‘You’re kidding!’
Oh, he loved this. She was so easy to tease. ‘You don’t want me to wear my Hunter stuff? OK. We’ll make it a Roman do and I’ll sweet-talk Rita into lending me that toga again.’
‘Alex …’
He could hear in her voice that he’d just pushed her over the edge into worrying again. ‘I was teasing, Bel. As our mothers are both keeping an eye on me, I can’t do anything too outrageous, can I?’
‘I suppose not,’ she admitted. ‘Though I’d be happier if you actually planned it with me.’
‘Bel, you’re up to your eyes at work. The last thing you need when you get home is to have to go through all the hassle of choosing this and booking that and seeing if there’s an alternative if we can’t have our first choice.’ He rubbed the pad of his thumb across the backs of her fingers. ‘Whereas I’m not officially at work for another month. I don’t have anything pressing to do, so it makes sense for me to be the one making the arrangements and chasing things up. And, actually, I’d get a huge kick out of giving you a surprise wedding. A day to remember for all the right reasons.’
She swallowed hard. ‘Alex, I really need to talk to you about something.’
‘Bel, it’s going to be fine,’ he said softly. ‘I’m not going to plan anything you’ll hate. Just trust me.’
‘I do trust you. It’s not that. It’s …’ She sighed. ‘Now isn’t the right place. But there’s something you ought to know. About me.’
‘Your divorce never came through properly?’
She shook her head. ‘No, that’s sorted. Gary made sure of that when his—’ for a moment, her voice cracked ‘—when his partner became pregnant.’
‘So there’s no legal bar to us getting married. Good. So do you want a church wedding or a civil wedding?’
‘I’m divorced,’ she reminded him. ‘I can’t marry in church.’
‘You could still have a blessing, if you want one.’
‘Civil’s fine. And something quiet, Alex. Not a media circus.’
‘It won’t be a media circus,’ he promised. ‘So the mums and Saskia are coming to help you find a wedding dress, next weekend?’
‘Yes.’ She dragged in a breath. ‘But this is all happening so fast.’
‘Relax. We have three weeks. And whatever I say about loathing admin, I’m actually quite good at organising things. I’m not going to skimp any of the little details—or anything major, come to that.’ He gave her a sidelong look. ‘So I take it you’re not going for the meringue dress?’
‘Been there, done that.’
‘That’s a no, then.’ He paused. ‘Tell you what would look good. A little shift dress—you know, like the one Audrey Hepburn wears in Breakfast at Tiffany’s.’
‘A black wedding dress?’
‘No.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘I was talking shape, not colour. White would be good, because it would go with your flame-coloured veil.’
‘What flame-coloured …’ She groaned. ‘Oh, no. Saskia put the idea in your head. We’re not having a Roman wedding and I’m not wearing a flame-coloured veil.’
He pursed his lips. ‘It’d look stunning in the photographs.’
‘Alex!’
He laughed. ‘All right, all right. I’ll leave the dress up to you. But just remember the mums and my sister will all be sworn to absolute secrecy about the finer details, so when you go shopping there’s no point in even asking them what I’m planning.’
‘You’re impossible.’
‘If what I have in mind is doable, you’re going to enjoy it, I promise you that much.’
She was silent for a while, and he was aware of her fidgeting next to him.
‘All right. What now?’
‘Nothing.’
He sighed. ‘Bel, don’t pull that girly stuff on me. What’s the matter?’
‘Are you at least going to tell me where we’re going on holiday?’
He noted her choice of word: holiday, not honeymoon. Good. So she wasn’t about to go sentimental on him. ‘Nope.’
‘So how do I know what to pack? Or if I need any vaccinations?’
‘You don’t need any vaccinations—and we’re not going anywhere that involves mosquitoes or even the tiniest possibility of malaria. As for packing … wear what you want.’
She sighed. ‘Will you at least tell me if it’s going to be cold or hot?’
‘Better than that. I’ll pack for you.’
She growled in frustration. ‘I hate you.’
‘No, you don’t. Just humour me, Bel. I want to do something nice for you—and I like giving surprises.’
‘I don’t like receiving surprises.’
‘Because you’re a control freak,’ he teased.
‘I’m not. You’re a steamroller.’
‘Insulting me isn’t going to make any difference. I’m still not going to tell you anything.’ He chuckled. ‘Though you could try seducing it out of me.’
‘Maybe I’ll do a Lysistrata on you,’ she fenced.
He got the reference to the ancient Greek play immediately. ‘Go on a sex strike? You can try, honey.’ His luck was in, because there was a lay-by ahead. He signalled, parked the car, then removed his seat belt. ‘But that’s not going to work.’
‘Oh, really?’ She lifted her chin at the challenge.
‘Really. Let me show you why.’ He undid her seat belt, yanked her into his arms, and kissed her. Teasing, nibbling kisses along her lower lip until she gave in and opened her mouth, letting him deepen the kiss. He slid one hand underneath her top, stroking her skin in the way he knew she liked; she slid her arms round his neck and drew him closer.
He moved one hand up to cup her breast, rubbing the pad of his thumb against her hardening nipple through the lace of her bra, then broke the kiss.
‘That,’ he said softly, ‘is why a sex strike wouldn’t work. Because it’s good between us, and your body knows it. Right now, your nipples are hard, just as right now I’m hard for you and I really, really want to be inside you.’
Her cheeks flamed. ‘So you’re saying I’m easy?’
‘No.
