Wedding Date With Mr. Wrong

by Nicola Marsh

  Nora released her hand, managing a feeble wave. ‘I’ll be fine. Go work, play, have fun.’

  Callie intended to work. As for the fun and play, she didn’t dare associate those concepts with Archer.

  Look what had happened the last time she’d done that.

  * * *

  Archer didn’t jerk women around, and after the way Callie had reacted to him yesterday he shouldn’t push her buttons. But that was exactly what he’d done in hiring the fire-engine red Roadster for their trip to Torquay.

  She’d recognise the significance of the car, but would she call him on it?

  By the tiny crease between her brows and her compressed lips as she stalked towards him, he doubted it.

  The carefree, teasing girl he’d once known had disappeared behind this uptight, reserved shadow of her former self. What had happened to snuff the spark out?

  ‘Still travelling light?’ He held out his hand for her overnight bag.

  She flung it onto the back seat in response.

  ‘Oo-kay, then. Guess it’s going to be a long trip.’

  He glimpsed a flicker of remorse as she slid onto the passenger seat, her rigid back and folded arms indicative of her absolute reluctance to be here. To be anywhere near him.

  It ticked him off.

  They’d once been all over each other, laughing and chatting and touching, a hand-hold here, a thigh squeeze there. When she’d smiled at him he’d felt a buzz akin to riding the biggest tube.

  But you walked away anyway.

  That was all he needed. For his voice of reason to give him a kick in the ass too.

  But she hadn’t been forthcoming during their meeting yesterday, and he’d be damned if he’d put up with her foul mood for the next week.

  If he showed up at Trav’s wedding with her in this snit his mum would know Callie was a fake date and be inquisitive, effectively ruining his buffer zone.

  Yeah, because that was the only reason he minded her mood...

  He revved the engine, glanced over his shoulder and pulled into traffic. ‘You know it’s ninety minutes to Torquay, right?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Her glance barely flicked his way behind Audrey Hepburnesque sunglasses that conveniently covered half her face.

  ‘You planning on maintaining the long face the entire way? Do I need to resort to I-spy and guess the numberplate to get a laugh?’

  ‘I’m here to work—’

  ‘Bull.’

  He swerved into a sidestreet, earning momentary whiplash and several honks for his trouble.

  ‘What the heck—?’

  He kissed her, pouring all his frustration with her frosty behaviour into the kiss.

  She resisted at first, but he wouldn’t back off. He might have done this to prove a point, but once his lips touched hers he remembered—in excruciating detail—what it had been like to kiss her.

  And he wanted more.

  He moved his mouth across hers—light, teasing, taunting her to capitulate.

  She remained tight-lipped—until his hand caressed the nape of her neck and slid into her hair, his fingertips brushing her scalp in the way he knew she liked.

  She gave a little protesting groan and he sensed the moment of surrender when she placed her palm on his chest and half-heartedly pushed. Her lips softened a second later.

  He didn’t hesitate, taking advantage of her compliance by deepening the kiss, sweeping his tongue into her mouth to find hers, challenging her to deny them, confident she wouldn’t.

  For what seemed like a glorious eternity they made out like a besotted couple. Then he eased his hand out of her hair, his lips lingering on hers for a bittersweet second before he sat back.

  What he saw shocked him more than the rare times he’d been ragdolled by a gnarly wave.

  The old Callie was back.

  Her brown eyes sparkled, her lush mouth curved smugly at the corners and she glowed.

  Hell, he’d wanted to get her to lighten up. He hadn’t counted on the winded feeling now making his lungs seize.

  Being wiped out by a killer wave was easier than this.

  But in the few seconds it took him to come up with something casual to say Callie closed off. Her glow gave way to a frown and shadows effectively cloaked the sparkle.

  ‘Happy you sneaked a kiss for old times’ sake? Did you want to prove something?’

  He shook his head, still befuddled by the strength of his reaction to a kiss that should have meant nothing.

  ‘I wanted to make a mockery of your “just work” declaration.’

  She quirked an elegant brow. ‘And did you think one little kiss would do that?’

  He hadn’t. Been thinking, that was. Like feeling the overwhelming rush he got from riding the perfect set on a huge swell he’d done the spontaneous thing. And now he had to live with the consequences: working alongside Callie for the next seven days while trying to forget how incredible she looked all mussed and vulnerable, and how she tasted—like chocolate and coffee.

  ‘I guess I’m just annoyed by your attitude and I wanted to rattle you.’

  As much as it turned out she still rattled him.

  He expected her to bristle, to retreat behind a mask of cool indifference. He didn’t expect her to unravel before his eyes.

  ‘Hell, are you crying?’

  He reached out to hold her, but stopped when she scooted away.

  She dashed a hand across her eyes before turning to stare out of the window, her profile stoic and tugging at his heartstrings.

  ‘It’s not you. I’m just juggling some other stuff, and it’s taking a toll even though I have a handle on it.’

  He’d never heard her sound so soft, so vulnerable, and he clamped down on the urge to haul her into his arms. Mixed messages be damned.

  ‘Anything I can do to help?’

  ‘Keep being a smartass. That should make me laugh.’

  The quiver in her voice had him reaching across, gently cupping her chin and turning her towards him.

  ‘I can back off if you’re going through stuff. Cut the jokes. No kissing. That kind of thing.’

  She managed a watery smile. ‘No kissing’s a given while we work together. The jokes I can handle.’

  As she gnawed on her bottom lip realisation slammed into him as if he was pitching over the falls.

  She probably had boyfriend troubles.

  ‘Is it another guy? Because I can kick his ass—’

  ‘Not a guy.’

  Her smile morphed into a grin and it was like surfacing for air after being submerged underwater for too long.

  She held a hand over her heart. ‘I promise to lighten up. I’m just...overworked and tired and grumpy in general.’

  ‘That seventh dwarf had nothing on you,’ he mumbled, eliciting the expected chuckle—the first time he’d heard her sound remotely light-hearted since yesterday. ‘Maybe you should thank me for kissing you. Because you’ve had an epiphany and—’

  ‘Don’t push your luck,’ she said, tempering her growl with a wink, catapulting him back to Capri, where she’d winked at him in a tiny dinghy the moment before they’d entered the Blue Grotto, warning him to be careful because the cave was renowned for proposals and he might succumb.

  She’d been teasing, but it had been the beginning of the end for them: no matter how carefree their fling, he’d wondered if Callie secretly harboured hopes for more.

  And Archer had already learnt that the price paid for loving wasn’t one he was willing to pay.

  ‘Okay, so if kissing’s off the agenda, work it is,’ he said, holding her gaze for several long, loaded moments, daring her to disagree, hoping she would.

  ‘Just work,’ she echoed, before elbowing him and pointing at the road. ‘If we ever get to Torquay, that is.’

  As he reversed out of the sidestreet he knew he should be glad he’d cracked Callie’s brittle, reserved outer shell.

  But now he’d seen the woman beneath—the same warm, lush wom
an who’d almost snared his heart eight years ago—he wondered if he should be glad or scared.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  OKAY, so Callie hadn’t been thinking straight since Archer had strolled into her office yesterday.

  She’d been caught off guard by the gorgeous familiarity of him, by his outlandish suggestion to live with him for a week while they work, by his demand to agree or lose the account.

  She’d also been worried about leaving Nora for the seven days before Christmas once she’d given in to secure the campaign—a worry that hadn’t eased despite seeing her mum yesterday.

  Her head had been filled with stuff. That was the only explanation for why she hadn’t seen that kiss coming.

  He’d done it out of frustration. She could see that now. He’d wanted to snap her out of her funk, to prove a point.

  So what was the rationale behind her responding?

  She’d assumed she could handle their cosy living arrangements for business’s sake.

  She hadn’t counted on this. This slightly manic, out-of-control feeling because despite her vow to remain platonic he could undermine her with one itty-bitty kiss.

  Damn.

  She’d been silent for most of the trip, jotting fake notes for the campaign, needing to concentrate on something other than her tingling lips. Thankfully he’d respected her need for silence until about twenty miles out of Torquay.

  They’d arrived, and she hadn’t been able to believe her eyes.

  As he’d steered up the winding, secluded street and pulled up outside Archer had called it his beach shack.

  Massive understatement. Huge. Considering she now stood in a glass-enclosed lounge room as big as her entire apartment, with floor-to-ceiling glass and three-hundred-and-sixty-degree views of the Tasman Sea.

  This place was no shack.

  The pale blue rugs on gleaming ash floorboards, the sand-coloured suede sofas, the modern glass coffee tables—all screamed class, and were nothing like the mismatched furniture in the log cabin shack she’d imagined.

  Archer had never been into material things when they’d first met. It looked as if being a world pro five years running changed a guy.

  ‘I put your bags in the first guest room on the right,’ he said, his bare feet barely making a sound as he padded up behind her.

  Another thing she remembered: his dislike for footwear. It hadn’t mattered much in Capri, when they’d spent many hours on the beach, and she’d hidden a smile as he’d unlocked the door here, dumped their bags inside and slipped off his loafers.

  She liked him barefoot. He had sexy feet. They matched the rest of him.

  ‘Thanks.’

  He wiggled his eyebrows. ‘Right next to my room, in case you were wondering.’

  ‘I wasn’t.’ Her heart gave a betraying kick.

  ‘Liar,’ he said, snagging a strand of hair and winding it around his finger, tugging gently.

  She knew what he was doing—flirting to keep her smiling. But she sooo wasn’t going to play this game. Not after that dangerous kiss in the car.

  ‘You still feel the buzz.’ His gaze strayed to her lips and she could have sworn they tingled in remembrance.

  The smart thing to do would be to lie, but she’d never been any good at it. That was how they’d hooked up in the first place—because of her complete inability to deny how incredibly hot she’d found the laid-back surfer.

  He’d romanced her and she’d let him, fully aware that their week in Capri was nothing more than a holiday fling. Pity her impressionable heart hadn’t caught up with logic and she’d fallen for him anyway. Her feelings had made it so much harder to get over him—especially after the way he’d ended it.

  She’d do well to remember their break-up, not how his kiss had zapped her synapses in the car and reawakened a host of dormant memories she’d be better off forgetting.

  ‘As I recall, didn’t we have a conversation in the car about focussing on work?’

  His finger brushed her scalp as he wound the strand all the way and she suppressed a tidal wave of yearning.

  ‘You didn’t answer my question.’ His finger trailed along her hairline, skirting her temple, around her ear, lingering on the soft skin beneath it and she held her breath.

  He’d kissed her there many times, until she’d been mindless with wanting him.

  ‘That kiss you sprung on me in the car? Out of line. Business as usual this week. That’s it.’

  ‘Protesting much?’

  ‘Archer, don’t—’

  ‘Go on, admit it. We still share a spark.’

  His mouth eased into a wicked grin and she held up a hand to ward him off. ‘Doesn’t mean we’ll be doing anything about it.’

  She expected him to ask why. She expected him to undermine her rationale with charm. Instead he stopped touching her, a shadow skating across his eyes before he nodded.

  ‘You’re right; we’ve got a ton of work to do. Best we don’t get distracted.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan,’ she said, struggling to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

  But something must have alerted him to the raging indecisive battle she waged inside—flee or fling—because he added, ‘But once work is out of the way who knows what we’ll get up to?’

  She rolled her eyes, not dignifying him with a response, and his chuckles taunted her as she headed for the sanctity of her room.

  She needed space. She needed time out. She needed to remember why getting involved with a nomad charmer again was a bad idea.

  Because right now she was in danger of forgetting.

  * * *

  After what he’d been through with his family, Archer hated dishonesty.

  Which made what he was doing with Callie highly unpalatable. He needed to tell her about being his date for the wedding pronto.

  They’d arrived at the house three hours ago, and she’d made herself scarce on the pretext of unpacking and doing some last-minute research.

  He knew better.

  That impulsive kiss in the car might have been to prove a point but somewhere along the way it had morphed into something bigger than both of them.

  He’d been so damn angry at her perpetual iciness he’d wanted to shock the truth out of her: the spark was still there.

  Oh, it was there all right, and interestingly his little experiment had gone awry. He’d been shocked too.

  He’d asked her to accompany him here for work—and the wedding. Nothing more, nothing less.

  That kiss? Major reality check.

  For there was something between them—something latent and simmering, just waiting to ignite.

  Hell.

  Way to go with complicating matters.

  Best to take a step back and simplify—starting with divulging his addendum to her week-long stay.

  He knocked twice at her bedroom door. ‘Lunch is ready.’

  The door creaked open and she stuck her head around it. What did she think? He’d catch sight of the bed and want to ravish her on the spot?

  Hmmm...good point.

  ‘Raincheck?’

  He exhaled in exasperation. ‘I need my marketing manager in peak form, which means no skipping meals—no matter how distasteful you find my company.’

  ‘It’s not that.’ She blushed. ‘I tend to grab snatched meals whenever I remember, so I don’t do a sit-down lunch very often.’

  ‘Lucky for you we’re not sitting down.’ He snagged her hand, meeting the expected resistance when she pulled back. He tugged harder. ‘It’s no big deal, Cal. Fish and chips on the beach. You can have your head buried behind your computer again in thirty minutes.’

  Her expression softened. ‘Give me five minutes and I’ll meet you outside.’

  ‘Is this a ploy so I have to release your hand and you’ll abscond?’

  She chuckled, a welcome, happy sound after her apparent snit. ‘It’s a ploy to use the bathroom.’ She held up her hands. ‘No other ulterior motives or escape plans in the works—p
romise.’

  ‘In that case I’ll see you down there.’ He squeezed her hand before releasing it. ‘But more than five minutes and I get the best piece of fish.’

  ‘You’re on.’

  Thankfully she only kept him waiting three, and he’d barely had time to spread the picnic blanket on the sand before she hit the beach running.

  His breath caught as he watched her scuffing sand and snagging her hair into a loose knot at the nape of her neck. The actions were so reminiscent of their time in Capri he wanted to run half way to meet her.

  Not liking how fast she’d got under his skin, he busied himself with unwrapping the paper and setting out the lemon wedges and salt sachets alongside the chips and grilled fish. Anything to keep his hands busy and resisting the urge to sweep her into his arms when she got close enough.

  ‘That smells amazing,’ she said, flopping down on the blanket next to him. ‘But you said no sitting down.’

  ‘Trivialities.’ He pushed the paper towards her. ‘Eat.’

  And they did, making short work of the meal in companionable silence. He hadn’t aimed for romance but there was a certain implied intimacy that had more to do with their shared past than any concerted effort now.

  The comfortableness surprised him. Considering her reservations about heading to Torquay with him in the first place, and then her absentee act all morning, he’d expected awkwardness.

  This relaxed ambience was good. All the better to spring his surprise.

  ‘I need to ask you a favour.’

  She licked the last grains of salt off her fingers—an innocuous, innocent gesture that shot straight to his groin.

  ‘What is it?’

  Now or never. ‘My youngest brother Travis is getting married Christmas Eve and I’d like you to be my date.’

  She stared at him in open-mouthed shock, her soda can paused halfway to her lips.

  ‘You’re asking me to be your date?’

  She made it sound as if he’d asked her to swim naked in a sea full of ravenous sharks.

  ‘We’re not heading back ’til Christmas Day, and it doesn’t make sense for you to spend Christmas Eve alone when you could come to what’ll basically be a whoop-up party, so I thought you might like to come.’