Wedding Party Collection: Once A Bridesmaid...: Here Comes the Bridesmaid / Falling for the Bridesmaid. GINA WILKINS
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he had an obsessive-compulsive disorder, hand-washing thing going on.
Hmm. She’d read something that might help in that case—about systematic desensitisation...or was it exposure therapy...?
In Leo’s case it would mean touching him often, to get him to see that nothing diabolical would happen to him just because of a bit of skin contact.
She could do that.
It would be a public service, almost.
A favour to a man who was going to be family—well, kind of family.
What was more, it would be fun.
‘Oh, dear. I’m sorry, Leo. I took you by surprise, didn’t I?’ She bit her lip. ‘I should have learned by now not to launch myself at people when they aren’t ready! I once ended up in an embarrassing half-kiss, half-handshake, nose-bumping, chokehold situation. Has that ever happened to you?’
‘No.’
‘Well, just to make sure it never does I’ll give you an indicator before I kiss you in future—say...puckering up my lips like a trout, so you’ll know it’s coming.’ She stopped and thought about that. ‘Actually, I wonder why they call it a trout pout when women overdo the lip-filler? Trout don’t seem to have excessively large lips to me.’
He was looking at her lips now.
‘Not that my own lips are artificially inflated, if that’s what you’re wondering,’ she assured him, moving further into the restaurant. ‘They’re just naturally troutish. If trout really do have thick lips, that is. I definitely need to have another look at a photo of a trout.’
Leo’s gaze had moved on to her hair. In fact he was looking at it with a moroseness that bordered on the psychotic.
What the hell was going on in his head?
‘Is something wrong with my hair?’ she asked, and flicked a hand at it. ‘Do I look like I stuck my finger in an electrical socket? Because it’s windy out there.’ She reached into her bag—an orange leather tote—and pulled out an elastic band. Bundling the tousled mess of it into a bunch at the back of her head, she tucked the ends under and roughly contained it. ‘There—fixed,’ she said. ‘I need a haircut, but I’m not sure how to style it for the wedding so it has to wait. I have a great hairdresser—actually, I used to date him.’
‘Another one?’
‘Another...? Oh, you mean someone else I used to date? Well, yes. Anyway, Iain—that’s my hairdresser—says he needs to see the dress first. Some people might say that’s a little neurotic, but he’s a genius so I’m not arguing. And, of course, if I did argue it would be a pot-kettle-black thing, because I’m just as neurotic. I can’t design your shoes, for example, until I know what you’re wearing.’
He looked a heartbeat away from one of those glowers he supposedly didn’t do. It was his only response.
‘That was a hint, by the way, to let me know what you’re wearing.’
‘Yep, I got that.’
Silence.
‘So!’ she said. ‘What do you think? About my hair? Should I keep the fringe? It won’t grow out completely in two months, but it should be long enough to style differently—say, like...’ She pushed the fringe to one side, smoothing it across her temple.
‘I like the fringe,’ Leo said.
Words! Yay! But he was still frowning.
And now he was looking at her dress.
Okay, so it was a little tight—hello! After two nights in a row at his restaurants, never mind yesterday’s two-minute noodles, sugar donuts, and family block of chocolate, what did he expect? But nothing that remarkable. Kind of conservative. Just a nude-coloured woollen sheath. V-neck, knee-length, three-quarter sleeves, no fussy trim.
His eyes kept going, down her legs to her shoes. Five-inch-high nude pumps.
‘Problem?’ she asked, when his eyes started travelling back up, and she must have sounded exasperated because that stopped him.
At last he looked in her eyes. ‘You look good—as usual.’
Oh. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and actually felt like preening.
‘But I don’t want you to break your neck wriggling around in that dress and tottering on those heels. The building is finished but there’s still some debris around that you could trip over.’
And we’re back!
This was going to be a long day. A long, fun day. He was just so irresistibly grumpy!
She stepped towards the windows. ‘This is just brilliant!’ Turned to shoot him a broad smile. ‘Are you going to give me a tour, Leo?’
He nodded—and looked so uninviting that Sunshine almost laughed. Well, there was no time like the present to commence his therapy and start touch, touch, touching!
Brace yourself, Leo darling.
‘Yes, but be careful,’ Leo was saying, oblivious. ‘And leave your bag—it looks heavy.’
Sunshine dropped the bag on the spot. ‘Tell you what,’ she said, walking back to him, ‘I’m just going to hold on to you so you don’t have to worry about the state of my fragile limbs.’ She took his arm before he could back away. His arm felt hard and unyielding, like a piece of marble. Or petrified wood. Petrified! Perfect. She beamed up at him. ‘Lead on, Leo.’
His jaw was shut so tightly she thought he might crack a tooth.
Oh, dear...oh, deary me! This was going to be good.
* * *
This was bad, Leo realised.
Actually, he’d realised it the moment he saw her standing on the viewing platform outside, looking glamorous and yet earthy. And wistful. And...sad.
So she was sad—so what? She recovered like lightning, didn’t she? Like the other times. There was no reason for him to want to... Well, no reason for anything.
And her hair was annoying! Out on the platform the wind had been blowing it every which way and she hadn’t given a thought to the tangle it was creating, and then she’d shoved the mess of it into a band as though it didn’t matter. She should care about her damned hair the way every other woman he’d ever dated cared.
Not that he was dating her.
It was destabilising, that was all, to have his perceptions mucked around with.
As was the way she’d cast that expensive-looking orange leather carry-all thing onto the floor—as though it were no more valuable than a paper shopping bag.
And the fact that she never wore nail polish.
The way she could make her eyes twinkle at will.
And that fresh flower smell of hers.
The jolt when she took his arm and looked up at him with mischief printed all over her face like a tattoo.
He didn’t want to feel gauche when he pulled away from her touch and nearly caused her to face-plant—and then embarrassed because she laughed it off and blamed herself when he knew that she knew the fault was his. Because Sunshine, he was coming to realise, was no dummy.
And he certainly didn’t want to feel disapproving, like a damned priest, just because she was dating two men simultaneously and didn’t love either of them. Because she was right about one thing: who was he to lecture her?
Leo flexed his arm under her hand, which felt disturbingly light and warm and...whatever. It was nothing. Meant nothing. It was just her keeping her balance. The same as holding on to a railing.
He took a slow, silent breath. ‘Let’s start with the kitchen,’ he said, and led her though swinging