The Wedding Planner and the CEO. Alison Roberts

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Blake’s arm with some urgency. ‘Come on, babes. We’ve got to find a song.’

      ‘I’ll have a think, too,’ Penelope called after them. ‘I’ve got my iPod and I need a bit of a walk.’

      * * *

      There was a third-floor level on each of the wings of the house, set back enough to provide an upstairs terraced area. Rafe fancied one of these rooms as his bedroom and that was where he headed. He already knew that he’d have the best view of the lake and garden from that terrace. It took a few minutes to get there. Was he crazy, thinking he could actually live in a place this big?

      By himself?

      He had plenty of friends, he reminded himself as he stepped over the braided rope on the stairs marking the boundary of public access. The guys in the band would want to make this place party central. And it wasn’t as if he’d be here that much. He had his apartments in New York and London and he was looking at getting one in China, given that he spent a lot of time there sourcing fireworks. He’d need staff, too. No way could he manage a house this size. And he’d probably need an entire team of full-time gardeners, he decided as he stepped out onto the bedroom terrace. Just clipping the hedges of that maze would probably keep someone busy for weeks.

      In fact, there was someone in there right now. Rafe walked closer to the stone pillars edging the terrace and narrowed his eyes. The figure seemed to know its way through the maze, moving swiftly until it reached the grass circle that marked the centre.

      Penelope. Of course it was. Hadn’t she said she needed a walk? She stopped for a moment with her head down, fiddling with something in her hand. Her iPod? And then she pressed her fingertips against her ears as though she was listening carefully to whatever music she had chosen.

      Rafe should have been scanning the grounds on the far side of the lake and thinking about positioning things like the scissor lift he’d need to hold the frame for the lancework of doing the names in fireworks to end the show. Instead, he found himself watching Penelope.

      She was kicking her shoes off, which was probably sensible given that heels would sink into that grass. But then she did something that made Rafe’s jaw drop. Blew whatever it was he’d been thinking of her right out of the water.

      She started dancing.

      Not just the kind of unconscious jiggle along with the beat either. She was dancing like she thought no one could see her which was probably exactly what she did think, tucked into the centre of that maze with its tall, thick hedges.

      Rafe leaned into the corner of the terrace, any thoughts of planning a show escaping irretrievably. His eyes narrowed as he focused on the slim figure moving on her secret stage.

      An amused snort escaped him. No wonder she needed to hide herself away. She was rubbish at dancing. Her movements were uncoordinated enough to probably make her a laughing stock on a dance floor.

      But then his amusement faded. She was doing something she believed was private and she was doing it with her heart and soul. Maybe she didn’t really know how to dance but she was doing more than just hearing that music—she was a part of it with every cell of her body.

      Rafe knew that feeling. That ability to lose yourself in sound so completely the rest of the world disappeared. Music could be an anaesthetic that made even the worst kind of pain bearable.

      Impossible not to remember wearing headphones and turning the sound level up so loud that nothing else existed. So you couldn’t hear the latest row erupting in the new foster home that meant you’d be packed up before long and handed around again like some unwanted parcel.

      Impossible not to still feel grateful for that first set of drums he’d been gifted so many years ago. Or the thrill of picking up a saxophone for the first time and starting the journey that meant he could do more than simply listen. That meant he could become a part of that music.

      It was another world. One that had saved him from what this one had seemed doomed to become.

      And he was getting the same feeling from watching Penelope being uninhibited enough to try and dance.

      What was that about?

      He’d sensed that what you could see with Penelope Collins wasn’t necessarily real, hadn’t he? When she’d admitted she knew nothing about setting up a fireworks show. Watching her now made him more sure that she was putting up a front to hide who she really was.

      Who was the person that was hiding?

      Or maybe the real question here was why did he want to know?

      He didn’t.

      With a jerk, Rafe straightened and forced his gaze sideways towards the lake and the far shore. Was there enough clearance from the trees to put a scissor lift or two on the ground or would the safety margins require a barge on the water? He’d bring one of the lads out here first thing tomorrow and they could use a range finder to get accurate measurements but he could trust his eye for now. And he just happened to have an aerial photograph of the property on his laptop, too. Pulling a notepad and the stub of a pencil from the back pocket of his jeans, he started sketching.

      By the time he’d finished what he’d wanted to do he was five minutes late for the time they’d agreed to meet back on the terrace. Not that it made him hurry down the stairs or anything but he wouldn’t have planned to stop before he turned into the ballroom and headed for the terrace. The thought only occurred to him when he saw the iPod lying on the hall table, on top of that clipboard Penelope carried everywhere with her.

      If he took a look at what she’d played recently, could he pick what it was that she’d been dancing to? Get some kind of clue to solve the puzzle of who this woman actually was?

      * * *

      Clarissa and Blake were late getting back from lunch and, judging by the looks on their faces, they hadn’t managed to agree on the music to accompany their fireworks show.

      Which meant that Rafe would most likely pull the plug on doing it at all.

      He came through the French doors from the ballroom at the same time as the young couple were climbing the stairs from the garden.

      ‘Did you decide?’ Rafe asked.

      ‘We tried,’ Clarissa groaned. ‘We really did...’ Her face brightened. ‘But then we thought you’re the expert. We’ll let you decide.’

      Penelope bit back the suggestion she’d been about to make. Throwing ideas around again would only take them back to square one and this was a potentially quick and easy fix.

      But Rafe lifted an eyebrow. ‘You sure about that? Because I reckon I’ve found the perfect song.’

      ‘What is it?’

      ‘Doesn’t matter,’ Blake growled. ‘You promised you wouldn’t argue this time.’

      ‘Have a listen,’ Rafe said, putting his laptop on the table and flipping it open. He tapped rapidly on the keyboard. ‘I think you might like it.’

      It only took the first two notes for Penelope to recognise the song and it sent a chill down her spine. The very song she’d been about to suggest herself. How spooky was that?

      ‘Ohhh...’ СКАЧАТЬ