fingers clenched so hard she dented the soda can. ‘So the business thing was an excuse?’
‘No way. I need this surf school campaign to fly and you’re the best.’ He tried an endearing grin. ‘I just figured we could kill two birds with one stone.’
‘I could kill you,’ she muttered, placing her soda can on the sand and hugging her knees to her chest. ‘I don’t like being taken for a fool.’
‘You know that’s not how I see you.’
She rested her cheek on her knees, her sidelong glance oddly vulnerable. ‘How do I know? It’s been eight years since I’ve seen you.’
Hating the certainty pinging through him that he’d majorly stuffed this up, he scooted closer and draped an arm across her shoulders, surprised when she didn’t shrug it off.
‘Honestly? I wanted to tell you, but I was pretty thrown at your office, and you weren’t exactly welcoming so I took the easy way out and focussed on the business side of things. Forgive me?’
‘I’ll think about it,’ she said, her tone underlined by a hint of ice as the corners of her mouth were easing upwards.
‘Is it that much of a hardship to be my date for an evening?’
‘Considering I don’t know you any more, yeah.’
‘Easily rectified.’
Before he could second-guess the impulse he leaned across and kissed her.
It was nothing like his reckless prove-a-point kiss in the car. This time it just felt right.
She fought him initially, trying to pull away, but his hand slid around the back of her head, anchoring her, and he sensed the second she gave in.
Her lips softened and she moaned, the barest of sounds but enough for him to deepen the kiss, until the roaring in his ears matched the pounding of the surf crashing metres from their feet.
He had no idea how long the kiss lasted. A few seconds. An eternity. But when it ended he wished it hadn’t.
‘You’ve gotta stop doing that.’ She shoved him away—hard.
‘Sorry,’ he said, not meaning it, and by her raised eyebrow she knew it.
‘Hollow apologies after the fact don’t cut it.’ She jabbed a finger at his chest. ‘And neither do those kisses. Quit it, okay?’
‘Hey, I’m an impulsive guy. You can’t blame me—’
‘You want me to be your date for the wedding?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Then no more funny business.’ Her gaze dropped to his lips, lingered, and he could have sworn he glimpsed longing. ‘This campaign means a lot to both of us, so let’s keep our minds on the job, okay?’
‘Okay.’
He wanted to lighten the mood, end on a frivolous note. ‘Maybe I wanted that kiss to prove it won’t be so far-fetched for you to pretend to be a devoted date at the wedding—’
‘You’re impossible,’ she said, leaping to her feet and dusting the sand off her butt—but not before he’d seen a glimmer of a grin.
‘Nothing’s impossible,’ he murmured to her retreating back as she marched off in a semi-huff.
He’d got her to agree to manage the biggest campaign of his career—and the one that meant the most. He’d also coerced her into staying with him for a week, and to be his date for the wedding.
Considering how he’d ended things between them all those years ago, he hadn’t just pulled off the impossible he’d pulled off a miracle.
* * *
Archer didn’t want his family getting wind of his house-guest just yet.
The Christmas Eve wedding would be bad enough without the Flett hordes descending on his place to check her out.
He’d twigged pretty fast that despite Callie being a Melbourne girl she was vastly different from his usual choice of date. She didn’t need a truckload of make-up before being seen in the morning, she didn’t need a hair-straightener or the name of the nearest manicurist, and she didn’t wrinkle her nose at walking on the beach in case her pedicure got chipped.
Maybe he’d made a mistake asking her to be his date for the wedding, because from where he was sitting, staring at the distant dot strolling on the beach, her hair streaming in a dark cloud behind her, he wondered if she’d be enough of a safeguard.
Callie was naturally warm and vibrant, not aloof and standoffish, the way he wanted his women to be when he visited home.
He liked that his folks disapproved of his dates and kept their distance. That was the whole point. What if they were drawn to Callie like he was and his plan to keep them at arm’s length came crashing down?
He had to keep the Fletts away for as long as possible until the wedding, just in case.
He’d managed to fly under the radar so far. Last night had been spent poring over Callie’s ideas for the surf school website, thrashing out slogans and content, working late over homemade pizzas and beer.
It scared him, how comfortable it was having her around. He’d never had a woman stay at his place, let alone lived with anyone. It was his sanctuary, away from the surf crowd, the fans, the media.
No one knew he owned this place except his family.
Some of whom were belting down his door at this very minute.
Damn. So much for keeping their distance.
Cursing under his breath, he yanked the door open and glared at Trav and Tom, ignoring the familiar squeeze his heart gave when he glimpsed Izzy, his six-year-old niece, peering up at him from behind her dad’s legs.
He hated how out of all the Fletts she was the one guaranteed to make him feel the worst for staying away. The kid was too young to realise what was going on, but she managed to lay a guilt trip on him every visit.
At three, she’d stuck her tongue out at his date every chance she got and bugged him to teach her how to surf. He’d begged off with his usual excuse—only staying for two days, maybe next time.
At four, she’d placed stick insects in his date’s handbag and a hermit crab in her designer shoe, while pestering him for the elusive surf lesson.
At five, she’d verbally flayed his date for her ‘too yellow’ hair and ‘too red’ lipstick, and had given up asking him to surf.
He should have been glad. Instead it had ripped him in two when he’d said goodbye to her around this time last year.
It wasn’t Izzy’s fault he had issues with the rest of his family, but he was scared. Getting close to Izzy might let the rest of them in again, which made him angsty. What if he let them into his heart again only to have it handed back to him like eight years ago?
