The Bridesmaid's Baby Bump. Kandy Shepherd

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СКАЧАТЬ she’d danced with Jake and let herself indulge in a fantasy that there could be something between them one day. But she prided herself on her self-control. Eliza allowed herself a moment to let her eyes feast on him, in the same way she would a mouthwatering treat she craved but was forbidden to have. Then she ducked her head and hid behind the pale pink pages of her favourite financial newspaper.

      Perhaps she hadn’t ducked fast enough—perhaps she hadn’t masked the hunger in her gaze as successfully as she’d thought. Or perhaps Jake had noticed her when he came in as readily as she had noticed him.

      Just moments later she was aware of him standing in front of her, legs braced in a way that suggested he wasn’t going anywhere. Her heart started to thud at a million miles an hour. As she lowered the newspaper and looked up at him she feigned surprise. But the expression in his green eyes told her she hadn’t fooled him one little bit.

      She gathered all her resolve to school her face into a mask of polite indifference. He could not know how much he’d hurt her. Not hurt. That gave him too much power. Offended. His divorce had been splashed all over the media for the last three months. Yet there’d been no phone call from him. What a fool she’d been to have expected one. She’d obviously read way too much into that memorable ‘next time’ farewell.

      Eliza went to get up but he sat down in the vacant seat next to her and angled his body towards her. In doing so he brushed his knee against her thigh, and she tried desperately not to gasp at his touch. Her famed self-control seemed to wobble every which way when she found herself within touching distance of Jake Marlowe.

      He rested his hands on his thighs, which brought them too close for comfort. She refused to let herself think about how good they’d felt on her body in that close embrace of their dance. She could not let herself be blinded by physical attraction to the reality of this man.

      ‘Eliza,’ he said.

      ‘Jake,’ she said coolly, with a nod of acknowledgment.

      She crossed her legs to break contact with his. Made a show of folding her newspaper, its rustle satisfyingly loud in the silence between them.

      There was a long, awkward pause. She had no intention of helping him out by being the first one to dive into conversation. Not when he’d treated her with such indifference. Surely the thread of friendship they’d established had entitled her to better.

      She could see he was looking for the right words, and at any other time she might have felt sorry for this intelligent, successful man who appeared to be struggling to make conversation. Would have fed him words to make it easier for him. But she knew how articulate Jake could be. How he had charmed her. This sudden shyness must be all part of his game. It seemed he felt stymied at seeing her by accident when he’d so obviously not wanted to see her by intent.

      She really should hold her tongue and let him stumble through whatever he had to say. But she knew there wasn’t much time before her flight would be called. And this might be her only chance to call him on the way he had broken his promise.

      Of course it hadn’t been a promise as such. But, spellbound by the magic of that royal wedding in Montovia, she had believed every word about there being a ‘next time’, when he was free. She’d never believed in fairytales—but she’d believed in him.

      Even though the lounge chairs were spaced for privacy in the business class lounge—not crammed on top of each other like at the airport gate, where she was accustomed to waiting for a flight—she was aware that she and Jake were being observed and might possibly be overheard. She would have to be discreet.

      She leaned closer to him and spoke in an undertone. ‘So whatever happened to getting in touch? I see from the media that your divorce is well and truly done and delivered. You’re now considered to be the most eligible bachelor in the country. You must be enjoying that.’

      Jake shifted in his seat. Which brought his thigh back in touch with her knee. She pointedly crossed her legs again to break the contact. It was way too distracting.

      ‘You couldn’t be more wrong.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I want to explain.’

      Eliza didn’t want to hear his half-hearted apologies. She glanced at her watch. ‘I don’t think so. My flight is about to be called.’

      ‘So is mine. Where are you headed?’

      It would be childish to spit, None of your business, so she refrained. ‘Port Douglas.’

      She’d been counting the days until she could get up to the resort in far north-east tropical Queensland. From Sydney she was flying to Cairns, the nearest airport. She needed to relax—to get away from everyday distractions so she could get her head around what she needed to do to ensure Party Queens’ ongoing success.

      Jake’s expression, which had bordered on glum, brightened perceptibly. ‘Are you on Flight 321 to Cairns? So am I.’

      Eliza felt the colour drain from her face. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be. Australia was an enormous country. Yet she happened to be flying to the same destination as Jake Marlowe. What kind of cruel coincidence was that?

      ‘Yes,’ she said through gritted teeth.

      Port Douglas was a reasonably sized town. The resort she was booked into was pretty much self-contained. She would make darn sure she didn’t bump into him.

      Just then they called the flight. She went to rise from her seat. Jake put his hand on her arm to detain her. She flinched.

      He spoke in a fierce undertone. ‘Please, Eliza. I know it was wrong of me not to have got in touch as I said I would. But I had good reason.’

      She stared at him, uncertain whether or not to give him the benefit of the doubt. He seemed so sincere. But then he’d seemed so sincere at the wedding. Out there on the terrace, in a place and at a time that hardly seemed real any more. As if it had been a fairytale. How could she believe a word he said?

      ‘A phone call to explain would have sufficed. Even a text.’

      ‘That wouldn’t have worked. I want you to hear me out.’

      There was something about his request that was difficult to resist. She wanted to hear what he had to say. Out of curiosity, if nothing else. Huh! Who was she kidding? How could she not want to hear what he had to say? After six months of wondering why the deafening silence?

      She relented. ‘Perhaps we could meet for a coffee in Port Douglas.’ At a café. Not her room. Or his. For just enough time to hear his explanation. Then she could put Jake Marlowe behind her.

      ‘How are you getting to Port Douglas from Cairns?’ he asked.

      ‘I booked a shuttle bus from the airport to the resort.’

      His eyebrows rose in such disbelief it forced from her a reluctant smile.

      ‘Yes, a shuttle bus. It’s quite comfortable—and so much cheaper than a taxi for an hour-long trip. That’s how we non-billionaires travel. I’m flying economy class, too.’

      When she’d first started studying in Sydney, cut off from any family support because she’d refused to toe her father’s line, she’d had to budget for every cent. It was a habit she’d kept. Why waste money on a business class seat for a flight of less than three hours?

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