A Wedding at Leopard Tree Lodge / Three Times A Bridesmaid…

There was a pack in the bridal emergency kit she carried with her whenever she was working and she’d have one now but for the fact that if she were any calmer, she’d be asleep.

‘I’d be happy to swap,’ he offered.

Despite her determination not to be drawn into conversation, she laughed, as no doubt she was meant to.

‘No, you’re all right,’ she said. ‘I’m good.’

Then, refusing to allow a man to unsettle her with no more than a look—she was, she reminded herself, now a partner in a prestigious event company—she surrendered.

After all, she had a pot full of good coffee that she wasn’t going to drink. And unless he was part of the wedding party—and, as far as she knew, no one was arriving until tomorrow—he’d be gone by morning.

‘But if you’re desperate you’re welcome to come over and help yourself.’

‘Ah, there’s the rub,’ he said before she could take another step towards the safety of the interior, leaving him to take it or leave it while she got on with the job she’d come here to do. ‘The mind is willing enough, but the back just isn’t listening. I’d crawl over there on hot coals for a decent cup of coffee if it were physically possible, but as it is I’m at your mercy.’

‘You’re hurt?’ Stupid question. If he couldn’t make the short distance from his deck to hers there had to something seriously wrong. She would have rung for room service if there had been a bell. Since that option was denied her, she stuck her notebook in the pocket of her robe, picked up the coffee pot and said, ‘Hang on, I’ll be right there.’

His tree house was at the end of the bridge, the furthest from the main building. The one which, according to the plan she’d been given, had been allocated to Crystal and Tal as their bridal suite.

Definitely leaving tomorrow, then.

There was a handbell at the foot of the steps and she jangled it, called, ‘Hello,’ as she stepped up onto his deck.

Then, as she turned the corner and took the full impact of the man stretched out on the lounger—with not the slightest sign of injury to keep him there—she came to an abrupt halt.

Even from a distance it had been obvious that he was dangerously good-looking. Up close, he looked simply dangerous.

He had a weathered tan, the kind that couldn’t be replicated in a salon and never entirely faded, even in the dead of winter. And the strength of his chin was emphasized by a ‘shadow’ that had passed the designer stubble stage and was heading into beard territory.

She’d already experienced the smile from twenty metres but he wasn’t smiling now. On the contrary, his was a blatantly calculating look that took in every inch of her. From her damp hair, purple-streaked and standing on end where she’d been finger-drying it, her face bereft of anything but a hefty dose of moisturiser, to her bare feet, with a knowingness that warned her he was aware that she was naked beneath the robe.

Worse, the seductive curve of his lower lip sparked a heat deep within her and she knew that he was far more deadly than any of the wild animals that were the main attraction at Leopard Tree Lodge.

At least to any woman who didn’t have her heart firmly padlocked to her chest.

Resisting the urge to pull the robe closer about her and tighten the belt, betraying the effect he had on her, she walked swiftly across the deck and placed the coffee pot on the table beside him.

‘Emergency coffee delivery,’ she said, with every intention of turning around and leaving him to it.

Gideon had watched her walk towards him.

Until ten minutes ago, he would have sworn he wasn’t in the mood for company, particularly not the company of a woman high on getting her man to sign up for life—or at least until she was ready to settle for half his worldly goods. But then the tantalising scent of coffee had wafted towards him.

Even then he might have resisted if he hadn’t seen this extraordinary woman sitting on the deck, raking her fingers through her hair in the early morning sun.

If he had given the matter a second’s thought, he would have assumed anyone called Crystal to be one of those pneumatic blondes cloned to decorate the arms of men who were more interested in shape than substance when it came to women.

Not that he was immune. Shape did it for him every time.

But she wasn’t blonde. There was nothing obvious or predictable about her. Her hair was dramatically black and tipped with purple and her strong features were only prevented from overwhelming her face by a pair of large dark eyes. And while her shape was blurred by the bulky robe she was wearing, she was certainly on the skinny side; there were no artificially enhanced curves hidden even in that abundance of white towelling.

In fact she was so very far from what he would have expected that his interest had been unexpectedly aroused. Rather more than his interest if he was honest; a sure sign that his brain was under-occupied but it certainly took his mind off his back.

An effect that was amplified as she stepped up onto his deck and paused there for a moment.

Straight from the shower, her face bare of make-up, her hair a damp halo that hadn’t seen a comb, without sexy clothes or high heels, it had to be the fact that she was naked under that robe that momentarily squeezed the breath from his chest as she’d walked towards him.

‘You’re an angel, Miss Blaize,’ he said, collecting himself.

‘Not even close,’ she replied.

She’d worked hard to scrub the inner city from her voice, he judged, but it was still just discernible to someone with an ear for it.

‘On either count,’ she added. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint, but I’m plain Josie Fowler.’

She wasn’t the bride?

Nor was she exactly plain but what his mother would have described as ‘striking’. And up close he could see that those dark eyes were a deep shade of violet that exactly matched the highlights in her hair, the colour she’d painted both finger and toenails.

‘Who said I was disappointed, plain Josie Fowler?’ he said, ignoring the little leap of gratification that she wasn’t Crystal Blaize. It was her coffee he wanted, not her. ‘I asked if you’d share your coffee and here you are. That makes you an angel in my eyes.’

‘You’re easily satisfied…?’

On the contrary. According to more than one woman of his acquaintance, he was impossible to please—or maybe just impossible—but right now any company would be welcome. Even a big-eyed scarecrow with purple hair.

‘Gideon McGrath,’ he said in answer to the unvoiced question. Offering her his hand.

She hesitated for the barest moment before she stepped close enough to take it, but her hand matched her features. It was slightly too large for true femininity, leaving him with the feeling that her body hadn’t quite grown to match her extremities. But her grip was firm enough to convince him that, apart from the contact lenses—no one had eyes that colour—its owner was the real thing.

‘Forgive me for not getting up, but if I tried you’d have to pick me up off the deck.’

‘In that case, please don’t bother. One of us with a bad back is quite enough. Enjoy your coffee,’ she said, taking a clear step back.

‘Would you mind pouring it for me? It’s a bit of a stretch,’ he lied. But he didn’t want her to go.

‘Bad luck,’ she said, turning to the tray and bending to fill his cup. ‘Especially when you’re on holiday.’ Then, glancing back at him, ‘What on earth made you think I was Crystal Blaize?’

Her hair, drying quickly as the sun rose, began to settle in soft tendrils around her face. And he caught the gleam of a tiny purple stud in her nose.

Who was she? What was she? Part of the media circus surrounding the coming wedding?

‘One of the staff called you the “the wedding lady”?’ he replied, pitching his answer as a question.

‘Oh, right. Milk, sugar?’ she asked, but not bothering to explain. Then, looking over the tray, ‘Actually, that would be just milk or milk. There doesn’t appear to be any sugar.’ She sighed as she straightened. ‘I was assured that this place was the last word in luxury and to be sure it looks beautiful…’

‘But?’

‘There’s no power point or hairdryer in my room, no sugar on your tray and no telephone to call the desk and tell them about it, despite the fact that David told me to ring for anything I needed. I can’t even get a signal on my mobile phone.’

‘You won’t. The whole point of Leopard Tree Lodge is to get away from the intrusion of modern life, not bring it with you,’ he said, totally ignoring the fact that he’d been fuming about the same thing just minutes before.

Well, obviously not the hairdryer. But he could surely do with a phone signal right now, if only to reassure himself that this was a one-off. That someone in marketing hadn’t decided that weddings were the way to go.

Since he was the one who’d laid out the ground rules before a single stone had been laid or piece of timber cut, however, he could hardly complain.

But it occurred to him that if ‘plain Josie Fowler’ was with the wedding party, she would be given free run of the communications facilities and, if he played his cards right, she’d be good for a lot more than coffee.

‘The electricity to heat the water is supplied by solar energy,’ he explained, ‘but it doesn’t run to electrical appliances.’

‘Once I’d clocked the candles, I managed to work that out for myself,’ she replied. ‘The escape from reality thing. Unfortunately, I’m here to work. If I was mad enough to come here for a holiday I’d probably feel quite differently.’

Clearly that prospect was as unlikely as a cold day in hell.

‘You don’t like it?’

‘I’d like it better if it was beside a quiet bay, with a soft white beach and the kind of sea rich people pay to swim in.’

‘This is supposed to be a work-free zone,’ he pointed out, more than a touch irritated by her lack of enthusiasm. He put all his heart and a lot more into building his hotels, his resorts, some of them in exactly the kind of location she described.

But this had been his first. He loved it and hated it in equal measure, but he had the right.

‘For others, maybe,’ she retaliated, putting her hand to the small of her back and stretching out her spine, ‘but for the next few days it’s going to be twenty-four/seven for me.’

‘Sore back?’ he asked.

‘Just a bit. Is it catching?’ she asked with a wry smile.

‘Not as far as I know.’

Maybe.

Her back hadn’t seized up—yet—but just how many of his guests arrived feeling as if they were screwed up into knots? Zahir had built a very profitable spa on the coast at Nadira, where most of his travellers chose to spend a couple of days after the rigours of the desert. Would that work here, too? Massage, pampering treatments, something totally back to nature…

There was plenty to keep the dedicated naturalist happy. Canoe trips, bush walks, birdwatching, but big game viewing was the big attraction and that was primarily a dawn and dusk event.

Not that he was interested, but it would be useful to mention the possibilities for expansion when it came to negotiations with potential buyers.

‘So, tell me, what’s the deal with the herbal tea and no sugar?’ she asked.

‘It’s a mystery,’ he lied. ‘Unless the ants have got into the stores.’

‘Ants?’

‘Big ones.’ He held thumb and forefinger apart to demonstrate just how big.

Her eyes widened a fraction. ‘You’re kidding?’

He said nothing. There were ants that big but the storeroom had been designed and constructed to keep them out.

She had, however, been rather dismissive of Leopard Tree Lodge. Worse, she was on a mission to disrupt it.

Protecting the unspoilt places where he built his resorts from pollution of every kind—including noise—had been high on his agenda from the outset. And, in his admittedly limited experience, weddings tended to be very noisy affairs.

Unfortunately, Celebrity would have a contract and wouldn’t hesitate to sue him and his company for every lost penny if he messed with their big day. And that would be small beer compared to compensation for distress to the bride, the groom, their families, the bridesmaids…

He was stuck with the wedding, so tormenting the woman he now realised was the wedding planner was about as good as it was going to get.

CHAPTER THREE

A wedding is a day to spend with friends…

—The Perfect Wedding by Serafina

March

THE WEDDING PLANNER, however, refused to fulfil the role assigned.

There was no girly squeal at the thought of giant ants munching their way through the sugar supply. No repeat of the shriek provoked by the raid on her breakfast by a thieving monkey.

She merely shook her head, as if he’d done no more than confirm her worst fears, took a small black notebook out of her robe pocket, wrote something in it and then returned it to her pocket before turning back to the tray.

‘There’s a little pot of honey, here,’ she said, picking it up and showing it to him. ‘According to my partner, it actually tastes better in coffee as well as being healthier than refined sugar.’

‘That’ll be fine. I don’t want milk.’ He watched her open the pot, then said, ‘Partner?’

From the way Francis had spoken, he’d assumed she was on her own. He hadn’t noticed anyone with her, but he hadn’t been interested enough to look until the scent of coffee had reached him.

‘Is he with you?’

‘She.’ She stirred a spoonful of honey into his coffee. Then, realising what kind of partner he meant, she added, ‘Sylvie’s my business partner. And no. She’s got a project of her own keeping her busy right now.’

The thought widened her mouth into a smile that momentarily lit up her face, transforming the ‘striking’ into something else. Not beauty—her features were not classically proportioned. It was nothing he could put a name to. He only knew that he wanted to see it again.

‘Not that she’d have come with me even if she was free. Weddings are my department.’ Then, as if aware that she hadn’t made it clear, ‘I’m an events planner.’

‘I’d just about worked that out. It was just that when Francis said you were the “wedding lady” I assumed that you were the bride.’

‘Not in this life,’ she said matter-of-factly as she handed him the cup. ‘My role is simply to deliver the wedding on time, on budget, with no hitches. Will that do?’ she asked as he sipped it and, when he smiled, made another move to go.

‘Stay. Sit down,’ he said with a gesture at the lounger beside him.

‘Do you always issue invitations as an order?’ she asked, ignoring the invitation.

‘On the contrary, I always issue orders as an invitation.’ Then, before she could walk away—he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to work this hard to keep a woman’s attention; when he’d wanted to—he said, ‘Simply?’

‘Sorry?’

‘You think delivering a wedding here will be simple?’

That earned him a smile of his own. A slightly wry one, admittedly, with one corner of her mouth doing all the work and drawing attention to soft, full lips.

‘Weddings are never simple,’ she said, perching on the edge of the lounger rather than stretching out beside him as he’d hoped. Keen to be off and conquering worlds. No prizes for guessing who that reminded him of. ‘Certainly not this one.’

‘But you’re the wedding lady,’ he reminded her. ‘It was your bright idea to have the wedding here.’

‘You don’t approve the choice of location?’ she asked, her head tilting to one side. Interested rather than offended.

He shrugged without thinking and as he caught his breath she moved swiftly to steady the cup with one hand, placing her other on his shoulder.

‘Are you all right?’ she said.

No. Actually, far from all right.

As she’d leaned forward her robe had gaped to offer him a tantalising glimpse of the delights it was supposed to conceal. Her breasts were not large, but they were smooth, invitingly creamy and, without doubt, all her own and he was getting an overload of stimulation. Pain and pleasure in equal measure.

‘A noisy celebrity wedding doesn’t seem to fit the setting,’ he said and, doing his best to ignore both, especially the warmth of her palm spreading through him, he looked up.

Her face was close enough to see the fine down that covered her fair, smooth skin. Genuine concern in those extraordinary eyes. But what held his attention was a faint white scar that ran along the edge of her jaw. It would, under normal circumstances, have been covered by make-up, but Josie had come on her errand of mercy without stopping to apply the mask that women used to conceal their true selves from the outside world.

No make-up. No designer clothes.

It left her more naked than if she’d stripped off her robe and he had to clench his hand to stop himself from reaching out, tracing the line of it from just beneath her ear to her chin as if he could somehow erase it, erase the memory of the pain it must have caused her, with his thumb.

‘What about the other guests who are here to watch the wildlife?’ he demanded, rather more sharply than he’d intended as he sought to distance himself. ‘Don’t they get any consideration?’

‘There won’t be any,’ she said, removing her hand as she sat back, distancing herself. Leaving a cold spot where it had been.

‘Exactly my point.’

‘No, I meant that there won’t be any other guests, Gideon. We’ve taken over the entire resort for the wedding so we won’t be disturbing anyone.’

‘Apart from the animals. Every room?’

‘And the rest. We’ve got a river boat coming to take the overflow.’

‘Well, I hate to be the one to say “I told you so”, but here comes your first complication. I’m not going anywhere.’

‘Then you’re going to have to bivouac in the bush because you’re certainly not staying here,’ she replied.

He didn’t bother to argue with her. She’d find out just how immovable he could be soon enough.

‘Did you get a good discount for block booking?’ he asked.

‘What?’ She shook her head. ‘There’s nothing discount about this wedding but, since I wasn’t part of the negotiations, I couldn’t say what financial arrangements were made with the owners. I was brought in at the last minute when the original wedding planner had to pull out. Not that it’s any of your business,’ she added.

‘If it had been your call?’ he pressed. ‘Would you have chosen Leopard Tree Lodge?’

‘The venue is the bride’s decision,’ she replied. Then, with the smallest of shrugs, ‘I might have tried to talk her out of it. Not that the location isn’t breathtaking,’ she assured him. ‘The drama of flying in over the desert and then suddenly seeing the green of the Okavango delta spread out below you, the gleam of water amongst the reeds. The river…’

She was going through the motions, he realised. Talking to him, but her brain was somewhere else. No doubt working out the implications of a cuckoo in the nest.

‘The photographs are going to be breathtaking,’ she said, making an effort. ‘Any special deal that Celebrity managed to hammer out of the company that owns this place is going to be cheap in return for the PR hit. Six weeks of wall-to-wall coverage in the biggest lifestyle magazine in the UK. Well, five. The first week is devoted to the hen weekend.’

Undoubtedly. A full house as well as a ton of publicity. Whoever it was on his staff who’d negotiated this deal had done a very good job. The fact that he or she hadn’t brought it to his attention in the hope of earning a bonus suggested that they knew what his reaction would have been.

Not that they had to. His role was research and development, not the day-to-day running of things. No doubt they were simply waiting for the jump in demand to prove their point for him. And earn them a bonus.

Smart thinking. It was just what he’d have done in their position.

Tf the setting is so great, what’s your problem with it?’ he asked.

It was one thing for him to hate the idea. Quite another for someone to tell him that it was all wrong for her big fancy media event.

‘In my experience there’s more than enough capacity for disaster when it comes to something in which such strong emotions are invested, without transporting bride, groom, a hundred plus guests, photographers, a journalist, hair and make-up artists, not to mention all their kit and caboodle six thousand miles via three separate aircraft. One of them so small that it’ll need a separate trip just for the wedding dress.’

‘You’re exaggerating.’

‘Probably,’ she admitted. ‘But not by much.’

‘No. And that’s another problem,’ he said, seizing the opening she’d given him. ‘It’s a gift to the green lobby. They’ll use the high profile of the event to get their own free PR ride over the carbon footprint involved in transporting everyone halfway round the world just so that two people can say “I do”.’

‘You think they should have chosen the village church?’

‘Why not?’

‘Good question,’ she said. ‘So, tell me, Gideon McGrath, how did you get here? By hot-air balloon?’

For a man who probably flew more miles in a year than most people did in a lifetime that sounded very appealing and he told her so.

‘Unfortunately, there is no way of making a balloon take you where you want to go.’

‘Maybe the trick is to want to go where the balloon takes you,’ she replied.

‘That’s a bit too philosophical for me.’

‘Really? Well, you can stop worrying. Tal Newman’s PR people have anticipated the negative reaction and he’s going to offset the air travel involved by planting a sizeable forest.’

‘Where?’ he asked, his interest instantly piqued. A lot of his clients offset their travel, but maybe he could make it easy for them by offering it as part of the package. Do more. Put something back, perhaps. Something meaningful…

‘The forest?’ She shook her head. ‘Sorry, that information is embargoed until the day before the wedding.’

‘In other words, you don’t know.’

‘No idea,’ she admitted. ‘Everything about this wedding is on a “need to know” basis. Not that you could call anyone and tell them.’ She thought about that and added, ‘You know it’s possible that the lack of communication may be one of the reasons Celebrity seized on this location. Without a signal, there’s no chance of the guests, or staff, sending illicit photographs to rival magazines and newspapers via their mobile phones so that they can run spoilers.’

‘I thought you said the location was the bride’s call?’

‘It is for my brides but this isn’t just a wedding, it’s a media event. Of course Crystal apparently loves animals so it fits the image.’

He snorted derisively.

‘Any animals she sees here are going to be wild and dangerous—especially the furry ones. She’d have done better getting married in a petting zoo.’

‘You might say that,’ she replied with a deadstraight face. ‘I couldn’t possibly comment.’ Then she took out her notebook and jotted something down. ‘But thanks for the idea.’

He laughed, jerking the pain in his back into life.

Josie’s hand twitched as if to reach out again, but she closed it tight about her pen and he told himself that he was glad. He preferred his relationships physical, uncomplicated. That way, everyone knew where they were. The minute emotions, caring got involved, they became dangerous. Impossible to control. With limitless possibilities for pain.

‘You don’t believe in any of this, do you?’ he said, guarding himself against regret. ‘You provide the flowers and frills and fireworks but underneath you’re a cynic.’

‘The flowers and frills,’ she replied, ‘but it was stipulated by the resort that there should be no fireworks.’

‘Well, that’s a relief. You never know which way a startled elephant will run.’

‘That’s an image I could have done without,’ she said. ‘But, since you won’t be here, there’s no need to concern yourself. How was the coffee?’