to his face. That she’d made the effort to provoke him, maybe make him jealous was a result and he could use that.
Even as the thought slid into his mind he recoiled from it.
He’d been using her all day, having her make phone calls, fetch and carry for him—admittedly with mixed results; she was no pushover. And she hadn’t handed her lunch over without an ulterior motive.
He refused to accept that he was a control freak as she’d suggested, but he was singleminded, totally focused on growing his business.
He’d sorted out her bed shortage simply to prove that he could do it when no one else could.
That was what he did. New challenges, more exciting resorts, ever more extreme adventure breaks—the kind that his father had dismissed as ludicrous.
Who on earth would want to travel across the world to bungee jump? Go dog-sledding in the far north of Canada? Trekking through the Kalahari?
Nothing had mattered more than proving himself better than the adults who, stuck in the past, had been too stupid to listen to a teenage boy who’d seen the future.
Not his family.
Not even Lissa, the woman whose genius for design had turned this place from a basic boy’s own safari lodge, much like any other, into a place of beauty. Who’d taken the utilitarian and made it magic with candles, mirrors, nets.
The wedding dress taunted him and, unable to bear it a moment longer, he hauled himself off the sofa, lifted it down and stuffed it inside the wardrobe so that it was out of sight.
He used his arm to wipe the cold sweat from his face, then leaned against the door, forcing himself to let go of the tension that had snapped through him like a wire the minute he’d seen it hanging there, like a ghostly accusation.
He’d come here to draw a line under the past but, instead of closure, it seemed to be pursuing him, hunting him down.
What was it his doctor, Connie, had said? ‘…sooner or later you’re going to have to stop running…’
The water was still running in the shower, tantalising him with its promise of soothing, reviving heat. With the image of being crammed in there with Josie, her hands on his shoulders, sliding down his back, easing away the pain with those capable hands. Just the thought of it warmed the muscles, eased the ache, sent a hot flood of desire coursing through his veins as he imagined her small breasts against his wet skin as she kneaded away the aches, dug into the hollow at the base of his spine. In his heart…
He recoiled from the thought. Dammit, he was still using her, even inside his head.
Not good. Forget hot—what he needed was a cold shower and he opened the bathroom door just wide enough to grab a towel from the rack. As the candles flickered in the draught something moved, catching his eye, and he opened the door a little wider. It wasn’t a gecko that had lost its grip sitting in the middle of the floor, but a hunting spider on the prowl for supper.
Suddenly everything went quiet as the water was turned off. He had one, maybe two seconds before Josie stepped out of the shower, saw the spider and screamed.
His chance to be a hero.
His reward, a naked woman in his arms.
As the shower door clicked, he dropped the towel on the spider, scooped it up, shut the door quietly behind him.
He steadied himself, then carried it outside, shook it carefully over the rail.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Wedding favours were traditionally five almonds to represent health, wealth, long life, fertility and happiness; the modern wedding planner will add something that memorably reflects the couple’s interests.
—The Perfect Wedding by Serafina
March
JOSIE pulled down a towel, wrapped it around her, opened the shower door, paused to take a careful look around.
The bathroom was a myriad of reflected lights, stunningly beautiful, and there wasn’t a creepy-crawly, or even a friendly lizard, in sight.
‘You are such a wuss, Josie Fowler,’ she said as she dried off. Then she brushed her teeth, applied fresh make-up, used some wax on hair that had wilted in the steam and finally emerged, wearing the fishnet T-shirt she kept for evenings beneath a simple slipover, ready for the next round with her nemesis.
‘It’s all yours,’ she said to an empty room.
Gideon was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Cryssie’s wedding dress.
‘Gideon!’ she yelled, surging out onto the deck.
He emerged from the outdoor shower, dark hair clinging wetly to his neck, his forehead, wearing only a pitifully small towel—stark white against his slick sun-drenched skin—wrapped around his waist.
Standing straight, he was so utterly beautiful that for a moment she struggled for words.
‘You shrieked?’ he prompted.
She made an attempt to gather herself. ‘The dress…’ She swallowed. ‘What have you done with Cryssie’s dress?’
‘I put it out of harm’s way,’ he said. ‘In the wardrobe.’
‘Oh…’
‘What did you think I’d done with it? Tossed it into the trees for the monkeys to play with?’
‘No. Sorry. It’s just—’
‘Your responsibility. I heard you, Josie. This is your room and you’ve every right to keep whatever you want in it.’
‘It was just that you were so obviously disturbed by its appearance, angry even—’
‘Forget it,’ he said, so fiercely that she drew back a little. ‘Let it go, Josie,’ he said, rather more gently. ‘It’s not important.’
Clearly it was. His dislike of weddings was obviously rooted in something rather deeper than an aversion to long white dresses. But it was equally obvious that he didn’t want to talk about it.
‘I realise that all this is nothing but a huge pain in the backside for you, Gideon—’
‘A little higher than that,’ he suggested, doing his best to make light of it by making fun of her.
‘Dammit, Gideon!’ she snapped. ‘This is really important to me. Sylvie has taken a huge gamble making me a partner and so far I haven’t been exactly trampled in the stampede of women desperate for me to plan their weddings. I have to get this right…’
‘Why?’
‘Why?’ she repeated, confused. ‘Surely that’s obvious?’
‘Why was it a gamble?’
She sucked in her breath. He
