Read Sydney (Book One) (That Wedding Girl 1) Online
Authors: Maggie Way
Sydney (Book One) (That Wedding Girl 1) (7 page)
“Seriously, is that why?”
Tristan might be a womaniser but surely he’s responsible enough to not jeopardise his career like that, or so I thought.
He shrugs, seemingly unworried. “We were having fun, and then she decided she wanted more.”
I raise an eyebrow, interested in some gossip. “And then what?”
“Well, let’s just say it was easier to come back and start afresh. I can’t go breaking hearts all over America too, it’s not fair to the female population,” he says with a cocky chuckle.
Suppressing the urge to roll my eyes, I stare at him in disbelief. “Have you ever heard of the phrase mixing business and pleasure? And that it’s bad?”
Those full lips quirk up in a smile. “It’s all pleasure to me.”
I swallow nervously at the way he is looking at me.
You’re seeing things
. Tristan is a renowned flirt. He’s just a friend.
“So are you interested or not?” he says it so suggestively and my cheeks warm.
“To what?”
“Us, working together. Destination weddings?”
Oh
, here I thought he meant something else. I nod, signalling him to continue.
“I’m going solo, becoming my own boss. The company will be all about destination events, high-end private parties and luxury event planning. That’s where you come in. You’re great at what you do, and I think you are competent to take the leap and plan high-end destination weddings.”
Competent
? I’m more than competent at what I do. But that’s for Australia only - the rest of the world I’m not so sure about.
“I’m a Day of Wedding Coordinator,” I point out, “For speedy, last minute weddings.”
“I’m aware of that. It will be one of the services I offer – clients who just need someone to help get them to the finish line and deliver the wedding. They will have already booked their own caterers, venues and everything else. I’m currently building a whole team; you will be one vital member of that team.”
I purse my lips, trying to absorb all of this information. “Would you send the clients my way? Would I have to travel at the drop of a hat?”
“Yes and yes. I’ve built up an impressive backlog of clients from my time at Greenhills and it won’t be long before you get your first client. You would be, excuse my bluntness, an idiot if you didn’t want to take this up.”
Whoa, harsh much?
“So, you will be my boss? Why would I want to work for
you
?”
He smirks. “Because I’m the best at what I do. I know how to drive results, I know how to impress and wow people and I guarantee you will be earning triple what you are now. You’ll get to travel first class, see the world…” His confidence is a little arrogant, but also awe-inspiring and compelling. I’m impressed – even though I respect and almost revere him for his reputation in the industry, I trust that he knows what he is doing. It doesn’t sound or feel like a sales pitch, and I want to hear more. He holds my gaze steadily, impassive. “We will be spending a lot of time working together. Can you handle that?”
My heart rate pulses. “I think so.”
“You’ll get to stay at the best hotels, with the best views—”
“No freaking way. I refuse to stay at hotels like that,” I shake my head furiously, grimacing.
He furrows his brows, a confused expression spreading on his face. “What do you mean?”
I look down at my hands, embarrassed to tell him but I have to explain myself. “I…I get nervous around heights.”
I expect him to laugh, even get annoyed, but he looks at me with complete concern. “How nervous are we talking? Are lifts a no-go for you?”
I shudder dramatically. “I moved into a ground floor unit because I couldn’t deal with them anymore.”
“How bad is it?” He’s gazing at me, dark eyes concentrating hard.
“It comes and goes. It’s only if I’m really high up and I look down. I can get…twitchy. Like, for instance,” I indicate towards the view of the bridge, “if I look out too long I might get a bit irritated but I’m fine at the moment.”
He looks out the window. “I had no idea.”
“No, I’m good. Serious!” I laugh nervously, trying to forget that the view of Sydney Opera House is just behind me. “It’s not that bad honestly, once I’m inside, I’m fine. I just wanted to let you know that’s all.”
He breathes quietly. “That’s tough, I’m sorry to hear that. So, can you fly?”
I nod. “I’ll be fine, as long as I keep myself busy, something to calm me down and lots of chocolate. I love to travel still, so I’m not going to let that part stop me from enjoying life.”
“When did this develop? I don’t recall you having an issue before with heights back in school.” He’s got such a commanding yet calming voice, compelling me to tell him more.
“About three years ago. Adam and I went to the Royal National Park in Wollongong for a day trip to go hiking to check out the figure eight pool,” Adam and I loved to take little day trips together.
“Continue,” he sits up and leans closer, maintaining his rigid concentration.
“It was a beautiful day, and we were close to the pool. We reached a cliff top, overlooking the ocean. Adam was taking his photos and as I walked closer to the edge to get a better view, my foot slipped on a small rock and I fell, and next thing I knew I was dangling over the edge, screaming for my life. It didn’t help that I had something bad to eat that day, so there I was about to fall the rest of the way to my death with a nauseous stomach.”
Tristan widens his eyes but doesn’t say anything.
“Anyway, ever since then, the idea of being up high freaks me out a lot. I just don’t want to feel that high again so I just avoid it altogether. It’s fine. It’s under control. It’s not like I need to use lifts much in my job, and I never hiked much anyway,” I murmur. I’m not ashamed to admit it. I’ve come to accept that it’s just a part of me.
He leans forward, placing his hand near mine. “Have you tried to beat it—?”
I move my hand away, frowning. “Hey, I’m fine with it. It doesn’t affect my life. I’m happy with the way things are, alright?” I say, exasperated. I can’t stand this question, like I have some sort of sick addiction I have to cure.
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat at my recoil. “I didn’t mean to pry, it’s terrible that you have to live with it. Thank you for telling me.” He gazes at me sincerely. “If there’s anything I can do to help you, I will. A life lived in fear is a life half lived.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it but I seriously doubt you can,” I look at him dubiously. I’ve tried to beat it, and nothing has worked.
“Challenge accepted,” he says with his oh-so-secret smile. “Life’s no fun if there aren’t any obstacles to overcome right?”
“You’ve always been able to make lemonade out of lemons, haven’t you?”
He shrugs his shoulders, relaxing from his rigid stance. “Shit happens. You just have to flush and spray some perfume on it. Mum always says that,” he says, his voice tender at the mention of his mother. Tristan was raised by his mum, his father having left him when he was five years old. I wonder if he also came back to Australia - to be closer to her as well.
“I bet she is so proud—”
“So, is that a yes to my proposal?” he asks abruptly. I wish he would stop doing that, changing the subject. Why is he so closed off sometimes? The relaxed and carefree Tristan I knew has been replaced by this serious everything-other-than-work-is-off-limits guy. I wonder if his time abroad has changed him for good. Or did something happen to cause him to become like this?
I pause for a moment, deliberating. There’s so much to consider, I can’t just say yes without considering so many factors. What am I going to do with my business? Do I halt Australian weddings to pursue this or change my branding? What would Gabe say? Of course Gabe would say yes, but that’s beside the point. I’ve always been one to take life by the horns and to be honest it wouldn’t hurt to do something different. I still need to know more, but I’m interested to know more. “I will have to consult my assistant Gabe but I’m definitely interested,” I nod my head enthusiastically.
A shred of a smile touches his lips. “Excellent. I think this will be a lot of fun, don’t you?”
I look at him, and he looks back at me longingly. I swallow hard. Why is he making me so nervous all of a sudden? Is it the way his eyes smoulder at me? The way he tests my patience, the way he ruffles my feathers? The way he rests his chin, stroking his lower lip with his index finger? It’s all so disarming, and disarming is something I would have never labelled Tristan as.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but despite all your faults, you’re a really good guy,” I say warmly. “I’m glad you’re back.”
He scoffs, “What an ordeal that must have been, to pay me a compliment.”
“Well, anyhow, any girl would be lucky to have you.” I tap his foot softly.
“Likewise.”
“What, any girl would be lucky to have me?” I tease as I finish the rest of my coffee, putting the mug down on the table. I think I have enough energy to last me the rest of the day.
His mouth quirks up, and he stares at me fondly. “Boy, you really are something else…”
His eyes linger on mine and my heart races. Damn that coffee, damn those blazing eyes, damn those lush lips. I need a respite from it all.
“Where’s the bathroom?”
“Just down the hall, next to the bedroom,” he says, poker-faced.
I stand up quickly and make the mistake of turning around and facing the window. Oh dear, the Opera House is all the way down there.
I’m so high up…calm down, FUCK…
.
“Ugh…oh my god…” The thoughts are accelerating inside my head and suddenly my breaths come in short gasps.
“What’s wrong?” Tristan demands, his voice booming behind me.
“Nothing,” I mumble but my stomach starts to feel uneasy, and I grip onto the couch for support.
“Are you having an—”
“I’m fine, alright? Leave me alone,” I snap.
“I’m fine, I just need a distraction—”
Before I know it, he presses his lips against mine and now it’s
my
turn to widen my eyes. Heart palpitations. Lips tingling. Arms numb. I hardly get a moment to react before he gently but surely presses his tongue to the seam of my lips and delves inside my mouth. I’m stunned, utterly paralysed. And then I close my eyes and I lose myself in him. I lose myself in this man from my past who is wrong for me in so many ways except one – how damn delicious he is. He tastes like coffee and so much more - it’s wet, messy, and hot; absolutely glorious, better than any chocolate I’ve had.
I moan gently and immediately his nostrils flare and he tilts his head and takes full advantage, his tongue expertly exploring my mouth. My brain is on fire and the warmth is coursing through my entire body like flowing lava.
Holy shit
this is unreal, I’ve never had this physical reaction before. The electricity generating between us is enough to power a whole city.
“How’s this for a distraction?” He breathes, causing goose bumps to form on my neck.
I nod rapidly, my desperate breaths matching his. I don’t feel like talking right now. All my worries, troubles, and problems are melting away, and so am I. I should be questioning this, I should be stopping this, but logic fails me. All I can concentrate on is him touching me, holding me closer.
“You. Taste. So. Good,” he murmurs, each word a staccato and he lunges in, possessing me completely.
His breathing accelerates and he goes in, deeper and harder. I inhale sharply and pull myself closer to him, against his warm chiseled chest. A low growl leaves him and he edges me backwards until we both stop by the couch, and we both giggle softly as we both fall onto the soft cushions in a heap. He hovers over me, pinning his hips to mine, and his eyes linger on my body.
“You’re exquisite, you know that?” His voice is raw.
Tracing his hands down my waist, a shaky gasp leaves me when he claws at the seam of my dress and pushes it up, up, up. Delicious warmth spreads instantly, and I am completely hypnotised, in this trance that he’s cast on me. Seizing my mouth again, he glides his adept fingers up and I squirm when he reaches the apex of my thighs. Oh god, please…don’t stop….don’t stop….
Just before he’s about to go further, a loud ringing echoes in the room. It’s a tacky police siren ringing and it’s….it’s mine.
Shit!
Both our bodies still instantly, and like a nimble ninja I quickly slide out from under him and dash to my bag by the door, taking out my phone as I sit on my knees. As if on cue, I just miss the call but my mouth pops open as I look at the screen. Twenty messages, thirty eight missed calls. THIRTY EIGHT. Crap!
Shoving my phone back in my bag, I quickly straighten my hair as footsteps approach me.