesy Natalie Clarke number about love biting you in the ass.

  The most diabolically awful song of the century.

  Clearly, he needed a drink.

  God, he hated Barry White.

  TWO

  TO: Caleb Quartermaine

  FROM: Leo Quartermaine

  SUBJECT: Seriously?

  Caleb, mate

  What’s the deal? Where’s your invitation list? Are we really talking 150 guests? I thought it was an intimate dinner.

  Sunshine is descending on me tomorrow to kick off the invitation process, so it would be nice to know who’s got what expectations. So I don’t end up looking like a completely clueless moron.

  LQ

  TO: Jonathan Jones

  FROM: Sunshine Smart

  SUBJECT: Wedding of the century

  Hello, darling

  Had dinner at Q Brasserie tonight—fabulous. We’re meeting again at one of Leo’s other places, Mainefare, tomorrow. Can’t wait!

  I’ve worked out that Mainefare is a play on words. Mayfair as in London (it’s in a British-style pub) but with Maine as in Quartermaine and fare as in food. Leo is so clever!

  Invitation samples attached: (1) ultra-modern, cream and charcoal; (2) dreamy romantic in mauve and violet; (3) Art Deco—blue and teal with yellow, brown, and grey accents.

  PLEASE like the Art Deco one, which I know sounds ghastly, but open it and you’ll see!

  All else is on track. Party of the year, I’m telling you!

  Sunny xxx

  PS—and, no, in answer to your repeat question—I have not done it yet. You’re getting as bad as Mum and Dad.

  Tap-tap-tap. Same sound effect, just on floorboards.

  Leo saw her scan the room. Mainefare wasn’t as open as Q Brasserie and it was harder to spot people—so he stood, waved.

  His eyes went automatically to Sunshine’s feet. Coral suede. Maybe four inches high—he figured the missing inches equalled casual for her. Oddly, no polish on her toenails; now
that he thought of it, he hadn’t seen colour on her toenails at their previous two meetings. Fingernails either.

  Hello, Mr Estee Lauder—since when do you start noticing nail polish?

  He didn’t. Of course he didn’t. But she just looked like the kind of girl who wouldn’t be seen dead with unpainted nails.

  Then again, she didn’t look like the kind of girl who would eat like Henry VIII either.

  Sunshine gave him her usual beaming smile as she reached him. She was wearing a pair of skintight pants in dark green, with a 1960s-style tunic. The tunic was cream, with a psychedelic red and black swirl on the front that should have looked like crap but didn’t. She had on the same sun/moon necklace, but no other jewellery. And that was kind of strange too, wasn’t it? Where was the bling?

  She kissed him on the cheek, same as yesterday, before he could step out of reach, and sat as though exhausted, thumping an oversized tote—rust-coloured canvas—on the floor beside her chair.

  ‘Whew,’ she said. ‘I’ve got lots of samples with me, so that bag is heavy.’

  Leo couldn’t work out how she could wear colours that didn’t match—her shoes, her outfits, her bags always seemed to be different shades and tones—and yet everything looked I’m-not-even-trying perfect. He’d been out with models and fashion PR types who didn’t make it look that easy.

  ‘Did you sort out the guest list with Caleb?’ she asked, and had the nerve to twinkle at him.

  ‘Yes,’ Leo said unenthusiastically.

  ‘So! A hundred and fifty, right?’

  Gritted teeth. ‘Yes, a hundred and fifty. But you can still forget every one of the venues you listed as options.’ He sounded grumpy, and that made him grumpier—because there was really nothing to be grumpy about. It wasn’t his damned wedding. But it was just...galling!

  Sunshine observed him, head tilted to one side in her curious bird guise. ‘Does that mean you have somewhere fantastic in mind to fit one hundred and fifty people? Somewhere that will be available with only two months’ notice?’