The Wedding Date

by Ally Blake

  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.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE 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.

  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 lock
ed 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.