“You are that,” I say as I put on the jacket. I turn around and catch his face between my palms. His skin is warm beneath my fingertips, and I give in to impulse and stroke the tight skin over his cheekbones, tracing a path over a few freckles while he watches me, his eyes bright and warm and rapidly filling with lust.
Leaning in, I rub my lips over his, and they part instantly. I send my tongue inside to tangle lazily with his, but I can’t maintain casualness when heat immediately roars through me. It seems to happen with him every time and it’s disconcerting. I sleep with men, and it’s hot and great but nothing more. We get off and we part ways and I like that. But I find myself wanting more with Joe, and it unnerves me a great deal.
I pull back reluctantly and see with satisfaction that his clever eyes are now hot and wanting. I pat his cheek and step away, but as I do, “I’m sorry,” falls from my lips.
His head cocks to one side. “Why?”
I shrug. “I never messaged you after the date.” I falter when his eyes sharpen. “I mean after our previous meeting,” I say quickly.
“And you’re sorry about that?” A sense of mischief clings to him like his expensive cologne.
“Yes, I think I am,” I say slowly. “I really am.”
He watches me for a second and then smiles. “Okay.”
“Just like that?” I say, astounded.
He shrugs. “I’m not much of a one for holding a grudge. It’s awfully boring. Besides we’re not really dating. If we were, you would have definitely phoned.”
“Would I?”
He nods. “Oh yes,” he says with absolute certainty. “I’m a fucking awesome boyfriend.” He winks at me. “And an incredibly hot lay when I’m going steady.”
I shake my head, a laugh escaping. “Who’s Sandy and who’s Danny?”
“Pardon?”
“Grease.”
There’s no comprehension in his eyes.
“Never mind. Before your time.”
“Nah.” He walks to the door, and I follow him out of the room. “Of course, I know who they are. I’m a wedding planner. I have an encyclopaedic knowledge of most of the romantic songs, films, and musicals of the last thirty years. You never know when you’ll be called upon to recreate something in one of them.”
“Really?” His world is so bright and colourful compared to mine, and I’m endlessly fascinated by his tales. Fascinated and terrified in equal measure. “It appears the wedding planning business is not for the fainthearted.”
“Yeah. I have to say I wasn’t keen on the House of the Dragon re-enactment. The incest storyline didn’t go down so well in Surrey. The poor vicar was a teeny bit shocked and spent the whole wedding ceremony looking like he was contemplating ringing the police.”
My deep belly laugh brings tears to my eyes. “Oh shit,” I gasp and laugh some more. I’m aware of Elliott staring at me as Joe takes my hand.
“We’ll be out for a bit,” he says kindly to Elliott. “But he’s got his phone.”
“Lachlan?” Elliott says, eyes huge.
His surprise is understandable. I never leave the office during the day unless it’s for an appointment. I come in at five and stay until seven or eight at night.
Joe is having a strange effect on my world, and it’s not entirely comfortable, like I’ve eaten too much and my skin is too tight. But I nod at Elliott and let Joe lead me downstairs and outside.
The warm breeze is fresh against my face, and I follow willingly as Joe crosses the road towards the park. Once inside the tree-filled area, he finds a path and strolls along, regaling me with details of his morning which seems to have included a mix-up on stationery, a meltdown by a groom, and an argument between the parents of the bride that makes Kramer vs. Kramer look like a romantic comedy.
“I don’t know how you do it,” I say, enjoying the sound of his voice and the gentle breeze. We settle on a bench near the pond, and I watch the sun sparkle on the blue surface. A small boy tosses breadcrumbs to the ducks with the help of his mother and his shrieks of joy are a pleasant sound.
“Wedding planning?” he asks, taking a sandwich from the bag and handing it to me. It’s roast beef and horseradish on thick slices of wheat grain bread and it makes my mouth water. Realising how hungry I am, I take a bite and groan at the taste.
He nudges me and I remember I was supposed to be answering a question. “No. Dealing with the bridal party. I’ve never yet attended a wedding that hasn’t included more strife than a day in World War Two.”
He laughs as he takes his own sandwich from the bag. “Attended many, have you?”
I shrug. “Of course. Most of my summer weekends are spent giving presents and smiling through another awful rendition of Etta James’s ‘At Last’ while the bride and groom do their first dance.”
He chuckles. “I suppose you are in demand on the circuit.” I look at him in query. “You’re rich, single, unlikely to shag the bridesmaids, and vaguely charming and therefore a catch for the occasion.”
“So, my personality isn’t the attraction? Just the fact that I’m not going to tup the bride’s retinue?”
He bites his lip to contain a smile, but it dances in those bright blue eyes. “Afraid so. Sorry to burst your bubble.”
“No, you’re not.”
He gives in and laughs, and I join him after taking a second to enjoy the catchy sound.
I take another bite of my sandwich. “This is really nice. Thank you. I hadn’t realised I was so hungry.”
“I asked my caterer to make them up while we were waiting for the groom to stop shouting. I wasn’t sure what you’d like so I just told her to make you a macho sandwich.”
I snort with laughter and a comfortable silence settles as we eat. Finally, I stir. “So how did you end up as a wedding planner?”
He smiles. “I was a deputy manager at a hotel.”
“You worked in hotel management?”
“I don’t know why you seem so shocked.”
“I suppose I think of you as Joe, the wedding planner.”
He shoots me a careless look. “I’m surprised you think of me at all.”
So am I. Surprised and concerned, but I can’t say that, so instead I say, “You’re very memorable.”
“I am that.” A few beats of silence drop and his mouth quirks.
The little fucker knows I’m dying to know, and he’s making me work for it. I feel a funny stab of admiration for him, mixed with lust. This man challenges me in a strange way, and I both like it and am nervous about it.
I shove him. “Tell me.”
His burst of laughter is loud and joyous. Two girls passing by look at him and giggle. I can’t blame them. He’s a pretty sight, with his dark hair ruffled by the wind and his blue eyes glowing.
“Okay,” he finally says. “My parents were hoteliers.”
“Really?”
He nods. “I grew up in hotels.”
“I bet that was interesting.”
“It was good fun. They started as bar managers for a hotel, and we lived there. My sister and I were shoved in whatever bedroom was free and left with a baby monitor. Our toys and books were packed in our cases so we could move quickly.”