Wish Upon a Wedding. Kate Hardy

you, Mac!’ She found herself shouting at him, and she didn’t know where it came from but it refused to be suppressed. ‘How can you be so selfish? Russell is recovering from a heart attack. He needs bypass surgery. He needs calm and peace and...’ Her heart dropped with a sickening thud. ‘And now I’m going to have to tell him...’ She faltered, not wanting to put into words Mac’s pitiable condition. She didn’t have the heart for it.

      Mac still didn’t speak, even though the ferocity and outrage had drained from his face. She shook her head and made for the door.

      ‘At least I didn’t waste any time unpacking.’

      * * *

      It wasn’t until the woman— What was her name again? Jo Anderson? It wasn’t until she’d disappeared through his bedroom door that he realised what she meant to do.

      She meant to leave.

      She meant to leave and tell Russ that Mac needed to be sectioned or something daft. Hell, the press would have a field-day with that! But she was right about one thing—Russ didn’t need the added stress of worrying about Mac. Mac had enough guilt on that head as it was, and he wasn’t adding to it.

      ‘Wait!’ he hollered.

      He bolted after her, hurling himself down the stairs, knocking into walls and stumbling, his body heavy and unfamiliar as if it didn’t belong to him any more. By the time he reached the bottom he was breathing hard.

      He’d used to jog five kilometres without breaking a sweat.

      When was the last time he’d jogged?

       When was the last time you had a shower?

      He dragged a hand down his face. God help him.

      He shook himself back into action and surged forward, reaching the front door just as she lugged her cases down the front steps. Sunlight. Sea air. He pulled up as both pounded at him, caressing him, mocking him. He didn’t want to notice how good they felt. But they felt better than good.

      And they’d both distract him from his work. Work you won’t get a chance to complete if Jo Anderson walks away.

      He forced himself forward, through the door. ‘Please, Ms Anderson—wait.’

      She didn’t stop. The woman was built like an Amazon—tall and regal. It hurt him to witness the fluid grace and elegance of her movements. In the same way the sunlight and the sea breeze hurt him. It hurt him to witness her strength and the tilt of her chin and the dark glossiness of her hair.

      Jo Anderson was, quite simply, stunning. Like the sunlight and the sea breeze. There was something just as elemental about her, and it made him not want to mess with her, but he had to get her to stop. And that meant messing with her.

      With his heart thumping, he forced himself across the veranda until he stood fully in the sun. His face started to burn. The burning wasn’t real, but being outside made him feel exposed and vulnerable. He forced himself down the steps.

      ‘Jo, please don’t leave.’

      She stopped at his use of her first name.

      Say something that will make her lower her cases to the ground.

      His heart hammered and his mouth dried as the breeze seared across his skin. It took all his strength not to flinch as the sun warmed his face. He dragged a breath of air into his lungs—fresh sea air—and it provided him with the answer he needed.

      ‘I’m sorry.’

      He sent up a prayer of thanks when she lowered her cases and turned. ‘Are you really? I suspect you’re merely sorry someone’s called you on whatever game it is you’ve been playing.’

      Game? Game! He closed his eyes and reined in his temper. He couldn’t afford to alienate her further.

      ‘Please don’t take tales back to Russ that will cause him worry. He...he needs... He doesn’t need the stress.’

      She stared at him. She had eyes the colour of sage. He briefly wondered if sage was the elusive ingredient he’d been searching for all morning, before shaking the thought away.

      Jo tilted her chin and narrowed her eyes. ‘I don’t take anyone’s wellbeing or health for granted, Mac. Not any more. And—’

      ‘This is my life we’re talking about,’ he cut in. ‘Don’t I get any say in the matter?’

      ‘I’d treat you like an adult if you’d been acting like one.’

      ‘You can’t make that judgement based on five minutes’ acquaintance. I’ve been having a very bad day.’ He widened his stance. ‘What do I need to do to convince you that I am, in fact, neither depressed nor suicidal?’

      He would not let her go worrying Russ with this. He would not be responsible for physically harming yet another person.

      She folded her arms and stuck out a hip—a rather lush, curvaceous hip—and a pulse started up deep inside him.

      ‘What do you need to do to convince me? Oh, Mac, that’s going to take some doing.’

      Her voice washed over him like warm honey. It was a warmth that didn’t sting.

      For no reason at all his pulse kicked up a notch. He envied her vigour and conviction. She stalked up to him to peer into his face. To try to read his motives, he suspected. She was only an inch or two shorter than him, and she smelt like freshly baked bread. His mouth watered.

      Then he recalled the look in her eyes when she’d recovered from her first sight of him and he angled the left side of his face away from her. Her horror hadn’t dissolved into pity—which was something, he supposed. It had been scorn. Her charge of selfishness had cut through to his very marrow, slicing through the hard shell of his guilt and anger.

      ‘Stay for a week,’ he found himself pleading.

      His mouth twisted. Once upon a time he’d been able to wrap any woman around his little finger. He’d flash a slow smile or a cheeky grin and don the charm. He suspected that wouldn’t work on this woman. Not now. And not back then, when he’d still been pretty, either.

      Mind you, it seemed he’d lost his charm at about the same time he’d lost his looks. Now he looked like a monster.

       It doesn’t mean you have to act like one, though.

      Her low laugh drizzled over him like the syrup for his Greek lemon cake.

      ‘I believe you’re serious...’

      Yeah? Well, at the very least it’d buy Russ another week of rest and—

      What the hell? This woman didn’t know him from Adam. She had no idea what he was capable of. He pulled himself upright—fully upright—and the stretch felt good.

      ‘Name your price.’

      He wasn’t sure if it was more scorn or humour that flitted through her eyes. She straightened too, but he still had a good two inches on her. She could try and push him around all she wanted. He—

      He grimaced. Yeah, well, if he didn’t want her worrying Russ she could push him around. Whoever happened to be bigger in this particular scenario didn’t make a scrap of difference.

      He thrust out his chin. Still, he was bigger.

      ‘Name my price?’

      He swallowed. She had a voice made for radio—a kind of solid-gold croon that would soothe any angry beast.

      ‘Well, for a start I’d want to see you exercising daily.’

      It took a moment for the import of her words rather than their sound to reach him.

      Risk being seen in public? No! He—

      ‘During daylight hours,’ she continued remorselessly.