shoes.
She shoved the last of her papers into a large, heavy leather satchel. Her voice was firm as she said, ‘I’m heading to the office now, to make sure Spencer has everything he needs in order to be me this weekend.’
‘That’s your replacement for a major location scout?’ Bradley asked. ‘The intern with the crush?’
Her hand turned into a fist inside the bag, and she glanced up at her boss. ‘Spencer doesn’t have a crush on me. He just wants to be me when he grows up.’
One dark eyebrow kicked north. ‘The kid practically salivates every time you walk in the room.’
That he notices …?
‘Then lucky for you. With me gone, you’ll have a salivation-free weekend.’
‘That’s the positive?’
Hannah shrugged. ‘Told you—I suck at PR. Lucky for me I’m so good at my actual job you are clearly pining in advance. In fact, it’s so clear how much you’ll miss me I’m thinking the time’s ripe to ask for a promotion.’
It was a throwaway comment, but it seemed to hang there between them as if it had been shouted. His eyebrows flattened and his grey eyes clouded. Behind them was a coming storm. He reached distractedly across the table and stole the small sugar biscuit from the edge of Sonja’s saucer.
Blithely changing the subject, he said, ‘Four days.’
‘Four days and enough pre-wedding functions you’d think they were royalty.’ But, no, the bride was simply her mother’s daughter. ‘The wedding’s on Sunday. I’ll be back Tuesday morning.’
‘Covered in hickies, no doubt,’ Sonja threw in, most helpfully. ‘Her mother was Miss Tasmania, after all. Down there she’s considered good breeding stock.’
Thank goodness at that moment Sonja spied someone with whom to schmooze. With a waving hand and a loud ‘daaaarling’ she was gone, leaving Bradley and Hannah alone again.
Bradley was watching her quietly, and thanks to Sonja—who’d clearly been born without a discreet bone in her body—the swirl of sexual innuendo was ringing in her ears. Hannah felt as if all the air had been sapped from the sky.
‘So you’re heading home?’ Bradley asked, voice low.
‘Tomorrow morning. Even though last night I dreamt the Spirit of Tasmania was stolen by pirates.’
‘You’re going by boat?’
She shuffled in her seat. ‘I thought you of all people would appreciate the adventure of my going by open sea.’
A muscle flickered in Bradley’s cheek. Fair enough. A reclining seat on a luxury ferry wasn’t exactly his brand of adventure. Sweat, pain, hard slog, the ultimate test of will and courage and fortitude, man proving himself worthy against unbeatable odds—that was his thing. She was secretly packing seasickness tablets.
Every time she’d been on a boat with him she picked the most central spot in which to sit, and tended to stare at the horizon a good deal of the time. Trying to keep her failing hidden in order to appear the perfect employee. Irreplaceable.
She was hardly going to tell him that the real reason she’d booked the day-long trip rather than a one-hour flight was that, while she was very much looking forward to the break, she was dreading going home. A twelve-hour boat trip was heaven-sent! She’d been back to Tassie once in the seven years since she’d left home. For her mother’s fiftieth birthday extravaganza. Or so she’d been told. It had, in fact, been her mother’s third wedding—to some schmuck who’d made a fortune in garden tools. She’d felt blindsided. Her mother hadn’t understood why. Poor Elyse, then sixteen, had been caught in the middle. It had been an unmitigated disaster.
So, if she had to endure twelve hours of eating nothing but dry crackers and pinching the soft spot between her thumb and forefinger to fight off motion sickness, it would be worth it.
‘Ever been to Tasmania?’ she asked, glad to change the subject.
He shook his head. ‘Can’t say I have.’
Hannah sat forward on her seat, mouth agape. ‘No? That’s a travesty! It’s just over the pond, for goodness’ sake! And it’s gorgeous. Much of it is rugged and untouched. Just your cup of tea. The jagged cliffs of Queenstown, where it appears as though copper has been torn from the land by a giant’s claws. Ocean Beach off Strahan, where the winds from the Roaring Forties tear across of the most unforgiving coastline. And then there’s Cradle Mountain. That’s where the wedding’s being held. Cold and craggy and simply stunning, resting gorgeously and menacingly on the edge of the most beautiful crystal-clear lake. And that’s just a tiny part of the west coast. The whole island is magical. So lush and raw and diverse and pretty and challenging …’
She stopped to take a breath, and glanced from the spot in mid-air she’d been staring through to find Bradley watching her. His deep grey eyes pinned her to her seat as he listened. Really listened. As though her opinion mattered that much.
Her heart began to pound like crazy. It was a heady thought. But dangerous all the same. The fact that he was unreachable, an island unto himself, was half the appeal of indulging in an impossible crush. It didn’t cost her anything but the occasional sleepless night.
She stood quickly and slung her heavy leather satchel over her shoulder. ‘And on that note …’
Bradley stood as well. A move born of instinct. It still felt nice.
Well, there were millions of men who would stand when she stood. Thousands at the very least. There was a chance one or two of them would even be at her sister’s bigger-than-Ben Hur wedding. Maybe looking for a little romance. A little fun. Looking for someone with whom to unwind.
Maybe more …
She took two steps back. ‘I hope New Zealand knocks your socks off.’
‘Have a good weekend, Hannah. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’
She shot him a quick smile. ‘Have no fear. I have no intention of dropping off or picking up any dry-cleaning this weekend.’
He laughed, the unusually relaxed sound rumbling through her. She vibrated. Inside and out.
As Bradley curled back into his chair Hannah tugged her hair out from under the strap of her bag, slipped on her oversized sunglasses, took a deep breath of the crisp winter air, and headed for the tram stop that would take her to her tiny Fitzroy apartment.
And that was how Hannah’s first holiday in nearly a year began. Her first trip home in three years. The first time she’d seen her mother face to face since she’d married. Again.
Let the panic begin …
CHAPTER TWO
HANNAH was in the bathroom, washing sleep out of her eyes, when her apartment doorbell rang just before six the next morning. It couldn’t be the cab taking her to the dock; it wasn’t due for another hour.
‘Can
