Buch lesen: «A Week With The Best Man»

CHAPTER ONE

CORMAC WHARTON SAT on the curved boot of his classic car, shoes hooked a half-metre apart on the gleaming bumper, elbows resting on knees, as he watched his dog, Novak, sprint off into the small forest to his right; a streak of sleek caramel fur in search of the stick Cormac had thrown. And had been throwing for the past forty-odd minutes while he waited for the visitor to arrive.

The sound of a car belting along Beach Road beyond the high bougainvillea-drenched walls of the Chadwick estate had him sitting up, listening for a slowing engine.

Alas, it was not to be.

So, Cormac waited. And would continue to wait. For he was best man to his best mate, Grayson Chadwick, and this was wedding-related-waiting, so it was his job to help out on such occasions. Not that he wouldn’t have done so under normal circumstances. It came down to friendship. Loyalty. Respect. Balance. Duty. The pillars upon which Cormac believed a person could build a good and honest life.

Harper Addison—Maid of Honour and The Person Cormac Had Been Waiting Forty Long Minutes For—appeared to have other ideas.

With only days to spare until her sister Lola’s big day, Harper had finally deigned to drag herself onto a plane to join them. She hadn’t condescended to actually let anyone know she was even on her way until she’d landed. Then, refusing to wait for someone to pick her up in Melbourne, she’d hired a car instead to meander down the Great Ocean Road to Blue Moon Bay at her leisure.

Lola claimed she didn’t mind not knowing exactly when her sister would arrive. That she understood how busy her sister was. Cormac knew better. He knew all about keeping the family peace.

A crunch of claws heralded Novak’s return as the dog bolted across the bright white gravel driveway, ears flapping, fur gleaming in the summer sun, before coming to a panting halt. Her tongue lolled around the mangled stick as she looked up at him, all liquid eyes filled with adoration and trust. It was a hell of a thing, even from a dog.

“Good girl,” Cormac said, and Novak carefully placed the damp stick into his upturned palm. He gave her silky ear a rub. “Ready?”

Novak’s nose quivered.

“Fetch!” he called as with a flick of the wrist he launched the stick. It whistled winningly as it soared through the air and into the bush beyond. And then Novak was gone, a rocket of joy bounding off into the shrubs.

When Cormac looked back to the driveway it was to see an unfamiliar car pulling through the gates.

“Here we go,” he murmured as with hands flat to the warmed metal he launched himself to the ground. There he twisted at the waist and stretched his arms over his head, before running his slobber-covered hands down the sides of his jeans.

Not a hire car, he saw as it rounded past him. A long black Town Car, the kind that came with a driver and windows so dark he could not see inside. For the hour-and-a-half drive from Melbourne it was a little too much. Even for Blue Moon Bay, which was not short on folk with more money than sense.

So, what did that make Harper Addison?

Cormac tried to call up a mental image of what she’d looked like in high school.

A year or two below him, wasn’t she the one who had hung around the bottom of the D-Block staircase, tin in hand, collecting coins for whatever down-on-their-luck soul had appeared in the news that week? He saw unruly brunette curls, ripped jeans, smart mouth and a frown.

Lola Addison, on the other hand, was a sweetheart; bright, happy-go-lucky, with an easy irreverence. His hazy recollection of Harper felt about as far from Lola as one could get.

The Town Car pulled to a halt at the bottom of the wide stone stairs leading up to the house. A moment later a silver-haired driver in a peaked hat and black suit alighted from the car and shuffled to the back door before opening it with a flourish.

Then, like something out of a classic Hollywood flick, a woman’s shoe—the colour of champagne with a heel like an ice pick—uncurled from inside the car to stab the graveled ground.

The second shoe dropped, followed by a pair of long legs.

The woman attached to the legs came last, a hand tipped with shiny black fingernails curving over the top of the door as she disregarded the outstretched hand of the driver and pulled herself to standing, slammed the door shut and stared up at the Chadwicks’ house.

Not an unruly brunette, Cormac noted as sunlight flowed over sleek, caramel-blonde waves, kicking out sparks of bronze, of gold. And no ripped jeans either, but a long, fitted, expensive-looking coat—far too much for a southern summer’s day—embroidered with the same champagne colour as those killer heels.

Clearly not the bolshie rebel he thought he’d remembered. Unsurprising. For him, those later high-school years were pretty much a blur.

The driver moved in to ask her a question right as a mobile-phone tone sounded loudly in the restive silence. She stayed the driver with a hand as she answered the call with a clear, “Yes?”

Was she for real? Cormac coughed out a laugh. Then ran a hand up the back of his head as he counted down the hours until the wedding. The hours he’d have to make nice with his counterpart in the lead-up. When he could have been working. Surfing. Staring into space. Any of which would be a better use of his time.

Friendship, he reminded himself. Loyalty. Respect. Balance. Duty.

The driver glanced Cormac’s way, his face working as if unsure what his next move ought to be. Cormac lifted his hand in a wave and half jogged towards the car to take the passenger off the poor guy’s hands.

As if she’d heard his footsteps encroaching, the woman turned.

Cormac’s pace slowed as if his batteries had drained, till he came to a complete stop.

For the woman was a fifties femme fatale brought to life. A swathe of shining hair curled over her right eye. Shadows slashed under high cheekbones. Full nude lips sat slightly apart, as if preparing to blow a kiss.

Cormac found himself engulfed in an instant thwack of heat. Like a donkey kick to the gut, it literally knocked the breath right out of him.

Then she flicked her hair from her face with a single, sultry shake of her head, said something into her phone before dropping it into a structured bag hooked over one elbow, and then both of her eyes met his.

A flash of memory hit like a rogue wave, and he knew he’d remembered her right.

He saw himself bounding down the D-Block staircase with Gray, Adele, Tara and the rest of the school gang at his heels. There she was, the unruly brunette, homemade posters covered in pictures of flood or famine tacked to the post behind her, collection tin in hand, eyes locked on his with that same unrelenting intensity.

A wet snout pressed into Cormac’s hand and he flinched.

Eye contact broken, he glanced down. Novak leaned against his shin, his knee, his thigh, looking at him as if he was the greatest thing on earth.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, giving Novak a scratch under the chin, before pulling himself the hell together and striding over to meet the woman he’d been waiting for.

* * *

Cormac Wharton.

Of course, his had to be the first familiar face Harper saw upon arriving back on home soil for the first time in a decade.

Her breath had literally stuttered at the sight of him ambling towards her. It had taken every ounce of cool she had not to choke on it.

Harper glanced back towards the Chadwicks’ gargantuan house, hoping Lola might still come bounding towards her, arms out, hair flying, exuberantly happy to see her. Alas, she understood what Cormac’s presence meant: the Chadwicks had enlisted him to babysit. And nobody in this part of the world said no to the Chadwicks, least of all Cormac Wharton.

Her fault, she supposed, for making her arrival a surprise. But the moment she’d fulfilled her rocky last contract, she’d wanted to get on the plane and fly away as fast as she could.

Pulling herself together, Harper turned her attention back to the man in question. Dark sunglasses covered half his face. A bottle-green Henley T clung to the broadest shoulders she’d ever seen, and his jeans fit in all the right places. His haircut hadn’t changed—all preppy, chestnut spikes. The sleek toffee-coloured dog trotting at his side was new.

He looked good. Then again, Cormac Wharton had always looked good. Dark-eyed, with charm to spare and a smile that lit up a room, he’d claimed the attention of every girl in school. Including, she deeply regretted, her.

“Ma’am?”

Harper turned to find her driver still standing beside the car, awaiting instructions.

“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head and offering a quick smile. “Sam, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, Sam’s the name. And no apologies necessary. I’m used to passengers coming off long flights. May I help take your luggage inside?”

“No. Thank you. I’m not staying. Not here. This was a quick stop in case my sister was here. Seems she’s not. You were kind to drive me this far, so I’ll point the way to the hotel and then you can head home.”

“Not at all, ma’am. It’s always lovely to find myself in here. Dare say it’s one of the prettiest places on earth.”

The driver’s smile dropped a smidge when a shadow fell over the car. A shadow in the shape of Cormac Wharton.

The back of Harper’s neck prickled as it always had when he’d walked by. She shut down the sense memory, quick smart. Enough water under that bridge to require an ark.

Seeing no use in putting off the inevitable, Harper turned, bracing herself against the impact of the man, up close and personal. He’d taken off his sunglasses, hooking them over the top button on his shirt revealing an array of frightfully appealing smile lines fanning from the edges of his deep brown eyes. Then there was the sun-drenched warmth of his skin. Sooty stubble shading his jaw. And the fact that, at five-foot-nine—plus an extra four inches in heels—she had to look up.

No longer a cute jock with a knee-melting smile, Cormac Wharton was all man. Just like that a warm flutter of attraction puffed at the dust shrouding her ancient crush.

“Cormac Wharton,” she said, “as I live and breathe,” her neutral tone owing to years spent working as a professional negotiator.

“Harper Addison. Good to see you.” His voice was the same, if not a little deeper. Smooth with just a hint of rough that had always brushed against her impressionable teenaged insides like the tickle of a feather.

For a second, she feared he might lean in to kiss her cheek. The thought of him entering her personal space, stubble scuffing her cheek, warm skin whispering against hers, was enough for her to clench all over.

Thankfully he pulled to a stop, rocking forward on his toes before settling a good metre away. His dog stopped, sat, leaned against him. A female, for sure.

“I’d hoped Lola would be here,” Harper said.

Cormac shook his head, his dark gaze not leaving hers.

She waited for an explanation. An excuse. It seemed he was content to let her wait.

“Right, then I’ll head to the hotel.” She turned to Sam, the driver, who moved like lightning, hand reaching out for the handle of the car door before Cormac’s voice said “Stop.”

Sam stopped, eyes darting between them.

Harper’s gaze cut to Cormac.

He said, “Dee-Dee and Weston are expecting you to stay here.”

She shot a glance at the Georgian monstrosity that was the jewel in the immoderate Chadwick Estate. It looked back at her. Or, more specifically, down on her. Dee-Dee and Weston Chadwick might be richer than Croesus, but they couldn’t pay her enough to stay under their roof. Water under the bridge didn’t come close.

“I’ve booked a suite at the Moonlight Inn for the duration,” she said, softening the refusal with a smile. “I’ll be perfectly comfortable there.”

“Your comfort isn’t my concern.”

Harper’s smile slipped. “Then what, exactly, is your concern?”

“Gray’s comfort. Dee-Dee’s and Weston’s. And your sister’s. Lola’s had a room ready for you here for some time now, on the assumption you’d arrive sooner. Not with only days to spare.”

Harper had been in transit for over twenty-four hours. And was still a mite tender after the rare, personal unpleasantness that had tinged the last negotiation job she’d completed in London.

All she wanted was to see her sister. To hug her sister. To see for herself that Lola was as deliriously happy as she said she was. And to do so beyond the long reach of the Chadwicks and their associates.

Tangling with a passive-aggressive Cormac Wharton hadn’t been on her radar. Yet he’d just up and slapped her with the trump card; the only thing that would make her change her mind: sisterly guilt.

Jaw aching with the effort to hold back all the retorts she’d like to fling Cormac’s way, Harper turned to her driver, her voice sweet as pie as she said, “Change of plan, Sam.”

Sam squared his shoulders before flicking Cormac a dark glance. “Are you certain, ma’am? If it’s still your intention to leave, all you have to do is ask.”

She glanced at Cormac right as his mouth twitched. Nothing more than a flicker, really. Yet it did things to his face that no other smile in the history of smiles had the power to do; pulling, like an insistent tug, right behind her belly button.

“Thank you, Sam,” she said, deliberately turning her back on the younger man. “You’re a true gentleman. But if my little sister wants me to stay, then that’s what I’ll do.”

Sam clicked his heels together before heaving her suitcase and accompanying bags to the ground. She feared hauling them up the stairs to the Chadwicks’ front door might do Sam in, so before he could offer she pressed a large tip into his hand and sent him on his way, hoping she’d made the right choice as she watched the car meander slowly up the long gravel drive.

“I think you have a fan there,” said Cormac, his voice having dropped a notch.

Harper tuned to Cormac and held his gaze, despite the butterflies fluttering away inside her belly. “Where is my sister?”

“Catering check. Wedding-dress fitting. Final song choices. None of which could be moved despite how excited she was that you were finally coming home.”

Harper bristled, but managed to hold her tongue.

She was well aware of how many appointments she’d missed. That video-chatting during wedding-dress-hunts wasn’t the same as her being in the room, sipping champagne, while Lola stood in front of a wall of mirrors and twirled. That with their parents long gone from their lives she was all Lola had.

Lola had assured her it was fine. That Gray was such a help. That the Chadwicks were a total dream. That she understood Harper’s calendar was too congested for her to have committed to arriving any earlier.

After all, it was the money Harper made from her meteoric rise in the field of corporate mediation that had allowed Lola to stay on in the wealthy coastal playground of Blue Moon Bay, to finish high school with her friends, to be in a position to meet someone like Grayson Chadwick in the first place.

And yet as Cormac watched her, those deep brown eyes of his unexpectedly direct, the tiny fissure he’d opened in Harper’s defences cracked wider.

If she was to get through the next five minutes, much less the next week, Cormac Wharton needed to know she wasn’t the same bleeding heart she’d been at school.

She could do this. For Harper played chicken for a living. And never flinched.

“You sure know a lot about planning a wedding, Cormac,” she crooned, watching for his reaction.

There! The tic of a muscle in his jaw. Though it was fast swallowed by a deep groove as he offered up a close-mouthed smile. “They don’t call me the best man around here for nothing. And since the maid of honour has been AWOL it’s been my honour to make sure Lola is looked after too.”

Oh, he was good.

But she was better.

She extended a smile of her own and placed a hand on her heart as she said, “Then please accept my thanks for playing cheerleader, leaning post, party planner and girlfriend until I was able to take up the mantle in person.”

Cormac’s mouth kicked into a deeper smile, the kind that came with eye crinkles.

That pesky little flutter flared in her belly. She clutched every muscle she could to suffocate it before it even had a chance to take a breath.

Then something wet and cold snuffled under Harper’s coat and pressed against the back of her knee. With a squeak, she spun on her heel to find Cormac’s beautiful dog standing behind her. Panting softly, tail wagging slowly, it looked at her with liquid brown eyes that reminded her very much of its owner.

She was surprised to find a soft, “Oh,” escape her mouth.

“Harper,” Cormac’s voice rumbled from far too close behind her, “meet Novak. Novak, this is Harper.”

“Novak?”

“After the great and glorious Kim.”

“The actress? From Vertigo?”

A beat, then, “One and the same.”

Spending more of her life in planes and hotels than her high-rise apartment, Harper didn’t see a lot of dogs these days, so wasn’t sure of the protocol. What could she do but wave? “Hello, Novak. Have we been ignoring you?”

Novak’s tail gave a quick wag before she sat on her haunches and—No. Surely not.

“Is she...smiling?” Harper asked. “It looks like she’s smiling. Can dogs even smile?”

She looked over her shoulder to find herself close enough to Cormac to count his lashes. There were millions of the things...long, plentiful as they framed those deep, molten-chocolate eyes.

When she didn’t look away, his eyes shifted slowly between hers, lingering a beat before shifting back. Then he smiled. Turning her thoughts to dandelion fluff.

Then suddenly he was leaning towards her, a waft of sea salt, of summer, tickling her nose. Then he leant down to grab a couple of her bags, hefting the long handles over his shoulders as if they weighed nothing, and the moment passed.

She reminded herself—stridently—that he might look like the boy she’d thought worthy of secret teenaged affections, but those affections had gone up in smoke when she’d discovered he had it in him to stick in the knife. And twist.

Harper grabbed the handles of her last couple of bags and took a discreet step away.

Not discreet enough, apparently, as Cormac’s cheek kicked into a knowing smile before he said, “Could you have brought any more baggage?”

Honey, you have no idea.

“Come on, then,” he said, and with that he crunched over the white gravel and up the huge front steps of the big house.

The impressive Georgian-look manor was the first house built on the bluff over Blue Moon Bay by Weston Chadwick’s father. When the next generation relocated the head office of their world-famous surf brand to the area, making the holiday estate their permanent home, the sleepy town had fast grown into a haven for wealthy families looking for a sea change.

Those who could keep up with the Chadwicks thrived. Those who couldn’t...

“Come!” Cormac called.

Harper’s eyebrows rose sharply, until Cormac’s dog trotted up the stairs and she realised the command had not been for her.

Cormac and dog disappeared inside the double front doors as if they’d done so a thousand times before. Which they likely had.

Rumour had it that Cormac had moved into the Chadwicks’ pool house right after high school. Then he and Grayson had gone on to take law together at Melbourne University before Grayson had taken his place on the board of his family’s behemoth company, while Cormac opened up his own firm, servicing one client: the Chadwick family.

By the look of things, insinuating himself had been a smart move. As Harper made her way up the front steps, she wondered how much of his soul he’d had to give up to do it.

None of which made Harper feel any better about the fact that her little sister was about to marry into that world, that family, for good.

Well, she’d see about that.

Through the impressive two-storey foyer, walls unexpectedly lined with some pretty fabulous modern art, Harper kept eyes front as she followed Cormac up one side of a curling double staircase.

She found him in a large bedroom suite, leaning against a chest of drawers as he played with his dog’s ear.

Her bags had been placed by a padded bench at the end of a plush king-sized bed. Sunshine poured through large windows draped with fine muslin, picking out shabby-chic furnishings and duck-egg-blue trim. A vase of fresh gardenias sent out the most glorious scent.

The room was elegant and cool. It suited her to a T.

Lola, she thought, her chest tightening, knowing Cormac hadn’t been kidding. Her little sister had decorated the room with her in mind.

Harper slowly unwrapped the tie around her waist and hung her coat over the back of a padded chair, leaving her in a neat cream shift with a kick at the hem and her ubiquitous heels.

Cormac cleared his throat. She looked his way to find him watching her, his deep, rich brown eyes still holding the glint of affection he held for his hound.

“So,” she managed, “am I meant to stay in here until Lola arrives, or have you been given further instruction as to what to do with me?”

Something flickered across his eyes, but was gone before she could take its measure. His hands slid into the front pockets of his jeans, framing all he had going on down there. Not that she looked. Then he pointed a thumb over his shoulder towards the door. “You hungry?”

“I’m fine,” Harper lied, for she was starved. Sharing a meal was a tactic she often used mid-negotiation to soften up the combatants. And she would not be softened. Not by him.

“Then I guess we could stand here making awkward conversation till someone gets home.”

Harper glanced deliberately at her watch. It was two in the afternoon. On a Monday. “I vote no.”

“Hmm. Big shock.” He took a step towards the door. “If we’re up to our throats in my famous ham and mustard sandwiches there’ll be no need to make small talk. Let me make you something. Let me feed you.”

She wondered how often that line worked. By the gleam in his eye, probably every time. She actually found herself wavering towards his suggestion when a bang, a crash, a flurry of voices preceded the thunder of feet taking the stairs two at a time.

Then a whirlwind of blonde hair, yoga gear and running shoes rushed through the door and launched itself at her.

Harper’s knees hit the back of her bed as she fell, laughing despite herself.

While Lola hung on tight and cried, “You’re here! You’re really here!”

After a quick mental scan to make sure nothing was broken, Harper hugged Lola back. Hard. Drinking in the feel of her little sister, the hitch of her voice, the scent of her skin.

She squeezed her eyes shut tight when she felt the sting of tears. Not now. Not here. Not with an audience. Their story had always been a personal one. The two of them against the world.

“Of course I’m here,” Harper said through the tight clutch at her throat. “Now get off me before I crumple. Or before you bruise yourself. You are getting married this weekend, you know.”

Lola rolled away, landing on her back. “I’m getting married this weekend.”

Harper hauled herself to sitting, fixed her dress and swiped both hands over her hair. “So the rumour goes.”

A noise, movement, something had her looking back towards the door to find Cormac leaning in the doorway. Watching her.

When their eyes met he smiled. Just the slightest tilt of his mouth, but it filled her with butterflies all the same.

She felt her forehead tighten into a scowl.

For she’d been hanging out for this moment, this reunion with her flesh and blood, her heart and soul, her Lola, for so long.

And he—with his history, his link to the Chadwicks and his knowing eyes—was ruining everything.

“Oh, hi, Cormac!” said Lola as she crawled to sit beside Harper on the bed, before leaning on her like a puppy. “I didn’t see you there.”

He tilted his chin and gave her a wink, his stance easing, his eyes softening, his entire countenance lightening.

“Have you two been getting reacquainted, then? Chatting about the good old days?”

“Not sure we had much in the way of ‘old days’, did we, Harper? You were—what, a year or two below me at school?”

“A year below,” she said, her voice admirably even. Then, with a deliberate blink and a turn of her shoulders, she cut him out of the circle.

She took one of Lola’s hands in hers and pulled it to her heart, then pressed her other hand against her little sister’s face. And she drank her in like a woman starved.