Wedding Wishes. Liz Fielding
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considerations,’ he said. ‘You’re a guest. If anything were to happen to you while you were bedded down on the office floor, you’d sue the pants off me.’
‘Too right.’ She’d considered denying it, but clearly it wasn’t going to make any difference what she said. ‘The pants, the shirt and everything else. Better leave now,’ she urged him. Then, just to remind him that he owed her a favour, ‘Did you enjoy your lunch?’
‘Yes, thanks. Your sacrifice was appreciated.’
Sacrifice? Didn’t he know that city girls lived on steamed fish and a mouthful of salad if they wanted to keep their figures? At least when they were being good. She could eat a pizza right now, but the fish would do and she turned to the tray. It wasn’t there. There was nothing but the bottle of water.
‘What happened to my lunch?’ she asked.
‘Room service cleared it hours ago.’
‘Excuse me?’ She glanced at her watch, frowned. It showed a quarter past four. Had she made a mistake when she’d moved it forward?
‘You’ve been asleep for nearly three hours, Josie.’
‘Pull the other one…I just closed my eyes,’ she protested.
‘At about half past one,’ he agreed. ‘And now you’ve opened them.’
At quarter past four? No…She looked around, desperately hoping for some way to deny his claim.
The sun had been high overhead when she’d joined Gideon for lunch. The light seemed softer, mellower now and, looking up to check how far it had moved, she realised that someone had placed a shade over her.
‘Where did that come from?’ she asked, startled. Then, still not quite able to believe it, ‘I’ve really been asleep?’ She could have sworn she’d simply closed her eyes and then opened them a moment later. It had felt like no more than a blink. ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’
‘Why would I do that?’ he asked. ‘You obviously needed a nap.’
‘Three hours isn’t a nap!’ she said, telling leaden limbs to move, limbs that appeared to be glued to the lounger. ‘There’ll be emails. Messages. I have to talk to the chef. Unpack the linen and check that everything’s there. That it’s the right colour,’ she continued in a rush of panic, forcing her legs over the edge. ‘I’ve got a hundred favour boxes to put together.’
‘Relax, Josie. No one rushes around in the afternoon heat. Take your cue from the animals.’
‘And do what?’ she demanded. ‘Slosh about in the river?’
‘Not in the afternoon. That’s when they find a cool corner in the shade, lie down and go to sleep.’
‘Check,’ she said. ‘Done that.’
‘So has everyone else with any sense. Including the chef.’ He grinned. ‘Now is the time to take a dip.’
She glanced towards the wide oxbow lake that had been formed by the erosion of the bank where the river had once formed a great loop. Animals had begun to gather at the water’s edge. Small deer, a couple of zebras and then, as she watched, a giraffe moved majestically towards the water and a lump caught in her throat.
This was real. Not a zoo or a safari park or David Attenborough on the telly and she watched transfixed for a moment before remembering that she had work to do and, turning back to Gideon, said, ‘Actually, bearing in mind your advice about crocodiles, I think I might give that one a miss.’
‘What do you think the plunge pool is for?’
‘Oh, I know that one…“You can simply sit in your own private plunge pool and watch elephants cavorting below you in an oxbow lake while you sip a glass of chilled bubbly,”’ she quoted, trying not to think about how good that sounded right now. ‘I’ve read the guidebook.’ Or, rather, had it read to her.
‘Sounds good to me.’ He began to unbutton his shirt to reveal a broad tanned chest with a delicious sprinkling of dark chest hair. ‘Get your kit off and I’ll ring for room service.’
Jolted from her distracted gaze, she said, ‘Excuse me?’
‘You’re the one who suggested water therapy. I wasn’t convinced but the champagne sold it to me.’
Josie was hot, dehydrated and a little water therapy—the delicious combination of cool water, hot skin and the best-looking man she’d met in a very long time—was much too tempting for a woman who hadn’t had a date in a very long time.
It was in the nature of the job that events planners were working when other people were partying.
And part of the appeal.
She didn’t have to think about why she didn’t have a social life when she was too busy arranging other people’s to have one of her own.
‘You’re not interested in water therapy,’ she told him. ‘You just want a drink.’
‘If I wanted a drink,’ he said, ‘champagne wouldn’t be my first choice. But, as a sundowner, a glass or two would help relax the muscles.’
‘That sounds like a plan,’ she said, well aware that he was simply amusing himself at her expense. Using her desperation to be rid of him to get what he wanted. It was the coffee, the chilli all over again but, even if she had been foolish enough to fall for it, she had far too much to do. And three fewer hours in which to do it. ‘I’ll smuggle a bottle past the guards for you.’
‘I can’t tempt you?’
Oh, she was tempted—no question about that—but a splash of water on her face and a reviving pot of tea was as good as it was going to get this evening.
‘I’ll take a rain check,’ she said, forcing herself to her feet. ‘The guests will start arriving tomorrow, including a bride and groom who’ll be expecting this suite to be waiting for them.’
‘Ah…’
‘Ah?’ She didn’t like the sound of that ‘ah’.
‘I knew there was something I had to tell you.’
‘Please let it be that you’re leaving.’
‘Sorry…’ His regretful shrug was so elegantly done that she found herself wondering what he would be like on his feet. How he would move. Imagined the graceful ripple of those thigh muscles…
‘No, Gideon,’ she snapped, dragging herself back from the edge of drool. She’d tried the placatory approach, been Miss Sugar and Spice. Now she was going to have to get tough. ‘You’re not in the least bit sorry so don’t pretend you are.’
‘I am sorry that my presence is causing you difficulties. Why don’t you email Celebrity and tell them that someone has to stay at home? Couldn’t the bride manage with one less attendant? Or maybe just do her own make-up?’
‘Was that it?’ she enquired. ‘What you had to tell me? It’s a great idea, but far too late. Most of the guests are already on their way so, if that’s it, I’ve got things to do.’
‘No, there’s something else. You’d better sit down,’ he advised.
‘I’m liking this less and less,’ she said, but she was still feeling a bit light-headed. Maybe she needed another minute or two to fully wake up and she sank back down. ‘You’d better tell me.’
‘Tal Newman arrived in Gabarone today. He’s got dinner with the Botswana national team tonight and tomorrow he’s giving some youngsters a football master class before taking part in a parade giving him the freedom of Gabarone.’
‘Yes. I’ve got the programme. It’s just an average day in the life of the world’s most famous football player,’ she said. ‘So?’
‘It