Wedding Party Collection: Once A Bridesmaid.... Avril Tremayne
Leo sighed inwardly.
‘We have to think about how the tables are going to be arranged,’ she went on. ‘The best place for speeches, where we’ll do welcoming cocktails—I mean, is there an outdoor area for that?’ Her hands came up, clasped her head at the temples as if she were about to have a meltdown. ‘A thousand things.’
Leo felt a throb at the base of his skull. ‘Let me think about it,’ he said, just to staunch the flow of words. He wasn’t really going to think about taking her to see the damned restaurant.
‘Thank you, Leo!’ She was back to twinkling, clearly nowhere near a meltdown.
Two months! Two months of this manipulative, mendacious wretch.
‘So!’ she said. ‘Let’s talk invitations. I have three designs to show you—and I won’t tell you which is my favourite because I don’t want to influence your opinion.’
‘You won’t.’
‘Well, I wonder if, subliminally, knowing what I like best might sway you.’ Little knowing smile. ‘Maybe to deliberately pick something that is not my favourite! And that would never do.’
He caught his half-laugh before it could surface. Laughing would only encourage her.
‘And since we haven’t discounted the email, I’ve got something to show you too,’ he put in smoothly, because he’d be damned if his version was going to be dead in the water without a demo at least. ‘It’s something we did for the Q Brasserie launch.’
Half an hour later Leo was amazed to find that he’d agreed to a printed Art Deco-style invitation in blue and teal, with yellow, brown, and grey accents.
But he’d had a win too! Sunshine was so impressed with his electronic idea she’d insisted they send something like it as a save-the-date notice, linking to some artsy teaser footage of South’s surroundings.
‘But we’ll keep the venue secret,’ she added conspiratorially, ‘because it will be fun to have everyone guessing, and they’ll be so excited to find out it’s South when the printed invitations arrive.’
He hoped—he really hoped—he hadn’t just been soothed.
Sunshine took on the responsibility for getting the invitations printed and addressed, with names handwritten by a calligrapher she’d dated in the past. She would show Leo—who actually didn’t give a damn—the final design before it went to print, along with handwriting samples. Leo was in charge of getting the save-the-date done for Sunshine’s approval—and she most certainly did give a damn.
He was on the verge of disappearing to the kitchen when Sunshine circled back to South and her need to see it.
‘It’s not going to happen,’ Leo said. ‘You can’t go on site without me. And the only time I have free is...is...daytime Monday.’ Ha! ‘Shop hours for you, right?’
Sunshine pulled out a clunky-looking diary.
He did a double-take. ‘You’re on Facebook but you use a paper diary?’
‘My mother made it for me so I have to—and, anyway, I like it,’ she said. ‘Hemp and handmade paper. Jon and Caleb have them too. Play your cards right and you’ll get one next year. And, yes! I can do Monday. Yay!’
Again with the yay. And the twinkle.
And that throb at the base of his skull.
Sunshine put her diary away. ‘My hours are super-flexible. I mostly work from home, and usually at night, when I seem to be more creative—not during the day, and never in the shop unless I’m doing a particular display. Because I have a superb manager who would not take kindly to my interfering.’
‘I like the sound of your manager.’
‘Oh, I can introduce— Ah, I see, sarcasm.’ She regarded him with a hint of amused exasperation. ‘You know, I’m not generally regarded as an interfering person.’
He couldn’t keep the snort in.
‘Sarcasm and a snort! Better not debate that, then. So! Shall I drive us down?’
‘I’m going to take my bike.’
Her face went blank. ‘Bike?’
‘As in motor,’ he clarified.
‘You have a car as well, though?’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Because we could get so much done if we drove down the coast together.’
‘Except that I don’t have a car.’
‘But I have a car. You can come with me.’
‘Sunshine, I’d better put this out there right now: you are not going to control me. I don’t have a car. I have a bike. I am going to ride down the coast, because that is what I want to do. Why don’t you just ride down with me?’
Mental slap of his own head! Why the hell had he suggested that? Sunshine Smart plastered against his back for an hour and a half? No, thank you!
Although at least she wouldn’t be able to talk to him.
Still, she would annoy him just by being there. In her skintight pants...full breasts pressed into his back...breathing against the back of his neck...arms around him...hands sliding up under his leather jacket...
What? No. No! Why the hell would her hands need to be sliding up there?
‘Thanks, but, no,’ she said—and it took Leo a moment to realise she was talking about riding on the bike as opposed to sliding her hands under his jacket. Thanks, but, no. Sharp and cool—and not open for discussion, apparently.
And it...stung! Dammit.
‘Why not?’ he asked.
‘Because I don’t like motorbikes.’
Don’t like motorbikes! Well, good. Fine. Who cared if Sunshine Smart didn’t like motorbikes? Every other woman he dated couldn’t wait to hop on the back of his Ducati!
Not that he was dating Sunshine Smart. Argh. Horrible, horrible thought.
Just let it go. Let it go, Leo.
‘Why? Because you can’t wear ten-inch heels on one?’ That was letting it go, was it?
‘I don’t wear ten-inch heels anywhere—I’m not a stilt-walker. It’s not about shoes. Or clothes. Or even what those helmets do to your hair.’ She tossed said hair. ‘It’s just...’ She shrugged one shoulder, looking suddenly uncomfortable. ‘Just an antiquated little notion I have about staying alive.’
‘Fine,’ he snapped. ‘You drive, I’ll ride, and we’ll meet there.’
And then she sort of slumped...without actually slumping. He had an absurd desire to reach over and touch her damned hair, and tell her...what? Tell her what?
That he would drive down the coast with her? Hell, no! Not happening. And he was not touching her hair. He didn’t touch anyone’s hair. Ever.
Leo all but leapt to his feet. ‘I’d better get into the kitchen.’
‘Right now? But—’ Sunshine checked her watch. ‘Oh. That took longer than I thought.’
She gave her head a tiny shake. Shaking off the non-slumping slump, he guessed, because the perk zoomed back, full-strength.
‘I have other samples in my bag—you know, pictures of floral arrangements and cakes. And I was going to talk to you about shoes. I’m arranging some custom-made shoes for you for the big day.’
‘Flowers can’t be that urgent. I have a superb baker on staff, so don’t get carried away on the cake. And I don’t need shoes.’
‘The shoes are a