plonked onto a barstool in the gorgeous, sparsely populated lounge bar. In twenty minutes’ time she’d know if she’d bet her way into a promotion, or if her impossible boss was coming to her little sister’s wedding.
Either way she needed a drink.
Hannah let the maraschino cherry from the garnish of her soul-warming Boston Sour slide around inside her mouth a while before biting blissfully down. A pianist in the far corner was tinkling out a little Bee Gees, and the view from the twelve-foot windows was picture-postcard-perfect.
She sighed as the whisky worked its magic. And finally, for the first time since she’d headed off that morning, she began to unwind enough to feel as if she was really on holiday.
‘Hannah Banana!’
She spun, to find Elyse barrelling her way. Her eyes instantly searched over her sister’s shoulder, but thankfully Elyse was alone.
Elyse threw herself into Hannah’s arms and hugged tight. ‘Isn’t this place gorgeous? You were soooo right in suggesting it. Tim and I owe you big-time!’
Hannah hugged back, at first in surprise. But soon she found it felt familiar, and really nice. She closed her eyes and a million small memories came flooding back to the surface. Sharing bedrooms. Sharing dolls. Sharing a secretly pilfered tube of their mum’s lipstick to paint their dolls’ faces. Memories she’d purposely tucked far away in order to make the move from Tasmania to Melbourne a completely fresh start.
‘It’s the least I could do,’ Hannah said, eventually patting Elyse on the back and pulling away before it began to feel too nice. ‘Considering I couldn’t do much proper bridesmaid stuff from the other side of the pond.’
‘You did just grand. Best maid of honour ever.’ Elyse’s eyes were already sweeping the big empty room. ‘So where’s your gorgeous man?’
‘Off to chat up the management,’ Hannah said, without thinking. She felt herself pinking and glanced into her drink. ‘But he’s not my man. He’s my boss. And he’s here to work.’
Elyse’s perfectly plucked eyebrows disappeared under her perfectly straight fringe. ‘So it’s pure coincidence that you came on the exact same plane? And that of all the places in all the world he had to be today it was Cradle Mountain? The man has ulterior motive written all over him!’
Hannah coughed out a laugh. Her little sister might still look as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but the girl was all grown up. ‘Believe me, there is less than nothing going on between me and Bradley Knight.’
Elyse leaned her elbows on the bar and tapped the floor in front with a pointed toe—an old habit from long-ago ballet training. ‘So he’s not here because he’s secretly in love with you and is afraid you’re going to run away with the best man and leave him broken-hearted?’
This time Hannah’s laughter was uproarious. ‘I’m sorry to break your romantic little heart, but Bradley would be more likely to fear a sudden departure on my end would leave him with no dry-cleaning.’
She glanced out through the arched doorway to see the man in question still leaning on the reception counter. His dark wavy hair curled slightly over the back of the wool collar of his leather jacket. His jeans accentuated every nature-hewn muscle. Even from that distance the man was so beautiful he almost shimmered—like a mirage.
She glanced at the guy behind the reception counter and smiled to herself. If he’d managed to land a woman she might have begun to worry her bet was on shaky ground.
‘So he’s not coming to the wedding, then?’
Hannah dragged her eyes back to Elyse, smile still well in place. ‘I’m afraid not. It was sweet of you to ask. But he really does have to work. He’s a workaholic. Big-time. Should have the word tattooed on his forehead. If they made marrying one’s job legal, he’d beat you to the altar.’
When she realised she was rambling, she put down her drink and with one finger pushed it out of reach.
A glutton for punishment, she looked back towards Reception in time to find Bradley’s eyes scanning the massive foyer. They angled towards the bar and stopped.
He was too far away for her to be sure, but she knew he had her in his sights. She could feel it as if a laser had pierced her stomach, burning her up from the inside out. The piano music and the chatter of newly arrived guests spilling into the bar became a blur of white noise behind the thump, thump, thump of her heart.
Bradley gave her a slight nod. All she could do was swallow. There was so much blood rushing to her face it felt numb.
‘Anyhoo,’ Elyse said, ‘everything’s going like clockwork. So tonight no organising from you. Just party! Okay?’
Hannah frowned at her toes a moment, before lifting her head with a bright smile. ‘Party sounds great.’
‘Now, my love bunny and I haven’t seen one another all day, and the poor pet will be fretting. I’d best head up to our room and ease his mind.’
With a wink that told of salacious goings on, Elyse flounced off.
Elyse—all grown-up and irreverent with it. Her mother—not unhappy to see her. A pleasant kind of warmth that had nothing to do with flickering fires or Boston Sours or even Bradley Knight began to spread through her.
Until a hotel room key slid in front of Hannah’s face, with Bradley’s long, tanned fingers on the other end.
‘What is that?’ she asked, her drink threatening to come back out the way it had gone in.
‘Do you really need to ask?’ Bradley drawled as he slid around behind her, the lapels of his jacket brushing against her back, causing her spine to roll in delicious anguish, before he straddled the bar stool beside her.
She spun on her seat to glare at him. Her knees knocked his before he shifted, placing a hand on her knee and allowing it to tuck neatly between his. Even then he didn’t let go—just rested a hand there as if it was nothing.
As cool as she could manage, Hannah said, ‘If you promised the man your firstborn son you’ve lost all my respect.’
The smile in his eyes gave her hot chills. As if she was sitting on the edge of a volcano. The kind from which you knew you ought to flee if only you could just let go of the primal urge to jump right in.
‘I didn’t do anything drastic,’ he said. ‘Or illegal. I simply negotiated. The only way I could get a room was to get us a suite.’
‘I’m sorry, did you say us?’
Bradley glanced at the bartender, who poured a fresh packet of peanuts into a small glass bowl. ‘Separate rooms off a shared lounge. Better even than the honeymoon suite, or so I’ve been told.’
While he was crowing, she was fast turning to a wobbly mess. But what could she say? They’d shared suites on numerous occasions before—at TV trade fairs or in pre-production on new shows—using the joint lounge as a makeshift office. Of course they’d been constantly surrounded by the half-dozen odd staff who travelled everywhere with him. Who were right now in New Zealand.
Her unimpressed
