by Liz Fielding
Her mouth twitched. ‘Wrong. I promise you the bridesmaids’ dresses are show-stoppers.’
‘Oh, right. The bride has fallen out with the bridesmaid for looking too glamorous?’
‘Not that either.’
‘The bride caught her flirting with the groom?’ Nothing. ‘Kissing the groom?’ A shake of her head. ‘In bed with the groom?’
‘That would mean the wedding was off.’ Her voice was slowing as she had to think harder to find the words. ‘This is worse. Much worse.’
‘What on earth could be worse than that?’
‘The chief bridesmaid has dumped her partner.’
‘Oh.’ He frowned, trying to see why that would be a cause for wailing and gnashing of teeth. ‘Surely that means you’ve got an extra bed? You could share her room and the happy couple could have yours. Problem solved.’
‘Problem doubled,’ she replied. ‘The reason she dumped him is because she has a new man in her life and she’s not going anywhere without him.’
‘Okaaay,’ he said, still not getting it. ‘One man out, one man in. No gain, but we’re just back to square one.’
‘If only life were that simple. Unfortunately, her ex is the best man and while I’d love to suggest that you move in with him, solving one of my problems,’ she said, still awake enough to wield her tongue with sarcastic precision, ‘it seems that he wants to show the world just how much he isn’t hurting. To that end, he’s bringing his brand new girlfriend with him.’
‘You’re not convinced that it’s true love?’
‘Anything is possible,’ she admitted, ‘but it would have made my life a whole lot easier if he’d declared himself too broken-hearted to come to the wedding…’
All the tension had left her body now. Her hand, beside her, was perfectly still. Her breathing was slowing. For a moment he thought she’d gone, but an insect buzzed noisily across the deck just above her and she jerked her eyes open, flapped at it.
‘Celebrity would have loved a tragic broken-heart cover story, a nice little tear-jerker to wrap around the wedding,’ she said, easing herself up the lounger, battling her body’s need for sleep, ‘and bump up the emotional headline count. And a new best man would have been easier to find than another room.’
‘You’re all heart, Josie Fowler.’
‘I’m a realist, Gideon McGrath. I’ve left David juggling the accommodation in an attempt to find some space somewhere—anywhere. Hopefully with sufficient distance between the best man and the bridesmaid to avoid fingernails at dawn.’
‘And if he can’t?’
‘If the worst comes to the worst I’ll let them have my room.’
‘And where will you sleep?’ he persisted as she began to slip away again.
‘I can crash in the office,’ she mumbled. ‘I’ve slept in worse places…’
And that was it. She was gone. Out like a light.
He took his time about finishing the chilli, wondering where Josie had slept that was worse than David’s office floor. Who she was. Where she came from, because she certainly wasn’t one of those finishing school girls with cut-glass accents who regularly descended on his office to organise the launch parties for his new ventures.
It wasn’t just her street smart, in-your-face image that set her apart. There was an edginess about her, a desperate need to succeed that made her vulnerable in a way those other girls could never be.
It was a need he recognised, understood and, replacing his plate on the tray, he eased himself off the lounger, straightened slowly, held his breath while the pain bit deep. After a moment it settled to a dull ache and he wound out the shade so that when the sun moved around Josie would be protected from its rays.
That done, he tugged on the bell to summon Francis, then he made it, without mishap, to the bathroom.
Maybe he should make Josie’s day and keep going while he had sufficient movement to enable him to get onto a plane. Perhaps catch up with Matt in Patagonia.
Just the thought was enough to bring the pain flooding back and he had to grab hold of the door to stop himself from falling.
Josie opened her eyes. Glanced at Gideon.
He was lying back, hands linked behind his head, totally relaxed, and for a moment her breath caught in her throat. She met good-looking men all the time in her job. Rich, powerful, good-looking men, but that was just work and while they, occasionally, suggested continuing a business meeting over a drink or dinner, she was never tempted to mix business with pleasure.
It had to be because she was out of her comfort zone here, out on a limb and on her own, that made her more vulnerable to a smile. He had, despite the bickering, touched something deep inside her, a need that she had spent a long time denying.
While there was no doubt that he was causing her all kinds of bother, it was as if he was, in some way that she couldn’t quite fathom, her collaborator. A partner. Not a shoulder to cry on—she did not weep—but someone to turn to.
She wanted him gone. But she wanted him to stay too and, as if he could hear the jumble of confused thoughts turning over in her brain, he turned and smiled across at her.
The effect was almost physical. Like a jolt of electricity that fizzed through her.
‘Okay?’ he asked, quirking up a brow.
‘Y-yes…’ Then, ‘No.’
Her mouth was gluey; she felt dried out. Not surprising. It had been a manic forty-eight hours. A long evening at the office making sure that everything was covered while she was away. A quick meeting with the bride, a scramble to pack and get to the airport. And she’d spent most of her time on the plane getting to grips with ‘the design’, making sure she was on top of everything that had to be done.
‘There’s water if you need it,’ he said, nodding towards a bottle, dewed with moisture, that was standing on the table between them.
‘Thanks.’
She took a long drink, then found the stick of her favourite strawberry-flavoured lip balm she always kept in her pocket.
‘What was I saying?’ she asked.
‘That you’d slept in worse places than David’s office.’
She paused in the act of uncapping the stick, suddenly chilled despite the hot sun filtering through the trees as she remembered those places. The remand cell. The six long months while she was locked up. The hostel…
She slowly wound up the balm, taking her time about applying it to her lips. Taking another long pull on the water while she tried to recall the conversation that had led up to that.
The shortage of rooms. The wretched bridesmaid and the equally annoying best man. That was it. She’d been telling him about the need for yet another room. And she had told him that she’d sleep in the office if necessary…
After that she didn’t remember anything.
Weird…
She stopped worrying about it—it would all come back to her—and, in an attempt to make a joke of it, she said, ‘You won’t tell David I said that, will you? About sleeping on his office floor. I don’t want to give him an excuse to give up trying to find somewhere.’
‘I won’t,’ Gideon assured her. ‘Not that it matters. David won’t let you sleep in his office. Not if he values his job.’
‘His job?’ She frowned. ‘Are you saying that you’d fire him? When you’re one of the reasons we’re in this mess?’
‘There are health, safety, insurance considerations,’ he said. ‘You’re a guest. If anything were to happen to you while you were bedded down on the office floor, you’d sue the pants off me.’
‘Too right.’ She’d considered denying it, but clearly it wasn’t going to make any difference what she said. ‘The pants, the shirt and everything else. Better leave now,’ she urged him. Then, just to remind him that he owed her a favour, ‘Did you enjoy your lunch?’
‘Yes, thanks. Your sacrifice was appreciated.’
Sacrifice? Didn’t he know that city girls lived on steamed fish and a mouthful of salad if they wanted to keep their figure
s? At least when they were being good. She could eat a pizza right now, but the fish would do and she turned to the tray. It wasn’t there. There was nothing but the bottle of water.
‘What happened to my lunch?’ she asked.
‘Room service cleared it hours ago.’
‘Excuse me?’ She glanced at her watch, frowned. It showed a quarter past four. Had she made a mistake when she’d moved it forward?
‘You’ve been asleep for nearly three hours, Josie.’
‘Pull the other one…I just closed my eyes,’ she protested.
‘At about half past one,’ he agreed. ‘And now you’ve opened them.’
At quarter past four? No… She looked around, desperately hoping for some way to deny his claim.
The sun had been high overhead when she’d joined Gideon for lunch. The light seemed softer, mellower now and, looking up to check how far it had moved, she realised that someone had placed a shade over her.
‘Where did that come from?’ she asked, startled. Then, still not quite able to believe it, ‘I’ve really been asleep?’ She could have sworn she’d simply closed her eyes and then opened them a moment later. It had felt like no more than a blink. ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’
‘Why would I do that?’ he asked. ‘You obviously needed a nap.’
‘Three hours isn’t a nap!’ she said, telling leaden limbs to move, limbs that appeared to be glued to the lounger. ‘There’ll be emails. Messages. I have to talk to the chef. Unpack the linen and check that everything’s there. That it’s the right colour,’ she continued in a rush of panic, forcing her legs over the edge. ‘I’ve got a hundred favour boxes to put together.’
‘Relax, Josie. No one rushes around in the afternoon heat. Take your cue from the animals.’
‘And do what?’ she demanded. ‘Slosh about in the river?’
‘Not in the afternoon. That’s when they find a cool corner in the shade, lie down and go to sleep.’
‘Check,’ she said. ‘Done that.’
‘So has everyone else with any sense. Including the chef.’ He grinned. ‘Now is the time to take a dip.’
She glanced towards the wide oxbow lake that had been formed by the erosion of the bank where the river had once formed a great loop. Animals had begun to gather at the water’s edge. Small deer, a couple of zebras and then, as she watched, a giraffe moved majestically towards the water and a lump caught in her throat.
This was real. Not a zoo or a safari park or David Attenborough on the telly and she watched transfixed for a moment before remembering that she had work to do and, turning back to Gideon, said, ‘Actually, bearing in mind your advice about crocodiles, I think I might give that one a miss.’
‘What do you think the plunge pool is for?’
‘Oh, I know that one… “You can simply sit in your own private plunge pool and watch elephants cavorting below you in an oxbow lake while you sip a glass of chilled bubbly,”’ she quoted, trying not to think about how good that sounded right now. ‘I’ve read the guidebook.’ Or, rather, had it read to her.
‘Sounds good to me.’ He began to unbutton his shirt to reveal a broad tanned chest with a delicious sprinkling of dark chest hair. ‘Get your kit off and I’ll ring for room service.’
Jolted from her distracted gaze, she said, ‘Excuse me?’
‘You’re the one who suggested water therapy. I wasn’t convinced but the champagne sold it to me.’
Josie was hot, dehydrated and a little water therapy—the delicious combination of cool water, hot skin and the best-looking man she’d met in a very long time—was much too tempting for a woman who hadn’t had a date in a very long time.
It was in the nature of the job that events planners were working when other people were partying.
And part of the appeal.
She didn’t have to think about why she didn’t have a social life when she was too busy arranging other people’s to have one of her own.
‘You’re not interested in water therapy,’ she told him. ‘You just want a drink.’
‘If I wanted a drink,’ he said, ‘champagne wouldn’t be my first choice. But, as a sundowner, a glass or two would help relax the muscles.’
‘That sounds like a plan,’ she said, well aware that he was simply amusing himself at her expense. Using her desperation to be rid of him to get what he wanted. It was the coffee, the chilli all over again but, even if she had been foolish enough to fall for it, she had far too much to do. And three fewer hours in which to do it. ‘I’ll smuggle a bottle past the guards for you.’
‘I can’t tempt you?’
Oh, she was tempted—no question about that—but a splash of water on her face and a reviving pot of tea was as good as it was going to get this evening.
‘I’ll take a rain check,’ she said, forcing herself to her feet. ‘The guests will start arriving tomorrow, including a bride and groom who’ll be expecting this suite to be waiting for them.’
‘Ah…’
‘Ah?’ She didn’t like the sound of that ‘ah’.
‘I knew there was something I had to tell you.’
‘Please let it be that you’re leaving.’
‘Sorry…’ His regretful shrug was so elegantly done that she found herself wondering what he would be like on his feet. How he would move. Imagined the graceful ripple of those thigh muscles…
‘No, Gideon,’ she snapped, dragging herself back from the edge of drool. She’d tried the placatory approach, been Miss Sugar and Spice. Now she was going to have to get tough. ‘You’re not in the least bit sorry so don’t pretend you are.’
‘I am sorry that my presence is causing you difficulties. Why don’t you email Celebrity and tell them that someone has to stay at home? Couldn’t the bride manage with one less attendant? Or maybe just do her own make-up?’
‘Was that it?’ she enquired. ‘What you had to tell me? It’s a great idea, but far too late. Most of the guests are already on their way so, if that’s it, I’ve got things to do.’
‘No, there’s something else. You’d better sit down,’ he advised.
‘I’m liking this less and less,’ she said, but she was still feeling a bit light-headed. Maybe she needed another minute or two to fully wake up and she sank back down. ‘You’d better tell me.’
‘Tal Newman arrived in Gabarone today. He’s got dinner with the Botswana national team tonight and tomorrow he’s giving some youngsters a football master class before taking part in a parade giving him the freedom of Gabarone.’
‘Yes. I’ve got the programme. It’s just an average day in the life of the world’s most famous football player,’ she said. ‘So?’
‘It seems that no one thought to organise something to keep Cryssie occupied so she decided that, rather than hang around in the hotel all day, she’d fly on here and have a quiet day recuperating from the journey and hanging out with you instead.’
‘Fly on here? Fly. On. Here.’ She repeated the three words slowly, while her brain attempted to translate them into something meaningful. ‘You’re telling me that Crystal…’ and when did he get so familiar with Crystal Blaize that he was calling her Cryssie? ‘…is on her way here? Right now?’ Then, with dawning horror, ‘You knew that and you just let me lie there and sleep!’
‘No—’
Josie almost collapsed with relief.
‘—she arrived just after lunch. She came looking for you, but when she saw how exhausted you were she wouldn’t let me wake you.’
‘What?’ Then, leaping to her feet, ‘Ohmigod! Where is she?’
Gideon was too busy making a wild grab for her as the blood rushed from her head to offer a suggestion. Or maybe too short of breath.
It had rushed from her in a little ‘Oooph’ as his hands circled her ribs.
Rushed from him in a deeper ‘Umph’ as she made a grab for his shoulders, sank against him.
For a moment she was too winded to move. And even when she managed to suck in some air she could
n’t quite manage to lift her cheek from the warm skin of Gideon’s neck, her breasts from where they were cosied against his ribs. Disentangle her legs. And the two of them remained that way for a moment, locked together in immovability.
‘Are you okay?’
His voice wasn’t just sound, it was vibration that rumbled through her, became part of her.
‘No.’ In the stillness, as they caught at their breath, everything became pure sensation and she was a lot more than all right.
His pulse was pounding in her ear, she could almost taste the scent of his sun-baked skin and, beneath her hands, his strength seemed to pour into her through the hard-packed muscle of his shoulders.
‘You?’
‘No.’
She lifted her head, afraid that she might have done some irreparable damage to his back, but the visual impact of his stubbled chin, parted lips up so close was like falling a second time.
His ‘no’ had been the same as hers and the heat that came off him had nothing to do with the temperature but from some fire raging within him, a fire that sparked an answering inferno deep within her. A raw, painful need that burned deep within her belly, sparking at the tips of her breasts, burning her skin.
They had been verbally fencing with one another since he’d teased a cup of coffee out of her. Holding one another off with words while their eyes, their bodies, had been communicating in another language. One that did not need words.
Now there was nothing between them, only the ragged snatch of her breath.
Not a creature moved. Even the cicadas seemed to pause their endless stridulating so that the air was thick with the silence, as if the world was holding its breath. Waiting.
She was so close to him now that all she could see were a scatter of tiny scars high on his forehead, glints of molten silver glowing in the depths of his slate-grey eyes.
His breath was hers, her lips were his but which of them had closed the infinitesimal gap between them was unknowable.
In the still, quiet world that existed only for them, his kiss was slow, thorough, tormenting her with the promise of his power to quench the fire.