Gift-Wrapped in Her Wedding Dress, page 7
The waiter came to take their orders. They’d been too busy talking to look at the menu. Quickly they discussed their favourites before they ordered: barramundi with prawns and asparagus for him; tandoori roasted ocean trout with cucumber salsa for her and an heirloom tomato salad to share. They each passed on wine and chose mineral water. ‘Because it’s a working day,’ they both said at the exact time and laughed. It felt like a date. He could not let his thoughts stray that way. Because he liked the idea too much.
‘You haven’t explained the continuity of Christmas,’ he said, bringing the conversation back to the party.
‘It’s nothing to do with the baubles and the tinsel and everything to do with the feeling,’ she said with obvious enthusiasm. ‘Anticipation, delight, joy. For some it’s about religious observance, spirituality and new life; others about sharing and generosity. If you can get people feeling the emotion, then it doesn’t really matter if the tree is decorated in pink and purple or red and green.’
How about misery and fear and pain? Those were his memories of Christmas. ‘I see your point,’ he said.
‘I intend to make sure your party is richly imbued with that kind of Christmas spirit. Hannah told me some of the kids who will be coming would be unlikely to have a celebration meal or a present and certainly not both if it wasn’t for your generosity.’
‘I met with Hannah yesterday; she mentioned how important it will be for the families we’re inviting. She seems to think the party will do a powerful lot of good. Your sister told me how special Christmas is in your family.’ It was an effort for him to speak about Christmas in a normal tone of voice. But he seemed to be succeeding.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Andie. ‘Heaven help anyone who might want to celebrate it with their in-laws or anywhere else but my parents’ house.’
‘Your mother’s a marvellous cook.’
‘True, but Christmas is well and truly my dad’s day. My mother is allowed to do the baking and she does that months in advance. On the day, he cooks a traditional meal—turkey, ham, roast beef, the lot. He’s got favourite recipes he’s refined over the years and no one would dare suggest anything different.’
Did she realise how lucky she was? How envious he felt when he thought about how empty his life had been of the kind of family love she’d been gifted with. He’d used to think he could start his own family, his own traditions, but his ex-wife had disabused him of that particular dream. It involved trust and trust was not a thing that came easily to him. Not when it came to women. ‘I can’t imagine you would want to change a tradition.’
‘If truth be told, we’d be furious if he wanted to change one little thing,’ she said, her voice warm with affection for her father. She knew.
He could see where she got her confidence from—that rock-solid security of a loving, supportive family. But now he knew she’d been tempered by tragedy too. He wanted to know more about how she had dealt with the loss of her boyfriend. But not until it was appropriate to ask.
‘What about you, Dominic—did you celebrate Christmas with your family?’ she asked.
This never got easier—which was why he chose not to revisit it too often. ‘My parents died when I was eleven,’ he said.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ she said with warm compassion in her eyes. ‘What a tragedy.’ She paused. ‘You were so young, an only child...who looked after you?’
‘We lived in England, in a village in Norfolk. My father was English, my mother Australian. My mother’s sister was staying with us at the time my parents died. She took me straight back with her to Australia.’ It was difficult to keep his voice matter of fact, not to betray the pain the memories evoked, even after all this time.
‘What? Just wrenched you away from your home?’ She paused. ‘I’m sorry. That wasn’t my call to say that. You were lucky you had family. Did your aunt have children?’
‘No, it was just the two of us,’ he said and left it at that. There was so much more he could say about the toxic relationship with his aunt but that was part of his past he’d rather was left buried.
Wrenched. That was how it had been. Away from everything familiar. Away from his grandparents, whom he didn’t see again until he had the wherewithal to get himself back to the UK as an adult. Away from the dog he’d adored. Desperately lonely and not allowed to grieve, thrust back down in Brisbane, in the intense heat, straight into the strategic battleground that was high school in a foreign country. To a woman who had no idea how to love a child, though she had tried in her own warped way.
‘I’d prefer not to talk about it,’ he said. ‘I’m all grown up now and don’t angst about the past.’ Except when it was dark and lonely and he couldn’t sleep and he wondered if he was fated to live alone without love.
‘I understand,’ she said. But how could she?
She paused to leave a silence he did not feel able to fill.
‘Talking about my family,’ she finally said, ‘you’re my mother’s new number one favourite person.’
Touched by not only her words but her effort to draw him in some way into her family circle, he smiled. ‘And why is that?’
‘Seriously, she really liked you at dinner on Wednesday night. But then, when you had flowers delivered the next day, she was over the moon. Especially at the note that said she cooked the best lasagne you’d ever tasted.’
‘I’m glad she liked them. And it was true about the lasagne.’ Home-made anything was rarely on the menu for him so he had appreciated it.
‘How did you know pink was her favourite colour in flowers?’
‘I noticed the flowers she’d planted in her garden.’
‘But you only saw the garden so briefly.’
‘I’m observant,’ he said.
‘But the icing on the cake was the voucher for dinner for two at their local bistro.’
‘She mentioned she liked their food when we were talking,’ he said.
‘You’re a thoughtful guy, aren’t you?’ she said, tilting her head to the side.
‘Some don’t think so,’ he said, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.
She lowered her voice to barely a whisper so he had to lean across the table to hear her, so close their heads were touching. Anyone who was watching would think they were on a date.
She placed her hand on his arm in a gesture of comfort which touched him. ‘Don’t worry. The party should change all that. I really liked Rob’s idea that no media would be invited to the party. That journalists would have to volunteer to help on the day if they wanted to see what it was all about.’
‘And no photographers allowed, to preserve our guests’ privacy. I liked that too.’
‘I really have a good feeling about it,’ she said. She lifted her hand off his arm and he felt bereft of her touch.
He nodded. If it were up to him, if he didn’t have to go ahead with the party, he’d cancel it at a moment’s notice. Maybe there was a touch of Scrooge in him after all.
But he didn’t want Andie to think that of him. Not for a moment.
He hadn’t proved to be a good judge of women. His errors in judgement went right back to his aunt—he’d loved her when she was his fun auntie from Australia. She’d turned out to be a very different person. Then there’d been Melody—sweet, doomed Melody. At seventeen he’d been a man in body but a boy still in heart. He’d been gutted at her betrayal, too damn wet behind the ears to realise a teenage boy’s love could never be enough for an addict. Then how could he have been sucked in by Tara? His ex-wife was a redhead like Melody, tiny and delicate. But her frail exterior hid an avaricious, dishonest heart and she had lied to him about something so fundamental to their marriage that he could never forgive her.
Now there was Andie. He didn’t trust his feelings when he’d made such disastrous calls before. ‘What you see is what you get,’ she’d said about her family.
Could he trust himself to judge that Andie was what she appeared to be?
He reined in his errant thoughts—he only needed to trust Andie to deliver him the party he needed to improve his public image. Anything personal was not going to happen.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘ANDIE, I NEED to see you.’ Dominic’s voice on her smartphone was harsh in its urgency. It was eight a.m. and Andie had not been expecting a call from him. He’d been away more than a week on business and she’d mainly communicated with him by text and email—and only then if it was something that needed his approval for the party. The last time she’d seen him was the Friday they’d had lunch together. The strictly business lunch that had somehow felt more like a date. But she couldn’t let herself think like that.
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘I just have to—’
‘Now. Please. Where do you live?’
Startled at his tone, she gave him the address of the apartment in a converted warehouse in the inner western suburb of Newtown she shared with two old schoolfriends. Her friends had both already left for work. Andie had planned on a day finalising prop hire and purchase for Dominic’s party before she started work for a tuxedo-and-tiara-themed twenty-first birthday party.
She quickly changed into skinny denim jeans and a simple loose-knit cream top that laced with leather ties at the neckline. Decided on her favourite leopard-print stilettos over flats. And make-up. And her favourite sandalwood and jasmine perfume. What the heck—her heart was racing at the thought of seeing him. She didn’t want to seem as though she were trying too hard—but then again she didn’t want to be caught out in sweats.
When Dominic arrived she was shocked to see he didn’t look his sartorial best. In fact he looked downright dishevelled. His black hair seemed as if he’d used his fingers for a comb and his dark stubble was one step away from a beard. He was wearing black jeans, a dark grey T-shirt and had a black leather jacket slung over his shoulders. Immediately he owned the high-ceilinged room, a space that overwhelmed men of lesser stature, with the casual athleticism of his stance, the power of his body with its air of tightly coiled energy.
‘Are you alone?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she said. Yes!
Her first thought was that he looked hotter than ever—so hot she had to catch her breath. This Dominic set her pulse racing even more than executive Dominic in his made-to-measure Italian suits.
Her second thought was that he seemed stressed—his mouth set in a grim line, his eyes red-rimmed and darkly shadowed. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked.
‘I’ve come straight from the airport. I just flew in from Perth.’ Perth was on the other side of Australia—a six-hour flight. ‘I cut short my trip.’
‘But are you okay?’ She forced her voice to sound calm and measured, not wanting him to realise how she was reacting to his untamed good looks. Her heart thudded with awareness that they were alone in the apartment.
With the kind of friendly working relationship they had now established, it would be quite in order to greet him with a light kiss on his beard-roughened cheek. But she wouldn’t dare. She might not be able to resist sliding her mouth across his cheek to his mouth and turning it into a very different kind of kiss. And that wouldn’t do.
‘I’m fine. I’ve just...been presented with...with a dilemma,’ Dominic said.
‘Coffee might help,’ she said.
‘Please.’
‘Breakfast? I have—’
‘Just coffee.’
But Andie knew that sometimes men who said they didn’t want anything to eat needed food. And that their mood could improve immeasurably when they ate something. Not that she’d been in the habit of sharing breakfast with a man. Not since... She forced her mind back to the present and away from memories of breakfasts with Anthony on a sun-soaked veranda. Her memories of him were lit with sunshine and happiness.
Dominic dragged out a chair and slumped down at her kitchen table while she prepared him coffee. Why was he here? She turned to see him with his elbows on the tabletop, resting his head on his hands. Tired? Defeated? Something seemed to have put a massive dent in his usual self-assured confidence.
She slid a mug of coffee in front of him. ‘I assumed black but here’s frothed milk and sugar if you want.’
‘Black is what I need,’ he said. He put both hands around the mug and took it to his mouth.
Without a word, she put a thick chunk of fresh fruit bread, studded with figs and apricots, from her favourite baker in King Street in front of him. Then a dish of cream cheese and a knife. ‘Food might help,’ she said.
He put down his coffee, gave her a weary imitation of his usual glower and went to pick up the bread. ‘Let me,’ she said and spread it with cream cheese.
What was it about this man that made her want to comfort and care for him? He was a thirty-two-year-old billionaire, for heaven’s sake. Tough, self-sufficient. Wealthier than she could even begin to imagine. And yet she sometimes detected an air of vulnerability about him that wrenched at her. A sense of something broken. But it was not up to her to try and fix him. He ate the fruit bread in two bites. ‘More?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘It’s good,’ he said.
Andie had to be honest with herself. She wanted to comfort him, yes. She enjoyed his company. But it was more than that. She couldn’t deny that compelling physical attraction. He sat at her kitchen table, his leather jacket slung on the back of the chair. His tanned arms were sculpted with muscle, his T-shirt moulded ripped pecs and abs. With his rough-hewn face, he looked so utterly male.
Desire, so long unfamiliar, thrilled through her. She wanted to kiss him and feel those strong arms around her, his hands on her body. She wanted more than kisses. What was it about this not-my-type man who had aroused her interest from the moment she’d first met him?
When he’d eaten two more slices of fruit bread, he pushed his plate away and leaned back in his seat. His sigh was weary and heartfelt. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I didn’t realise I was hungry.’
She slipped into the chair opposite him and nursed her own cooling cup of coffee to stop the impulse to reach over and take his hand. ‘Are you able to tell me about your dilemma?’ she asked, genuinely concerned.
He raked his hands through his hair. ‘My ex-wife is causing trouble. Again.’
In her research into Dominic, Andie had seen photos of Tara Hunt—she still went by his name—a petite, pale-skinned redhead in designer clothes and an over-abundance of jewellery.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, deciding on caution in her reaction. ‘Do you want to tell me about it?’ Was that why he wanted to see her? To cry on her shoulder about his ex-wife? Dominic didn’t seem like a crying-on-shoulders kind of guy.
He went to drink more coffee, to find his mug was nearly empty. He drained the last drops. ‘You make good coffee,’ he said appreciatively.
‘I worked as a barista when I was a student,’ she said.
She and Anthony had both worked in hospitality, saving for vacation backpacker trips to Indonesia and Thailand. It seemed so long ago now, those days when she took it for granted they had a long, happy future stretched out ahead of them. They’d been saving for a trip to Eastern Europe when he’d died.
She took Dominic’s mug from him, got up, refilled it, brought it back to the table and sat down again. He drank from it and put it down.
Dominic leaned across the table to bring him closer to her. ‘Can I trust you, Andie?’ he asked in that deep, resonant voice. His intense grey gaze met hers and held it.
‘Of course,’ she said without hesitation.
He sat back in his chair. ‘I know you’re friends with journalists, so I have to be sure what I might talk to you about today won’t go any further.’ The way he said it didn’t sound offensive; in fact it made her feel privileged that he would consider her trustworthy. Not to mention curious about what he might reveal.
‘I assure you, you can trust me,’ she said.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Tara found out about my impending deal with Walter Burton and is doing her best to derail it.’
Andie frowned. ‘How can she do that?’
‘Before I married Tara, she worked for my company in the accounts department. She made it her business to find out everything she could about the way I ran things. I didn’t know, but once I started dating her she used that knowledge to make trouble, hiding behind the shield of our relationship. None of my staff dared tell me.’
‘Not good,’ Andie said, wanting to express in no uncertain terms what she thought of his ex, yet not wanting to get into a bitching session about her.
‘You’re right about that,’ he said. ‘It’s why I now never date employees.’
His gaze met hers again and held it for a long moment. Was there a message in there for her? If she wasn’t a contractor, would he ask her out? If she hadn’t promised her partners to stay away from him, would she suggest a date?
‘That policy makes...sense,’ she said. What about after Christmas, when she and Dominic would no longer be connected by business? Could they date then? A sudden yearning for that to happen surprised her with its intensity. She wanted him.
‘It gets worse,’ he continued. ‘A former employee started his own business in competition with me—’ Andie went to protest but Dominic put up his hand. ‘It happens; that’s legit,’ he said. ‘But what happened afterwards wasn’t. After our marriage broke up, Tara used her knowledge of how my company worked to help him.’
Andie couldn’t help her gasp of outrage. ‘Did her...her betrayal work?’
‘She gave him the information. That didn’t mean he knew how to use it. But now I’ve just discovered she’s working with him in a last-minute rival bid for the joint venture with Walter Burton.’
Andie shook her head in disbelief. ‘Why?’ Her research had shown her Tara Hunt had ended up with a massive divorce settlement from Dominic. Per day of their short marriage, she had walked away with an incredible number of dollars.
