Harlequin KISS August 2014 Bundle (42 page)

Not that Sunshine’s lipstick habits were any of his business.

Except that now he couldn’t miss her too-heavy top lip, glistening as she darted her tongue over it. The wide and chewable bottom lip. She had a little
gap between her two front teeth that was kooky-meets-adorable. And she moved her mouth over her spoon as if she were having a food-induced orgasm.

He wondered if he was thinking in orgasm terms because she was going commando tonight.
Not
that he was going there. No way!
And please, God, get the thought out of my head!

Whatever, she’d clearly appreciated the 2002 Cristal her boyfriend
had ordered to go with dessert.

Leo preferred the 1996 vintage.

Talk about splitting hairs. What the hell was wrong with him?

He sighed. Stretched. It had been a long night, that was all. He just needed to get to bed. Right after he emailed Caleb. He was going to get the dinner party back under control at their meeting tomorrow. Put Sunshine the Bulldozer back in the shed.

Sunshine.
Groan!
She was like a six-inch electric blue thorn in his side.

So it didn’t make sense that he would be humming as he thought about that manifesto-sized checklist of hers.

And damn if it wasn’t that cheesy Natalie Clarke number about love biting you in the ass.

The most diabolically awful song of the century.

Clearly, he needed a drink.

God, he hated Barry White.

TWO

TO: Caleb Quartermaine

FROM: Leo Quartermaine

SUBJECT: Seriously?

Caleb, mate

What’s the deal? Where’s your invitation list? Are we really
talking 150 guests? I thought it was an intimate dinner.

Sunshine is descending on me tomorrow to kick off the
invitation process, so it would be nice to know who’s got what expectations. So
I don’t
end up looking like a completely clueless moron.

LQ

TO: Jonathan Jones

FROM: Sunshine Smart

SUBJECT: Wedding of the century

Hello, darling

Had dinner at Q Brasserie tonight—fabulous. We’re meeting again at
one of Leo’s other places, Mainefare, tomorrow. Can’t wait!

I’ve worked out that Mainefare is a play on words. Mayfair as in
London (it’s
in a British-style pub) but with Maine as in Quartermaine and fare
as in food. Leo is so clever!

Invitation samples attached: (1) ultra-modern, cream and
charcoal; (2) dreamy romantic in mauve and violet; (3) Art Deco—blue and teal
with yellow, brown, and grey accents.

PLEASE like the Art Deco one, which I know sounds ghastly, but
open it and you’ll see!

All
else is on track. Party of the year, I’m telling you!

Sunny xxx

PS—and, no, in answer to your repeat question—I have not done it
yet. You’re getting as bad as Mum and Dad.

Tap-tap-tap. Same
sound effect, just on floorboards.

Leo saw her scan the room. Mainefare wasn’t as open as Q
Brasserie and it was harder to spot people—so he stood, waved.

His eyes
went automatically to Sunshine’s feet. Coral suede.
Maybe four inches high—he figured the missing inches equalled casual for her.
Oddly, no polish on her toenails; now that he thought of it, he hadn’t seen
colour on her toenails at their previous two meetings. Fingernails either.

Hello, Mr Estee Lauder—since when do you
start noticing nail polish?

He
didn’t
. Of course
he didn’t. But
she just looked like the kind of girl who wouldn’t be seen dead with unpainted
nails.

Then again, she didn’t look like the kind of girl who would eat
like Henry VIII either.

Sunshine gave him her usual beaming smile as she reached him.
She was wearing a pair of skintight pants in dark green, with a 1960s-style
tunic. The tunic was cream, with a
psychedelic red and black swirl on the front
that should have looked like crap but didn’t. She had on the same sun/moon
necklace, but no other jewellery. And that was kind of strange too, wasn’t it?
Where was the bling?

She kissed him on the cheek, same as yesterday, before he could
step out of reach, and sat as though exhausted, thumping an oversized
tote—rust-coloured
canvas—on the floor beside her chair.

‘Whew,’ she said. ‘I’ve got lots of samples with me, so that
bag is heavy.’

Leo couldn’t work out how she could wear colours that didn’t
match—her shoes, her outfits, her bags always seemed to be different shades and
tones—and yet everything looked
I’m-not-even-trying
perfect. He’d been out with models and fashion PR types who
didn’t make it look
that easy.

‘Did you sort out the guest list with Caleb?’ she asked, and
had the nerve to twinkle at him.

‘Yes,’ Leo said unenthusiastically.

‘So! A hundred and fifty, right?’

Gritted teeth. ‘Yes, a hundred and fifty. But you can still
forget every one of the venues you listed as options.’ He sounded grumpy, and
that made him grumpier—because
there was really nothing to be grumpy
about
. It wasn’t
his
damned wedding. But it was just...
galling
!

Sunshine observed him, head tilted to one side in her curious
bird guise. ‘Does that mean you have somewhere fantastic in mind to fit one
hundred and fifty people? Somewhere that will be available with only two months’
notice?’

‘As a matter of fact I do,’ Leo said.
‘I have a new place
opening next month. But it’s not in Sydney. It’s an hour and a half’s drive
south. Actually, it’s
called
South.’

He was a bit ashamed of himself for sounding so smug about
it—what was he? Fifteen years old?—but his smugness went sailing right by
Sunshine, who simply clapped her hands, delighted.

Which made him feel like a
complete
churl.

Sunshine Smart was not good for his mental health.

‘Oh, I’ve read about it!’ she exclaimed. ‘Perched on the edge
of the escarpment, sweeping views of the ocean. Right?’

‘Yep.’

Another enthusiastic hand-clap. ‘Perfectamundo. When can we go
and see it?’

Perfectamundo?
Good Lord! ‘Not
necessary,’ he said repressively. ‘I’ve personally handpicked the staff for
South, and they know what they’re doing. We can just give them instructions and
leave them to it. But I can send you photos of the space.’

Sunshine was staring at him as though he’d taken leave of his
senses. ‘Of course it’s necessary. Your staff may be excellent, but Jon is
trusting me to make sure everything is perfect. I know exactly what he likes,
you see, and
I can’t let him down.’

Leo sighed inwardly.

‘We have to think about how the tables are going to be
arranged,’ she went on. ‘The best place for speeches, where we’ll do welcoming
cocktails—I mean, is there an outdoor area for that?’ Her hands came up, clasped
her head at the temples as if she were about to have a meltdown. ‘A
thousand
things.’

Leo felt a throb at the
base of his skull. ‘Let me think about
it,’ he said, just to staunch the flow of words. He wasn’t
really
going to think about taking her to see the damned
restaurant.

‘Thank you, Leo!’ She was back to twinkling, clearly nowhere
near
a meltdown.

Two months! Two
months
of this
manipulative, mendacious wretch.

‘So!’ she said. ‘Let’s talk invitations. I have three
designs
to show you—and I won’t tell you which is my favourite because I don’t want to
influence your opinion.’

‘You won’t.’

‘Well, I wonder if, subliminally, knowing what I like best
might sway you.’ Little knowing smile. ‘Maybe to deliberately pick something
that is
not
my favourite! And that would never
do.’

He caught his half-laugh before it could surface.
Laughing
would only encourage her.

‘And since we haven’t discounted the email, I’ve got something
to show you too,’ he put in smoothly, because he’d be damned if his version was
going to be dead in the water without a demo at least. ‘It’s something we did
for the Q Brasserie launch.’

Half an hour later Leo was amazed to find that he’d agreed to a
printed Art
Deco-style invitation in blue and teal, with yellow, brown, and grey
accents.

But he’d had a win too! Sunshine was so impressed with his
electronic idea she’d insisted they send something like it as a save-the-date
notice, linking to some artsy teaser footage of South’s surroundings.

‘But we’ll keep the venue secret,’ she added conspiratorially,
‘because it will be
fun to have everyone guessing, and they’ll be so excited to
find out it’s South when the printed invitations arrive.’

He hoped—he
really
hoped—he hadn’t
just been soothed.

Sunshine took on the responsibility for getting the invitations
printed and addressed, with names handwritten by a calligrapher she’d dated in
the past. She would show Leo—who actually didn’t give
a damn—the final design
before it went to print, along with handwriting samples. Leo was in charge of
getting the save-the-date done for Sunshine’s approval—and she most certainly
did
give a damn.

He was on the verge of disappearing to the kitchen when
Sunshine circled back to South and her need to see it.

‘It’s not going to happen,’ Leo said. ‘You can’t go on site
without me. And the only time I have free is...is...daytime Monday.’
Ha!
‘Shop hours for you, right?’

Sunshine pulled out a clunky-looking diary.

He did a double-take. ‘You’re on Facebook but you use a paper
diary?’

‘My mother made it for me so I have to—and, anyway, I like it,’
she said. ‘Hemp and handmade paper. Jon and Caleb have them too. Play your cards
right and you’ll get one next year. And, yes! I can do Monday. Yay!’

Again with the
yay
. And the
twinkle.

And that throb at the base of his skull.

Sunshine put her diary away. ‘My hours are super-flexible. I
mostly work from home, and usually at night, when I seem to be more creative—not
during the day, and never in the shop unless I’m doing a particular display.
Because I have a superb manager who would
not
take
kindly to 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.’