‘Are you having chocolate once you finish your delicious sandwich?’
She choked back a laugh. ‘I refuse to have chocolate with every meal. I have a banana.’
‘But you’re missing a food group! You have carbohydrate, protein, a fruit and a vegetable, but no dairy. Chocolate is dairy. It makes for a rounded meal, Mia.’
She couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I’ll see you at two, Dylan.’
She hung her phone back on her belt, a frown building through her. In the last fortnight Dylan had developed the habit of calling her a couple of times a week—always during her lunchbreak. Some days he didn’t mention the wedding at all. She sometimes thought his sole reason for calling was simply to make her laugh. But why would he do that?
Was it really all for Carla’s benefit?
Do you think he’s doing it for your benefit? Do you really think he could be interested in you?
It was a ludicrous notion—utter wishful thinking. They’d set their ground rules. Dylan wasn’t any more interested in a relationship than she was, and a fling was out of the question. But the wisdom of that reasoning didn’t dissipate the heat building between them. It didn’t quash the thrill that raced through her whenever she heard his voice. It didn’t stop her from looking forward to seeing him this afternoon.
She bit into her sandwich. Since when had the prospect of a meeting become more attractive than tromping along solitary paths with loppers and a pair of secateurs?
She had to be careful around Dylan. Very careful. She couldn’t go falling for his charm. Never again would she be a man’s sap, his puppet. Not even one as alluring and attractive as Dylan. She’d sworn never to travel that particular path again.
Couldn’t you just kiss him once anyway? Just to see?
The illicit thought came out of left field. She stiffened. No, she could not!
No way was she kissing Dylan. Any kissing was absolutely and utterly out of the question. That way led to the slippery slope of lost good intentions and foolish, deceitful dreams. She wasn’t descending that slope again. She had no intention of falling into the pit that crouched at its bottom.
So...that’s a no, then?
A definite no!
She wrapped up what was left of her sandwich and tossed it into a nearby bin. A glance at her watch told her she could manage an hour’s worth of path maintenance before she had to get back to meet with Dylan and his photographer. Wrestling with overgrown native flora sounded exactly what she needed.
* * *
Neither the exercise nor Mia’s resolution to resist Dylan’s appeal stopped her every sense from firing to life the moment she clapped eyes on him that afternoon. It made her want to groan in despair.
No despair! She’d only need despair if she gave in to her attraction—if she handed her heart to him on a platter and became his willing slave. The attraction part of the equation was utterly normal. She’d defy any woman to look at Dylan and not appreciate him as the handsomest beast she’d ever laid eyes on.
Not that he was a beast. Not when he moved towards her, hand outstretched, a smile of delight on his face at seeing her. Then he was an utter sweetheart.
She couldn’t stop herself from smiling back.
It’s polite to smile.
Polite or not, she couldn’t help it.
He kissed her cheek, his warm male scent raising gooseflesh on her arms.
‘Mia...’ He ushered her towards the other man. ‘I’d like you to meet Felipe Fellini.’
She shook the photographer’s hand. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr Fellini.’
‘Yes, yes, it is inevitable. Now this...’ He gestured to encompass the lily pond and its surrounds. ‘You must tell me that you have something better, something more original for me to work with than this.’
He strutted through the area in a coat embroidered with wild, colourful poppies, flinging his arms out in exaggerated disappointment while speaking in an affected American-Italian accent.
Mia stared at him, utterly flummoxed. Never, in all of her twenty-five years, had she ever come across someone like Felipe Fellini!
She moistened her lips. ‘I...uh...you don’t like it?’
‘Ugh, darling! You do? I mean, look at it!’ He pointed at the pond, the grass, a tree.
Behind Felipe’s back, Dylan started to laugh silently. Mia had to choke back her answering mirth. ‘I... I can’t say as I’ve ever really thought about it.’
He swatted a hand in her direction. ‘That’s because you’re not an artiste. My sensitivities are honed to within an inch of their lives, darling.’
It should have been dismissive, but the words held a friendly edge and she suddenly realised he was having the time of his life.
She planted her hands on her hips. ‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘It’s a cliché. An utter cliché.’
‘But isn’t that what a wedding is all about?’
The question slipped out before she could censor it. She wished it back the moment both men spun to face her—Felipe with his hands up to cover his mouth as if utterly scandalised, Dylan contemplating her with those deep blue eyes, his delectable lips pursed.
‘Dylan, darling, it appears I’ve met a creature I never thought existed—a truly unromantic woman.’
Dylan folded his arms, nudging the other man with his shoulder. ‘I saw her first.’
Felipe spluttered with laughter. ‘Darling, I’m not a ladies’ man—but if I were...you’d be in trouble. I’d have her eating out of my hand in no time.’
Mia started to laugh. She couldn’t help it. Felipe, it appeared, enjoyed flirting and games every bit as much as Dylan.
‘Come along, you unromantic girl.’ Felipe draped an arm across her shoulders with a smirk in Dylan’s direction. ‘Show me something worthy of my talents.’
Dylan fell in behind them with a good-natured grin. Mia led them to the utility she’d parked further down the track. One hundred and eighty hectares was a lot of ground to cover. They wouldn’t manage it all on foot before dark.
Felipe discounted the first two spots Mia showed him—a forest glade of wattle, with low overhanging branches, and a pocket of rainforest complete with a tiny trickling stream.
‘Clichéd?’ she asked.
‘Totally.’
‘You don’t know what you want, but you’ll know it when you see it, right?’
Dylan’s chuckle from the back seat filled the interior of the car, warming Mia’s fingers and toes.
‘I’ll have none of your cheek, thank you, Dylan Fairweather. You, sir, are an uncultured and coarse Philistine.’ He sniffed. ‘I understand you have a Gilmore on your wall.’
For a moment Dylan’s eyes met Mia’s in the rear-vision mirror. ‘You’re welcome to come and admire it any time you like, Felipe.’
‘Pah!’
At Mia’s raised eyebrow, Dylan added, ‘Jason Gilmore—like Felipe, here—is a world-class photographer.’
Felipe gave a disbelieving snort and Mia found herself grinning, Dylan and Felipe’s high spirits momentarily rubbing off onto her.
‘I’ve never heard of Jason Gilmore, but I’ve heard of Felipe. So