A Groom For The Taking. Rebecca Winters
they’d passed from Launceston to the mountain.
‘Ken’s the GPS guy.’
‘You’ve named him?’ he asked.
‘His mother named him. I just chose his voice when you were busy pretending to check the car for prior damage while actually drooling over the chassis. I’m certain you would have preferred Swedish Una, or British Catherine, but it seemed only fair that, since you and my mother have railroaded me over and over again today, I got my way about one tiny part of my holiday.’
‘Your way is Ken?’
‘Don’t you use that tone when you talk about Ken. I’ll have you know I have him to thank for getting me out of many an oncoming tram disaster when I first moved to Melbourne.’
He glanced her way, giving her nothing more than a glimpse of her reflection in his sunglasses. ‘So your idea of the perfect man is one with a good sense of direction?’
‘I have no idea what my idea of the perfect man is. I’ve yet to meet one who even came close.’
She watched Bradley from the corner of her eye, waiting for his reaction to her jibe. He just lifted his hand from the windowsill and ran it across his mouth.
She fluffed her poncho till it settled like a blanket across her knees and said, ‘Though Ken is reliable. And smart. And always available. And he cares about what I want.’
‘Turn left. Then you have reached your destination,’ Ken said, proving himself yet again.
Before she even felt the words coming Hannah added, ‘And, boy, does he have the sexiest voice on the planet.’
Bradley’s hand stopped short. Mid-chinstroke. It slowly lowered to the steering wheel. ‘And there I was thinking he sounds a bit like me.’
He moved the car down a gear. Slowed. Then turned from the road onto a long, gumtree-lined drive. Hannah stared demurely ahead and said, ‘Nah.’
But the truth was that Ken’s deep, sexy Australian drawl reminded her so much of Bradley’s she’d often found herself turning her GPS on even when driving home on the rainy days she drove her little car to work rather than take a tram. She’d told herself it was the comfort of feeling as if there was someone else in the car when driving dark streets at night.
She’d lied.
And then, appearing from between a mass of grey-green flora sprinkled in glittering melting white snow, there was the Gatehouse. A grand façade dotted with hundreds of windows, dozens of chimneys and fantasy turrets. It was like something out of a fairytale, rising magnificent and fantastical out of the Australian scrub.
‘If this is the Gatehouse,’ Bradley said, slowing to a stop so that the sports car rumbled throatily beneath them, ‘what’s behind the gate?’
Hannah placed a hand on his arm, doing her best to ignore the frisson scooting through her at even the simplest of contacts, and pointed to their left. Between two turrets there was a glimpse of the reason a chalet-style hotel could exist in such a remote place.
The stunning, stark, ragged peaks of Cradle Mountain.
Bradley slid his glasses from his face, eyebrows practically disappearing beneath his hairline. ‘God must be a cinematographer at heart to dream up this place.’
‘I know!’ Hannah said, practically bouncing on her seat. When she realised she was tugging at his sleeve, she let go and sat back and contained herself.
Bradley’s eyes slid to the building towering over them. ‘How many rooms?’
‘Enough for cast and crew.’
He finally dragged his eyes from the picture-perfect view to look at her. They were gleaming with the thrill of the find. The buzz of adventure. It was the closest he ever came to revealing anything akin to real human emotion. Moments like those were the reason her impossible crush sometimes felt like it was veering towards something just a little bit more.
Her hand shook ever so slightly as she tucked her hair behind her ear. ‘It’s perfect, right? Rugged and yet accessible. And wait till you get a load of the mountain up close. You’ll never want to leave. For me that moment will no doubt come the minute I step foot in the corner spa in my room.’
A crease, then three, dug grooves into his forehead.
Okay, so maybe she was laying it on too thick. But if he understood her enthusiasm for the place, for the project, then come Tuesday she might be in with a chance for the promotion to actual producer she’d so blithely flung out there the day before.
He put the car back into gear and curved it around the circular drive until they pulled to a stop in front of a sweep of wide wooden stairs. Finally her holiday—read ‘Bradley-free time’—could begin in earnest.
When he got out of the car at the same time as her, she gave him a double-take. It turned into a triple when she realised he wasn’t dragging her luggage from the boot. He was eyeing the hotel’s front doors.
Her stomach sank. She waved a frantic hand at the hotel. ‘No, no, no! First you show up at my apartment and practically drag me here on your plane. Then you force me into that excuse for a tourist car. And now this?’
He turned to her, his eyes unreadable. ‘And there I was thinking I had been generous in supplying a private jet and a free hire car as a way of thanking you for all your hard work.’
For half a second she felt a stab of guilt. Then she remembered that Bradley never did anything that didn’t somehow serve him.
‘Fine,’ she shot back. ‘Play it your way. But I can tell you now you won’t get a room.’
For the first time that day she saw a flicker of doubt. So she rubbed it in good. ‘Winter is peak season in this corner of the world, so the Gatehouse has been booked out for months. And, apart from the other big party here—a high-school reunion—this wedding of ours is huge. My mother knows everybody, Elyse is too sweet not to invite everyone she’s ever met, and Tim’s mother is Italian. Half the territory will be here. If they have a broom closet they’ll be making a hundred bucks a night on it.’
He looked at the hotel, and at the glimpse of ragged peaks beyond. Then his jaw stiffened in the way that she knew meant he was not backing down.
His voice was smooth as honey as he said, ‘You clearly have a relationship with the management. Use your magic and get me somewhere to sleep. One night to see this mountain you have raved so much about. And then you won’t see me for dust.’
The temptation to wield her organisational magic in order to have him on his way the next day was mighty powerful. But after the day she’d had she didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.
‘I’m. On. Holiday. You want a room? You go in there and make it happen.’
‘Are you intimating I can’t even book a hotel room without you holding my hand?’
Hannah tried hard to get the image of holding Bradley’s anything out of her mind.
‘I’m not intimating anything. I’m telling you outright.’ She rubbed her arms and shivered theatrically. ‘It gets dark quick around here this time of year. Cold too. And you’re still a good two hours to Queenstown. Old copper mine. A couple of old motor inns there. You might just luck out.’
She heaved open the boot and dragged her luggage free. By the time it plopped at her feet she realised Bradley had eaten up the distance between them till they stood toe to toe.
She crossed her arms. ‘You won’t get a room.’
‘Want to bet?’
Hannah wasn’t a gambler by nature. She had an aversion to nasty surprises. But the odds were so completely in her favour. When Elyse had told her about Great-Aunt Maude’s absence she’d called the hotel, and they’d all but cried with relief