A Wedding At Windaroo. Barbara Hannay
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She wriggled uncomfortably. ‘You mean I should be wearing clothes like Suzanne Heath? Dresses that are at least two sizes too small?’
‘Who’s Suzanne Heath?’
‘The chick Jonno was latching onto at a party last month.’
He stiffened like an animal on full alert. ‘So you’ve got your sights set on my little brother?’
‘No, not particularly.’ She shrugged. ‘He’s just an example. Just about any guy will do. Remember, I’m desperate.’
Lunging forward quickly, he surprised her by grasping her shoulders. ‘Piper,’ he said almost savagely, his eyes burning into hers, ‘promise me one thing.’
‘Yes?’ she whispered, forcing the single word past the sudden scary tightness in her throat. What was the matter with Gabe? He looked so fierce.
His hands gripped her hard. ‘You’re not desperate. Don’t sell yourself short. You mustn’t marry a man you don’t love.’
Startled by the ferocity in his eyes and his voice, she dropped her gaze and stared at her hands clenched in her lap as she said, ‘Maybe I’ll be easy to please.’
‘Don’t be. Just remember you deserve a good man. A man who’ll cherish you.’
Her head shot up. ‘Cherish me?’
‘Yep. That’s what you deserve.’ He smiled a shaky, crooked smile and released her shoulders quickly, as if he was surprised to find he’d been gripping her so hard.
‘I’ll remember that when the time comes,’ she said, trying not to sound as shaken as she felt. ‘But first I have to get at least one fellow to notice me. The problem is I don’t like the clothes men seem to like on women. I hate tight dresses with short skirts and low necklines.’
‘Why?’
She felt caught out by his question. ‘I—I don’t know. They look so uncomfortable.’
‘Have you ever worn one?’
‘No.’
Gabe’s smile looked more secure now. ‘It wouldn’t hurt to give it a go some time.’
‘But girls who wear them have plenty of curves.’
He grinned. ‘You go in and out in all the right places.’
She was surprised he’d noticed. But then maybe he was just saying that to make her feel better. ‘My ins and outs are very tiny. Do you think it would help if I stuffed my—my chest?’
‘Your husband-to-be might not be too happy when he discovers socks shoved down your bra.’
Her mouth tightened into a self-righteous pout. ‘By the time he finds out it won’t matter. It’ll be too late, won’t it?’
Gabe shook his head slowly. ‘My dear girl, you’ve got a lot to learn.’
She looked away. There was every chance she’d never find a man she wanted to share such intimate secrets with.
He reached over and flicked her ponytail. ‘Take that elastic thing out of your hair.’
‘Now?’
‘Yeah.’
Uncertainly, she hooked her finger under the elasticised band and slid it down, then shook her shoulder length hair free. Yellow hair, Grandad called it. Her driver’s licence said it was fair. A teacher at school had called it strawberry blonde. The biggest problem was that it came with very fair skin that she had to keep covered and out of the sun.
‘You should do that more often, Piper. You have very pretty hair. If you let a fellow see all that, especially in the moonlight, you’ll…make a big impression.’
‘I suppose…’
‘No supposing. I mean it—absolutely.’
‘So you reckon I need to let my hair down and buy a skimpy dress?’
‘It certainly can’t hurt to fem things up a bit.’
‘OK, assuming I get the looks sorted out, what comes next? What are the other senses? Sound? I don’t know if I could manage a low and husky voice for very long.’
He grinned. ‘Tell a guy what a great bloke he is and it won’t matter much how you sound. Flattery and flirtation go hand in hand. Anyway, you’ve never been one to screech or cackle. You sound fine.’
‘That’s a relief. So that brings us to smell. What impresses a guy when it comes to smell?’
‘Clean hair, clean skin.’
‘Perfume?’
‘If it’s delicate. Something that enhances your femininity but doesn’t get in the way of it.’
‘My femininity?’ What did that smell like?
An unsettling vision floated before her. She saw Gabe with a woman in his arms. A very beautiful woman with long silky hair and superior curves. Someone who smelled feminine. She could picture his sensuous lips caressing her exposed creamy throat, drinking in the smell of her.
An unexpected sound sent the image scattering. A kind of groan. Shoot! Had she made that noise? What was wrong with her?
What was wrong with Gabe? He was looking as embarrassed as she felt. Time to move this conversation along. ‘I’ll remember to make sure my perfume is delicate.’ So what senses were left? Sight, sound and smell were covered, so that left touch. Heck, no! She’d have to skip that one. But that only left taste, and no way did she want to know how she was supposed to taste!
‘Touch and taste aren’t really part of flirting. They don’t count, do they?’
‘If you’re looking for a husband they count for a great deal.’
Something about the way Gabe said that made her feel tight in the chest. ‘Well, yes. I suppose they matter when you get past flirting and around to kissing.’ She was definitely having trouble breathing. ‘Well, thanks for your advice, Gabe. I think you’ve covered everything.’
But now, darn it, he seemed reluctant to drop the subject. His deep voice penetrated the night. ‘Piper, you’re not frightened of intimacy, are you?’
Without warning, her blood began to pound through her veins, making her ears hum and her heart thump wildly. ‘I—I don’t think so.’
But she couldn’t be sure. Her limited experiences of kissing and necking ranged from mildly pleasant to downright mortifying. She should remember that this was Gabe, and if there was anyone in the world she could talk to about such embarrassing stuff it was him. Staring at her hands, still clenched tightly in her lap, she added softly, ‘I don’t know. I might be.’
She sensed him leaning towards her, and next moment his fingertips were touching her cheek ever so gently—so very gently—she could hardly feel them—and she found herself wanting to feel them, needing to feel them, found she was leaning her cheek into the curve of his hand. His big warm hand.
She knew exactly what it looked like. She could picture the strong, square shape of his palm, the light brown hairs on the back of his hand, the long, strong fingers. Eyes closed, she rubbed her cheek against his cupped hand.
She heard the rasp of his breathing and felt his thumb travel slowly down her cheek, over her chin and back again. She was amazed by how good it felt. Exciting, but sweet.
His fingertips circled slowly, ever so slowly over her cheek, her chin, her lips. Beneath his touch her skin felt different, highly sensitised, alive in a whole new way.
When his thumb moved again it reached her mouth and began to trace the outline of her lower lip. It strolled back and forth, back and forth. Then stopped.
No! She didn’t want it to stop. Hardly believing