by Nicola Marsh
‘I don’t have anything to wear,’ she blurted, her horror-stricken expression not waning.
So much for that spark he’d imagined when they’d kissed.
‘There are a couple of local boutiques, but honestly it’ll be a pretty casual affair.’
‘Well, you’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?’
Her eyes narrowed, and he braced for the obvious question.
‘Why didn’t you ask me before we got here?’
Several lame-ass excuses sprang to mind, but he knew nothing but honesty would work now.
‘Because I knew you wouldn’t come.’
Her fingers clenched so hard she dented the soda can. ‘So the business thing was an excuse?’
‘No way. I need this surf school campaign to fly and you’re the best.’ He tried an endearing grin. ‘I just figured we could kill two birds with one stone.’
‘I could kill you,’ she muttered, placing her soda can on the sand and hugging her knees to her chest. ‘I don’t like being taken for a fool.’
‘You know that’s not how I see you.’
She rested her cheek on her knees, her sidelong glance oddly vulnerable. ‘How do I know? It’s been eight years since I’ve seen you.’
Hating the certainty pinging through him that he’d majorly stuffed this up, he scooted closer and draped an arm across her shoulders, surprised when she didn’t shrug it off.
‘Honestly? I wanted to tell you, but I was pretty thrown at your office, and you weren’t exactly welcoming so I took the easy way out and focussed on the business side of things. Forgive me?’
‘I’ll think about it,’ she said, her tone underlined by a hint of ice as the corners of her mouth were easing upwards.
‘Is it that much of a hardship to be my date for an evening?’
‘Considering I don’t know you any more, yeah.’
‘Easily rectified.’
Before he could second-guess the impulse he leaned across and kissed her.
It was nothing like his reckless prove-a-point kiss in the car. This time it just felt right.
She fought him initially, trying to pull away, but his hand slid around the back of her head, anchoring her, and he sensed the second she gave in.
Her lips softened and she moaned, the barest of sounds but enough for him to deepen the kiss, until the roaring in his ears matched the pounding of the surf crashing metres from their feet.
He had no idea how long the kiss lasted. A few seconds. An eternity. But when it ended he wished it hadn’t.
‘You’ve gotta stop doing that.’ She shoved him away—hard.
‘Sorry,’ he said, not meaning it, and by her raised eyebrow she knew it.
‘Hollow apologies after the fact don’t cut it.’ She jabbed a finger at his chest. ‘And neither do those kisses. Quit it, okay?’
‘Hey, I’m an impulsive guy. You can’t blame me—’
‘You want me to be your date for the wedding?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Then no more funny business.’ Her gaze dropped to his lips, lingered, and he could have sworn he glimpsed longing. ‘This campaign means a lot to both of us, so let’s keep our minds on the job, okay?’
‘Okay.’
He wanted to lighten the mood, end on a frivolous note. ‘Maybe I wanted that kiss to prove it won’t be so far-fetched for you to pretend to be a devoted date at the wedding—’
‘You’re impossible,’ she said, leaping to her feet and dusting the sand off her butt—but not before he’d seen a glimmer of a grin.
‘Nothing’s impossible,’ he murmured to her retreating back as she marched off in a semi-huff.
He’d got her to agree to manage the biggest campaign of his career—and the one that meant the most. He’d also coerced her into staying with him for a week, and to be his date for the wedding.
Considering how he’d ended things between them all those years ago, he hadn’t just pulled off the impossible he’d pulled off a miracle.
* * *
Archer didn’t want his family getting wind of his house-guest just yet.
The Christmas Eve wedding would be bad enough without the Flett hordes descending on his place to check her out.
He’d twigged pretty fast that despite Callie being a Melbourne girl she was vastly different from his usual choice of date. She didn’t need a truckload of make-up before being seen in the morning, she didn’t need a hair-straightener or the name of the nearest manicurist, and she didn’t wrinkle her nose at walking on the beach in case her pedicure got chipped.
Maybe he’d made a mistake asking her to be his date for the wedding, because from where he was sitting, staring at the distant dot strolling on the beach, her hair streaming in a dark cloud behind her, he wondered if she’d be enough of a safeguard.
Callie was naturally warm and vibrant, not aloof and standoffish, the way he wanted his women to be when he visited home.
He liked that his folks disapproved of his dates and kept their distance. That was the whole point. What if they were drawn to Callie like he was and his plan to keep them at arm’s length came crashing down?
He had to keep the Fletts away for as long as possible until the wedding, just in case.
He’d managed to fly under the radar so far. Last night had been spent poring over Callie’s ideas for the surf school website, thrashing out slogans and content, working late over homemade pizzas and beer.
It scared him, how comfortable it was having her around. He’d never had a woman stay at his place, let alone lived with anyone. It was his sanctuary, away from the surf crowd, the fans, the media.
No one knew he owned this place except his family.
Some of whom were belting down his door at this very minute.
Damn. So much for keeping their distance.
Cursing under his breath, he yanked the door open and glared at Trav and Tom, ignoring the familiar squeeze his heart gave when he glimpsed Izzy, his six-year-old niece, peering up at him from behind her dad’s legs.
He hated how out of all the Fletts she was the one guaranteed to make him feel the worst for staying away. The kid was too young to realise what was going on, but she managed to lay a guilt trip on him every visit.
At three, she’d stuck her tongue out at his date every chance she got and bugged him to teach her how to surf. He’d begged off with his usual excuse—only staying for two days, maybe next time.
At four, she’d placed stick insects in his date’s handbag and a hermit crab in her designer shoe, while pestering him for the elusive surf lesson.
At five, she’d verbally flayed his date for her ‘too yellow’ hair and ‘too red’ lipstick, and had given up asking him to surf.
He should have been glad. Instead it had ripped him in two when he’d said goodbye to her around this time last year.
It wasn’t Izzy’s fault he had issues with the rest of his family, but he was scared. Getting close to Izzy might let the rest of them in again, which made him angsty. What if he let them into his heart again only to have it handed back to him like eight years ago?
Every trip home it was the same. Initial tension between him and his brothers soon easing into general ribbing and guy-chat, his mum fussing around him, and prolonged stilted awkwardness with his dad. He still wanted the security of Callie as his buffer zone, but maybe this time he’d swallow his pride and make the first move.
He’d wanted to in the past, but every time he made the decision to broach the gap he’d realise two days weren’t long enough to make up for the years apart.
This year he was staying for a week. No excuse.
He squatted down to her level. ‘Hey, Iz, long time no see.’
She frowned, but it didn’t detract from the curious sparkle in her big blue eyes.
The expression in those eyes—guileless, genuine, trusting—slugged him anew. A guy couldn’t hide for long from those eyes. They saw too much, knew too much—including the fact he was acting like a recalcitr
ant jerk in not welcoming his brothers into his home.
He opened his arms, saw the indecision on her face before she slowly stepped out from behind Tom’s legs. She hesitated and his gut squelched with sadness.
It shouldn’t be like this—his own niece treating him like a stranger. He’d done this, with his stubborn pride. He needed to get over the past. For the longer it took the harder it became to pretend nothing had happened and go back to the way it had been before: a close-knit family who supported each other through everything.
Archer waited, eyeballing Izzy, hoping she could see how much he wanted to squeeze her tight.
After another interminable second that felt like sixty, she flung herself into his arms. He exhaled in relief as he hugged her hard, ignoring the flutter in his chest he got every time this kid wrapped her arms around his neck and hung on as if she’d never let go.
‘Where’ve you been?’ She released him, stepped back and crossed her arms as he stood. ‘You never come see me any more.’
Practically squirming under the interrogation, Archer floundered for words that wouldn’t sound like a trite excuse.
Tom placed a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. ‘You know your uncle travels a lot, honey. We’re lucky to see him when he has time.’
Ouch. Tom’s barb slugged him like the punches they’d traded as kids, wrestling at the water’s edge to see who’d get the long board for the day.
‘At least he always brings me a gift,’ Izzy said, pushing her way past him and bounding to the chessboard set up in a far corner, her natural exuberance replacing the reticence that sliced him up inside.
‘Manners, Iz,’ Tom said, following his daughter into the room and looking around in a not too subtle attempt at sussing out Callie’s whereabouts.
‘Couldn’t keep your big mouth shut, huh?’ Archer elbowed Trav as he brought up the rear. ‘When we surfed the other day you said you’d keep your lips zipped about me being back early.’
His youngest brother grinned. ‘Tom threatened me with bodily harm, and considering he’s around a lot more than you, I caved.’
Great—another dig at his absenteeism. Closely following Izzy’s reluctant treatment, it made him feel like a heel.
‘So where is she?’ Tom stuck his hands in his pockets and looked around.
‘Who?’
‘This mystery woman, of course.’ Tom eyeballed him. ‘When you make it home for your obligatory Christmas visit your date stays in town. So the fact she’s staying here speaks volumes.’
Tom jerked a thumb in Trav’s direction. ‘We want to check her out, make sure she hasn’t got two heads, ’cos that’s the only kind of woman who’d be crazy enough to stay here with you.’
Despite another dig from Tom about his obligatory visits, Archer felt his tension fade at his brother’s jocularity. ‘Wanna beer?’
‘Sure.’
Ideally Archer didn’t want them hanging around long enough to meet Callie, who’d gone for a walk on the beach to clear her head after a marathon morning brainstorming. But Tom was right; he barely saw his brothers any more and, even though they’d been complicit in his dad’s decision to keep the truth secret, he missed the camaraderie they’d once shared.
‘I bring a date home every year. This one’s no different.’ Archer’s heart gave a betraying buck at the lie.
‘So you’re letting some plastic, fake, stick-thin bimbo share your secret hideaway?’ Tom snorted. ‘Not bloody likely.’
Archer wanted to defend those poor women his brother had just disparaged, but sadly he happened to agree. The women he’d brought home in the past had been exactly as Tom described and not a patch on Callie.
‘She’s not real, is she? You’ve made her up so Mum won’t go into her speed-dating frenzy in an effort to have you settle for a local girl rather than those city girls.’
Archer chuckled at Tom’s imitation of their mum, who made those city girls sound as if he was dating a brothel’s inhabitants.
Tom had followed him into the kitchen, and Archer handed him a beer while uncapping another for Trav and popping an orange soda tab for Izzy.
‘She’s real. And you’ll get to meet her at the wedding like everyone else.’
He held up his beer bottle and Tom clinked it. ‘Sure she hasn’t got two heads?’
Archer smirked. ‘Trust me, Callie’s pretty great—’
‘Callie? The Callie?’
Tom lowered his beer and stared at him with blatant curiosity as Archer silently cursed his slip of the tongue.
He’d had no intention of telling anyone her name until the wedding—let alone Tom, the only Flett who knew how close he’d come to giving up his dream for her.
He’d blurted it out after Tom’s divorce had been finalised, sitting on his deck four years ago. That had been one hell of a night. Tom had been miserable, Trav had been blind drunk and clueless how to handle the situation, and Archer had felt like an outcast. The three of them had been in a foul mood and it had almost come to blows. Archer had tussled with Tom and that release of steam and testosterone had opened up a narrow pathway to the truth.
Tom and Trav had told him about dad then—how he’d sworn them to secrecy, how they’d hated keeping it from him but hadn’t wanted to stress the seriously ill Frank.
He guessed he understood their logic—who knew? He might have done the same—but it didn’t make it any easier to handle when he still didn’t know why he’d been the odd man out.
With the air somewhat cleared between them, talk had moved on to Tom’s divorce, and Archer had sunk beers in commiseration, alternating between being outraged and bitter on behalf of his brother, who’d done the right thing by marrying the girl he’d got pregnant and yet got screwed over anyway, and determination never to end up like him.
Tom had been morose, berating himself for losing his head over a woman, and Archer had made the mistake of opening up about Callie to make him feel better.
‘You’re not the only one. We all get sucked in by a memorable female now and then.’
That confession under the onslaught of too many lagers had now come back to bite him on the butt.
He forced a laugh, aiming for casual. ‘Turns out my online marketing manager is Callie. Had no idea ’til we met in Melbourne to tee up the surf school campaign. She’s here to work for the week—made sense she came to the wedding as my date. Nothing more to it.’
Archer took a slug of beer after his spiel, wondering who he was trying to convince—himself or Tom.
Yesterday had been tough. Hell, it had been sheer torture, watching Callie come alive as she sketched out ideas, seeing her glow as he approved an early pro forma, seeing glimpses of the vibrant woman he’d once lost his head over many years ago.
Sadly she reserved her enthusiasm for work only. Following that impulsive kiss on the beach she’d reverted to coolly polite and casually friendly.
She might have ditched her initial antagonism, but an invisible barrier between them was still there—one he had no hope of breaching considering how things had ended between them.
Correction: how he’d ended things between them.
He didn’t blame her for being wary. But late last night, with the woman he’d once been crazy for sleeping in the room next door and insomnia plaguing him, he’d wished they could recapture half the easy-going camaraderie they’d once shared.
He only had a week to get this surf school campaign up and running before he flew out to Hawaii for Christmas Day, so realistically he couldn’t afford to stuff around.
He knew what he was doing. Flirting with her as a deliberate tactic to distract himself from the stress of being home and having to deal with his family. It was a distancing technique he’d honed with other dates before her. But none had affected him as much as Callie.
He’d deliberately kept things between them light-hearted and work-focussed, but what would happen if he ratcheted up the heat? Would she release some of that new reserve she carried around like an
invisible cloak and resurrect the passion they’d once shared?
Tom pointed his beer in Archer’s direction. ‘The fact she’s the first woman you’ve ever brought here speaks volumes.’
‘It was convenient for work, that’s all.’
‘Yeah, keep telling yourself that.’
Or course Callie chose that moment to hustle through the back door, wind-tousled and pink-cheeked and utterly delectable.
‘Hey, Arch, there’s a car out front—’ She caught sight of Tom and stopped, her eyes widening, before she crossed the kitchen and held out her hand. ‘You’re a much better-looking version of Archer, so you must be a Flett too.’
Tom laughed as he shook her hand. ‘I like her already,’ he said, while Archer shot him a filthy look.
‘Callie, meet my older brother, Tom.’
A playful smile teased the corners of her mouth as she glanced up at Tom—a smile she hadn’t shot him once since they’d arrived.
‘Pleased to meet you.’
Something painful twisted in his chest at the way she lit up in the way she’d once used to light up around him.
‘Come meet his daughter—and Trav, the groom.’
Tom’s goofy grin proved what he already knew: he sounded like an uptight ass.
‘You have a little girl? That’s great,’ Callie said, falling into step beside Tom while Archer brought up the rear, hating himself for feeling petty and out of sorts that Callie had lightened up for the first time since yesterday because of his brother.
‘Hey, another girl. Awesome.’
Izzy flew at Callie and a strange, unidentifiable feeling swamped him as he watched his niece hug her, spontaneously and without reserve, the way he’d wished Iz had hugged him when he’d first opened the door.
Unfazed, Callie led Izzy back to the chessboard, where she shook hands with Trav, whose goofy grin matched Tom’s.
Great—two Flett males she’d slayed. He couldn’t wait until she met his dad.
Three.
The number popped into his head.
Three Flett males she’d slayed, including him. No matter how many times he denied it, the fact remained: Callie was the kind of woman who could have an impact on a guy.