Page 77 of Wedding Crasher

‘You’re a diamond, Eve, I owe you big time for this.’

He snapped his visor shut and the bike growled into life under his hands.

Eve watched him roar away with her arms folded across her chest. What was there not to love about a gorgeous man on a dirty, great motorbike? Romantic too, if his gift choice was anything to judge him by.

There was one very lucky lady out there somewhere.

Marla combed her damp hair through with water-crinkled fingers. She’d soaked for far too long in the bath, but the heavenly scent of nectarine and honey had been too sublime for her to tear herself away.

Besides, there was no hurry. The day stretched out ahead of her like a sheet of silk, to be slowly luxuriated in and enjoyed.

She slid out of her robe and into the brand-new La Perla white lace underwear she’d laid out on the bed. A birthday gift from her mother, although picked out by Marla, of course. Cecilia had never been one to give much thought to gifts. She preferred to wave her credit card around and for the magic to just happen. Not that Marla begrudged her on this occasion; one glance in her knicker drawer was enough to confirm her status as a class-A lingerie junkie, and these babies were a very welcome addition to her collection.

She turned, pausing to study her reflection in the dressing table mirror, appreciating the cleavage-enhancing effect of the balconette bra. In a perfect world she’d like to have woken up that morning to find that her 34B boobs had gone up a cup size for her birthday, but in the absence of magic wishes, couture wizardry would do nicely.

The September sunshine warmed her skin through the window, and she bypassed the jeans she’d planned to wear, reaching instead for a white cotton sundress. With any luck she’d be in the garden drinking Bellinis this afternoon and the dress would be perfect for catching a few rays.

Spending your birthday alone might not be everyone’s idea of a barrel of laughs, but long spells alone as a child had equipped Marla with self-reliance by the bucketload. It was a feeling that went way deeper than being content with her own company; it was a visceral need for solitude that she had been denied since her mom and Brynn’s arrival, leaving her distinctly frayed around the edges.

Throw the debacle with Rupert into the mix and stir well, and it was hardly surprising that the prospect of a little peace and quiet held such allure.

A couple of sun-warmed and languid hours later, Marla’s book slipped from her fingertips as she dozed, an empty champagne flute on the grass beside her lounger. Half awake and half asleep, she thought she heard someone call her name and struggled up through the hazy layers.

Had she dreamt it?

Nope, there was definitely someone calling her. A deep, male voice, with an unmistakable lilt and a delicious roll of the R in the middle of her name.

Jeez, what was Gabe doing here?

Marla scrabbled to her feet, her cheeks pink from the sun and two peach Bellinis.

She tiptoed through the back door into the kitchen and jumped as he rapped on the front door.

‘Come on Marla, I know you’re in there.’

How the frig did he know? She could be out. She could be shopping, or ice-skating, or even out with an actual real live man! How dare he assume that she would be home just because he’d deigned to visit?

She fell onto her knees commando-style and crawled around the edge of the living room, staying out of sight in case he looked through the window. Her dress snagged on the floorboards, and laughter at her own absurdity bubbled in her throat.

He’d gone quiet at last.Oh God. Was he listening out for her?

She stopped dead by the hall doorway and eyeballed the front door. Crap, he was still there, she could see his silhouette through the glass. And double crap, he could probably see hers, at least enough to know she was skulking around on the floor like a burglar in her own home. She held her breath and debated her next move. The mature thing would be to stand up and answer the door. Could she make up some excuse about not having heard it? He would be too polite to point out that he’d spotted her doing her best canine impression, and she could get rid of him.

She squinted at his outline through the glass. He seemed to be messing around in his pockets, and she was just about to get up off all fours and bluff it out when he bent down too.

Shit! Oh God! Please don’t look through the letterbox!

Marla stayed glued to the spot in horror, but instead of peeping at her, he pushed a small folded piece of paper through. It skittered across the polished floor towards her, and she inched her arm forward to grab it. She stared at it in confusion. Why was he giving her his old petrol receipt? Was he trying to claim that she owed him reimbursement for fuel? She racked her woozy brain to no avail, until finally she noticed there were words scrawled across the back. She flipped it over.

‘I can see you. Open the damn door.’

Oh, the shame.Marla let her head drop onto the wooden floor for a second and wished it would open up and swallow her. Then inspiration struck.

She opened the letterbox and tilted her head to the side next to it, which was no mean feat given that it was less than three inches off the floor.

‘I’m looking for my earring, if you must know,’ she yelled, and threw her arms around under the table in an exaggerated fashion to search for the non-existent missing jewellery. She heard him laugh, a rumble that shuddered through the door and all the way into her bones.

She hauled herself onto her feet and glanced in the hall mirror. Christ, her hair was a sight. It had dried naturally in the garden as she’d snoozed and turned into a holy red mess. She pushed it behind her ears and threw back her shoulders. If he would be so impertinent as to turn up on her doorstep uninvited, then he’d just have to take her as he found her. She swallowed hard and opened the door, braced for the inevitable chemical reaction.