A Wish and a Wedding (4 page)

“So what?” She flushed hotly. “It's all envy-driven. I found out early that envy is a terrible thing. Just about everyone who writes negative things about me suffers from the sin of envy.”

“I must be one who doesn't.”

“Well, I always did bring out the best in you.”

Their fairly crackling exchange was cut short as a young man wearing round glasses suddenly appeared at Tori's shoulder. “Vicki, sweetheart! How lovely to see you. Kiss, kiss.” He moved right in close, planting kisses European style on Tori's cheeks. “You've no idea how I've missed you. I see Josh landed himself in a bit of trouble. I warned you about him, didn't I?”

“All the time,” said Tori.

“And this is?” The young man, Peter Weaver, stared up at Haddo, who was dwarfing him, with interest. Peter had never seen the big guy before. Mighty impressive—even if Vicki wasn't looking at him exactly
lovingly.

“My cousin Haddon—Haddon Rushford,” Tori said, curling her fingers around Peter's arm. “Haddo, this is Peter Weaver.”

“Now I get it! The cattle baron!” Peter went to slap Haddo on the back, but stopped himself just in time. The cattle baron didn't look the type of guy one slapped on the back. “What brings you to Sydney, Haddon?” Peter asked, slipping an arm around Vicki's tiny waist instead.

“Business, Peter,” Haddo answered. “Actually, I'm here to collect Tori. Her grandmother isn't feeling particularly well. She wants Tori home.”

“Oh, no!” Peter moaned. “I've just got here. Took me half an hour to get through the door with all these people. Say, Haddon, do you know just how many women are eyeballing you?”

“He's used to it,” Tori answered, sounding disgusted.

“Could you make it a half-hour?” Peter pleaded. “Come on, Haddon, relax. I wanna dance with Vicki.”

“I'm sure you'll find another dancing partner, Peter,” Haddo said pleasantly, taking Tori's slender arm. “Tori always puts her grandmother first. It's one of the reasons we all love her to bits.”

Peter realised immediately his pleas would do no good at all. The cattle baron meant what he said. “Night, Vicki!” Peter called mournfully, watching the crowd automatically fall back to make a path for the big guy. There were lots of men in the room multimillionaires—his own dad was one—but none had
Rushford's presence. He supposed it was the man-of-action stuff, the hero figure. Peter spent a fortune on fake tan. Rushford's was
real.
Good thing he was Vicki's
cousin.
Honestly, no other guy would be in any race with the cattle baron for a rival.

“Why am I supposed to do what you tell me?” Tori asked wrathfully, aware of Haddo's impact on the room and not liking it one bit.

“Leaving early, Vicki?” Mimi Holland separated herself from the crowd, lamenting. She was unable to take her eyes off the drop-dead gorgeous man with the skinny heiress. Who
was
he? From the expression on Vicki's face, he was no fun at all—gorgeous as he was. Mimi didn't believe that for a moment. This was a seriously sexy guy. God, she should have found out his name.

“That was Mimi Holland,” Tori told Haddo sharply.

He nodded. “I believe we met briefly.”

“You're not normal at all, are you? Most guys would leap at the chance of hooking up with Mimi.”

“Really?” Haddo sounded dubious. “You can't enjoy this sort of thing, surely?” he asked, looking at the couples dancing with single-minded abandon, some of them kissing, others looking as if they urgently needed a private room.

“Again, most people would kill for an invitation.”

“Good God!” he exclaimed. “Wouldn't they be better off working out at a gym?”

“Funny,” she said tartly. “I have to say goodnight to my hosts.”

“Of course you do. Good manners get one smoothly through life. I'll come with you. I just can't imagine how your hosts got to be so notorious, can you?”

 

They were moving out into the star-spangled night when Haddo suddenly said, “Where's your coat? It's cold with the breeze off the water.”

“I don't feel it,” she said briskly, trying to sound as tough as
nails. She had been driven right up to the door in an air-conditioned Rolls. She hadn't wanted a top coat to spoil her appearance.

“Oh, for God's sake, Tori.” He tutted. “You never used to be so vain.” He stripped off his leather jacket and held it cape-like for her to slip on.

“I don't want that,” she said, almost fearfully, as though to wear something of his would be dangerous.

“Put it on.”

No mistaking that for an order. She did as she was told. His jacket enveloped her, and then some. How foolish she had been to accept it. Instantly the warmth of his body hit her, rocking her to her wounded heart. His male scent was so familiar it gave her the most piercing sensation of intimacy. Her limbs lost their strength. It always happened when she and Haddo were together. Why
was
that? She had the dismal notion she was about to topple over. To counteract the peculiar feeling she slowed her steps, uncharacteristically awkward in her silver stilettos.

He took her arm, steadying her. “You're lost in that.”

“I only put it on to make you happy,” she replied ungraciously. “So where is it?” She stared about the light-bathed drive.

“The Rolls?”

“What else? Unless you've organised a horse and carriage?”

“It's out in the street. There was no room here.” The drive was packed with luxury cars.

“Then you'd better take a peek outside,” she advised. “There's bound to be a photographer hanging around.”

He glanced down at her. “So you're going to slip the jacket off? Is that it? Strut your stuff?”

“I'm going to do no such thing,” she said huffily, trying without success to pull away.

They were out on the tree-lined avenue and, just as she had predicted, a man with a camera—Tori recognised him as one of the usual gang—began to move swiftly towards them.

Tori snuggled deeper into Haddo's jacket. It had become her igloo, shielding her from the chill wind and from plain sight.
“Why is it always a man?” she muttered. “I've never laid eyes on a woman photographer yet. It's all men shoving a camera in your face.”

“You can't blame them, though. The public devours this sort of stuff.” Haddo's tone lifted a few notches. It was a voice long used to being obeyed. “No photographs, pal.” He spoke in an unconfrontational way, yet a stone-deaf man would have got the message.

The photographer gave a conciliatory chuckle. “Who's the little lady you're hiding there? It's not one of the celebs, is it? Or maybe it's our own little home-grown heiress?”

“Just do what I tell you,” Haddo returned crisply. “Move out of the way, pal.”

“Hey!”

Her head withdrawn like a tortoise, Tori heard the photographer cry out. Agitated, she parted the leather jacket and peered out. The photographer would be no match for Haddo. In fact he was reeling away. Surely Haddo hadn't hit him?

“I don't like cameras being shoved in my face,” Haddo was saying, almost pleasantly. “Don't worry. I'm not going to damage it. I'll give it back to you the moment we're on our way.”

The photographer didn't answer. He simply followed in their wake.

“It's astonishing how people pay attention when you're six-feet-three,” Tori commented as they drove off. The photographer was now busily snapping away at whatever images he could get: the back of her grandmother's Rolls, the number plate.

Haddo didn't answer for a minute or two. Then, “What the hell is happening to you, Tori?” he asked, in a dead serious voice.

Here it comes—the lecture!
She averted her head, staring out of the window at the star-spangled night. “Isn't it obvious? I'm being kidnapped. Getting photographed goes with the territory, Haddo. Those guys get paid for their pictures. Sometimes it's quite a lot of money. I don't need to tell you that.”

“And it's you they seem to want to see.”

She blushed hotly. “Hey, they won't want to see me when I'm old.”

“If you
get
to be old,” he rasped. “That's one of the reasons I'm here. I told you, your grandmother showed me all those newspaper clippings about Morcombe's driving under the influence. The reason it got so much coverage was
you.
It can't go on like this, Tori. I won't have it. Rushford has been a well-respected name in this country since the early days of settlement.”

She positively hated him then. “So what do you want me to do? Sing the National Anthem? Isn't it wonderful the Rushfords are so unquestionably top drawer? You must have hated it when your dad blotted his copybook, running off with that Aleesha, or whatever her name is.”

“I don't want or need your opinion about that, Tori,” he said shortly. “And it's Shona who is now his wife.”

“Shona, then. Pardon me. Of course you don't want to talk about your dad. You'd rather talk about me, and how totally immature I am.”

“Are you trying to tell me you're adult?” he asked scathingly.

It was like a very hard slap. She swallowed hard. “I'll never be adult enough for you, Haddo.” Wasn't that the stark truth?

He flicked a glance over her small, mutinous face. “The reason I'm in Sydney, Tori, is because your grandmother asked me to come. We've had a long discussion, and the upshot is I'm going to take you back to Mallarinka with me. Once there, I intend to put you to work.”

That piece of news positively galvanised her. She swung her head, aghast. “I'm an heiress,” she protested strongly. “I don't
need
to work.”

“We're all supposed to work,” he said, in a bracing type of voice. “Work won't kill you.”

“And you'll be my boss?” The very thought sent jolts of rebellion through her.

“Don't sound so shocked. Who else?”

She clenched her long, beautifully manicured fingers in her lap. “I'd be a lot happier working for some
other
dictator. So what have you got in mind for me?” she asked grimly. “Even supposing I'll go.”

“Oh, you'll go, all right.” His tone deepened.

“Where does it say I have to obey you?”

He shot her a brief glance, one black eyebrow up. “Actually, there's a file about a hundred pages long. “

“You just wait until I'm twenty-five,” she said, gritting her small teeth.

“I can't wait, actually. Until then I'm not quitting on you. I'm the boss. You'll do what I say.”

“Beast.”

His handsome mouth was amused. “I don't have to be. Just do what I tell you and everything will be okay.”

“So what do you have in mind?” she asked, her voice dripping sarcasm. “Housework? General maintenance? Camp cook? I can't make a damper, and I'm rarely invited into a kitchen. Or do you intend to take me on as a jillaroo? I'd need to polish up my skills for that.”

He sighed. It sounded quite genuine. “Don't you feel you really should have finished your education? There's still plenty of time. Anyway, I have decided on a job for you.” Smoothly he overtook a slow-moving car. The young driver saluted them, obviously in fun.

“To hell with that!” she growled. “This is silly. I'm not going
anywhere
with you. Damned if I am.”

“Oh, yes, you are.” His striking face in the light of the dash indicated he didn't expect nor would he tolerate disobedience. “Or I'll definitely cut your allowance. Big-time.”

She shook her head, infuriated, blinking back hot tears. “And you're just miserable enough to do it. It's all for my own good, of course.”

He glanced at her. His jacket all but swallowed her up. “Your well-being is very important to me, Tori.”

She snorted in disgust. “You really expect me to believe that?” At the very least he should feel guilty he had broken her heart.

“Well, it's true,” he answered quietly. “And you
want
to believe it, I think, deep down.”

“No way,” she scoffed. “So, what is this little job? And just how long am I supposed to endure detention?”

He flashed her just a glimpse of his marvellous smile. “For as long as it takes, Victoria.”

“But that's blackmail!” she gasped. “It's a violation of my human rights. Listen to me, Haddo.” She twisted her body in the seat, staring at his chiselled profile. “I need a time-frame here. A month, two, six months, and you'll pay me to go away. Put it this way. I don't much mind going back to Mallarinka. But, unless you've forgotten, I've become addicted to hating you.”

“Now, that's just plain childish,” he said. “A childish passion. I think what you actually mean is you're addicted to
pretending
you hate me.”

“You—are—so—bloody arrogant,” she muttered. She couldn't handle Haddo at all. She just wasn't equipped.

“Play it cool, now, Tori,” he advised.

“I'm serious.”

“So am I.”

“God!” she moaned, hugging herself beneath his jacket and toiling away at keeping angry. “Okay—let me have it? What's the job? If you think I'm going to clean all those blasted chandeliers or all that silver you've got another think coming. I wouldn't mind working in the office an hour or so a day. But the rest of the time I want off. I mightn't love you any more, but I do love Mallarinka.”

“Well, obviously you'll be given time off. That's only fair. But I expect you to do a fair day's work for a fair day's pay. I
will
pay you.”

“If you feel you have to,” she said, bittersweet. “Gee, just think! I had all these parties and functions lined up. Instead, I'll be doing—what? You're being very coy.”