discreet enough, apparently, as Cormac’s cheek kicked into a knowing smile before he said, “Could you have brought any more baggage?”
Honey, you have no idea.
“Come on, then,” he said, and with that he crunched over the white gravel and up the huge front steps of the big house.
The impressive Georgian-look manor was the first house built on the bluff over Blue Moon Bay by Weston Chadwick’s father. When the next generation relocated the head office of their world-famous surf brand to the area, making the holiday estate their permanent home, the sleepy town had fast grown into a haven for wealthy families looking for a sea change.
Those who could keep up with the Chadwicks thrived. Those who couldn’t...
“Come!” Cormac called.
Harper’s eyebrows rose sharply, until Cormac’s dog trotted up the stairs and she realised the command had not been for her.
Cormac and dog disappeared inside the double front doors as if they’d done so a thousand times before. Which they likely had.
Rumour had it that Cormac had moved into the Chadwicks’ pool house right after high school. Then he and Grayson had gone on to take law together at Melbourne University before Grayson had taken his place on the board of his family’s behemoth company, while Cormac opened up his own firm, servicing one client: the Chadwick family.
By the look of things, insinuating himself had been a smart move. As Harper made her way up the front steps, she wondered how much of his soul he’d had to give up to do it.
None of which made Harper feel any better about the fact that her little sister was about to marry into that world, that family, for good.
Well, she’d see about that.
Through the impressive two-storey foyer, walls unexpectedly lined with some pretty fabulous modern art, Harper kept eyes front as she followed Cormac up one side of a curling double staircase.
She found him in a large bedroom suite, leaning against a chest of drawers as he played with his dog’s ear.
Her bags had been placed by a padded bench at the end of a plush king-sized bed. Sunshine poured through large windows draped with fine muslin, picking out shabby-chic furnishings and duck-egg-blue trim. A vase of fresh gardenias sent out the most glorious scent.
The room was elegant and cool. It suited her to a T.
Lola, she thought, her chest tightening, knowing Cormac hadn’t been kidding. Her little sister had decorated the room with her in mind.
Harper slowly unwrapped the tie around her waist and hung her coat over the back of a padded chair, leaving her in a neat cream shift with a kick at the hem and her ubiquitous heels.
Cormac cleared his throat. She looked his way to find him watching her, his deep, rich brown eyes still holding the glint of affection he held for his hound.
“So,” she managed, “am I meant to stay in here until Lola arrives, or have you been given further instruction as to what to do with me?”
Something flickered across his eyes, but was gone before she could take its measure. His hands slid into the front pockets of his jeans, framing all he had going on down there. Not that she looked. Then he pointed a thumb over his shoulder towards the door. “You hungry?”
“I’m fine,” Harper lied, for she was starved. Sharing a meal was a tactic she often used mid-negotiation to soften up the combatants. And she would not be softened. Not by him.
“Then I guess we could stand here making awkward conversation till someone gets home.”
Harper glanced deliberately at her watch. It was two in the afternoon. On a Monday. “I vote no.”
“Hmm. Big shock.” He took a step towards the door. “If we’re up to our throats in my famous ham and mustard sandwiches there’ll be no need to make small talk. Let me make you something. Let me feed you.”
She wondered how often that line worked. By the gleam in his eye, probably every time. She actually found herself wavering towards his suggestion when a bang, a crash, a flurry of voices preceded the thunder of feet taking the stairs two at a time.
Then a whirlwind of blonde hair, yoga gear and running shoes rushed through the door and launched itself at her.
Harper’s knees hit the back of her bed as she fell, laughing despite herself.
While Lola hung on tight and cried, “You’re here! You’re really here!”
After a quick mental scan to make sure nothing was broken, Harper hugged Lola back. Hard. Drinking in the feel of her little sister, the hitch of her voice, the scent of her skin.
She squeezed her eyes shut tight when she felt the sting of tears. Not now. Not here. Not with an audience. Their story had always been a personal one. The two of them against the world.
“Of course I’m here,” Harper said through the tight clutch at her throat. “Now get off me before I crumple. Or before you bruise yourself. You are getting married this weekend, you know.”
Lola rolled away, landing on her back. “I’m getting married this weekend.”
Harper hauled herself to sitting, fixed her dress and swiped both hands over her hair. “So the rumour goes.”
A noise, movement, something had her looking back towards the door to find Cormac leaning in the doorway. Watching her.
When their eyes met he smiled. Just the slightest tilt of his mouth, but it filled her with butterflies all the same.
She felt her forehead tighten into a scowl.
For she’d been hanging out for this moment, this reunion with her flesh and blood, her heart and soul, her Lola, for so long.
And he—with his history, his link to the Chadwicks and his knowing eyes—was ruining everything.
“Oh, hi, Cormac!” said Lola as she crawled to sit beside Harper on the bed, before leaning on her like a puppy. “I didn’t see you there.”
He tilted his chin and gave her a wink, his stance easing, his eyes softening, his entire countenance lightening.
“Have you two been getting reacquainted, then? Chatting about the good old days?”
“Not sure we had much in the way of ‘old days’, did we, Harper? You were—what, a year or two below me at school?”
“A year below,” she said, her voice admirably even. Then, with a deliberate blink and a turn of her shoulders, she cut him out of the circle.
She took one of Lola’s hands in hers and pulled it to her heart, then pressed her other hand against her little sister’s face. And she drank her in like a woman starved.
The last time she’d flown Lola to holiday with her in Paris, she’d still had apple cheeks. Now they were gone. New smile lines creased the edges of her mouth. Her hair was longer too, more structured,
