by Trish Morey
‘Sorry,’ she said, putting a hand to a forehead that was starting to ache. That was the trouble with drinking so early in the day—the hangover didn’t wait for morning to kick in. ‘You didn’t deserve that. It’s just … It’s just that it hasn’t been a really good day.’ And it was going to be one very bad night.
‘I know.’
She snorted. ‘You don’t know the half of it.’
‘Well, I did force you to dance with me.’
‘Yeah, well, there was that.’ Though that had turned out to be one of the day’s highlights. A surprising highlight, when it all came down to it, and kind of nice …
‘So how about you let me make up for it by giving you a lift home.’
She grazed her bottom lip with her teeth. There was no way she was going to drive her car and it would take an age for a cab to get up here in the hills at this time on a Saturday night. Nobody knew about the booking she’d made at Mount Lofty House, and she wasn’t at all comfortable with sharing the information—let alone the humiliation—with anyone, particularly this man, someone who might very well turn around and tell her brother. He knew along with everyone else that she’d been dumped, and it wouldn’t take much to put two and two together and come up with loser.
‘That’s sweet of you, Nick, considering you don’t even like me.’
‘Who said that?’
‘You called me a baby, remember?’
‘I said you were acting like one.’
‘Right.’ She frowned. ‘That’s heaps better.’
‘I never said I didn’t like you.’
Had his voice just dropped an octave? Because something had sure stroked its way down her spine. ‘Oh.’
‘So, are we friends?’
She swallowed. ‘I guess.’
‘And can’t one friend offer another a lift home at the end of a long day?’
She looked up at him, wondering why he’d be bothered. Just being neighbourly or because of some overblown sense of responsibility to her brother? Whatever, she was tempted to say yes, and not just because she was tired and it would save waiting for a taxi. Nick Pasquale was far better looking than she’d ever given him credit for, and far better looking than your average taxi driver. His short dark hair looked more ruffled than it had earlier and there was a distinct whiskery shadow that turned his jaw into a bold dark line. But it was the blue eyes that captured her attention. Slate blue, like a stormy sea. Why had she never noticed that Nick had blue eyes? He was Italian, surely they should be brown? Only now, they were frowning and she realised he was waiting for an answer.
‘Don’t you have somewhere you need to be? A babysitter you have to relieve?’
‘Minnie’s at Penelope’s tonight.’
‘Oh, but you probably have other things—’
‘It’s just a lift, Sophie. It’s no big deal.’
‘Maybe, but it’s not that simple, either.’
The faint vertical lines between his dark brows furrowed and became more distinct. ‘Why?’
She wavered. Letting him give her a lift to the hotel would be tantamount to admitting what a fool she’d been. ‘You don’t want to know. You’ll think it’s stupid. You’ll think I’m stupid and naive and I know I am, but it seemed like a good idea at the time because I didn’t know …’
‘Sophie,’ he said, shaking his head, half smiling, half confused. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
‘You won’t laugh?’
‘How do I know if I’ll laugh or not? I’ve got no idea what you’re going to say.’
‘Okay, so try not to laugh and I’ll tell you.’
He held up one hand and set his face to deadpan. ‘Okay, I’ll try my hardest.’
She swallowed and looked uncertainly up at him. ‘In that case, if you really want to give me a lift, that would be nice. Except you see, I’m not actually going home …’
He’d taken the news surprisingly well, she figured, as he turned the car onto the windy road climbing towards the hotel. At least, he hadn’t laughed. Not that she hadn’t noticed his eyebrows shooting north when she’d come out with Mount Lofty House.
Beside him, Sophie gazed out of the window into the inky night, the beam from the headlights illuminating the trees that lined the narrow road. ‘They look like claws.’
‘What do?’
‘The branches of the gum trees. In the headlights they look like claws, reaching out.’ She shivered, even though the night was far from cold.
‘Are you all right?’
She leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes, but the next two-hundred-and-seventy-degree bend to the left put paid to that. She opened them up and grabbed hold of the handle above the door. ‘Yeah. No.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’m okay.’
He lifted his foot from the accelerator. ‘You’re not going to be sick?’
She put a hand to her head. ‘No. Just a bit of a headache. God only knows why I’d have one of those. It’s not like I did anything to deserve it. Much.’
He smiled. ‘If you can laugh at yourself, you can’t be feeling too bad. You’re probably just dehydrated. Drink a lot of water before you go to bed.’
‘Thanks. I’ll do that.’ Then she gave a deep sigh as she turned back and said, ‘I’m really sorry, you know, for being such a pain in the arse tonight.’
He winked over at her. ‘You weren’t that bad a dancer.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘I was talking about before, at the bar, when you switched my drink.’
‘When you were trying to pick up Zit Boy?’
‘Zephyr. His name was Zephyr, remember?’
‘How could I forget? And what do you remember most of all about Zephyr—apart from his ridiculous name and his bad skin, that is?’
She pulled a face. ‘Yeah, okay, point taken. But I was rude to you and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.’
He shrugged. ‘You were angry with me. You thought I was trying to spoil your fun.’
‘You were spoiling my fun. You and that interfering brother of mine.’
‘He was worried about you.’
‘It was his wedding day for heaven’s sake. Surely he had more pressing things to worry about than me having a couple of drinks?’ She stared at him a moment before she dropped her head in her hands. ‘God, my own brother’s wedding day and he was worried about me. So how bad was I?’
‘On a scale of one to ten?’ He shrugged. ‘Not that bad. Maybe an eight or nine?’
‘Oh God, that bad!’
‘Hey, I was kidding. You were nowhere near that bad.’
She groaned. ‘But did I look drunk? Hannah said I was drunk.’
‘I don’t know,’ he said, changing down a gear to negotiate a tight bend. ‘You did seem a bit …’
She waited while he searched for the right word. Because he was trying to be polite?
‘… wooden, walking down the aisle.’
Sophie let go of the breath she’d been holding. All in all, it could have been worse. ‘I stumbled at the start. I was trying not to fall flat on my face.’
He nodded. ‘That’d do it.’
‘But that was it?’
‘Well, you were a bit smiley.’
‘Smiley? Aren’t people supposed to be happy at a wedding?’ Then she pinched her nose with her fingers. ‘God, you’re right. I remember now. I was so happy to make it to the front without tripping up, I was grinning like a loon. Do you think anyone else noticed?’
‘No way,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I was right up front, that’s the only reason I noticed. I’m sure nobody else did. Nobody at all.’
Sophie looked at him, weighing up his words while he kept his eyes firmly fixed on the road. Supa Glue couldn’t have kept them more firmly fixed. She leaned back in her seat. ‘You’re a terrible liar, Nick Pasquale.’
He shrugged and gave a wry smile. ‘I’ve been called worse things.’ He turned to her then. ‘Don’t worry about it, Sophie. You looked beautiful in th
at dress and with your hair up like that. A real knockout.’
‘I did?’
He nodded. ‘Still do. So stop worrying.’
Sophie leaned back in her seat and shut up, because Nick Pasquale had told her she looked beautiful. Wow. Nick Pasquale. There was a turn-up. Or was it? Her eyes fell on his hands on the steering wheel. Big hands. Long-fingered. Capable. She remembered how that hand had felt at her back, the subtle slide of his thumb against the silk of her gown, and the warm stamp of it at her lower back, and remembering made her skin tingle and her tummy flutter.
And he expected her to stop worrying? Oh boy.
The lamp-lit gates of Mount Lofty House appeared in the headlights and Sophie sucked in a breath.
‘Here we are,’ Nick said, pulling up outside the sandstone walls of the old one-time mansion. Everything was hushed and dark, with just a single lamp above the door turning the stone walls to a honeyed gold. Nick peered suspiciously at the imposing entrance, the doors of which were closed and at this time of night, he suspected, bolted shut. The entire building appeared to be slumbering. ‘Will they still have someone on reception?’
‘They’ve got a night bell. I checked all that when I dropped off my bag earlier today.’ She looked at the digital display on the dash. ‘Yesterday, come to think of it. Anyway, thanks for the lift.’
‘No,’ he said, putting the car in gear and heading for a nearby car park before she could open the door. ‘I’m not leaving you alone outside a locked door in the middle of the night.’
‘Really, I’ll be fine.’
‘I’d prefer to see you safely inside.’
‘Why?’ she asked, plucking up the battered bouquet from her lap with one hand and bundling the long skirt of her gown in the other. ‘Are you worried I might get bitten on the ankles by a wayward koala?’
But her attempt at humour fell flat because he was already out of the car and heading for her door. He wasn’t sure why she’d look so apprehensive about him seeing her inside, it was no big deal. It wasn’t as though it was going to take any time. He’d have her checked in and be back in the car and out of here in under five minutes. Tops.
He offered her his arm and she took it, sliding from the car to stand in a waterfall of cobalt silk that threatened to wash away all his resolve. It didn’t help that she looked so good. Curves in all the right places, and he’d done more than just admire them from a distance. It was going to take him a good while to forget the feel of her sweetly curved lower back under his hand, and the way she’d trembled ever so slightly as his thumb had stroked her skin. Her boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—had been nuts to miss tonight.
Not that it mattered to him.
Five minutes, he told himself, as they climbed the steps to the arched entrance portico, the sounds of their footsteps disturbing the hushed night air. He pressed the after-hours bell and they waited.
‘It’s a beautiful hotel,’ she said, her voice low and a little tremulous. ‘I’ve always wanted an excuse to stay here.’
He wasn’t sure what to say to that. Something about it being her lucky night didn’t seem appropriate under the circumstances, but she sounded a bit edgy and he figured she needed conversation, so he ran with, ‘I guess it was a bit late to cancel.’
‘Yeah, though the voucher was going to expire soon, anyway. I had to use it for something.’
‘Voucher?’
‘From that quiz night last year, the night before Pop had his heart attack. Our table won it, but then Lucy auctioned it and so I bid for it.’
He thought back to that evening, the cogs in his brain rewinding. His table had been narrowly pipped at the post by the Faraday clan, but there was nothing unusual about that, but the prize …
The memories came back to him in a rush. ‘Hang on, you bid five hundred dollars for that voucher.’
‘I did. I won it too.’
He shook his head. ‘You’re telling me you’ve paid five hundred dollars for one night in a hotel?’
‘More than that, actually, if you factor in the extras. Though it’s still a bargain. You can pay heaps more than that for a night in one of the suites here.’
But whatever she’d said after ‘more’ was lost on him. ‘You paid more than five hundred dollars? For one night with some dickhead boyfriend who didn’t even show?’
‘Come on, Nick. You’re starting to sound like my brother.’
‘And he’d have a point! What were you thinking?’
She sniffed and removed her hand from his elbow. ‘You know what, Nick? I’m thinking maybe I should go in and register by myself, after all.’
He wouldn’t mind if she did. And frankly, when it all came down to it, he was more than a little bit miffed that she’d been so willing to waste both her time and money with people who didn’t deserve it. Not just the no-show boyfriend, but the kid behind the bar, whom he was pretty sure she’d been hitting on. As the no-show’s replacement for the night? It didn’t bear thinking about. Especially considering how she’d treated Nick, like he was public enemy number one. God, if she was chasing the likes of a kid barely out of short pants who had zits, you’d think she might at least have asked him first. Not that he would have said yes if she had, but still …
Before he could tell her that suited him just fine, the door swung open and a breathless night manager full of apologies for keeping them waiting ushered them into the softly lit lobby with an all-encompassing efficiency that blew apart any idea of getting away, and before Nick knew it, he was being handed the key to Sophie’s suite.
‘Enjoy your stay,’ the night manager said after giving them directions.
‘Thank you, I’m sure we will,’ said Sophie, looping her hand around Nick’s arm to lead him away, and it was just as well she did, otherwise he might have remained rooted to the spot all night. ‘Come on, honey, I can’t wait to see our room.’
Around them as they walked, the stately hotel slumbered on, the air hushed and softly fragrant, the only sound the ticking of a grandfather clock.
‘Honey?’ he whispered when they’d taken a right as instructed, and when he was sure the night manager was out of earshot.
‘You’d rather I call you sweetheart?’
He grunted. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Then honey it is.’
He looked down at her, catching the upturn of her lips as she looked steadfastly ahead. She’d shed the air of gloom that had hung over her like a dark cloud during the wedding post-mortem in the car and there was a brightness about her since they’d arrived at the hotel. ‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’
She smiled up at him. ‘You did seem a bit shell-shocked back there.’
‘I was already out of here—or so I thought.’
She squeezed his arm. ‘Not long and you’ll be free, I promise.’
Except the brush of her body and the velvet stroke of her perfume when she’d hauled herself close to him to squeeze his arm had reminded him of how good she’d felt when they’d been dancing, and now he was wondering why he was in such a rush to get away.
Because staying longer was not an option.
A grand entry stood at the end of the passage. ‘Looks pretty posh,’ he said, checking the key in his hand to make sure it was the right door.
‘Best room in the house,’ she said beside him as he slid the key in the lock to an audible click.
‘Here you go,’ he said, pushing open the door for her. ‘All safely delivered right to your door. My work is done.’
‘Do you have to rush off?’ she said, pausing in the entry. ‘At least let me offer you a coffee or something.’
‘Bit late for coffee for me.’
‘Then come in and see what I paid for and see if it’s not worth the money.’
He held up one hand. ‘Hey, forget I said anything back there. What you paid is your business.’
‘At least come and have a look. Don’t worry, I’m not going to jump your bones or anything.’
‘Well, the
re’s a relief,’ he said, as he stepped inside, but he didn’t know why she had to make it sound like she was doing him a favour by not jumping his bones when she’d seemed only too keen to jump on everyone else’s. It was really starting to rankle.
Then he stepped inside and forgot all about feeling miffed, because this was not like any hotel room he’d ever been in. Gentle music was coming from somewhere and lamps glowed softly either side of the private entry hall, on one side illuminating a massive bedroom and on the other, a luxurious lounge and dining room. He stepped into the lounge room because he figured it was the lesser of two evils, and drank in the high ceilings, tastefully papered walls and the olde-worlde furniture.
‘Wow,’ he said, because no other word came close.
‘I know.’ She pulled back the ceiling-to-floor drapes to the dark outside. ‘There’re balconies either side and views over the Piccadilly Valley, too, not that you can see anything, now. Isn’t it gorgeous?’
It was. Everything was tasteful and elegant and it was no wonder it cost a bomb. A big old-fashioned stereo accounted for the music. Love songs, he realised as James Blunt started singing ‘You’re Beautiful’, probably playing on a loop. Figured. He took a left and found himself in a bathroom four times as big as his was at home, but then it needed to be to fit in the massive spa that took up one entire corner. It looked big enough to teach Minnie to swim.
‘Isn’t it wicked?’ she said, screwing the top off the bath gel to sniff. ‘I am so going to enjoy a bubble bath tonight.’
He blinked and headed for the next door, all thoughts of innocent swimming lessons banished as visions of naked limbs and bubbles invaded his thoughts. He really did not need to think about Sophie naked in a bubble bath.
But of course he wound up in the bedroom. Enormous, like the lounge room before, with a sitting area on one end and a bed fit for a king on the other. Fit for half a dozen kings, by the looks, and strewn with rose petals, with a silver ice bucket containing a bottle of champagne set at a jaunty angle on a bedside table alongside.
He imagined Sophie, fresh from her bath, sliding naked between the sheets as rose petals scattered on the floor. And as a lump wedged thick and tight in the back of his throat, he thought, What a waste.