Wedding Party Collection: Proposing To The Planner. Aimee CarsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘You’re here. You might as well.’
She was already snapping away, while he was trying not to acknowledge the pleasing scent of rain-washed air she had brought with her into the house.
‘Perhaps some of the wedding guests could be housed here,’ she mused out loud.
‘I’ll have to see if the cottage is available.’
‘I’m sure you can make it so,’ she countered, with a smile he guessed she used on all her clients. ‘This place is beautiful,’ she enthused. ‘Did you design it?’
‘What do you think?’
She cocked her head to look him straight in the eyes. ‘I’m guessing no.’
‘You’d be right.’ He thumbed his stubble as he watched her at work, cursing the ruined leg that forced him to prop himself up against the wall.
‘Everything’s so well put together,’ she observed as she clicked away.
‘Blame my sister Lucia.’
‘Oh, I think she’s a marvellous designer.’
‘I’ll be sure to tell her you said so.’ He vaguely remembered Lucia saying that her hard-nosed brothers must understand that mellow furnishings and comfortable sofas were essential if they didn’t expect their guests to live like horses in a barn.
‘I love this!’ Maxie exclaimed, touching one of the hand-painted vases reverently.
He hummed and shrugged, refusing to admit that seeing what Lucia had done through Maxie’s eyes was a surprise to him too. Her final camera shot was one of him. ‘Holly will adore this,’ she assured him confidently. Having checked the image first, she brought it over to show him.
Her scent, her warmth, her physical presence after he’d been so long alone almost overwhelmed him. ‘Let’s draw a line under this,’ he said brusquely, barely glancing at the image. ‘I have things to do.’
‘Of course,’ she said, putting her camera away. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve delayed you, but I was just thinking we could use this room in some of the backgrounds for the album.’
‘Really?’ he said, wanting this over with. But in spite of his impatience his gaze found time to stray to her lips.
‘Settings like these,’ she was explaining, ‘will give such personality and uniqueness to the photographs. And these stone walls are lovely,’ she added, stroking them thoughtfully.
He was more interested in watching those small hands trace the centuries-old stone, until his leg chose to throb a warning that he wasn’t match-fit—for polo or for women.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, mistaking his grimace for a look of disapproval. ‘I must be keeping you.’ Another few moments passed. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ he bit out, but his damaged leg called him a liar and dragged as he moved past her to the door. Anger erupted inside him. The fact that Maxie’s breathing had speeded up when he brushed past her only heaped more humiliation on top of him.
‘Don’t worry—I’ll shut the door for you,’ she offered.
Catching hold of the door before she could reach it, he slammed it shut behind them, consoling himself with the thought that he had dealt with more wilful ponies than he could count, and the harder they were to handle at the start the better they pleased him when he finally broke them in.
He seethed all the way to the Jeep. Tossing his cane in the back, he swung in and Maxie jumped in beside him. Her lithe, agile form was another unintentional smack in the face for him, but as she turned to close her door her hair, which had dried into an inky cloud, brushed across his naked arm. He inhaled deeply, dragging in the scent of vanilla and lavender—a delicate and ultra-feminine combination he would never have expected the businesslike Maxie Parrish to choose.
‘Hurry up,’ he blazed as she fumbled with her seat belt. ‘I don’t have all day.’
‘You’ve really been very patient,’ she agreed. ‘I can’t thank you enough for showing me the cottage, and I promise not to take up so much of your time in future.’
He hummed sceptically in reply. She was good at pretty apologies. It remained to be seen how she behaved when he piled on the pressure. It hadn’t escaped him that the faster Maxie worked the sooner she would be out of here—and he could get back to licking his wounds in private.
HOLLY hadn’t warned Maxie what to expect when she arrived at the Acosta family’s holiday home, so when Diego drove over the brow of the hill she gasped. The elegant stone building looked more like a palace than someone’s occasional home.
Reaching for her camera, she asked, ‘Could you stop here for a moment?’
Diego Acosta drove on.
He had said he was in a hurry, Maxie remembered as the viewpoint disappeared behind them, and she could always come back alone.
She couldn’t have been more surprised when he drew to a halt on the cliff edge and with a nod of the head indicated she should get out here. Not very gallant, but she’d take what she could get.
She had to concede he was right. This was a much better view, Maxie realised as she climbed down from the vehicle. The palatial old house sat on the top of a black lava cliff. At the foot of this a ruffled silver ocean stretched to the brightening horizon. The rain had stopped and the wind had dropped. She hoped the fresh air would clear her head, and made a play of fiddling with her lens to buy some time away from him.
‘If you angle your camera like this…’
She started at the sound of Diego’s voice. She hadn’t even heard him coming. Lightning bolts shot down her spine when he reached across to tilt her camera.
‘You can capture the house framed by the mountains on one side and the ocean on the other,’ he explained. ‘It’s a famous view.’
Thankfully, he backed off while she worked, swiftly and efficiently, remembering he’d said he had other things to do.
‘That was a great camera opportunity. Thanks for stopping,’ she said when she joined him in the Jeep.
The massive shoulders eased in a so what? shrug. ‘Research is what you’re here for, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right,’ she agreed, putting her camera away neatly in spite of the fact that Diego Acosta’s darkly glittering glamour was distracting to the point where her fingers were co-operating like sausages. She was used to men who came in uniformly drab design and were all the safer for it.
They drove into the Acosta holiday home compound through some impressive wrought-iron gates and turned into a cobbled courtyard framed by lushly planted flowerbeds. The planting was in stronger colours than Maxie was used to, but it worked here—the scale, the colour, everything was bold. In the centre of the courtyard there was a fountain, spurting plumes of water into the air, while shrubs and trees softened the edges of the old stone house. And the house, far from being the gloomy lair she had half expected Diego might inhabit, appeared to be a beautifully restored piece of history that had been loved and cherished over the years.
He parked at the foot of a wide sweep of stone steps at the top of which stood an older woman in front of some solid-looking double doors. The doors were open wide in welcome, and were flanked by twinkling windows that gave an impression as warm as the woman’s smile.
‘Welcome to Palacio Acosta,’ Diego said. ‘Or as some have dubbed it,’ he added with a cynical curve of his lips, ‘Palacio Too-antiquated-for-words.’
‘Well, I think it’s lovely!’ Maxie exclaimed, wondering who