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In a wall opposite the entry, bi-fold doors beckoned, hinging back to reveal a bedroom even larger than the living area with a pillow-laden bed so wide and inviting that the child in her was tempted to dive straight onto it. Sophie would have too, until her adult brain reminded her that Daniel was just behind her. Any sign of enthusiasm now was only going to make it more difficult for herself later on when she had to argue that this venue wouldn’t work.
She still believed it, even with the glimpse of more bures tucked between the trees. A few cabins, after all, did not make a resort. The catering facilities would have to be first rate too, though a niggle in the back of her brain told her that bures of this standard would require more than a simple barbeque on the beach every night. But whatever they were like, she told herself, the inspection was pointless. They had a venue. End of story.
‘Very nice,’ she conceded with a terse nod, schooling her face to bland, knowing Daniel was waiting for her reaction. Another door led to the adjoining bathroom with spa bath and rainforest shower head which she eyed with as much detachment and as little envy as she could manage.
But there was no denying the sudden stab of guilt. It was gorgeous, seriously gorgeous, and she couldn’t have blamed Monica in the least if she’d wanted to get married here on the island. She didn’t know what else was in store for this inspection, but a bit of dressing up could turn a bure like this into every girl’s fantasy honeymoon suite.
Her teeth scraped her bottom lip as she recalled the rooms at the Tropical Palms. Outdated. Bordering on shabby. Seriously in need of refurbishment. Whereas here…
Jake had wanted the wedding to take place in Brisbane and Monica had agreed to the Tropical Palms because she’d thought Daniel would never agree to her marriage, that he would never tolerate it, let alone offer to pay for it. And also, she had to admit, because it was the only place going at short notice that could offer a taste of the tropical paradise that Kallista was.
What if Daniel was right and Monica had always wanted to be married here? Right now she only had Daniel’s word on that, but looking around it didn’t take too much stretch of the imagination to believe it.
Had Monica suppressed her heart’s desire to be married here on Kallista because she had thought it would present the path of least resistance and accommodate both her brother’s and her fiancé’s wishes?
Which left her—as a wedding planner who promised a perfect day—where, exactly?
‘So, what do you think?’
She wheeled around so quickly that her head spun. Was it just the sight of him reclining on the side of the bed behind her and not waiting in the doorway like she’d expected? Her mouth went dry. His eyes were level with her breasts. She knew that because he was looking right at them. And once again she cursed the absence of anything she could hold up against her chest as a shield to hide her suddenly achingly hard nipples.
‘About what?’
He glanced up at her eyes, looking for all the world like a predator at ease, propped up on one elbow against the pillow-decked headrest, all long-limbed elegance sprawled ever so casually and yet with a barely suppressed energy just waiting to be unleashed.
‘About whatever you’ve been thinking about this last five minutes you’ve been staring into space.’
She swallowed, attempted a smile and was sure it came off as too contrived, but she was still too thrown by the picture of him lounging ever so casually against the wide bed to know how to compensate. If he looked that good dressed, lying on a big, wide bed, how much better would he look undressed?
Oh, no!
She knew in that moment that there was no way—no way—she wanted this wedding to take place here on Kallista. Her thoughts would be forever distracted by pictures of Daniel sprawled back against the bedding, or with the fine cotton of his shirt rippling against his bronzed olive skin as the warm wind tugged at the fabric, or with him just being there.
So she made a show of checking her watch and flashing her brightest, most meaningless smile. ‘I think we better get on with the inspection if I’m going to make my flight.’
It was as bad as she expected. There were twenty such bures, all just as superbly appointed. They were tucked between the palms around the lagoon with enough distance between them to make you think you were the only inhabitants on the island, plus there was a central long house that served as lounge-bar and restaurant.
It was worse than bad, she decided, sipping on a mango cocktail and overlooking a crystal clear pool set amidst the palms.
It was an absolute disaster.
It was perfect.
Or it could be, if not for the man sitting opposite her right now.
