life that rich arrogant men didn’t stick around after they’d got what they wanted? Fletcher Stanton wouldn’t be any different. His own sister had spelled that out. If she let her deeply set principles be swept aside by his powerful attraction, she’d be disgusted with herself when he flew away on Monday.
Attraction for men like him was a very temporary thing. If she hadn’t looked exotic today, would he have shown any interest in her, felt any desire for her? Tammy doubted it. She didn’t understand why she’d felt such a strong connection to him. The feeling couldn’t be trusted, anyway. Better to set it aside than risk her heart on a man who had such a cynical view of love and marriage—a man who wasn’t looking for anything more than casual sex with a woman.
Ryan’s parents came to collect him when the bride was about to leave. Tammy joined the other bridesmaids just in time for the throwing of the bouquet. Kirsty caught it. They all laughingly trailed after the bride and groom, making their exit from Boronia House. Fletcher caught up with her outside where the limousines were lined up, ready to transport their designated passengers.
‘Where have you been?’ he demanded, frustrated at having his desires thwarted by her absence.
‘Looking after a sick guest,’ she answered, thrusting out a hand to him for a coolly formal farewell. ‘Goodbye, Fletcher. I hope you have a smooth flight back to London on Monday.’
The finality in her voice triggered a savage glitter of mockery in his eyes. ‘I take it you’re on duty again tomorrow.’
‘Yes,’ she said firmly.
He wasn’t used to rejection, didn’t like it, but it was clearly beneath him to fight it. He cloaked himself with an unprickable air of arrogance as he took her hand, enveloping it in the heat and strength of his, making it feel small and fragile—too little for him—everything she was…too little to take him on.
‘It was a pleasure meeting you, Tamalyn,’ he rolled out with the same cool politeness she had dealt to him, then surprised her by sardonically adding, ‘Thunderbolts don’t come my way very often.’
It was on the tip of her tongue to say he probably needed more of them to puncture his arrogance on a regular basis. She clamped down on the comment, not wanting to be provocative at this point. He was going away. There was no future for her with Celine’s brother. His life was elsewhere. But despite all her sensible reasoning, the leaden weight was back on her heart.
‘Another time. Another place. Who knows? We might strike each other again,’ she replied, determinedly wriggling her hand free so she could leave.
His eyes bored into hers, striking hard right now. ‘It’s a waste…not using the present.’
‘Nothing’s a waste…if you learn from it,’ she said back. ‘Life is one long experience and meeting you today has been part of it. Thank you and goodbye, Fletcher.’
She turned away before regret at not having the experience of going to bed with him could tear at her conviction that it would be wrong for her.
She was only twenty-three.
The promise of one night with Fletcher Stanton was not enough to compromise her ideals on how a relationship between a man and woman should work.
CHAPTER THREE
The Second Wedding
WAS Fletcher Stanton going to be there?
The question was like a squirrel on a treadmill running through Tammy’s mind. Had been for months. Ever since Kirsty had announced her engagement to Paul Hathaway and it came out in conversation that Paul’s brother, Max, was the mathematical super-brain in Canberra who was an integral member of Fletcher’s high-tech team. Which was one of those coincidences in life that seemed to make the world very small.
A close professional connection didn’t mean a social one, Tammy had told herself a hundred times. Even if Fletcher and Max Hathaway were friends as well as colleagues, Paul was based in Sydney, an IT specialist for an international bank with his own circle of friends to invite to the wedding. It was highly unlikely that a brother’s friend who lived and worked overseas would be invited to the wedding.
Of course, the question could have been settled once and for all if she’d simply asked Kirsty if Fletcher’s name was on the Hathaways’ confirmed guest list, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it. There was something really pathetic about showing an interest in a man who had not pursued any interest in her beyond the one encounter at Celine’s wedding, and that had been six months ago.
Though she had rejected him.
Very pointedly.
What man would pursue a woman after that?
He probably hadn’t even returned to Australia since then.
Sometimes she cursed having met Fletcher Stanton at all. Regardless of everything that had been wrong about him, he’d made too big an impact on her to forget. The memory of the sexual chemistry which had sizzled between them still bothered her. Other men she’d dated over the years—nice men, good guys—had never lit that spark in her. Nor had she ever felt challenged by them in any vital way.
She wanted to meet Fletcher again, needed to settle this crazy sense of missing out on something only he could supply. Just a bit of personal contact could stop this endless torment. If he didn’t stir her hormones with the same wild excitement, if he was too rudely arrogant to bother with…maybe then she would stop the stupid habit of taking out the photograph of the two of them together in front of the magnolia tree at Celine’s wedding and fretting over what might have been a bad decision to close the door on him.
She felt almost sick with nervous tension, the morning of the wedding. As she travelled in the city train across the harbour to the eastern suburbs where the others all lived, she told herself to stop thinking of him, focus on her friends, be happy for Kirsty. The gang was to meet at a hairdressing salon in Bondi Junction and she had to be as high-spirited as the rest of them were bound to be. It was a big day—the second wedding—and Fletcher should not be a factor in that.
She was the last to arrive.
And walked straight in on Kirsty saying, ‘Oh, I forgot to tell you at our hens’ party last night, Celine. Your brother’s coming to the wedding.’
‘Fletcher?’
The shock in Celine’s voice was mirrored on her face as she swivelled around in her chair to question Kirsty…and caught sight of Tammy, her feet stopped dead at the reception desk as she desperately tried to keep her expression blank.
‘Tam…’ Celine grimaced. ‘Did you hear that?’
‘What?’ she asked, pretending ignorance, hoping the wild pumping of her heart would not shoot a tell-tale flush up her neck.
The rest of the gang was already in the salon. They all looked at her, watching for her reaction. Were they remembering her connection with Fletcher at Celine’s wedding? Had they guessed that he was the reason for her lack of any enthusiastic interest in other guys in recent times? Tammy squirmed inside as she waited what seemed like aeons for Celine to answer.
It was Kirsty who finally broke the news. ‘Fletcher asked Max if he could come to the wedding.’
