Billionaire Bosses Collection. Кэрол Мортимер

smile to fool him. ‘Fine.’

      She’d ensure everything was fine tonight, for come tomorrow their dalliance would be over. But for a fleeting moment she wished she had Bruno’s selfish streak and could demand this wasn’t the end.

      ‘Hey, surf dude, when are you going to introduce us?’ A tall, broad-shouldered guy who had the Flett blond good-looks sat next to Archer and jostled him.

      Archer grinned and elbowed him back. ‘Callie, this is my cousin Jonesy.’ He draped a proprietorial arm across the back of her chair. ‘Jonesy, this is my friend Callie.’

      ‘You’re a stunner.’ Jonesy reached across Archer and shook her hand vigorously, his smile goofy rather than leery.

      ‘Thanks,’ she said, grateful when Jonesy started interrogating Archer about wave conditions for the upcoming season.

      Friend.

      He’d introduced her as his friend, and while it might be the truth it sounded so distant after what they’d shared.

      All her one-on-one pep talks with her voice of reason meant nothing in the face of reality.

      Mistletoe kisses, passionate love in the sand dunes and cuddles on the balcony aside, she was right back to where she’d been in Capri.

      Wishing for a miracle.

      Wishing for him to love her.

      After what she’d been through with her mum, she’d given up on miracles a long time ago.

      What could be so different now?

      But she wouldn’t waste her life pining. She’d move on ASAP.

      Starting first thing in the morning.

      * * *

      Archer couldn’t figure it out. One minute Callie had been kissing him with all the passion and exuberance he’d come to expect from her, the next she’d retreated.

      Not that it was obvious to anyone but him. She danced and giggled and ate two pieces of red velvet wedding cake, apparently having a ball.

      But he could tell. Every time she glanced his way he saw the shadows. Fleeting, willow-o-the-wisp flickers of...what? Pain? Regret? Disappointment?

      He’d wanted to ask what was wrong on their drive home, but she’d been trying hard to fill the awkward silence, chatting non-stop about his family and the ceremony and the exchanging of gifts. And he’d been happy to let her talk, still trying to assimilate the truth behind his dad’s secrecy all those years ago.

      He’d wanted to thank her for encouraging him to swallow his pride and give his family a go, for making him see beyond his anger and resentment. But she hadn’t stopped talking. Anything to avoid silence.

      Yeah, there was definitely something wrong. Or maybe she just felt weird about their impending departure tomorrow?

      Not that she should. He had it all figured out. Make tonight a night to remember, wake up with her in his arms Christmas morning, then talk to her when they arrived back in Melbourne.

      He had a rough plan that he’d come up with over the last few hours.

      His dad was right. His pushy brothers were right.

      Callie was a keeper.

      He’d be a fool to let her go.

      He hadn’t figured out all the logistics yet. He’d never done a long-distance relationship. Hopefully with a little help from her they’d figure out how this would work.

      The thought of having her in his life made him want to ditch the tux, grab his board and head for the beach—but to celebrate, not to escape. He wanted to crest a wave, ride a tube, to see if anything could beat the adrenalin rush of realising he didn’t have to lose Callie.

      Not this time.

      ‘I know you said no gifts, but I’ve got you something,’ she said, strolling towards him on the balcony before sliding onto the love seat next to him.

      He shook his head. ‘Should’ve known you wouldn’t listen,’ he said, wondering what she’d think of his gift when he presented it to her tomorrow.

      He’d arranged it online ten minutes ago, as part of his grand plan, while she’d been ‘turning back into a pumpkin’—her words, not his—exchanging her dress and up-do for T-shirt, leggings and a loose ponytail that left tendrils curling around her face.

      She looked tousled and tired and casual, and she’d never looked so beautiful.

      ‘It’s nothing big. I brought it with me. Didn’t want to be caught empty-handed. It’s not much.’

      She was bordering on babbling, and he covered her hand with his to calm her. ‘It’s from you. I’ll love it.’

      Darting a nervous glance at him, she gnawed on her bottom lip, her nerves puzzling. It was only a gift. Then again, considering the yearning he’d glimpsed when his family were handing out gifts after the wedding, and the way she’d clammed up about her family celebrating the Christmas holidays, he figured maybe presents were a big deal for her.

      He took his time, tugging on the gold ribbon, fiddling with the knot, sliding his finger under the sticky-tape.

      ‘Hurry up,’ she said, practically squirming with impatience.

      ‘I see you’re a rip-it-off-in-one-quick-move girl,’ he said, putting her out of her misery by tearing the paper in three broad strips to reveal something that snatched his breath with the same surreal, suffocating sensation he’d had being caught in a rip once.

      ‘What—? How—?’

      He remembered the day they’d stumbled upon the tiny glassblower’s cottage as if it was yesterday. It had been their third day together in Capri—a day filled with swimming in a pristine ocean, sharing grilled calamari and fresh bread for lunch, indulging in a decadent session of afternoon delight, before strolling hand in hand through the cobbled streets.

      They’d laughed and jostled and snuggled, typical holiday lovers, and discovering the cottage with exquisitely made glass figurines had made Callie’s day. She loved that kind of thing, and he’d indulged her by going in, surprised by the wizened old guy who looked about a hundred creating mini-masterpieces.

      The porpoises had caught his attention because he’d seen some during his first major competition, and he’d labelled them his good luck charm ever since.

      He’d commissioned a Californian artist to carve a replica of these little glass guys a few years ago, and it took pride of place in the entry hall of his Malibu home.

      A home that, like the rest of them, he barely visited.

      ‘You thought it was cool when we went into that glassblowing shop in Capri, so I went back and bought it. I was going to give it to you that last day, but...’ She trailed off, not needing to finish.

      He’d acted like a jackass, deliberately saying stuff he didn’t mean before he let another person get close. Easier to depend on no one and avoid the ultimate let-down.

      ‘Reading too much into a holiday fling...nothing more than a bit of fun...lighten up before you scare off more guys.’

      The words came back to haunt him. Come tomorrow he’d make amends and say the words she wanted to hear.

      He had all night to work on his delivery. When he wasn’t making love to her, that was.

      ‘I was a jerk.’

      ‘Yeah, but you were right.’

      He didn’t like her emotionless tone, or her shuttered expression as he turned over the delicately intertwined frolicking porpoises.

      ‘I can’t believe you’ve kept them all these years.’

      She ran a fingertip along their fins, a soft, wistful sigh escaping her lips. ‘I actually