my interfering.’
‘I like the sound of your manager.’
‘Oh, I can introduce— Ah, I see, sarcasm.’ She regarded him with a hint of amused exasperation. ‘You know, I’m not generally regarded as an interfering person.’
He couldn’t keep the snort in.
‘Sarcasm and a snort! Better not debate that, then. So! Shall I drive us down?’
‘I’m going to take my bike.’
Her face went blank. ‘Bike?’
‘As in motor,’ he clarified.
‘You have a car as well, though?’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Because we could get so much done if we drove down the coast together.’
‘Except that I don’t have a car.’
‘But I have a car. You can come with me.’
‘Sunshine, I’d better put this out there right now: you are not going to control me. I don’t have a car. I have a bike. I am going to ride down the coast, because that is what I want to do. Why don’t you just ride down with me?’
Mental slap of his own head! Why the hell had he suggested that? Sunshine Smart plastered against his back for an hour and a half? No, thank you!
Although at least she wouldn’t be able to talk to him.
Still, she would annoy him just by being there. In her skintight pants...full breasts pressed into his back...breathing against the back of his neck...arms around him...hands sliding up under his leather jacket...
What? No. No! Why the hell would her hands need to be sliding up there?
‘Thanks, but, no,’ she said—and it took Leo a moment to realise she was talking about riding on the bike as opposed to sliding her hands under his jacket. Thanks, but, no. Sharp and cool—and not open for discussion, apparently.
And it...stung! Dammit.
‘Why not?’ he asked.
‘Because I don’t like motorbikes.’
Don’t like motorbikes! Well, good. Fine. Who cared if Sunshine Smart didn’t like motorbikes? Every other woman he dated couldn’t wait to hop on the back of his Ducati!
Not that he was dating Sunshine Smart. Argh. Horrible, horrible thought.
Just let it go. Let it go, Leo.
‘Why? Because you can’t wear ten-inch heels on one?’ That was letting it go, was it?
‘I don’t wear ten-inch heels anywhere—I’m not a stilt-walker. It’s not about shoes. Or clothes. Or even what those helmets do to your hair.’ She tossed said hair. ‘It’s just...’ She shrugged one shoulder, looking suddenly uncomfortable. ‘Just an antiquated little notion I have about staying alive.’
‘Fine,’ he snapped. ‘You drive, I’ll ride, and we’ll meet there.’
And then she sort of slumped...without actually slumping. He had an absurd desire to reach over and touch her damned hair, and tell her...what? Tell her what?
That he would drive down the coast with her? Hell, no! Not happening. And he was not touching her hair. He didn’t touch anyone’s hair. Ever.
Leo all but leapt to his feet. ‘I’d better get into the kitchen.’
‘Right now? But—’ Sunshine checked her watch. ‘Oh. That took longer than I thought.’
She gave her head a tiny shake. Shaking off the non-slumping slump, he guessed, because the perk zoomed back, full-strength.
‘I have other samples in my bag—you know, pictures of floral arrangements and cakes. And I was going to talk to you about shoes. I’m arranging some custom-made shoes for you for the big day.’
‘Flowers can’t be that urgent. I have a superb baker on staff, so don’t get carried away on the cake. And I don’t need shoes.’
‘The shoes are a gift. From me. I’m doing them for Caleb and Jon too. And I promise it will not be an identical shoe gig—nothing like those ancient wedding parties with six groomsmen all wearing pale blue tuxes with dark blue lapel trim!’ Dramatic shudder. ‘Oh, please say yes, Leo.’
Leo looked down at his feet, at his well-worn brown leather shoes. Scuffed, but as comfortable as wearing a tub of softened butter. And he had other shoes. Good shoes. Italian shoes. He didn’t need more. He didn’t want her goddamned shoes.
But her hypnotically beautiful mismatched eyes were wide and pleading as he looked back up, and he found himself saying instead, ‘I’ll think about it.’
She smiled. ‘Thank you. There’s a ton of stuff still to talk about, but I understand you’re on a tight leash tonight, so you get going. And before we meet on Monday I’ll do some legwork on the flowers front. And music... No, I won’t do any legwork on that, because I know you used to go out with that gorgeous singer Natalie Clarke, and she would be perfect. I hope—’ She stopped, bit her lip. ‘Oh, dear, enough about the music. I’m sensing a teensy bit of animosity—that little tic next to your mouth gives it away, you know. But we still have clothes to talk about. Yours and mine, since we’re the closest thing they’ll have to an official wedding party. We don’t want to look too matchy-matchy, but there’s so much we can do to look part of the overall theme.’
Leo stared. He was doing a lot of that. ‘You mean there’s a theme?’
‘I’m not talking about those horrifying Elvis or Medieval or Viking themes. Or Halloween—it’s been done! I’ve seen pictures—with pumpkins! I mean just a touch of complementary colour, a certain style...things like that.’
‘You’re scaring me.’
‘I promise you’ll love—’
‘Really scaring me. Later, okay? Much later.’
Sunshine wrinkled up her nose—and Leo had now twigged that this meant she was about to put a new argument, so he held up a ‘stop’ hand.
‘I’ll see you Monday, Sunshine. And in the meantime try and remember that the marriage will have already happened. This is just a celebratory dinner.’
‘But—’
‘Monday.’
She made a muted explosive sound, redolent of frustration. ‘All right! Monday! But I’m staying here for dinner—not running away like a good little girl.’ She tossed her hair again. Flick. Over her shoulder. ‘I have a date.’
Leo kind of liked that huffy hair-flick—it made him feel as if she were the one off kilter for a change.
‘Then I’ll send over a Campari for you while you wait.’ Calm. Reasonable. Charming, even.
‘Lovely,
