by Nicola Marsh
‘Pretty spectacular, huh?’
She gazed over the undulating hills far below, the mountain ranges, the paddocks dotted with cows, determined to enjoy every moment of this surprise trip and not waste time second guessing Chase’s motivation behind it.
When he didn’t answer, she glanced to her left, only to discover he wasn’t looking at the postcard view below them but was staring at her.
‘Yeah. Spectacular.’
He raised his champagne flute in her direction, his slow, sexy smile totally disarming.
She couldn’t look away, caught in the intensity of his stare, the beautiful blue rivalling the sky for clarity.
‘What are you thinking?’
He tapped his champagne flute softly against hers and she gulped half of it to buy time.
What was she thinking? Stuff she shouldn’t be.
Like how a girl could get used to this.
Like how the champagne and the altitude wasn’t making her half as dizzy as having him stand close enough to touch.
Like how she wanted to renege on her previous stance of not mixing business with pleasure and go for it.
All the way.
‘Never mind; you don’t need to answer.’
He trailed a fingertip down her cheek in a sensuous caress that made her lungs seize. ‘I can see the answer in your eyes.’
She quickly blinked but it was too late. Shareen had often teased her for being easy to read, every thought and feeling clearly visible in her eyes.
Time stood still as he leaned towards her, closer, closer, so close she could see the tiny green flecks in those stunning blue irises, so close she could smell his sexy crispness, so close she could feel the heat radiating off him and urging her to snuggle into his arms and never be cold again.
Her breath stalled as his head descended and, as her lips parted in expectation, he ducked towards her ear and murmured, ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to push you. You need to want me as much as I want you.’
Rigid with tension, her hand trembled so much she lost some of her champagne over the side.
He wouldn’t push her. She should be glad.
Instead, all she could think was how badly she yearned to be pushed into something so wrong for her yet something she wanted so much.
CHAPTER TEN
LOLA loved throwing retro parties. She loved the dress ups, the accessories, the make-up, the hair, loved seeing women play around with the things she treasured, loved seeing the smiles on their faces and their obvious enjoyment.
She’d had her doubts about the girls, expecting them to turn their collective noses up at the first activity she’d planned but to her relief they were throwing themselves wholeheartedly into the spirit of the afternoon.
‘Hey Bry, your turn to try on that gingham/floral combo.’
Bryony preened in front of a mirror, twirling so the nineteen-twenties verdigris flapper dress flared at the hem, making the most of her long legs. ‘Only if you try on that marabou feather dressing gown, Bron.’
Cari sidled her way between the two, looking chic in an Asian inspired peacock-blue bed jacket.
‘Stop hogging the mirror, you two. House rules, the bride takes priority.’
They laughed, bumping and jostling for prime position as Babs and Binnie played around with sparkly shoe buckles and, glancing around the room, Lola’s bubble of happiness expanded.
She’d been worried about this afternoon, worried about kicking off the hen’s party with a good old-fashioned dress up and no amount of drifting through the sky, high on hot air and Chase’s charm, had dispelled it.
But seeing the smiles on these girls’ faces, their genuine joy, hearing their laughter, boded well for the rest of the week.
‘Hey Lola, what’s this thing for?’
Cari held up a snood and, called into the fray, Lola spent the next hour doling out handy hints on wearing a snood versus a beret, ways to cinch your waist and still be able to breathe and being able to walk not mince in a Chinese silk dress.
The girls lapped it up and by the end of the session, when the last hat pin and brooch had been packed away, she collapsed onto the sofa alongside them, sipping her third champagne for the day and not caring a bit.
She listened to the girls’ banter, content to sit and let their conversation flow over her, desultory and humorous and easy-going.
It lulled her and after the day she’d had she could’ve quite happily curled up here for the rest of the evening and not moved.
‘So Lola, what’s your story?’
Just like that, her serenity vanished. She didn’t like talking about herself, didn’t like being the centre of attention.
She’d spent too much time as a kid and a teenager trying to avoid being just that yet scrutinised anyway, from the way she dressed to what she ate to who she brought or didn’t bring home.
She’d hated every under-the-microscope second and despite the image she’d carefully cultivated over the years having these gorgeous, confident, well put together women turn their attention on her made her want to run screaming.
Regretting that last champagne and what it might make her blab, she shrugged.
‘Not much to tell. Born and bred in Brisbane, got tired of the heat, headed south to Melbourne after I finished school and got a business diploma, took a chance on the vintage stuff I loved, opened my own place and I’ve been spending all my time building Go Retro since.’
Babs sniggered. ‘That’s all well and good, but what about boys? Is there anyone special in your life? Any juicy stories?’
Lola tried to dispel the image of Chase that popped into her head with little success.
‘Go Retro keeps me pretty busy.’
Bryony finished off the rest of her champagne in a long gulp and jabbed a finger at her. ‘We’re all busy, darl, but that doesn’t stop us from having the odd story in our past. Come on, ’fess up, one boy story or we won’t leave you alone.’
Lola glanced in Cari’s direction for help but she merely shrugged and raised her champagne flute in a silent toast.
Knowing she’d have to give the girls something or they’d never let up, she screwed up her nose, pretending to think. ‘Well, there was this one guy…’
Babs clapped her hands. ‘We knew it! Tell all.’
Not wanting to tread too far down memory lane for fear of blurting the whole sorry truth about Bodey, she settled for an abbreviated version.
‘I’d been in Melbourne a few months, met this cool guy at a local café. He asked me out, we dated for a month, then things cooled off.’
She left out how smooth Bodey was, how he’d showered her with compliments and taken her to trendy jazz bars and fancy restaurants, plying her with attention that she’d lapped up. She’d taken it slow, waiting a month to sleep with him, so sure he had visions of a long-term relationship.
After that one night together, he’d never returned her calls. And she’d learned a valuable life lesson: that if it looked too good and sounded too good it probably was too good to be true.
Bryony shrugged. ‘His loss.’
Bron chirped up. ‘Yeah, not that you’d be single for long. Guys would take one look at you in those clothes and instantly think Marilyn Monroe. You’d have them lining up.’
Binnie shot her an envious glance. ‘Wish I had your killer curves.’
Blushing, Lola tried not to squirm. These girls barely knew her but they were lavish in their compliments. Why couldn’t her own family have seen what these girls had in less than a day?
‘Er…thanks…’
‘Leave Lola alone; can’t you see you’re embarrassing her?’
She sent Cari a grateful smile.
‘Now, if you want gossip, I’ll tell you who Hugh ran into at the races last week. Remember Jason Virstock the third? Well…’
Cari winked as she successfully distracted the girls, leaving Lola to slip out of the room and into the kitchen to check their special dinner.
But as she en
sured the fondue was ready to go and the pigs-in-blankets were in the oven, she couldn’t help but lament her lack of juicy gossip.
She’d played it safe her entire life. Staying in the shadows, out of her sister’s limelight, too scared some of it may reflect onto her. She didn’t want people fawning over her or schmoozing up to her because of how she looked.
As for guys, she wanted a guy for the long haul, who loved the old-fashioned stuff as much as she did. A guy who made her feel…just like how Chase made her feel.
With a wistful sigh, she stabbed at a cocktail onion and cheese cube with a toothpick and stuck it into an overturned cabbage, an hors d’oeuvre taken straight out of a nineteen-fifties cookbook.
Yeah, she loved how Chase made her feel.
Pity he couldn’t be the guy for her.
Chase hated feeling superfluous so after the first two days when the girls had been caught up in a whirlwind of facials and fondue and frocks he’d headed back to Melbourne, determined to bury himself in business and forget about luscious Lola.
That balloon ride had been too close for comfort.
What had begun as a mission to give Lola a bit of breathing space before the week-long party started in earnest had resulted in a romantic interlude he couldn’t forget.
And he’d tried, boy, had he tried. He didn’t want to remember the way the wind had blown her soft blonde curls around her face, the way her eyes had sparkled during the entire journey, the way she’d unconsciously leaned against him during the descent, as if needing his reassurance.
At the time he’d lapped it up, enjoying their time together and surprised by how seriously relaxing he’d found a balloon ride drifting through the sky to be.
Yet looking back he knew the romantic touches like the champagne had been a mistake; for he didn’t have room in his life for romance. Some light-hearted fun, not a problem, but anything deeper? No, thanks, and he had a niggling feeling Lola was a deep and meaningful kinda girl.
His aim to forget had worked at the office as he’d caught up on urgent business but once darkness descended and he headed to his penthouse he’d found himself hating the silence, hating the solitude and most of all hating the fact he was missing a woman he barely knew.
He’d deliberately gone out that night to a modelling agency party where he’d provided the high-end lighting and music technicians. Determined to blow off Lola’s memory, he’d surrounded himself with beautiful women, the type of women he usually found riveting enough to date.
It didn’t work.
As a distraction technique the evening had been an unmitigated disaster. Rather than flirting, he’d found himself clutching the same drink in his hand for the first hour while he feigned interest in stick-thin, ambitious women who’d do anything to get to the top.
He understood ambition.
He understood this glamorous world.
What he didn’t understand was the gnawing drive to walk out of the party and head straight for Mount Macedon.
He’d thrown himself into work harder the next day, not stopping until ten-thirty when the nightly cleaner knocked on his door and only then had he dragged himself home.
On the third day, after another sleepless night, he gave up and headed back. It was his house after all. Only fair he check on it and make sure the girls weren’t running amok, right?
He cringed at his lousy excuses as he let himself into the house, following the sounds of laughter coming from the atrium out the back.
When he’d had the house designed by Melbourne’s top architect he’d gone with the guy’s plans for a sprawling family home even though he had no intention of filling it in that way. The way he saw it, the house would be a testament to what he would never make the mistake of falling for: an empty dream that sucked you in but never delivered on its promise.
Yet whenever he entered the atrium he couldn’t help but think it begged to be filled with a couple of rowdy kids and a rambunctious dog cavorting around in the sun-filled, glass-enclosed family room.
The girls were sprawled on the blue and white striped divans, looking happy and relaxed as they watched Lola demonstrate the art of making a giant roll with a section of her hair and pinning it on the top.
‘Voila, the pin curl,’ she said, her bubbly voice sending a shot of longing through him so strong he clutched onto the door jamb for support. ‘Come on, time for you to try it.’
As the girls reached for bobby pins, Bron sat still, a frown crinkling her forehead as she studied Lola.
‘You remind me of someone with your hair like that.’
Lola’s hand stilled, the hairbrush in her right hand hovering over Cari’s head, her expression carefully blank but not before he’d seen a flicker of fear.
He didn’t understand it. What did she have to be frightened about?
Babs elbowed Bron. ‘A pin-up girl from the fifties, you dolt.’
Bron shook her head, then tilted it to one side to study Lola more carefully. ‘No, someone else. It’s been bugging me all week but just then, when you lifted your hair back off your face it really hit me, but I can’t think who…’
Lola paled and he could’ve sworn her hand shook as she lowered the hairbrush, her shoulders rigid as she turned slightly on the pretext of grabbing more hairpins, the move perfectly executed as a curtain of hair fell forward to partially conceal her face.
He’d never seen her like this. She’d always been confident and brash, discounting the times he’d kissed her, but they’d both been pretty bamboozled then.
No, this was different and he took a step into the room to lend her a hand.
‘Come on, Lola, work with me,’ Bron said, and as Lola shot her a quick glance Bron jumped up from her seat and snapped her fingers.
‘That’s it! You look like that supermodel Shareen. Oh my goodness, when you just looked at me with your hair falling forward like that, you were the spitting image.’
The hairbrush in Lola’s hand clattered to the floor as Bron gushed and in that moment Chase knew something was seriously wrong.
‘You’re related, aren’t you?’
Lola gnawed on her bottom lip before nodding. ‘She’s my sister.’
Bron grabbed her arm and spun her around. ‘Your sister? Wow! You never said. Now that I’ve nailed it, you’re so alike. I knew something about you looked familiar but I never thought…I mean, she’s a supermodel and you’re…’
‘Nothing like her. Yeah, so I’ve been told.’
Chase’s heart plummeted as he saw Lola’s face crumple for a second before she quickly masked her distress with a performance worthy of an Oscar, her expression one of studied concentration as she picked up the hairbrush and ran it through Cari’s hair with firm, practised strokes as if the last thirty seconds hadn’t happened.
Bron folded her arms. ‘Well, those people were wrong. You are alike; you’ve got the same bone structure and facial expressions, and what I was going to say was she’s a supermodel but you’re one of us.’
Cari nodded. ‘Yeah, and I’d much rather run a vintage shop and do the fun stuff you do than strut around wearing impossibly high heels and completely unrealistic fashion.’
‘Me too,’ Babs and Binnie piped up in unison.
Chase didn’t know why revealing Shareen was her sister had spooked Lola so much but, looking at her now, he admired the way she’d straightened her shoulders and tossed her hair back, as if it mattered little.
‘Shareen and I are just very different people. I don’t talk about her much because it’s not relevant to what I do.’
Bron shot her a sceptical look but wisely kept silent after her earlier interrogation.
‘Now, how about you practice pinning those curls while I go make us some fresh coffee?’
The girls groaned good-naturedly and he almost laughed out loud, until he saw her expression crumble again as she turned away from them.
She’d taken three steps towards the kitchen when she caught sight of him and to his horror her bottom
lip quivered.
Holding his finger up to his lips, he pointed to the kitchen and she hesitated a moment before reluctantly nodding.
Time enough to greet the girls. For now, he needed to discover what the famous Shareen had done to rattle her beautiful sister so much.
Mortification didn’t come close to describing Lola’s feelings as she slipped into the kitchen to find Chase waiting for her.
With a little luck Chase hadn’t heard her secret revealed.
‘You just got back?’
‘About ten minutes ago.’
Great, there went that theory.
She wanted to bolt and hide but just the sight of this man made her want to run into his arms instead, which took the decision to tell him the truth out of her hands.
‘You heard?’
He nodded, worry clouding those incredible blue eyes she’d seen filled with mischief and heat and desire.
‘Guess you want to know why I kept Shareen a secret too?’
He shrugged and joined her at the granite island bench taking centre stage in the kitchen.
‘It’s your business. Don’t let those women railroad you into anything.’
She wrinkled her nose as she arranged coffee cups on a tray. ‘It was kind of embarrassing, though. Like I’d been trying to hide something.’
He placed the sugar bowl and teaspoons alongside the mugs. ‘Like you said, it’s irrelevant.’
She snorted. ‘Wish the great Shareen could hear you say that.’ Waiting for the espresso machine to do its thing, she propped herself on a stool tucked under the bench. ‘My sister may be many things; irrelevant isn’t one of them.’
Watching his face, trying to gauge his reaction, she said, ‘Did you know she’s the third highest paid supermodel in the world this year?’
And she couldn’t even make enough to guarantee she could meet her payments on next year’s mortgage on Go Retro. Not that she begrudged Shareen her success—she’d worked hard for all she’d achieved. Starving herself for years, working out for hours daily, forgoing any kind of treats the rest of Australia’s female population took for granted. But she worked hard too and for once she wished it paid off.