Page 23 of Return of the Outback Billionaire

‘Is your father meeting you there?’

‘Er...’ She still hadn’t heard from him. ‘I’m going to go with no.’

‘He still hasn’t been in touch,’ he guessed flatly.

‘No, and I’m worried about him, but that’s a different conversation.’

‘I can come to Sydney a day earlier with you. Not a problem.’

Oh. ‘Even if it’s awkward between us?’

‘When is it not?’

The man had a point. ‘Okay, well, thank you. Wednesday departure, then, and a Saturday return.’ How had she managed to add another day to the trip rather than cutting him loose? Good job, dimwit. Really good job. ‘It’s really not a problem if I go alone. You saw me at the ball, navigating people with ease.’ Slight stretch of the truth there. ‘I am all prepped.’

‘Good to hear, but I’m still coming with you.’ She could hear the iron in his voice. ‘I gave you my word.’

CHAPTER FIVE

SYDNEY HARBOUR GLITTERED like the jewel it was as the plane banked hard, allowing Bridie a bird’s eye view of the bridge, the Opera House, the skyscrapers and the roofscapes of the suburbs beyond. She and Judah had flown first-class commercial from Cairns, picking up the final leg of an inbound plane’s international flight, and from the moment she’d boarded, Bridie had been having a champagne experience.

And her pleasure might just be contagious, given Judah’s wry grin every time food or beverages were offered.

She’d opted for an easy-travel fabric—synthetic, lightweight, no crush—and the draping neckline of her shirt likely plunged a little too low, and her shoes were once again sky-high, but she’d added a scarf in every imaginable shade of blue and draped it just so, and she was surviving the nakedly admiring glances strangers kept giving her with surprising nonchalance.

Pretty woman. She’d owned that label once and made a career of it. It had brought Laurence into her life, but it had also opened her up to the world beyond Devil’s Kiss, and that world had once been her oyster. Maybe it could be again.

All she needed was confidence enough to seize it. Blazing confidence.

Except for those moments when she kept fiddling with the bracelet Judah had given her, or twisting her engagement ring around and rubbing at the stones with the pad of her thumb and hoping to hell those pretty stones didn’t fall out on her watch. Maybe if she sat on her hands...that might help, but then Judah would probably ask if she was scared of flying and she would have to either nod and lie or confess to their ‘engagement’ bothering her more than she wanted to admit.

He was all easy control, with a coiled energy simmering beneath that mighty fine skin, and if she could just duplicate that combination, borrow some of his armour for the weekend, that would be great. Shake off the nervous tension that not even two glasses of very fine champagne could dim.

There would be a car and a driver waiting to take them to the hotel once they landed. She’d brought two pictures with her for delivery to the gallery, all bubble-wrapped and boxed, so as to stay undamaged during the trip. The curator had seen the images already and immediately wanted to hang both—a move Bridie had yet to give the go-ahead. Judah hadn’t seen them, and if she wanted to use them in the exhibition, he needed to.

Not that he was truly recognisable. More of an outline bitten by rain, but it was him.

There was such a thing as permission, and she didn’t have it and that was a problem.

Just ask him.

‘Judah?’

He looked up from the newspaper he’d been reading, eyes like flint.

She chickened out at the last moment. ‘Would you like to swap seats? The view’s really good.’

‘Keep looking,’ he murmured. ‘You’re the landscape photographer.’

And there was her cue. ‘Sometimes I take pictures of people. People in landscapes. Sometimes they turn out really good. Good enough to exhibit.’

He knew exactly what she was talking about, she’d stake her life on it. But he made no comment at all as he turned his attention back to the newspaper.

‘If art is a journey, then you’re part of my journey and your freedom is the finish line when it comes to my current body of work,’ she continued doggedly.

‘Do what you want with the photos you took,’ he muttered, without looking up.

‘I’d like you to see the one I have in mind for the exhibition,’ she pressed. ‘You’re in it. You’re facing away from the camera, but it’s you.’

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