Wedding Wishes. Liz Fielding
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that having a layabout for a stepfather mattered not one jot. But her words betrayed a world of hurt. And went a long way to explaining that very firm assertion—strange for a woman whose life revolved around it—that marriage wasn’t for her.
‘I didn’t mean to imply that that’s your problem,’ she added with a sudden rush that—however unlikely that seemed—might have been embarrassment.
‘I promise you that it’s not,’ he assured her. ‘On the contrary. It’s made worse by the fact that I’m out of touch with my office. That I’m stuck here when I should be several thousand miles away negotiating a vital contract.’
Discovering that the marketing team he’d entrusted with selling his hard won dream appeared to have lost the plot and being unable to do a damn thing about it.
‘I’m beginning to understand how that feels.’ She was still leaning forward, an elbow on her knee, chin propped on her hand, regarding him with that steady violet gaze. ‘The being out of touch thing. I usually spend the twenty-four hours before a big event with my phone glued to my ear, although who I’d call if I had a last minute emergency here heaven alone knows.’
‘Necessity does tend to be the mother of invention when you’re this far from civilisation,’ he agreed.
‘Even in the middle of civilisation when you’re in the events business. Clearly, this is going to be an interesting few days.’ Then, looking at him as if he was number one on her list of problems, ‘Would a massage help?’
‘Are you offering?’ he asked.
Josie had thought it was quiet here, but she was wrong.
There was no traffic, no shouting or sirens—the constant background to daily life in London—but it wasn’t silent. The air was positively vibrating with energy; the high-pitched hum of insects, bird calls, odd sounds she couldn’t identify, and she was suddenly overwhelmed with a longing to lie back, soak it all up, let the sun heat her to the bone.
The shriek of a bird, or maybe a monkey, snapped her out of her reverie and she realised, somewhat belatedly, that Gideon McGrath’s dark eyes were focused not on her face, but lower down.
Typical man…
‘All I’m offering is coffee,’ she said crisply, rising to her feet, tightening her belt.
‘Pity,’ he replied with a slow, mesmerising smile. It was like watching a car roll towards you in slow motion; one minute you were safe, the next…
‘Shall I leave the pot?’ she asked.
‘Better take it with you, or the room service staff will get their knickers in a twist hunting for it.’
‘It’s not a problem,’ she said abruptly. Calling herself all kinds of a fool for allowing herself to be drawn in by a smile, a pair of dark eyes. He might be confined to a deck lounger, but he was still capable of inflicting terminal damage and she wished she’d stuck with her initial response which had been to ignore him. ‘I’ll let them know where it is.’
‘Don’t bother about it. Really. You’ve got more than enough on your plate.’
‘It’s no trouble,’ she assured him, backing towards the exit. ‘I’ll be visiting the kitchen anyway.’ She had to talk through the catering arrangements for the pre-wedding dinner with the chef. ‘I can mention the mistake with the herbal tea while I’m there if you like.’
‘No. Don’t do that, Josie.’
Something about his persistence warned her that she was missing something and she stopped.
‘It wasn’t a mistake,’ he said. ‘The tea.’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand…’ Then, quite suddenly, she did. ‘Oh, right. I get it.’ She stepped forward and snatched up the coffee pot, brandishing it at him accusingly. ‘This is a banned substance, isn’t it?’
‘You’ve got me,’ he admitted, his smile turning to a wince as he shrugged without thinking and she had to fight the urge to go to him yet again, do something to ease the pain.
‘I believe I’m the one who’s been had.’ And, before he could deny it, she said, ‘You’ve made me an accessory to caffeine abuse in direct contravention of doctor’s orders and—’ as he opened his mouth to protest’—don’t even think about apologising. I can tell that you’re not in the least bit sorry.’
‘Actually, I wasn’t going to apologise. I was going to thank you. Everyone keeps telling me that I should listen to my body. Its demands for caffeine were getting so loud that I’m surprised the entire camp couldn’t hear it.’
‘Not the entire camp,’ she replied. ‘Just me.’
‘You were very kind and I took shameless advantage of you,’ he said with every appearance of sincerity. She wasn’t taken in.
‘I was an idiot,’ she said, holding up her hand, palm towards him as if holding him off, despite the fact that moving was clearly the last thing on his mind.
‘Not an idiot.’
‘No? So tell me about the sugar?’
‘You didn’t give me sugar,’ he pointed out.
‘I would have done if you’d…’ She stopped, furious with herself.
‘The honey was inspired,’ he assured her. ‘Tell your partner that I’m converted.’
‘So what else is banned?’ she demanded, refusing to be placated.
‘White bread, red meat, salt, animal fats.’
Gideon knew the list by heart. His doctor had been trotting it out for years at the annual check-ups provided for all staff. Annual check-ups which the firm’s insurance company insisted should include him, despite his protestations that it was totally unnecessary. Now she’d got him captive, she was taking full advantage of the situation.
‘All the usual suspects, in other words.’
‘Along with the advice to walk to work…’ as if he had time ‘…and take regular holidays.’
He spent half his life at holiday resorts, for heaven’s sake; why would he want to go to one for fun?
And of course there was the big one. Get married.
According to actuarial statistics, married men lived longer. But then that doctor was a woman, so she would say that. He wasn’t going to.
‘The holiday part doesn’t appear to be working,’ Josie pointed out.
‘Nor does the diet. My life has been reduced to steamed fish, nut cutlets and oatmeal,’ he complained. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Unless, of course, he could convince Josie to take pity on him.
She’d been quick with a tender hand and he was sure that if he’d asked she’d have gone and fetched sugar for him from her own tray. If he’d done that she’d be really mad at him.
She might even have indulged his massage fantasy if she hadn’t caught him with his eyes rather lower than they should have been.
‘I take it that I can cross ants off the list of things I have to worry about,’ she said without the least sign of sympathy.
Okay, so she was too mad to indulge him now, but it wouldn’t last. She laughed too easily to hold a grudge.
‘If I say yes, will you have lunch with me?’ he asked.
‘So that you can help yourself to forbidden treats from my tray?’
‘Me? I’m helpless. Of course, if you forced them on me there isn’t a thing I could do to stop you.’
‘You can relax,’ she replied, but her lusciously wide mouth tightened at the corners as she fought to stop it responding to his outrageous