Wedding Date With Mr. Wrong Page 7

  But the moment he’d strutted into her office, spouting his terms, she’d wanted to prove to herself once and for all that she was over him, that he had no hold over her despite spending seven days in her company.

  She’d been doing a good job of it too—those kisses he’d sprung on her notwithstanding—until last night.

  Following their break-up, she’d tarred Archer with the same brush as her dad: selfish, self-absorbed, a man who followed his whims without regard to anyone else. It had been a coping mechanism, labelling him so harshly.

  Yet last night—the way he’d comforted her, the way he’d been attuned to her mood and content to sit in silence—had seriously undermined her lowly opinion of him and made her seem childish in lashing out in the past because she’d been foolish enough to feel more than he had.

  Laughter drifted up from the beach and she sheltered her eyes with her hand to focus on the group by the water’s edge.

  A bunch of teenagers surrounded Archer, their boards stuck vertically in the sand like sentinels. He stood in the centre, gesturing towards the ocean, demonstrating a few moves, while the teens jostled and elbowed for prime position in front of their idol.

  Embarrassment twanged her heart. A selfish guy wouldn’t give up his precious school-set-up time to hang with a bunch of kids. Just as a selfish guy wouldn’t have taken the time to comfort her last night.

  Feeling increasingly guilty, she shut down the webpage program she’d been tweaking, scooped up her paperwork and dumped the lot inside.

  Another bonus of working here. She could take a head-clearing walk along the beach any time. And right now, remorseful, she wanted to let Archer know he wasn’t so bad after all.

  Not that she had any intention of confessing such a thing to him, but she’d been pretty remote, deliberately maintaining an invisible distance between them. Considering how great he’d been with her last night, it wouldn’t hurt for her to lighten up a tad.

  She slipped off her sandals at the bottom of the steps, loving the gritty sand squelching between her toes as she strolled towards him.

  The closer she got, the more she could see the rapt expressions on the teens’ faces, and hear Archer giving a pep talk. The guy was usually a livewire, but she’d never seen him so animated. Which made her wonder why he’d been so reticent with his brothers when he was obviously a people person.

  The pep talk must have worked because the teens let out a rousing cheer before grabbing their boards and heading for the surf.

  Archer’s eyes glowed with pride and satisfaction as he waved her over.

  ‘Did you see that?’

  She smiled and nodded. ‘Those kids think you’re a surf god.’

  ‘I just gave them a few pointers. But the way they responded...’ He shook his head, staring at the wetsuited blobs bobbing in the ocean. ‘They were blown away to hear about the surf school and asked a million questions. They’re going to tell their mates.’

  He pumped his fist. ‘I’m stoked.’

  ‘You did good.’ She touched his arm, an impulsive gesture to convey her approval, but one she regretted when he snagged her hand and tugged her close.

  ‘Your approval means a lot.’

  ‘Why?’ She eased away, needing to put a little distance between them, overwhelmed by his closeness.

  ‘Because I hate to have you think badly of me.’

  Still wrestling with her recent revelation as to his true character, she aimed for levity. ‘Come this time next week it won’t matter what I think. You’ll be hanging loose in Hawaii or Bali, and I’ll be doing an amazing job maintaining your surf school website.’

  ‘You’re wrong.’

  She pretended to misunderstand. ‘No, really, I’ll be working like a maniac on your website—’

  ‘Your opinion matters.’

  She glanced away, unable to fathom his steady stare, almost daring her to—what? Argue? Agree? Analyse?

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask me why?’

  She bit down on her bottom lip. No, she didn’t want to hear any of the deep and meaningful reasons he’d concocted. However much she regretted misjudging him all these years, she didn’t want anything from this week beyond a successful campaign.

  ‘Fine. I’ll tell you anyway.’ He released her arm, only to capture her chin, leaving her no option but to look at him. ‘You’re the only woman I’ve ever known who gets me. And, while it scares the hell out of me, I kinda think it’s cool.’

  Oh, heck. Trapped beneath the intensity of his stare, with his praise like a soft caress, she felt the inevitable pull between them flare to life.

  She couldn’t look away, couldn’t resist as their lips inched towards each other, couldn’t think of a rational reason why she shouldn’t kiss an old flame on a pristine beach.

  Old flame... Those two words penetrated her dazed fog.

  What the heck was she doing? She could blame his first two kisses on impulse, but this? This was something else entirely.

  If her opinion mattered to him, his praise mattered to her. She basked under his admiration, but letting it go to her head would be beyond foolhardy.

  She couldn’t do this. Fall under his spell. Again.

  She wasn’t the same naïve girl any more. This time she had no doubt if they had another fling it would end the same way.

  All the whispered words in the world wouldn’t change the facts: Archer lived for his freedom; she lived for making Nora’s lifespan—what was left of it—as comfortable as possible.

  Their goals were worlds apart.

  With their lips almost touching, she wrenched out of his grasp and took a few backward steps.

  ‘Callie—’

  She couldn’t bear the confusion warring with something deeper in his eyes, so she did the only thing possible.

  She turned and ran.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘WHAT do you think?’

  Callie stared at Archer’s ‘little’ surf school, not quite comprehending how the plans and architectural impressionist photos she’d used for the pre-website had morphed into this sprawling complex perched on a sheltered bluff metres from the ocean.

  ‘It’s absolutely breathtaking,’ she said, doing a three-sixty, taking in the whitewashed main building, the dorms with bright blue doors, the storeroom large enough to house her apartment three times over, and the supplies shop tucked to the left of the entrance.

  ‘You designed all this?’

  His mouth quirked. ‘Don’t sound so incredulous. I’m not just a pretty face.’

  She grimaced at his lame line. He laughed. ‘Come on, I’ll give you the grand tour.’

  He snagged her hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and she clamped down on her first urge to ease it away.

  She’d done some hard thinking after she’d bolted from the beach earlier. Confiding in Archer about her mum’s illness last night, allowing him to hold her, welcoming his comfort, followed by their closeness on the beach that morning, had solidified what she’d already known deep down.

  That spending time with him, albeit for work, had the potential to crack open the protective wall she’d erected around her heart.

  The fissures had appeared with his kisses, and they’d well and truly fractured last night, when they’d sat on that damned deck until the sun set. Throw in that moment on the beach today and...trouble.

  That was another thing. He’d been quiet last night, attuned to her need for silence while still holding her. He hadn’t prattled on with small talk designed to distract. He’d just held her, his arm wrapped solidly around her waist, his cheek resting lightly on the top of her head.

  He thought she got him? The feeling was entirely mutual and that was scarier than any reawakening feelings she might be experiencing.

  He’d been like that in Capri—attuned to her moods and desires after only just meeting. It was as if they’d fitted. She didn’t believe in love at first sight, or great loves, or romantic kismet—her pragmatic mum and sel
fish dad had ensured that—but her connection with Archer eight years earlier had defied logic.

  He’d anticipated what she’d wanted back then—more Chianti, a cotton shawl for their evening walk, another swim—but his intuition beyond the physical had impressed her the most.

  He’d tuned in to her emotionally, on some deeper level that had made her truly comfortable with him in a way she’d never been with another guy. They’d talked for hours. Usually about inconsequential stuff, childhood anecdotes, secret dreams, and she’d never recaptured that magic with any date.

  It had made their break up all the harder.

  They’d both had open-ended travel tickets and hadn’t discussed moving on. While the end of their holiday idyll had been inevitable, she’d expected to stay in contact. And a small part of her had hoped they’d reconnect in Melbourne one day.

  But all that had ended when he’d told her the blunt truth: she’d read too much into a holiday fling. What they’d shared was nothing more than a bit of fun and she needed to lighten up before she scared off more guys.

  His harsh words had hurt. Devastated her, in fact, and she’d never understood how the guy she’d grown so close to in such a short space of time could shut down emotionally and walk away without looking back.

  She’d do well to remember the past before those cracks and fissures around her heart disintegrated completely.

  Thankfully he hadn’t mentioned her bolt up the beach after their almost-kiss, and she’d been working double time to pretend everything was fine.

  She’d finish out this week without him knowing how he still affected her if it killed her.

  She pointed at a sign with her free hand. ‘I still can’t believe you called it Winki Pop Surf School. Sounds like something out of a kid’s fairytale.’

  He feigned indignation. ‘I’ll have you know Winki Pop is one of the best surf breaks around here.’ He chuckled. ‘Besides, it has a better ring to it than some of the other breaks around here.’

  ‘Like?’

  ‘Southside. Centreside. Rincon.’

  ‘I see your point. It does have a certain charm.’

  ‘’Course it would, with me as the owner.’ He winked. ‘Mr Winki, that’s me.’

  She groaned at his terrible joke, his carefree laughter reminding her of another time they’d swapped banter like this, a time she’d treasured before reality set in.

  She listened closely as they toured the school, taking mental notes. The smart thing to do would be take out her iPhone and dictate ideas, or pull out the trusty notepad she kept in her bag.

  But both activities would involve releasing Archer’s hand, and for now her blasé act depended on it. Easing her hand out of his would probably have him asking what was wrong, and if it was connected to earlier on the beach, and yada, yada, yada. She just didn’t want to go there.

  When they reached the store shed he unlocked the door and flung it open. ‘Ready to put the master touch on the online forums you suggested?’

  Confused, she glanced inside the shed lined with surfboards and wetsuits of all shapes and sizes. ‘Not sure what you mean.’

  His wicked grin alerted her to an incoming suggestion she wouldn’t like.

  ‘If you’re going to be the moderator of the school’s online forums, you need to know what it feels like to surf.’

  The incoming missile detonated and left her reeling. ‘Me? On a surfboard? Out there?’ Her voice ended on a squeak as she pointed to the expanse of ocean a short stroll away.

  ‘Yeah. And no better time to start than now.’

  Like hell. She loved swimming, loved the ocean, but no way would she klutz around like a floundering whale in front of him. Learning to surf had always been on her life’s ‘to do’ list, but here, now, with him?

  No flipping way.

  She snapped her fingers. ‘Sorry, no bathers. Maybe next time—’

  ‘I’m sure we stock your size.’

  His gaze roved her body, assessing, warming, zinging every nerve-ending along the way.

  Before she could protest further he placed a hand in the small of her back and propelled her forward.

  ‘Come on. You said surfing was on your bucket list. No time like the present to tick it off while getting first-hand experience for work.’

  Stunned he’d remembered her bucket list, she allowed him to lead her into the dim interior.

  A pungent blend of new fibreglass, rubber and coconut-scented wax tickled her nose, but through all that she could smell the potent male beside her: sunshine and sea air and pure Archer.

  He was right, of course. Knowing what learning to surf entailed would give her more credibility when she manned the surf school online forums, so technically this classified as work.

  But the part where he sized up her body, his glance as intimate as a lover’s caress, went beyond work. Way beyond.

  Her skin grew clammy as he flicked through the suits on a rack before unhooking a black wetsuit with a fuchsia zig-zag and handing it to her.

  ‘Here—this should fit.’

  A little tremor of excitement shot through her as her fingertips brushed the rubber. How long since she’d done something spontaneous and fun and just for her? Too long. And as he handed her a practical navy one-piece, she suddenly couldn’t wait to get out there.

  He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Changing rooms back there. But first let’s get you set up with a board.’

  ‘Whatever you choose will be fine.’

  He folded his arms, making his biceps bulge beneath the trendily frayed ends of his designer teal T-shirt. ‘Don’t you want to get a feel for the board in here before we head out?’

  Feeling one hundred percent novice, she wrinkled her nose. ‘Um, I’m guessing I’m supposed to say yes?’

  ‘Yeah. You need to connect with your board.’

  ‘Oh, brother,’ she muttered, rolling her eyes as they moved across to the other side of the shed, where boards stood vertically in racks. ‘Next you’ll be making that hand sign and telling me to hang loose.’

  He smirked. ‘The shaka sign is part of surf culture.’

  She extended her thumb and little finger while keeping the middle fingers curled. ‘So does this make me cool?’

  ‘Nah. You have to stay on a board longer than thirty seconds for that.’

  She laughed, watching him run his hands over the boards, sliding down the smooth surfaces, his rapt expression almost making her jealous.

  He’d once looked at her like that.

  Before he bolted without a backward glance.

  She’d do well to remember that rather than wishing she were a surfboard right about now.

  ‘This one.’ He slid a monstrous cream board etched in ochre swirls from the rack. ‘This is your board.’

  ‘Did the fibreglass speak to you?’

  His eyes narrowed in indignation. ‘Are you mocking me?’

  ‘A little.’

  ‘Let’s see who mocks who when you’re face-planting the waves,’ he said, beckoning her closer. ‘Here, you hold it.’

  The thing weighed a tonne, but she managed to hold it upright—just. ‘Feels like this thing’s made of stone.’

  ‘The best epoxy resin, actually, which makes it stronger and lighter than traditional boards.’ He took hold of her hand and ran it down the board. ‘This is called the deck.’

  He edged her hand towards the side of the board in a long, slow sweep that made her bite her lip to stop groaning out loud.

  There was something so sensual about having him stand close, his body radiating heat, warming her back, his arms outstretched and inadvertently wrapping around her, his large fingers splayed across hers as they’d once splayed across her belly.

  She swallowed and prayed he didn’t expect an answer, for there wasn’t a hope she could speak with her throat constricted.

  Her heart pounded like a jackhammer, the blood coursed through her body like liquid wildfire.

  The heat suffocated her, mak
ing breathing difficult, making thinking impossible, making her crave the insane...him shoving the board aside, ripping off her clothes, and taking her right here, right now, on the sandy floor.

  ‘The back is the tail, the forward tip is the nose, and the side edges are the rails.’ He guided her hand back to the middle and she swayed a little. ‘The concave surface from nose to tail is the rocker.’

  He moved the board side to side and she almost whimpered.

  She must have made some giveaway sound, because he wrapped his arms around her from behind, making holding the board steady impossible.

  She could feel his heat, feel how much he wanted her pressed up against her, and she’d never felt the urge to forget sanity as much as she did at that moment.

  Correction. She’d experienced the same insanity the first night they’d met—the night he’d romanced her and charmed her and convinced her that tumbling into bed in the early hours of the morning, with the Capri moonlight spilling over them and accentuating the beautiful craziness of the night, was the only possible thing she wanted.

  Which begged the question...what did she want now?

  While her mind tussled with the dilemma, her body gave a resounding response by leaning back into him.

  She heard his sharp intake of breath, felt his arms stiffen.

  She had no idea how long they stayed like that, suspended for an incredibly tension-fraught moment in time, and if it hadn’t for the beep of her darn phone indicating she had a message she had a fair idea of what might have happened.

  ‘Better get that in case it’s about Mum,’ she said, instantly missing his warmth as he released her and stepped away, managing to hold the board upright and disentangle herself from her simultaneously.

  ‘I’ll meet you outside when you’re done,’ he said, his voice husky and laced with the same passion pumping through her veins as he picked up the boards as if they weighed nothing and marched outside.

  With a sigh of regret she shook her head to clear it, fished her phone out of her pocket and checked it. The message from a client could have waited.

  This all-consuming yearning, making her want to run after Archer and drag him back to the sanctity of this shed to finish what they’d started, was not so patient.