‘I’ll be here until my back says otherwise.’ And, quite unexpectedly, he didn’t find that nearly as infuriating as he had just half an hour earlier.
‘Your back doesn’t have a say in the matter. I hate to add to your stress, but unless you intend playing gooseberry to the bride and groom you would be well advised to make other arrangements.’
‘Are you telling me that this is going to be the bridal suite?’
‘Twenty-four hours from now, you won’t be able to move in here for flowers,’ she assured him, so seriously that he laughed.
It hurt like hell but he didn’t care. He was throwing a spanner in the wedding works and he didn’t have to lift a finger—let alone a telephone—to do it.
‘I’m glad that amuses you, Mr McGrath. They do say that laughter is very healing, which, since you have to be out of here by first thing tomorrow, is just as well. Maybe you should try the plunge pool,’ she suggested. ‘It will take the weight off your muscles. Ease the pain.’
‘I’m willing to give it go,’ he assured her. ‘But I’ll need a hand.’
‘No problem. I’d be happy to give you a push.’
‘But will you stick around to help me out?’
‘Sorry, I have a full day ahead of me. Enjoy the herbal tea and nut cutlets.’
‘You’re full of excellent ideas, Josie. You just don’t follow through.’
‘Don’t test me,’ she warned.
She turned with a splendid swish of her robe, giving him an unintentional glimpse of thigh.
‘I’ll give you one thing,’ he called after her.
‘Your bed?’
‘Communication.’
She stopped and, when she turned back to face him, he said, ‘If you’ll make a call for me.’
‘You want me to call your wife and tell her you’re catching the next plane home?’
‘There’s no one waiting for that call, Josie.’ No one to rush back to. ‘I want you to ring my office. Give me your notebook and I’ll write down the number.’
She came closer, drawn by the temptation, took the notebook from her pocket and handed it to him with her pen. It was the kind of notebook he favoured himself, with a pocket at the back for receipts and an elastic band to hold it together. He slipped the band and it fell open at the bookmarked page where she’d started writing a list.
Hairdryers?
Ring???
Phone?
Florist
Caterer
Confectioner
He smiled and beside ‘Ring’ he jotted down a number.
‘Call Cara,’ he said, handing it back to her. ‘She’s my PA.’
‘And say what?’
‘Just ask her what the hell is going on in Marketing.’
‘What the hell is going on in Marketing,’ she repeated, then shook her head. ‘I can see why you’re stressed. You’re on holiday. Let it go, Gideon.’
‘Holidays are my work, which is why I know that David has a satellite telephone and Internet access. He keeps it a dark secret from the guests, but I’m sure he’ll make an exception in your case.’
‘You—’ She let slip a word that was surely banned from the wedding planners’ handbook. ‘Had again.’
‘You’re going to need me on your side, Josie.’
‘I need you gone!’
He left her with the last word and his reward was a view of an unexpectedly sexy rear as she walked away. A pair of slender ankles. He was already looking forward to making his acquaintance with the legs that connected them.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a London newspaper to spare for a man dying of boredom?’ he called after her.
‘Never touch them,’ her disembodied voice replied from the bridge. ‘Far too stressful.’
‘Liar,’ he called back as he tugged on the bell pull that Francis had extended from its place by the bed so that it was within reach of the lounger.
He really should have explained what David had meant when he’d told her to ‘ring’. Actually, David should have told her himself, but maybe he’d been distracted.
She was a seriously distracting woman.
‘Don’t forget lunch.’
CHAPTER FOUR
A stylish wedding often owes more to natural elements than the designer’s art…
—The Perfect Wedding by Serafina
March
JOSIE was trying very hard not to grin as she walked back through the trees to her own deck and, once safely out of reach of those dangerous eyes, a mouth that teased without conscience, she swiftly recovered her senses.
Gideon McGrath might be in pain but it hadn’t stopped him flirting outrageously with her. Not that she was fooled into thinking it was personal, despite the way he’d peered down her robe until she’d realised what he was doing and moved.
All he was interested in was her coffee. In having her run his errands.
‘One o’clock…’ His voice reached her through the branches.
And her lunch, damn it!
She was sorely tempted to stand by the rail and eat that luscious blueberry muffin, very slowly, just to torment him.
Perhaps it was just as well that the monkeys had taken advantage of her absence to clear her tray. Upsetting the milk, scattering the little packets of sugar, leaving nothing but crumbs that were being cleaned up by a bird with dark, glossy green plumage who gave her a look with its beady eyes as if daring her to do anything about it.
She wouldn’t want the man to get the impression that she gave that much of a damn and, quite deliberately turning her back towards him, she looked up at a monkey chittering at her from a nearby branch. He turned on the charm with a smile, an outstretched hand, the moment he’d snagged her attention, hoping for more little treats.
It had to be a male.
‘You’ve cleaned me out,’ she said. ‘Try next door.’
She was treated to a bare-toothed grin before the little monkey swung effortlessly away into the trees, putting on a dazzling acrobatic show just for her.
‘Show off,’ she called after him. But the fact that she was smiling served as a reminder, should she need it, of just how dangerous that kind of self-serving charm could be. How easy it was to be fooled, sucked in.
She took a slow breath, then turned her face up to the sun, absorbing for a moment the heat, the scent of warm earth, the exotic high-pitched hum of the cicadas.
Five years ago she had been peeling vegetables and washing up in a hotel kitchen; the only job she could get.
Today, Celebrity magazine was paying for her to stay in one of the most exclusive safari lodges in Africa. Paying her to ensure that the year’s most expensive wedding went without a hitch. And, with her name attached to this event, she would be one of the ‘chosen’, accepted in her own right; finally able to justify Sylvie’s faith in her.
Gideon McGrath could flirt all he wanted. It would take more than