such thing as privacy.’
‘So why did you do it? It’s not as if you’re keeping the money.’
She shrugged. The boldly coloured silk wrap shimmered in the sunlight and as they walked through the boma a couple of middle-aged men, showing off their day’s ‘bag’ of photographs over a sundowner, nearly broke their necks as they did a double take.
‘People think I’m just another dumb underwear model who’s bagged herself an equally dumb footballer,’ Cryssie, said, apparently unaware of the stir she was creating. Or maybe she was so used to it that she no longer noticed.
They were much of a height, but that was all they had in common. Cryssie was absolutely stunning and Josie, who’d never worried about her lack of curves or the fact that the only heads that turned in her direction were in disbelief, felt a pang of something very like envy as she realised why Gideon had suddenly become Mr Helpful instead of Mr Obstructive.
Who wouldn’t fall under the spell of such beauty?
‘We were going to have the press all over us anyway, so we decided to make it mean something.’ Cryssie stopped by the edge of the pool, oblivious to the sudden stillness as she slipped off her wrap to reveal a matching strapless swimsuit and a perfectly even tan. ‘We’re using the money to set up sports holiday camps for special needs kids.’
Not only beautiful, but caring too. Who could compete with that?
‘That’s a wonderful thing to do.’
‘We’ve been lucky and it’s worth the circus to put something back. But this is the last. We’re not going to be living our lives, having our babies on the front pages of the gossip mags. So,’ she said, turning a hundred watt smile on Josie, ‘we’re going to have to give them their money’s worth.’
‘I’ll certainly do my best.’
As she settled on a chair and stretched out, a white-jacketed waiter appeared.
‘Sparkling water, please. No ice. Josie?’
Josie glanced longingly at the pool, but shook her head. ‘Thanks, but I have to get on.’
‘Maybe we could have dinner together later? Talk things through. About seven?’
‘Of course. Is there anything you need before then?’
‘No. Oh…’
‘Yes?’
‘There is my dress. I’ve unpacked it and hung it over the wardrobe door.’ She did something with her shoulders that was far too pretty to be called a shrug. ‘It’s not very big, is it? There’s no room inside and we’ve got a photo shoot tomorrow.’
‘You want me to look after it?’
‘Please. I don’t want Tal to see it before the big day.’
‘No problem. I’ll pick it up on my way back.’
‘Thanks. Oh, and I expect he’s told you, but I invited Gideon to the wedding’
‘Gideon?’ Josie managed to keep the smile pinned to her face but the wretched man had been a problem since the moment she’d first set eyes on him and she’d thought she would be safe at the wedding.
‘One extra won’t be a problem, will it? You’ll have to redo the seating plan anyway because of Darren and Susie’s bust-up,’ Cryssie said, blissfully unaware of the turmoil in her breast. ‘I’ll be happy to give you a hand. I’ve got nothing to do after dinner.’
‘That’ll be fun,’ Josie managed. Rearranging the seating plan was the least of her worries. It happened at every wedding, although, as she’d told Gideon, normally it was simply a matter of a few extra dining chairs. Beds was a new one. ‘You can tell me about all the guests at the same time. That way, I’ll be prepared for every eventuality. In the meantime, just ask someone to find me if you need me for anything.’
‘Great.’Then, ‘Oh…’
She waited, wondering what other bombshell Cryssie was about to explode.
‘I think Darren’s new girlfriend is a vegan.’
She let out a sigh of relief. ‘She won’t be the only one. I’ll make sure that the chef knows about it.’
Her cue to visit the kitchens.
Gideon stayed where he was for a while, lost in thought. It wasn’t that he didn’t know what he’d done wrong. Josie had left him in no doubt.
She’d got it all wrong, of course. He hadn’t for a moment imagined that she’d throw a virginal strop if he suggested she move in with him. Although maybe kissing her hadn’t been such a great idea under the circumstances. If he’d been thinking with his head, it would never have happened. And she’d made it perfectly clear that if she’d been thinking at all, it wouldn’t have happened.
But that wasn’t what was bugging her.
She wasn’t concerned that he’d make an unwelcome move on her. The way that kiss had ended had left him in no doubt that, spontaneous, passionate, urgent as it had been, she had problems. Despite a very natural urge to hold her, reassure her, kiss her again, taking his time about it, he’d taken his cue from her and backed off, acted as if it had been nothing. Made a joke of it, even though the heat of her strawberry-flavoured lips had been burning a hole through his brain and he’d been feeling no pain.
He knew he’d convinced her; she wouldn’t have offered him her hand to help him up if she’d been in any doubt. It would have been too easy to simply pull her down into his lap.
No. It was the fact that he’d taken the decision without consulting her, choosing to let her sleep on rather than disturbing her, that had made her so mad.
‘It should have been my decision.’
And she was right. He should have waited until she’d woken up but he was so used to taking decisions, leaving everyone else in his wake, that he’d forgotten that this was her show, not his.
He hauled himself to his feet. Steadied himself. The back was in a co-operative mood despite the row, or maybe because of it. If it was psychological, stress-related, it wasn’t this kind of adrenalin rush that triggered it. But he’d known all along what the problem was.
It had begun on the day he’d decided to offload Leopard Tree Lodge, rid himself of the one resort in his portfolio that he couldn’t bear to visit. Couldn’t stop thinking about.
He moved carefully across the deck to the tree house; the pain had definitely eased, but he wasn’t about to take any chances. Once inside, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the different light level, but then he opened the wardrobe door and saw exactly what Josie had seen.
A stunning piece of feminine kit made from purple chiffon hanging next to his suit. A pair of high heeled shoes that appeared to consist solely of straps beside his loafers. His grip, her suitcase.
Alesia had only done what he’d asked her, but the result did not give the impression of two strangers sharing a room out of convenience—her stuff at one end,
