‘Holiday romances seldom work out,’ she murmured.

‘That’s what I’ve heard.’

‘Keep reminding me that this is nothing more than a few weeks of fun, okay?’

Finn rubbed his jaw. He had to acknowledge that it would be easy to forget who they were and why they were here. They were on a fake honeymoon—emphasis on the fake—surrounded by romance and luxury, and they might easily get swept away and inadvertently slip on a pair of those rose-coloured glasses.

He—they—had to keep their eyes open, their heads in the game.

Callie turned her head and sent him a small, almost sad smile. ‘We’re on the same page?’

He rubbed his hand over his jaw before nodding briskly. ‘Just to be clear—are you saying that you’ll sleep with me?’

The tip of her tongue touched her top lip and he saw her skin flush with anticipated pleasure. Yeah, she would be his as much as he would be hers. Tonight.

Callie held his eyes as she sucked in her bottom lip. ‘Well, sleeping isn’t what we would be doing, exactly.’

Dear Reader

When I wrote THE LAST GUY SHE SHOULD CALL I got so many messages from readers asking for Callie’s story. Something about the vivacious, independent, flirty character grabbed them, and—Callie being Callie—she hasn’t stopped nagging me for her happily-ever-after since then!

When a condom falls from the pocket of a gorgeous blonde’s jacket into his lap on a flight back from New York to Cape Town, travel writer Finn Banning knows that Callie Hollis is trouble with a capital T. She’s bold and flirtatious, and somehow he finds himself in a discussion about his upcoming wedding and her feelings about love and marriage … She’s cynical and sceptical and she doesn’t buy into the concept of happy-ever-after. But Finn needs a wedding planner, and Callie gives him the name and number for her friend Rowan, who is doing just that.

Three months later the wedding is off and Finn finds himself all at sea. He’s not particularly upset about losing his fiancée, but he is devastated at the loss of his dreams to have a family. He also has a huge problem in that he’s been contracted to write a series of articles for an important publication on upmarket honeymoon destinations, to be researched while he’s on his honeymoon, and he can’t let them or the magazine down.

Nobody is more surprised than Callie when she finds herself agreeing to act as Finn’s fake wife. But needs must: she needs to vacate Cape Town to avoid meeting up with her mother, who left her and her brother Seb when they were very young, so she jumps at the chance to spend three weeks with the über-delicious Finn Banning at various luxury honeymoon destinations in Southern Africa.

It’s a perfect arrangement—she’ll be his rebound girl and he’ll be a fling, and in three weeks they’ll wave each other goodbye. Hmm…I don’t think so!

I hope you enjoy Callie’s story as much as I loved writing it.

Happy reading!

Joss xxx

Come and say hi via Facebook: Joss Wood Author or Twitter: @josswoodbooks or visit www.josswoodbooks.com

JOSS WOOD wrote her first book at the age of eight and has never really stopped. Her passion for putting letters on a blank screen is matched only by her love of books and travelling—especially to the wild places of Southern Africa—and possibly by her hatred of ironing and making school lunches.

Fuelled by coffee, when she’s not writing or being a hands-on mum, Joss, with her background in business and marketing, works for a non-profit organisation to promote the local economic development and collective business interests of the area where she resides. Happily and chaotically surrounded by books, family and friends, she lives in Kwa-Zulu Natal, South Africa, with her husband, children and their many pets.

The Honeymoon
Arrangement
Joss Wood

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Sandi, so far away but still so close to my heart.

Also for Sandi’s Chris, who brings my little technie toys.

Thanks bunches!

Table of Contents

Cover

Excerpt

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Copyright

PROLOGUE

‘MINIMALISM, MODERNISM OR IMPRESSIONISM?’

Finn Banning looked up from his seat in business class into the lovely face of a navy-eyed blonde with her hand resting on the seat in front of him. A ten-second scan told him that her body was long, lean and leggy, her waist tiny, her bright blonde hair falling way past her shoulders. Another five seconds of looking into those impish flirty eyes told him that she was Trouble. With a capital T. God, he hoped she wasn’t sitting next to him on this long-haul flight back to Cape Town from JFK.

Over the past two months his life had been turned upside down and inside out and he didn’t want to make small talk with a stranger—even if she was supermodel-gorgeous.

But he couldn’t help the corners of his mouth kicking up in response to the mischief in those amazing eyes.

‘Graffiti,’ he replied when she cocked an arrogant sculpted eyebrow.

Her mouth twitched in what he suspected was a smile waiting to bloom.

‘Whisky or bourbon?’

‘Beer.’

She tipped her head and tapped her foot, encased in what looked to be, under the hem of dark jeans, low-heeled black boots. ‘Rugby or cricket?’

He’d never played either as he’d spent every spare moment he had at the dojo. ‘I was on the UCT crochet team.’

Her mouth twitched again with amusement as the other eyebrow lifted. ‘You went to the University of Cape Town? Me too! What year? Degree?’

‘Journalism. Is there a point to these questions?’

‘Sure. I’m trying to decide whether you’re worth flirting with or whether I should ignore you for the rest of the flight.’

She flashed him a megawatt smile that had his groin twitching and his heartbeat jumping. An elegant hand gestured to the empty seat next to him.

‘My seat.’

‘Ah …’ he replied. Of course it was.

Finn watched as she tossed that bright head of relaxed curls and pushed some of them out of her eyes. Reaching for the strap over her shoulder, she dropped her leather rucksack to her feet and shrugged out of her thigh-length brown leather coat to reveal a taut, tight white T-shirt that covered small and perky breasts. Nice.

She folded the coat and stood on her toes to push it into the bin above their heads and that white T-shirt rode up to reveal a tanned, taut stomach and a beaded ring piercing the skin above her belly button. He watched, bemused, as she picked up the leather rucksack, pulled her tablet and earphones from the bag and tossed them on the seat. Holding her rucksack in her hand, she pulled a shawl from it, and as the bag tipped a thin, familiar silver foil packet fell out of a side pocket and landed on his thigh.

Finn picked up the condom and held it between his thumb and forefinger, waiting for her to look at him. When she did, instead of giving the blush he’d expected, she just flashed him another lightning bolt smile and nipped the condom out of his grip.

‘Whoops! Maybe I should introduce myself before I throw prophylactics in your direction. I’m Callie Hollis.’

‘Finn Banning.’

She wasn’t shocked that he wasn’t shocked, Finn thought as she tucked the condom into the back pocket of her jeans. Then again, after eight years as an investigative journalist before switching over to travel journalism nothing much shocked him any more. He’d seen the worst of what human beings could do to one another and, since it wasn’t the first time he’d had a condom tossed in his lap by a beautiful woman, it didn’t even make a blip on his radar.

Callie brushed past his knees and dropped into the seat next to him, wiggling her butt into the soft cushions and letting out a breathy sigh. She was all legs and arms and he would bet his last dollar that she hated economy class as much as he did—at six-two, for him it was like trying to sit in a sardine can—and that she figured the ridiculous price for a business class ticket was worth every cent.

Callie dropped her head back against the seat and then rolled it in his direction. ‘So … married or single?’

‘Why does it matter?’ he asked.

Callie grinned. ‘Well, I do this flight every month or so, and it’s been a looooong time since I’ve had someone sitting next to me who I’d want to flirt with—normally my travelling companions are old, dull or ugly. And besides, when the guy is as hot as you flirting is fun—and I’m really good at it.’

He had no problem believing that and told her so. ‘It must be because you’re so shy and timid,’ he added, his tone super-dry.

Callie laughed—a deep, belly laugh that made his stomach clench and his groin jump. ‘That’s what my best friend Rowan says all the time. Anyway, we were talking about flirting … If you’re single you get the full treatment. If you’re married I behave like a normal person.’

‘I’m in between. I’m engaged.’

‘Pooh.’ Callie pouted. ‘Well, your loss—because I flirt really, really well.’

He absolutely believed that.

Callie wiggled in her chair again, and tucked her legs up and under her. ‘So when are you getting married?’ she asked, and he could see that she’d dialled back the charm.

‘In three or so months’ time.’

She fiddled with the clasp of her seat belt and looked at him, puzzled. ‘I don’t get the whole marriage thing. What’s your reason?’

Finn stared past the lovely face to the darkness beyond her window, frowning when a quick, instinctive answer didn’t fall from his lips. Shouldn’t that be a minimum requirement when he was contemplating spending the rest of his life with someone?

Her question raised all the issues that he’d been struggling with lately. Were he and Liz doing the right thing by getting married just because Liz was five or so weeks pregnant? It was the twenty-first century—they didn’t need to get married to keep living together, to raise a child together. Were they complicating an already complicated situation? It wasn’t as if their relationship had been fantastic lately, and he was mature enough to know that a baby was hard work and might put more strain on the frayed rope that was keeping them together.

On the other hand, being parents might bring them closer …

God—a baby. He was still taking it in. He wanted to be an integral part of his child’s life and he was excited about becoming a dad. Maybe the birth of his own child would fill the hole that had appeared in his life when James died three months ago. A birth for a death, it seemed … right.

Fitting. Fated.

Finn rubbed his jaw. He was approaching his mid-thirties and he wanted to be a brilliant father to someone. James had been one to his stepbrothers, to him. He wanted to create a family of his own—something he’d only truly experienced when he was fourteen and he and his mum had joined the Baker gang—a single dad and his three sons. He wanted to be part of something bigger than himself and he and Liz had been good together once. Maybe they could be again. Actually, they didn’t have an option. They had to make it good again.

‘So, why are you getting married?’ Callie asked again.

He frowned at her, warning her off the subject. ‘None of your business.’

Callie’s low chuckle floated over him. Warning ignored, then.

‘Of course it’s not, but I’m always fascinated as to why someone would be interested in tying themselves down for ever and ever and ever …’

‘Love?’

‘Pffft. That’s just an easy excuse—a myth perpetuated by movies and books.’

‘You don’t believe in love?’ Finn asked, intrigued despite himself. Because, deep in his soul, he wasn’t sure if he believed in the fairytale version either.

To him, love was taking responsibility, showing caring, companionship and loyalty, and he firmly believed in those. Besides, Liz hadn’t got pregnant by herself, and if he was part of the problem then he would be part of the solution.

Right now it seemed that marriage was the solution.

He saw something that he thought was sadness flicker in Callie’s eyes.

‘I believe the only pure love people have is for their children, and some people don’t even have that. No, love is a generic term we use to feel safe. Or comfortable? Possibly co-dependent?’ Callie suggested, twisting in her seat as the aircraft started to move down the runway.

‘Is that what you see love and marriage as? Co-dependency?’ He couldn’t believe that he was having a conversation about his upcoming marriage with an absolute stranger. Reticence was his usual style, along with reserve and caginess. He asked the questions, dammit, he didn’t answer them.

Callie shrugged. ‘I think that a lot of people use love and marriage as an escape from whatever is dragging them down. Just like some people escape to drugs in order to feel happy, others escape to love.’

Whoa. He was occasionally cynical about love and relationships, but she made him look like an amateur. He was cautious, thoughtful and rational about the concept. He took his time to become fully invested in a relationship and he never made quick or rash decisions. Which was probably why he was feeling so out of sorts about getting married—he hadn’t had nearly enough time to think the whole situation through, to process the changes.

And he was still dealing with the death of the only father he’d ever known. Finn pushed his fingers to his right eye to stop the burning. Would he ever get shot of this ache in his heart?

Callie placed the tips of her fingers, the nails shiny and edged in white, on the bare skin of his forearm. ‘Sorry—I’m being an absolute downer. I’m just naturally sceptical about love, marriage and relationships. It’s a crap shoot and I’m not much of a gambler.’ Callie bit her bottom lip. ‘I admit that I’m a little too outspoken and opinionated—’

He couldn’t help his sarcasm. ‘A little?’

‘Okay, a lot—but I do wish you happiness and success.’ She tucked her foot up and under her backside again, and sighed theatrically. ‘Both my brother and father—neither of whom I thought would ever get hitched—are getting married within the next couple of months, so I’m going to have to learn to keep my cynical mouth shut.’

Despite having only known her for twenty minutes, Finn knew that was impossible.

‘Thank goodness that Rowan—my best friend, who is about to marry my brother—is an event planner and she’s organising both their weddings. I just have to show up and look pretty.’

Pretty? She could don a black rubbish bag and still look stunning, Finn thought. Those eyes, those cheekbones, that pink tongue peeking out from between those plump lips … He wondered what she would taste like, how those breasts would fit into his hands, about the baby softness on the inside of those slim thighs …

Whoah!

What the hell …? Rein it in, bud, before you humiliate yourself. You’re engaged, remember? An almost father, an about-to-be husband.

Knowing that she’d said something of importance that he hadn’t picked up because in his head he’d been tasting her skin, he mentally rewound. ‘Wait … you say your best friend is a wedding planner?’

‘Mmm. Actually, she does all sorts of events, but she’s great at weddings.’

‘My partner—fiancée—is going nuts. Apparently there isn’t a wedding planner in the city who’ll take on organising a wedding at the last moment.’

‘When are you getting married … tomorrow?’

‘As I said, we’d like to get it done in three months or so.’

Liz wanted the wedding done and dusted before she started to show as she wasn’t comfortable displaying her baby bump to her conservative relatives.

‘And finding a wedding planner is something I have to do in the next couple of days.’

‘Why isn’t the bride-to-be looking?’ Callie asked. ‘Shouldn’t that be her thing?’

‘Liz is in Nigeria for the next six weeks, so finding a wedding planner has become my job.’

‘What’s she doing in Nigeria?’

God—more questions. He didn’t think he’d met anyone more inquisitive and so unreservedly blatant about it. So, Sherlock, why haven’t you shut her down yet?

‘Liz is a consulting engineer working on an oil rig.’ He saw her open her mouth and held up a hand to stop the next barrage of questions. ‘This friend of yours … the wedding planner? Is she any good?’

Callie nodded. ‘She really is. She started off by doing kids’ birthday parties and then she did a Moroccan-themed wedding which was amazing. In eighteen months she’s done more than a few weddings.’

‘Can I get her number?’

‘Sure.’ Callie nodded. ‘If you allow me one last word on marriage.’

‘Can I stop you?’ Finn raised a dark eyebrow. ‘And just one word? How amazing.’

Callie ignored his quiet sarcasm. ‘It’s not from me but from Nietzsche …’

Good looks and good brains too? Callie was quite a deep little package.

‘Nietzsche, huh? Do enlighten me.’

‘He said something about love being many brief follies and that marriage puts an end to said follies with a single long stupidity.’

Huh. Some German philosophers and some navy-eyed blondes were far too smart for their own good.

‘I need a drink.’

Callie grinned. ‘People frequently say that when they’re around me.’

Finn didn’t find that hard to believe. At all.

CHAPTER ONE

Three months later …

CALLIE, ABOUT TO pull the door open to their favourite watering hole, the Laughing Queen, frowned as Rowan held the door closed and stopped her from walking inside.

‘What?’

Rowan narrowed her eyes at her. ‘Can you try and remember that this is a business meeting? That my client and his fiancée have called their wedding off two weeks before they were supposed to say I do. Do not flirt with him!’

Callie, purely to wind Rowan up, flashed her naughtiest smile. ‘Why not? Maybe me flirting with him will cheer him up.’

‘Don’t you dare! I swear, Cal, just behave—okay?’

‘I always behave!’ Callie protested. Okay, that wasn’t true, so she quickly crossed her fingers behind her back. For most of her adult life, whenever she’d found herself back in Cape Town, she had normally ended up in this bar, getting up to some mischief or other. Jim and Ali, the owners, loved her because she always got the party started and they ended up selling much more liquor than normal.

‘Just no dancing on the bar or impromptu line-dancing, okay? Or, if you have to, pretend that you don’t know me.’

‘Hey! I’m not so bad!’

Rowan was thinking of Callie’s early twenties self, or maybe her mid-twenties self … maybe her six-months-ago self. The truth was that it had been a while since she’d caused havoc in a pub. Or anywhere else.

Normally, whenever she was feeling low or lonely, needing to feel outside of herself, she headed for the nearest bar or club. It wasn’t about the alcohol—she’d launched many a party and walked out at dawn stone-cold sober—it was the people and the vibe she fed off … the attention.

So why, after a decade, was she now boycotting that scene? Had she totally lost every connection to the wild child she had been? That funny, crazy, gap-toothed seven-year-old who’d loved everyone and everything. That awesome girl she’d been before everything had changed and her world had fallen apart.

Sadness made her throat constrict. She rather liked the fact that at one point in her life she’d been totally without fear. That was how she usually felt in the middle of a party she’d created: strong, in control, fearless.

Maybe she should just start a party tonight to remind herself that she could still have fun.

When she repeated the thought to Rowan, her mouth pursed in horror.

‘You are hell on wheels,’ Rowan grumbled, letting go of the door handle and gesturing her inside.

‘And you were a lot more fun before you got engaged to my brother,’ Callie complained, stepping into the restaurant. She waved at Jim, who was standing behind the long bar at the back of the large harbour-facing restaurant. ‘What happened to my wild, backpacking, crazy BFF?’

‘I’m working.’ Rowan said through gritted teeth. ‘This is my business.’

Seeing that Rowan looked as if she was about to start foaming at the mouth, Callie slung an arm around her shoulder. ‘Okay … chill. I’ll behave.’ She couldn’t resist another dig. ‘Or at the very least I’ll try.’

‘I was nuts to bring you along tonight,’ Rowan complained, leading them to an empty table in the corner and yanking out a chair.

Callie took the seat opposite her and flipped her hair over her shoulder. Seeing Rowan’s irritated face, she realised that she might have gone a little too far, so she placed her hand on hers and squeezed. When Rowan’s eyes met hers Callie met her dark eyes straight on. ‘Relax—I’ll behave, Ro.’

Rowan scrunched her face up and when she opened her eyes again let out a long sigh. ‘Sorry. It’s just that I feel for this guy. I mean, can you imagine calling it quits so close to the wedding?’ Rowan picked up a silver knife from the table and clutched it in her hand. ‘What could have gone so badly wrong so late in the day?’

Callie heard the unspoken question at the end of Rowan’s sentence. And what if it happens to us?

‘Easy, Ro. Seb adores you and nothing like that is going to happen.’

‘Bet Finn didn’t think that either,’ Rowan muttered.

Finn? Callie stared at her. Finn Banning? The guy on that flight back from JFK? The one she’d never quite managed to forget? The one she’d recommended Rowan to as his wedding planner? Black hair cut short to keep curls under control, utterly mesmerising grape-green eyes and that wide-shouldered, long-legged, slim-hipped body. The man who had starred in quite a few of her night time fantasies lately.

‘Finn? You’ve got to be sh—’ Callie caught her swearword just in time. With Rowan’s help she was trying to clean up her potty mouth. And by ‘Rowan’s help’ she meant that she had to pay Rowan ten bucks every time she swore. It was a very expensive exercise. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

Rowan placed their order for a bottle of white wine with a waitress before answering her. ‘Sadly not. Anyway, he’s the strong, stoic, silent type—not the type of guy who you can commiserate with. So don’t let on that you know.’

Of course she wouldn’t. She was loud and frequently obnoxious, but she wasn’t a complete moron.

She had a low-grade buzz in her womb at the thought of meeting Finn again—jilted or not. She still had a very clear picture of his super-fit body dressed in faded jeans, his muscles moving under a long-sleeved black T-shirt, sleeves pushed up to his elbows lounging in the seat next to her; his broad hand, veins raised, capable and strong, resting on his thigh. His quick smile, those wary, no-BS-tolerated eyes …

She had amused him, she remembered, and that was okay. He’d looked as if he needed to laugh more. And, more worryingly, those hours she’d spent with him were the last she’d spent in any concentrated, one-on-one time with a man.

Maybe she was losing her mojo.

‘So, how long are you in the country for this time?’

Rowan changed the subject and Callie sighed with disappointment. She wanted to gossip a bit more about the luscious Finn.

As a fashion buyer for an upmarket chain of fashion stores Callie was rarely in the country, constantly ducking in and out of the fashion capitals of Europe and in New York and LA. Trips back home were rarely for more than a week or two—three if she was at the end of a three-month rotation. Wasn’t she due for a three-week break soon? Hmm … she’d have to check.

‘I’m flying out to Paris in a little while and will be away for a week.’

‘Aren’t you sick of it, Cal? The airports, the travelling, the craziness?’ Rowan asked. ‘I could never imagine going back to my old lifestyle, kicking it around the world.’

‘But, honey, you stayed in grotty hostels and hotels. I travel the easy way—business class seats, expensive hotels, drivers, upmarket restaurants and clubs.’

Rowan had been a backpacker—a true traveller. Callie wasn’t half as adventurous as her friend; unlike Rowan she’d never visited anywhere that wasn’t strictly First World.

Upmarket First World. She was that type of girl.

Callie frowned. Rowan had a look in her eye that told her that she was about to say something she wouldn’t like. She’d been on the receiving end of that dark-eyed look many times since her childhood and she leaned back in her chair, resigned. ‘I know that look. What’s wrong?’

Rowan pulled in a long breath. ‘I don’t know … I’m just concerned. Worried about you.’

Callie fought the urge to roll her eyes. ‘Why?’

Rowan stared down at her hands. ‘Because … um …’

‘Jeez—just spit it out, Rowan,’ Callie said, impatient.

Rowan’s eyes flashed at her command. ‘Well, okay, then. Seb and I are concerned because we think you might be becoming … what’s the word? … brittle, maybe.’

What? ‘Why?’

‘You gobble up life, Cal, like nobody else. You love people and you talk to anyone. Within two seconds everyone adores you and wants to be your best friend. You are the only person I know who can walk into a party and within half an hour have everyone doing shots and then the conga. Men want you and girls want to be you.’

Well, that was an exaggeration—but it was nice that Rowan thought so. ‘So where does the worry and the brittle part come into it?’

‘Being bubbly and funny and outrageous has always been a part of you, but we sort of feel like you’ve been acting lately. It’s almost as if you’re trying a bit too hard …’

‘I am not!’

Callie instantly denied the accusation. Except that Rowan’s words stung hard enough for her to know it was the truth. And hadn’t her recent actions shown her how hard she now had to work to dredge up the flirty, party-hearty girl when it had used to be constantly and consistently easy for her?

Maybe she was getting old. Or bored. Or maybe she just needed sex. Or all three.

Rowan traced the pattern of a bold flower on the tablecloth with her finger. ‘I read an article the other day about people feeling out of sorts as they approach thirty,’ Rowan explained. ‘Maybe you’re wondering if you’re on the right path, whether your life makes sense.’

‘Of course my life makes sense,’ Callie retorted.

She earned spectacular money doing a job she could do with her eyes closed, she was constantly meeting new people, buzzing from cosmopolitan city to cosmopolitan city. Dinner in Paris … lunch in Rome. Looking at beautiful clothes and making the decisions on what to buy and for whom. She dated cosmopolitan, successful men.

She loved her job. She’d always loved her job. She still loved her job … okay, mostly loved her job. She’d been doing it for a long time—she was allowed to feel iffy about it occasionally.

Over the last six months the designers seemed to have become a lot more diva-ish, the cities a bit grimier, the hotel rooms even more soulless than normal. The men more man-scaped than she liked and a great deal more bland.

Maybe she needed a holiday. Or an affair …

‘And how’s your love-life, Cal? Who’s the lucky guy of the moment?’

There Rowan went again—reading her mind. When you’d been friends with someone for more than a quarter of a century it happened. Often.

Callie sipped her wine before answering. ‘I’m currently single …’

‘You’re always single,’ Rowan corrected her.

‘Okay, if you’re going to be pedantic then I’ll say that I’m currently not sleeping with anyone. Is that better?’

She dated lots of different men and slept with very few of them. Despite her party-girl, flirt-on-two-legs reputation she was very careful who she took into her bed. And she usually found out, during dinner or drinks, that they were married, bi, involved, arrogant or narcissistic. So she normally went to bed alone.

‘Marginally. So why aren’t you tearing up the sheets with some hunk?’ Rowan asked.

Callie twisted her lips. ‘Not sure, actually. Nobody has interested me for a while.’

Rowan shoved her tongue into her cheek. ‘How long is a while? A week? A month?’

Callie looked at Rowan and tried to ignore the flash of hurt. She knew that Ro was teasing, but saying it like that made her sound like a slut—and she wasn’t. She really wasn’t. She didn’t bed-hop or treat sex casually, but neither was she a nun.

‘I haven’t slept with anyone for about five, maybe six months,’ she admitted quietly.

Rowan instantly looked apologetic. ‘Sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to sound judgemental. Teasing, maybe—judgy, no.’ Rowan waited a beat before speaking again. ‘Why not, Cal? You like men and men like you.’

Callie wished she could answer her but she couldn’t—not really. Like her avoiding the party scene and her occasional dissatisfaction with her job there was no reason—nothing she could put her finger on. She just hadn’t met anyone lately whom she wanted in her bed … in her body. Nobody she liked enough to make the effort.

She just couldn’t put her finger on why, and she was getting a bit tired of her self-imposed celibacy. She liked sex—she needed sex.

‘I genuinely don’t know, Ro. It just hasn’t happened lately and I refuse to force it.’ Callie shrugged before sitting up straight and putting a smile of her face. ‘Anyway, it’s not the end of the world. I’ll find someone sooner or later who I’ll want to tumble with. In the meantime I have a great, interesting life.’

Rowan bit her lip—a sure sign that she was about to say something that Callie might not like.

‘Is it possible that your life is too great?’

‘Huh? What?’ Callie wrinkled her nose, puzzled.

‘Your life is so busy, so crazy, and you are so virulently independent—do you have any room in it for a man? A lover? Someone who might be something more than a temporary arrangement? Can it be, darling Cal, that you’re too self-sufficient and busy for your own good? Or is it a defence mechanism?’

Okay, had Rowan acquired a psychology degree along with her engagement ring? What was this all about?

‘What is wrong with you? I came out for a drink—not to be analysed.’

Rowan pulled a face. ‘We both had screwed-up childhoods, Cal. My parents and their inability to see me—your mum leaving when you were a little girl. Our push-the-envelope crazy antics got worse and worse the older we got and ended up with you writing off your car when you were eighteen. I landed in jail shortly afterwards.’

‘Just for a weekend.’

‘That was long enough. That was a hell of year, wasn’t it?’ Rowan shook her head at the memory.

It had been a hell of a year, indeed, Callie agreed silently.

‘After both incidents we … settled down, I suppose. We’re so much better adults than we were kids,’ Rowan continued.

‘Speak for yourself,’ Callie muttered. All she knew for sure was that she’d felt more alive when she was a kid and a wild teenager than she did now. Right now she just felt … blah. Not brittle—just blah. As if she was a cardboard cut-out of herself.

Rowan sent her a quick, worried look. ‘While we’re on the subject of your mother, I need to tell you that …’

They were on the subject of her mother? Since when? And, oh, hell no—they were not going to go there. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever. Her mother was long, long gone and not worth wasting time and energy discussing. They most certainly were not on this subject and would never be …

Good try, Ro.

Callie quickly shook her head. ‘Don’t.’

Rowan held her stare and Callie knew that she was debating whether to get pushy and pursue the topic. Luckily Rowan’s mobile rang and she scooped it up off the table. Judging by the soft look on her face, she quickly deduced that it was her brother Seb on the other end, cooing into her ear. She genuinely loved the fact that Seb and Rowan were so unabashedly happy, but their sappiness frequently made her feel queasy.

She couldn’t imagine acting like that—being so intertwined, so in tune with another person. It just wasn’t her.

Callie looked up when a hand touched her shoulder and saw Jim, the owner of the bar, smiling down at her. He bent to kiss one cheek and then the other, and when he was done she allowed his big fingers to hold her chin.

‘Where have you been, hun?’

‘Here and there.’

‘We’ve missed you,’ Jim stated.

Callie grinned. ‘You’ve missed me starting tequila shooter competitions which invariably turn into massive parties which lead to your till feeling very full at the end of the evening.’

‘That too.’ Jim dropped his hand and tipped his head, his expression enquiring. ‘Listen, I’ve got guys at the bar wanting to buy you a drink. You up for company or must I tell them you’re not interested?’

Callie didn’t bother looking at the bar. She just wanted to talk to Rowan and, if she was lucky, say hi to Finn Banning again. She shook her head. ‘I’m not in the mood, Jim—and, besides, I told Rowan that I’d keep a low profile tonight and behave myself.’

‘Why do I suspect that that is very difficult for you to do?’

Callie heard the deep, dark voice and whipped her head around to look up and into Finn’s face. Tired, she thought, but still oh, so sexy. Purple shadows were painted beneath his eyes and his face looked drawn and thinner. His back and shoulders were taut with tension and his mouth was a slash in his face. She wanted to kiss him and cuddle him at the same time. And she thought that he needed the cuddling a lot more than he needed the kissing.

The last couple of days had clearly put him through the wringer. Experiencing that kind of pain, Callie thought, being that miserable, was why she never got emotionally involved. She’d experienced emotional devastation once before and it wasn’t something she ever wanted to deal with again.

However, despite looking like a love refugee, he still looked good. Sage and white striped shirt over faded blue jeans and flat-soled boots. Curls that looked wild from, she guessed, fingers constantly being shoved into them, and a four-day beard. Tough, hard, stoic—and more than a smidgeon miserable.

Yeah, there was that tingle, that bounce in her heart’s step, the womb-clench and the slowly bubbling blood. This was what pure attraction—lust—felt like, she remembered. This crazy, want-to-lick-you-silly feeling she’d been missing.

Jim melted away and Finn looked at her with those sexy light eyes. She felt her face flush, her breath hitch.

Sexy, hot, sad man. What she wouldn’t do to make him smile—she needed to make him smile.

‘Now, why would you think that?’ Callie asked him, projecting as much innocence as she could.

He slapped his hands on his hips and narrowed his eyes at her and she hoped he couldn’t tell that her heart was thumping in excitement. He pulled his lips up into a smile which tried but didn’t quite make it to his eyes.

‘The passage to the bathroom facilities is covered in framed photographs of the parties that have happened here. Not so strangely, you are in most of them—front and centre. Oh, yeah, you’re just trouble looking for a place to happen.’

Callie batted her eyelashes at him, her eyes inviting him to laugh with her … at her. ‘My daddy told me that talent shouldn’t ever be wasted.’

‘Your daddy is probably on Prozac.’ The smile lifted higher and brushed his eyes.

Progress, she thought.

He shook his head, bemused. ‘Trouble. With a capital T. In flashing neon lights.’

Callie left Rowan and Finn discussing the dissolution of all his wedding plans—his eyes had gone back to being flat and miserable, dammit!—and went to sit on a small table on the outside deck, overlooking the harbour. On the mountain behind her lights from the expensive houses twinkled and a cool breeze skittered over the sea, raising goosebumps on her bare arms.

She tucked herself into her favourite corner, out of sight of the bar patrons, and put her feet up on the railing. The sea swished below her feet.

The noise from the bar had increased in volume and, as Finn had observed earlier, usually she’d be in the thick of the action—calling for shots, cranking up the music, and dancing … on the floor, on a bar stool or on the bar itself.

Nobody could ever call her a wallflower, and if they had to then she’d be an exotic one—climbing the wall with her brightly coloured petals and holding a loud hailer.

Where had she gone, that perfect party girl, loud and fearless? She’d cultivated the persona after the car accident—after she’d made a promise to her father and brother to pull herself away from the edge of destruction. It was the only way she’d been able to find the attention she’d craved and she’d got it—especially from men.

She got a lot of attention from men. Apparently it was because, as a previous lover had once told her, men felt good when they were with her: stronger, bolder, more alpha.

Whatever.

But Rowan was wrong. She didn’t need a man in her life. Her life was fine—perfect, almost. She had absolutely nothing to complain about. She loved her life, loved her job, the world was her oyster and her pearl and the whole damn treasure chest. She liked her life, liked being alone, being independent, answerable only to herself. Her life was super-shiny. It didn’t need additional enhancement.

Besides, as she had learned along the way, to a lot of the men she dated she was a prize to be conquered, a body to possess, a will to be bent. They loved the thrill of the chase and then, because, she didn’t do anything but casual, they ended up getting competitive—thought they could be the one to get her to settle down, to commit. That they were ‘the man’—had the goods, the bigger set of balls.

They tried to get her to play the role of lover or girlfriend and she always refused. And when their attention became a bit too pointed—when they showed the first signs of jealousy and possessiveness—she backed off. All the way off.

She’d never met a man she couldn’t live without, couldn’t leave behind. And if she ever had the slightest inkling that she might feel something deeper for someone she was dating she called it quits. She told him that her life was too hectic, too crazy for a relationship, and that wasn’t a lie. It just wasn’t the whole truth.

She always left before she could be left. It was that simple and that complicated.

Thanks, Mother.

Callie rubbed her forehead with her fingertips, noticing that a headache that was brewing. Too much thinking, Callie. Maybe you do need a good party after all.

A brief touch on her shoulder had her jumping and she whirled around. Finn. She put her hand on her heart and managed a smile.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you—you were miles away.’ He held a beer bottle loosely in his hand; his other was in the pocket of his jeans. He had a couple of masculine leather and bead bracelets on one wrist and a high-tech watch on the other.

‘Hi.’ Callie waved him to an empty chair at her table and looked past him into the restaurant. ‘Where’s Rowan?’

‘She met someone she knew at the bar.’ Finn yanked the chair out and sat down, stretching his longs legs out in front of him. ‘You okay?’

‘Shouldn’t I be asking that of you?’ Callie replied. She leaned forward and asked softly, gently, ‘What happened with your fiancée?’

Pain flickered in and out of his eyes. ‘You are the nosiest woman I’ve ever met,’ he complained, after taking a long pull of his beer.

‘I am—but that doesn’t mean I’m not deeply sorry that it happened. Besides, men usually love talking about themselves,’ Callie replied.

‘Not this one,’ Finn replied.

Okay. Back off now, Hollis. Give him some space. ‘Can Rowan help you sort out the mess of cancelling the wedding?’

‘Luckily, she can. I was just going through the final non-arrangements with her; people are sympathetic but they still need to be paid. Understandable, since pretty much everything that needed to be ordered has already been ordered.’

‘I bet Rowan refused to be paid,’ Callie said on a small smile. ‘She has a heart as big as the sun.’

Finn nodded. ‘She did, but she will be—just like everyone else. It’s not her fault that things went pear-shaped.’

Pear-shaped? Callie lifted her eyebrows in surprise. Pretty tame word for being jilted. ‘So, what happened?’ she probed again. Yeah, she was nosy—but this man needed to talk … he needed a friend. Who wouldn’t, in his situation? She might be nosy but she could also be a damn good listener.

Finn shook his head. ‘I know that you use your eyes as weapons of interrogation, but I’m not going to go there with you.’

Fair enough, Callie thought. He had a right to his secrets. She just hoped that he had someone to talk to—to work this through with.

Finn rolled his head in an effort to release some of the tension in his shoulders. He tapped his index finger against his thigh. ‘I can tell you that my biggest hassle is that I landed a pretty sweet gig—writing articles about the best honeymoon destinations in Southern Africa. Liz and I were going to spend three weeks travelling … a few days at each destination. My publisher is not going to be happy that I’m doing it solo.’

Callie leaned forward and made a performance of batting her eyelashes. ‘Take me—I’ll be your substitute wife.’

Finn managed a small grin. ‘I’m violently allergic to the word “wife”—even a pretend one.’

‘Well, at least you’d be miserable in comfort.’

‘If I end up keeping the assignment—which I very well might not.’ Finn ran his hands over his short hair and blew out his breath. ‘So, tell me why you’re sitting here in the dark instead of causing chaos in the bar?’

Callie could clearly see that he’d closed the door on any further discussion about his non-wedding. She looked down into her drink and wrinkled her nose. ‘I’m not in the mood to be …’

‘Hit on all night?’

‘That too. And someone walked in about fifteen minutes ago who I kind of said I might call. We made plans to have supper, then I had to fly to Milan on short notice—’

‘Fashion-buying emergency?’

Callie lifted her nose at him in response to his gentle sarcasm. ‘Something like that. And I lost his number, and I’m …’

‘Not that interested any more?’

She bit her lip. ‘Yeah. Not that interested.’ She looked out across the ocean to the silver moon that hung low in the sky. She saw the craters, picked out the shape of the rabbit, and sighed.

When she dropped her head her eyes met Finn’s and impulsively she reached out and tangled her fingers in his. She ignored the flash of heat, the rocketing attraction. It wasn’t the time or the place.

‘I’m sorry you’re hurting. I’m so sorry for whatever happened that’s put such sadness in your eyes.’

Finn licked his lips before staring at the ocean. ‘Well, it’s not rocket science. I was supposed to be getting married in less than two weeks.’

Callie shook her head, knowing that whatever it was that had mashed up his heart it was more than just losing his ex. ‘I think that getting over her will be a lot easier than getting over whatever else has happened.’

Finn’s eyes widened and she was surprised when he managed a low, harsh chuckle. He picked at the label on his bottle, not meeting her eyes. ‘We changed our minds, decided that marriage wasn’t what we wanted—that’s all that happened.’

No, it wasn’t. But Callie wasn’t going to argue with him. ‘Well, I am so, so sorry—because it’s hurt you badly.’

And for some strange reason the thought of you being hurt makes me feel physically ill.

Finn stood up abruptly and Callie turned to see Rowan approaching them. Finn surprised her when he bent down and kissed her cheek, taking a moment to whisper in her ear.

‘Callie, you are part witch and part angel and all sexy. I’m leaving before I say or do anything stupid around you.’

Callie inhaled his aftershave and couldn’t help rubbing her cheek against his stubble. ‘Like …?’

‘Like suggesting that you come home with me.’

His comment wasn’t unexpected, and she knew men well enough to know that he was looking for a distraction—a way to step out of the nightmare he was currently experiencing.

Ah, dammit! She wanted to say yes, but she wasn’t going to be any man’s panacea for pain—even one as sexy as this. If they slept together she wanted it to be because he wanted her beyond all reason and not just to dull the pain, to forget, to step outside his life.

She had to be sensible and she forced the words out. ‘Sorry, Finn, that’s really not a good idea.’

Finn raked his hand through his hair. ‘I know …’He held her eyes and shrugged. ‘I really do know. Rowan, hi—I was just leaving …’

CHAPTER TWO

A HALF HOUR LATER Finn tossed down the keys to his house and stared at the coffee-coloured tiles beneath his feet for a moment. Blowing air into his cheeks, he walked through the hall and down the passage to the kitchen, yanked open the double-door fridge and pulled out a beer.

Looking over to the open-plan couch area, he saw the pillow and sheet he’d left on the oatmeal-coloured couch. He’d spent the last few nights on that couch, not sleeping. He couldn’t sleep in the bedroom—and not only because he no longer had a mattress on the bed.

Finn rubbed his forehead with the base of the cold bottle, hoping to dispel the permanent headache that had lodged in his brain since last week. Tuesday.

Along with the headache, the same horror film ran on the big screen in his mind …

God, there had been so much blood. As long as he lived he’d remember that bright red puddle on the sheets, Liz grunting beside him, as white as a sheet. He remembered calling for an ambulance and that it had seemed to take for ever to come, remembered Liz sobbing, more blood. The white walls of the hospital, the worried face of the obstetrician. Being told that they had to get Liz into surgery to make sure they didn’t lose her too.

It had taken a while for that statement to make sense, and when it had pain had ricocheted through his body and stopped at his heart. Their baby was gone. He also remembered their final conversation as he’d perched on a chair next to her bed, knowing that she was awake but not wanting to talk to him.

‘I lost the baby,’ she’d said eventually.

‘Yeah. I’m so sorry.’

Liz had shrugged, her eyes sunken in her face. ‘I feel … empty.’ She’d turned her head to look at the flowers he’d bought for her in the hospital gift shop. ‘I want to go home, Finn.’

‘The doctors say in a day or two. They want to keep an eye on you. You lost a lot of blood. Then I’ll take you home.’

Liz shook her head. ‘I want to go home—back to Durban, to my folks. We didn’t tell anyone I was pregnant so I don’t need to explain.’

She fiddled with the tape holding a drip into her vein. When she wouldn’t look at him—at all—he knew what she was about to say.

‘I don’t want to get married any more. We’ve lost the reason we were both prepared to risk it. We loved the baby but we don’t love each other—not enough to get married.’

He rubbed his hands over his face. ‘God, Liz. Why don’t we take some time to think about that?’

‘We don’t have time, Finn. And you know that I’m right. If I hadn’t fallen pregnant we would’ve split. You know it and I know it.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Me too.’ Liz looked at him then, finally, with pain and sadness and, yes, relief vying for control of her expression. ‘Can you cancel the wedding? Sort out the house?’

‘Sure.’ It was the least he could do.

‘And, Finn? I don’t want anyone to know that I lost the baby. Just say that we called it quits, okay?’

Now, four days later, he was sad and confused and, to add hydrochloric acid to an open wound, stuck with all the bills for a wedding that wouldn’t happen.

Finn wrestled with the dodgy lock of the door that led out to the balcony and stepped out onto the huge outdoor area. He loved this house—mostly for the tremendous view. From most rooms he had endless views of False Bay, the wildness of the Peninsular, the rocking, rolling Atlantic Ocean. Out here on the balcony he felt he could breathe.

Liz loved the house too, and because she’d spent more time here than he had it seemed as if it was more hers than his. His name might be on the mortgage agreement, but she’d furnished and decorated the place—filled it with the things that made it a home. He supposed that he’d have to go through the place and pack up her stuff—which was pretty much everything. The house would be empty. But to him it felt mostly empty anyway.

They’d tried so hard to play the part of a happy family, but innate honesty had him admitting that, while he was devastated at the loss of their child, he wasn’t heartbroken about the wedding being called off. Losing Liz didn’t feel like something that had derailed his world, and shouldn’t it? Shouldn’t he be feeling—more? More pain? More confusion? More broken-hearted?

Instead of mourning the loss of his lover he was mourning not being able to hold his child, not being a dad. Although most of his and Liz’s conversations lately had revolved around the wedding, they had obviously talked about the birth. They’d been excited—well, he’d been excited, Liz had been less so. They’d talked about what type of birth she wanted, had tossed a couple of names around, and he’d been in the process of moving his gym equipment from the third bedroom to the garage so that they could use the room as a nursery.

He felt lousy—as if his world had been tipped upside down. Was it crazy to feel so crap over losing a half-formed, half-baked person to whom he’d contributed DNA but whom he’d never met? Was this normal? Was his grief reasonable? God, he just didn’t know.

And how much of his grief was over the baby and how much of it was the residue of the pain he felt about losing James? It felt as if his heart was wrapped in a dull, grey, icy, soggy blanket. The only time he’d felt as if it had lifted—even a little bit—was earlier this evening, when he’d been talking to Callie. For some reason that crazy flirt had managed to lift his spirits. It had been a brief respite and one he’d badly needed.

Finn drank again, leaned his forearms on the railing and stared hard at his feet. He knew that most people thought that because he was a travel journalist that he was a free spirit—that he was a laid-back type of individual—but nothing could be further from the truth. He was a Third Dan black belt in Taekwondo, held a black belt in Jiu-jitsu and, like the other two, his Krav Maga also demanded immense amounts of control and discipline.

But no amount of control, self-discipline or philosophising could rationalise this pain away. Because he’d tried. He really had.

He needed time, he decided—a lot of it—to sort out his head and his heart. Time to think through all he’d recently lost. His baby, his dreams of a family, even his stepdad. He needed time to get back on his feet, to make solid decisions, to work through the emotion of the last couple of weeks, months, years.

And even though he’d been so tempted to ask Callie to come home with him—sleeping with her would have been the perfect way to step out of his head—he knew that he needed to be alone for a while, to keep women at a distance, to work through what had gone wrong with Liz and how.

Ten days, he told himself, and he would be on a plane to Kruger National Park for the first leg of his Southern Africa trip. Ten days and he could get some distance from this house, from the memory of the blood, Liz’s ashen face, from the craziness of cancelling the wedding. Ten days and he would have an excuse to avoid all the calls from his friends and family. He wouldn’t have to open the door to any of his three brothers who were taking turns to check up on him, making sure that he was okay.

Finn sighed. Ten more days. A part of him wished he was hiring a kitted-out Land Rover with rooftop tents and heading out into wild, crazy Africa. But visiting upmarket honeymoon destinations wouldn’t be a kick in the pants either.

As Callie had said, there was something to be said for licking his wounds in luxury.

If he actually got to keep the job.

The travel magazine had forked out a shedload of cash, and some of the hotels had sponsored his stay in exchange for an honest review of their honeymoon experience. He would be writing the story but he was supposed to take his wife’s opinions into consideration as he did so … except now he didn’t have a wife to take.

He had to talk to Mike, his editor—and sooner rather than later.

Tomorrow Rowan would send out a blanket email to the wedding guests on his behalf and Mike, as a guest, would receive said email and soon put two and two together. Finn scrunched up his face, annoyed that he hadn’t contacted Mike sooner. Cape Town was a small city and he might even have heard already.

Finn glanced at his watch. Ten-thirty. A bit late to call, but that couldn’t be helped. He pulled his mobile from his pocket and looked up Mike’s number, sighing as he pushed the green button.

‘I wondered when you’d get around to calling me,’ Mike answered without any preamble.

Finn rubbed his forehead. ‘Yeah, it’s been a bit mad. I presume you’ve heard that the wedding is off?’

‘Yeah. Sorry.’

Finn heard Mike clearing his throat and jumped in before he could speak again.

‘I’d still like to do the assignment.’

‘It’s a bit pointless without a wife,’ Mike said.

‘Can’t I leave the honeymoon bit out and just write on the lodges themselves?’

‘It’s scheduled to be part of the honeymoon issue, Finn, with honeymoon and wedding advertising. The article has to concentrate on the honeymoon aspect.’

Finn swore.

Mike’s voice in his ear sounded worried and frustrated. ‘Tell me about it. I’m in a Catch-22 situation. The publisher agreed to foot the bill, as did many of the hotels, because you were writing the article. One of the world’s best adventure and travel journalists writing on honeymoons. They loved the idea. And the promo people have already started working on the edition. You’re part of that.’

Finn swore again.

‘ Take me—I’ll be your substitute wife.’

He almost smiled, remembering Callie’s words from earlier.

Wait, hold on … What had she said?

‘ Take me—I’ll be your substitute wife.’

Could that possibly be a solution? Taking Callie or someone else with him?

‘Can I take someone else?’ he asked Mike.

Mike’s long pause strained Finn’s patience. ‘I don’t see why not,’ he said eventually. ‘It’s not like anyone is going to ask for your wedding certificate or proof that you’re married. The two of you would just need to be seen to be having fun. Enjoying the experience. Got anyone in mind?’

He did, actually. Someone who was vivacious, charming, loud, flirtatious, possibly crazy. ‘Yeah, I do.’

‘Is she someone I know?’ Mike asked slyly.

‘Judging by the way she talks to everyone and anyone, you probably do.’

‘Who is she?’

‘Let me talk to her first and see if her coming with me is an option,’ Finn said, cautious.

Instinctively he knew that taking Callie—inviting Callie—would be a very good move for him. He’d get to keep this plum assignment and he’d have the company of someone who was a bundle of fun. On that flight back from New York they hadn’t stopped talking, and Finn could see why men dropped their tongues to the floor around her. She had a surfer’s body—broad shoulders, toned arms, flat stomach and that long, curly blonde hair. But when you looked past the body and face to the brain beyond it you got the shock of your life—because the woman was bright, knowledgeable, and as sharp as a spear-tip.

At her core, she had a lust for life that was contagious. And best of all—unless something had radically changed recently—she had absolutely no interest in relationships and commitment and would be an entertaining companion. She’d be distracting enough to keep him from feeling too sorry for himself.

‘Well, talk to her and come back to me. And if you don’t take her you’ll have to take someone else to complete the assignment,’ Mike told him before disconnecting.

Finn slapped his mobile in his hand, considering all his options. He tried to be honest with himself. He had to admit that he was attracted to Callie. If they were spending time in close proximity to each other—he didn’t think that honeymoon suites came with twin beds—he’d want to sleep with her. Hell, he wanted to sleep with her now. So sue him. His heart might be battered and bruised, but his junk was in perfectly good working order.

So sleep with her. It’s not like you haven’t had flings before. She could be your rebound girl—your way to get over and through this bleak time.

She wouldn’t say yes …

How do you know unless you try?

Finn, thinking he might be going off his head, scrolled through his contacts on his mobile. Rowan would have her number and after sweet talking her out, he had Callie’s mobile number. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the green phone icon.

‘Hey, how do you feel about being my fake wife?’

The next morning Callie rushed around her apartment, trying to get ready. It was crazy that when she was travelling for work she was super-organised but when she was back home all her wheels fell off. This morning wasn’t the first time she’d forgotten to set her alarm, and now she was late for work. So she’d be late? She worked long enough and hard enough that nobody would make a fuss.

Callie pulled a pale yellow dress over her head and scrambled in her cupboards for the pair of nude sandals she wanted to wear with it. Finding them eventually—she really needed to clean out her overflowing cupboards—she smiled as she remembered the very odd conversation she’d had with Finn last night about being his fake wife.

She’d always thought that the ‘wife for hire’ premise in romance novels was odd, because she couldn’t conceive of a situation in the twenty-first century when a fake wife would ever be needed.

But gorgeous Finn needed a wife. She was sorry that she couldn’t help him out, but thanks to the eye-watering mortgage she paid each month on this flat, her job—even when she wasn’t crazy about it—always came first. Which was a shame, because she could totally see herself swanning around five-star resorts, drinking cocktails and snuggling up to her husband’s hot bod—fake … real … who cared?

With her hair and make-up done, Callie headed to the kitchen. She pulled open her fridge door with more hope than expectation and twisted her lips at the bare shelves. There was absolutely nothing to eat and she was starving.

But she knew of a house where there would be blueberry muffins and a hot pot of coffee. The downside was that she’d be even later for work than normal, but maybe she’d take the morning off, or even the day. The house was only a couple of minutes away, and a large part of the reason why she’d bought this expensive flat in this gated community.

Awelfor, red-bricked and old, was her childhood home. In it were her favourite people; Seb, her brother, her best friend and almost sister-in-law Rowan, and Yasmeen, their housekeeper.

But she was so much more than a housekeeper, Callie thought ten minutes later, when she stood in the big, bright sunny kitchen at Awelfor, bending over to hug Yasmeen. This tiny, fiery Malay woman was her north star, her homing beacon. Awelfor would not be home without her.

Yasmeen pulled away and lifted her hand to Callie’s face. Her black eyes narrowed. ‘You’re too skinny and you look tired. When are you going to spend more time on land than you do in the air? And when are you going to find a man and have some babies?’

Situation normal, Callie thought. It was fine for Yasmeen to be a spinster, but not her. Do as I say and not as I do was Yas’s position on this subject.

Callie rolled her eyes and snagged a muffin—choc chip, not blueberry, yum!—from the plate in the middle of the wooden table that dominated the kitchen.

‘Don’t nag me—nag them,’ Callie retorted, gesturing to Seb and Rowan who had walked into the kitchen, both of them wearing that just-had-spectacular-wake-up-sex look.

Lucky rats. Callie wrinkled her nose when Finn’s gorgeous face flashed onto her eyeballs. She’d love to wake up to morning sex with him.

Seb crossed the kitchen to where she perched on the corner of the table, munching her muffin. As usual, he kissed her temple and gave her a quick hug. Her brilliant, nice brother. She was so happy that he’d found Ro—that they’d found each other.

It almost, but not quite, made her believe in true love. If it existed then Seb and Ro had the best chance of experiencing it.

Callie was startled out of her musings by Yasmeen’s hand slapping her thigh. She yelped and looked at her accusingly. ‘What?’ she demanded.

‘Have you ever been allowed to sit on the table instead of at it?’ Yasmeen demanded, hands on her hips. ‘That’s what chairs are for.’

Callie pulled a face at Rowan, who was laughing at her, but jumped off the table and pulled a chair out to sit down. ‘Yas …?’ she wheedled, using her best little-girl voice.

‘Yes, I know—you want a stuffed omelette,’ Yasmeen replied, heading to the fridge.

‘You know me so well,’ Callie purred.

‘I should. You’ve had me wrapped around your little finger since you were a baby,’ Yas retorted, pulling items out of the fridge. ‘Make yourself useful and grate some cheese.’

Seb poured them all some coffee and placed a cup on the table in front of Callie. ‘Aren’t you late for work?’ he asked, glancing at his watch.

Callie shrugged. ‘I let them know. Besides, I have so much holiday time due to me that I can take a morning here and there.’

She unwrapped the cheese and placed it on the cutting board Yasmeen had placed in front of her. Yasmeen passed her a grater and Callie got to work.

‘Hey, Ro?’

‘Mmm?’ Rowan looked up from her job of cutting red bell peppers. In Yas’s kitchen everyone helped. Including Seb, who was dicing mushrooms.

‘I had a call from the sexy Finn last night.’

‘What sexy Finn?’ Seb demanded. ‘Is this another European man you’re dating?’

Callie laughed. ‘No, this is Ro’s client Finn. The one we went to meet last night.’

Callie pinched some cheese and popped it into her mouth. After chewing, she told them about Finn’s crazy be-my-fake-wife offer.

Rowan looked at her, bemused. ‘Are you mad? Take him up on it!’

‘I’m flying to Paris, Ro, I have a job.’

‘You’ve just said that you have so much holiday time owed to you,’ Ro argued.

‘Stop encouraging her to act crazy, darling,’ Seb told Rowan. ‘And running off with a man she doesn’t know would be crazy. Talking about crazy—Cal, we need to talk.’

The mood in the room instantly turned serious as Seb cleared his throat. Rowan frowned and bit her bottom lip. Yasmeen stopped beating the eggs and Seb stared down at his pile of fungi.

Something was up, and whatever it was she knew from their response that she wouldn’t like it. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked.

Seb sent Rowan a pleading look, but Rowan just shook her head. Seb looked at her, fear and worry and, strangely, a touch of excitement in his deep blue eyes. ‘Cal, I have to tell you something.’

Callie shook her head, knowing instinctively that she didn’t want to hear whatever he was going to say. She held up her hand. ‘I don’t want to know.’

‘Laura is coming home.’

Crap. Dammit. Hell.

Laura. Her mother. Their mother. The woman, as Seb had told her a few months back, he had reconnected with. Oh, she’d always suspected that he’d kept track of her; he was a brilliant ethical hacker and there wasn’t any information he couldn’t find.

‘I want to see her again and she’s returning to Cape Town for a visit.’

Seb had a stubborn look on his face and she knew that his mind was made up.

‘Are you paying for her to come home?’ Callie demanded.

Seb’s lack of an answer was confirmation that he was.

‘If you bring her back to Awelfor I’ll never forgive you,’ Callie whispered, her stomach now in a knot, twisted with tension and long-ago suppressed hurt.

Her mother had walked out when she was seven. As far as Callie was concerned she’d had twenty years to come back home. It was way too late now.

‘I wasn’t planning to—not yet,’ Seb said in a quiet voice. ‘She’s coming home for a three-week visit and we’ve agreed to meet. She wants to see you too.’

Callie shook her head wildly. ‘Hell, no! No to the max. No!’

Seb held up his hands. ‘I know that this is a shock, But …’

Callie pulled in a deep breath and pushed back the hurt, the feeling of abandonment, the constant ache for her mother. Her eyes turned cold and her face tightened.

‘When is she due to land?’ she asked quietly, thinking that this was what Rowan had started to tell her the other night. She had been trying to warn her about Laura’s arrival—trying to get her head wrapped around the idea of Laura returning.

Sorry, Ro, not even marginally interested.

Seb checked his watch. ‘Today is the eleventh; she’s flying in on the nineteenth. Will you be back in town by then?’

Callie grabbed her mobile from her bag and quickly pulled up her diary app. She cursed when she saw that after Paris she didn’t have any trips scheduled for a couple of weeks. Three, to be exact. It was the end of a three-month rotation—but why, oh, why did it have to be now?

She’d be home at exactly the same time as her mother would be in the city. That wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all. She wouldn’t risk running into her, having her arrive on her doorstep, popping into Awelfor and seeing her here. She wouldn’t take the chance.

She’d endured twenty years of silence and Laura didn’t just get to rock up now and make demands. She’d made her choice when she left—she had to live with it now.

‘Will you try to be here?’ Seb asked quietly, rephrasing his question.

Callie shook her head before yanking her bag off the chair and heading for the door. ‘Hell, no. I don’t have a mother—I haven’t had one for twenty years. So Laura can just go back to wherever she came from and I don’t want to talk about her again. Ever!’

‘Cal—’ Seb pleaded.

‘Don’t mention her name again, Seb,’ Callie muttered, before stepping out of the door, blinking back tears. It had to be the bright sunlight making her cry because her mother—Laura!—wasn’t worth a single one of her tears.

Looking down at her mobile in her hand, she thought that she couldn’t be in the country, breathing the same air as Laura. She’d rather do anything else, be anywhere else. Even—

‘Finn? It’s Callie. You called me last night? If you haven’t married, proposed to or found anybody else to be your wife since we spoke last night I might be your girl.’

CHAPTER THREE

CALLIE LEFT AWELFOR and headed directly to Simon’s Town, the pretty town to the east of the city of Cape Town. Her father had set up a branch of his sea kayaking tours there after handing over the family property business to Seb. Patch loved his life as a kayak guide and tour operator. Like her, he was vivacious and open; if she had any charm at all she’d inherited it all from him.

Callie sat on the low wall that separated the promenade from the beach and watched Patch converse with his customers while his assistants unloaded the kayaks from the trailer that he’d driven onto the beach. He was still tall and broad and handsome—quite a silver fox, Callie thought. Thank God he’d finally given up dating vapid and beautiful women—mostly younger than her—and was about to marry a woman his own age.

He and Annie seemed to be blissfully happy, and after what Laura and the crazy gold-diggers had put him through she was happy for him. He deserved to be loved and loved well. And, judging by the perpetual grin he was sporting lately, Annie loved him very well indeed.

Callie let out a whistle that Patch had taught her as a kid and Patch instantly turned, his fantastic smile lighting up his face. She might have had a screwed-up childhood, and maybe Patch hadn’t been the perfect father, but it had been a very long time since she’d doubted that he loved her. He was one of her best friends and the strongest rope keeping the balloon that was her life tethered to the ground.

Patch bounded across the sand and immediately pulled her into his arms, warm and strong. She buried her head in his neck, sucked in the smell of him and felt her tilting world settle down. Patch ran a hand over her hair before kissing her temple and stepping away from her to sit on the wall next to her.

‘Seb told you, huh?’

‘Yeah.’ She suddenly remembered that her mother had been his wife and wondered how he was handling the news. ‘How do you feel about her returning?’

Patch shrugged. ‘Doesn’t mean much to me except for how it affects you and Seb.’

Callie sank her bare feet into the warm sand and wiggled her toes. She bit the side of her lip and stared out to sea. ‘I’m running away …’

Patch cocked his head. ‘You are? Where to?’

‘Well, it’s not quite settled, but there’s this guy and he needs a—a friend to go on a trip with him.’

‘Uh-huh?’

‘He seems nice, and he’s just gone through a rough time, and we seem to like each other …’ Callie waved her hands in the air. ‘Not as … you know … but I think we could be friends … He needs a friend.’

‘Most of us do,’ Patch agreed. ‘And you want to avoid seeing Laura.’

Callie waited a beat before turning anxious eyes to his face. ‘Am I wrong? Should I be meeting her?’

Patch ran his hand over his jaw. ‘Honey, for the last ten years, ever since you totalled your car at a thousand miles an hour, I have trusted you to do the right thing—not for me but for yourself. I still trust you to do that.’ He reached for her hand and held it. ‘That thing we call intuition? That little voice? It’s your soul talking. You can trust it.’

‘My intuition is telling me to go on this trip with Finn.’

‘Then do it,’ Patch said, before frowning. ‘Wait—is this Rowan’s client? The travel writer?’

‘Mmm.’

Patch smiled broadly. ‘Tell him to come kayaking with me—maybe he’ll do an article on the tours.’

Callie had to smile. Her dad was her rock, but he was never shy about putting himself forward. Ah, well, she thought as she sat with him in the morning sun, you don’t get apples from orange trees.

Callie buzzed Finn through the gates of her complex in Camps Bay and walked onto the wide veranda that encompassed most of her second-storey luxury flat. She leaned her arms on the railing, watching as he steered his expensive SUV into her visitor’s parking space. He left his vehicle and Callie watched as he stretched, his T-shirt riding up his abdomen to reveal a ridged stomach that had to be an eight or ten-pack and the hint of make-women-stupid obliques.

She did appreciate a fine-looking man, Callie thought, and they didn’t come much finer than Finn Banning. Sexy, and also very successful She’d researched him and read that he had been an award-winning investigative journalist before switching to travel journalism, where he was raking in the praise.

What had really gone wrong with his engagement? Why had they called it off? Why would any woman walk away from that?

Maybe there was something about Finn Banning that she didn’t know yet—and that worried her. Especially if she was considering spending three weeks in his company.

After she’d called him from Awelfor she’d spent ten minutes convincing him that she wasn’t joking about being his ‘wife’ and avoiding his probing questions around why she’d changed her mind. She’d ended the conversation with the suggestion that if he still thought that taking her along was a good idea he should pop by for a drink at sunset.

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