A Groom For The Taking: The Wedding Date
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‘So, what’s the plan for today?’
Bradley’s voice cut into her daydreams. She glanced at her wrist, and then rubbed at the naked spot. She must have put her dad’s watch somewhere during the night.
‘Today’s grand plan? Well, I’m sorry to say we missed the practice releasing of the doves. But no matter. Just after lunch there’s a sewing class for the girls. And burping contests for the boys.’
She contemplated adding something that involved the entire wedding party getting together to decorate the chapel. But he was making her breakfast.
‘You are kidding?’ he said.
‘Am I?’
She looked up to find Bradley’s eyes had finally contacted fully with hers. Deep, dark, smoky, beautiful grey. Perhaps more distant than they had been hours earlier. But that was forgivable. She was feeling a little tender and unsure herself.
‘God, you’re easy,’ she said. ‘There’s a day-long movie marathon in the ballroom. Beanbags and blankets to snuggle into as you watch Tim and Elyse’s favourite romantic films, one after the other. And this time I’m not kidding.’
His eye twitched at the thought.
‘Relax,’ she said. ‘Since you’ve been so nice as to make me breakfast, I’m letting you off the hook.’
‘Whatever will we do instead?’ He licked a blob of hollandaise sauce from his finger, switched off the stove, and moved around the counter. Her body responded like a heat lamp on a chilled lizard—it stretched and unfurled and curved towards the source of heat.
She held on tight to her sheet and put her bare feet flat on the ground. She realised she needed a little time to fully come to terms with what had happened. What was still happening. What Bradley was imagining would happen. At least till Tuesday. And jumping back into bed with Bradley was not going to help.
She held up a hand. ‘I have a proposal.’
The last time those words had been spoken between them it had directly led to her pouncing on him. Clearly he remembered it too.
‘Do tell.’
She waggled a finger. He stilled. Good boy.
‘There is a beautiful mountain right on our doorstep. It’s a foothill compared with what you’re used to, but it’s still something really special. There are twenty-odd walking trails, plant and animal varieties found nowhere else on earth, horseback rides, mountain-biking, flyfishing. Let me show you a sneak peek. If you don’t get to see any more of this island than the inside of this hotel, I’ll never forgive myself.’
His dark eyes flickered to life, and his mouth curved into the kind of smile that told her that getting to know every inch of the inside of this suite was fine by him.
Her blissfully aching inner thighs tingled in anticipation. But they needed a break. They needed time to recuperate. What better way than an arduous walk around a mountain on a freezing cold morning?
She was going to be the best, most professional tour guide ever.
‘Indulge me?’ she begged.
‘Fine,’ he said, finally turning back to the bench where he finished plating up. ‘Breakfast first. I need to regain my strength. Then you can be my tour guide. Prove to me why this place makes you go all sentimental and glistening and get that crazy schmaltzy look in your eye.’
Hannah shook her head. ‘I’m not sentimental, or a glistener, or in any way schmaltzy. I am a sharp, cool-headed professional.’
He slung a plate in front of her. It smelled insanely good. Soft gooey egg, perfectly toasted muffin, gorgeously rich sauce. She felt herself curling towards it, her nostrils flaring, a hum of appreciation buzzing in her chest. She might even have licked her lips.
‘Sharp, cool-headed professional?’ he said, grinning at her. ‘Want to know the three words I’d use to describe you right now?’
She sat up straight. ‘No. I really don’t.’
Bradley did as he was told and said not another word as he dug into his food.
She did the same. And it tasted as good as it looked. Better, even. Way better. As the egg yolk popped in her mouth and the strong tang of the sauce curled around her tongue she knew it was the best eggs Benedict she’d ever eaten or would likely eat again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
BRADLEY followed the puffs of white from his breath up the steep walking track that took Hannah and himself around the edge of Dove Lake and up into the craggy edges of Cradle Mountain’s beautifully eerie crater.
Ice-fresh air burned at his lungs, a clear pale blue sky hovered above, tough and challenging terrain disappeared beneath his feet, and all around was the kind of pristine, unblemished, singular view that climbers and TV audiences alike would go ga-ga over.
This gem of a place had been on the periphery of his life all this time and he’d never even known it was there. Forever in pursuit of the next extreme challenge, he’d never cared to look right under his nose.
Half the thrill had been the fact that he was miles from where he’d come from.
But this felt just as good. It seemed that at some point it had become about new experiences, and not about the exorcism of old ones.
Speaking of new experiences … He felt a tug on the back of his jacket. He turned to find Hannah puffing laboriously behind him.
‘Slow … down … please,’ she begged, between heaving breaths.
He did as she asked. Her face—or the small part of it he could see in between her beanie hat and the furry neck of the massive parka she’d borrowed from the hotel—was bright pink.
So caught up in his need to burn off some of the adrenalin that still infused him, even after the marathon efforts of that morning, though more likely because of them, he’d forgotten she wasn’t an experienced climber herself.
She didn’t cook. And by the looks of her she didn’t exercise. Two things he’d never known. That, and the fact that she had an adorable strawberry-shaped birthmark in the very centre of her right butt cheek. He wondered what other gems he’d discover about his able assistant this long weekend.
‘How much further?’ she asked, hands on her knees.
‘I thought you were meant to be my tour guide?’
She looked up at him, green eyes sharp. Then she waved a hand around. ‘This is Cradle Mountain. That’s Dove Lake. Gorgeous, huh? Now can I go back to the hotel?’
He laughed. She glared at him for even being able to laugh. It didn’t help that she was trying to look angry while dressed in enough clothing for three people. If it wasn’t so cold that he couldn’t feel his nose, he would have believed she’d gone out of her way not to look sexy.
Little did she know he’d spent half the walk intent on getting their little field trip over and done with just so that they could get back to the hotel, where he planned on stripping off those layers one by one.
He glanced ahead. ‘Come on. I see somewhere we can stop.’
‘Oh, thank God.’
He laughed again. Then moved around behind her to give her a push up the track.
‘Now, why didn’t I think to wear roller-skates?’ she threw over her shoulder. ‘You could have done this the whole way.’
‘Downhill too?’
‘Right. Good point.’
They stepped over the safety fence and took a seat side by side on a large, flat outcrop. Bradley went straight for his water bottle, and jiggled his feet so his muscles wouldn’t cramp up. Hannah flopped onto her back and didn’t move.
From their position they had a perfect unheeded view over the curving lake and the ragged peaks of once sub-volcanic rock covered in winter green. Spirals of chimney smoke gave away the location of the Gatehouse, otherwise hidden discreetly in the alpine forest.
And if this was a glimpse of what the island had to offer then he was certainly willing to discover more—and soon. Lucky for him he had a human guidebook on the island on his team. One who had indicated an interest in taking a leap forward into producing. He’d half thought she was teasing. Maybe not. The creative wheels in his head began to crank up for the first time in a whole day.
‘Having fun?’ Hannah asked from her prone position.
‘Loads. You?’
‘Mmm. Would it be a complete faux pas to ask why on earth mountains float your boat?’
The wheels ground to a halt. The wide-open feeling he’d been experiencing closed down as tight as a submarine preparing to submerge.
‘Why not mountains?’ he shot back, giving her the same line he’d given a thousand times over, in press interviews and private conversations alike.
Her stare was blank. ‘That’s all I’m going to get?’
After last night, was left unsaid.
Bradley shuffled his backside on the hard ground.
Hannah rolled her eyes, not even pretending she was happy to await an answer with unlimited feminine patience. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Go into shutdown mode. Just remember you’re the one who said what happens here stays here. I took that to mean my attempt at Karaoke last night and my mother’s undie-flashing high-kick extravaganza, as well as any other private revelations we might encounter.’
He looked down at her prostrate form. She was right. He’d been privy to parts of her life she’d clearly have preferred to keep separate from her Melbourne life. He owed her something of the same. A glimpse, at the very least. Just so that at the end of this strange weekend there would be no debts owed.
He braced his hands against the cold hard ground and looked out at the breathtaking vista. ‘Why mountains …?’
He felt her head roll his way.
‘It goes something like this. When you climb a mountain solo, the challenge is so great, so seemingly impossible, the pay-off is all the sweeter when you reach the peak. You’ve conquered the unconquerable. Alone. The glory is yours alone.’
They sat in silence a few moments as his words disappeared in the thin air. Then Hannah said, ‘But you also have no one to cheer you on when you succeed. No one to look out for you if you fall.’
He slid a quick glance her way.
She was looking at him, brows furrowed. Interested, but concerned. Those pale green eyes were seeing far too much. Wanting too much from him.
How much would it take to negate Virginia’s undie-flashing high-kicks? More than something he’d just as readily reveal to a journo, surely?
He cleared his throat and began slowly, the words unfamiliar and uncomfortable on his tongue. ‘I’ve grown used to not having anyone cheer me on. Or care if I fall. In fact I prefer it that way.’
‘I know you do. What I don’t understand is why?’
He swallowed hard, his throat parched to the point of pain. He couldn’t do this. Shouldn’t have to. It was none of her damned business.
She dragged herself to sit and waited till he glanced her way. ‘I miss having my dad tell me, “That’s my girl,” when I do something fantastic. I even miss my mother tsking when she had to bandage an unladylike scraped knee. I can live without them, but it’s nice to know that if I ever need that kind of support I have friends who care about me, who’ll come to my rescue. You do too, you know. You only have to let them.’
Bradley shook his head. ‘It’s my experience that you can never count on anyone but yourself.’
‘What experience?’ she pressed.
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