Читать книгу Wedding Bell Wishes: It Started at a Wedding... / The Wedding Planner and the CEO / Her Perfect Proposal - Lynne Marshall - Страница 14

CHAPTER SEVEN

HE WAS ACTUALLY NERVOUS, Sean realised.

Which was crazy.

This was Claire. He’d known her for years. There was nothing to be nervous about. Except for the fact that this was a date, and in the past they’d never really got on. And the fact that, now he was getting to know her, he was beginning to realise that maybe she wasn’t the person he’d thought she was.

Would it be the same for her? He had no idea.

He took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.

When she opened the door, she was barefoot and wearing a little black dress, and her hair was tied back at the nape with a hot pink chiffon scarf. He wanted to kiss her hello, but was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop himself—it had been tough enough to walk away at lunchtime. So instead he smiled awkwardly at her. ‘Hi. I wasn’t sure what to bring, so I brought red and white.’

‘You really didn’t need to, but thank you very much.’ She accepted the bottles with a smile. ‘Come up.’

She looked so cool, unflustered and sophisticated. Sean was pretty sure that she wasn’t in the slightest bit nervous, and in turn that made him relax. This was just dinner, the getting-to-know-you stuff. And he really should stop thinking about how easy it would be to untie that scarf and let her glorious hair fall over her shoulders, then kiss her until they were both dizzy.

He followed her up the stairs and she ushered him in to the kitchen.

‘We’re eating in here, if that’s OK,’ she said. ‘Can I get you a drink? Dinner will be ten minutes.’

‘A glass of cold water would be fabulous, thanks.’ At her raised eyebrows, he explained, ‘It’s been a boiling hot day and I could really do with something cold and non-alcoholic.’

‘Sure.’ She busied herself getting a glass and filled it from the filter jug in the fridge, adding ice and a frozen slice of lime. When she handed the glass to him, her fingers brushed against his; it sent a delicious shiver all the way down his spine.

Her kitchen was a place of extremes. The work surfaces had all been used, and it looked as if most of her kitchen equipment had been piled up next to the sink. The fridge was covered with magnets and photos, and a cork board on one wall had various cards and notes pinned to it, along with what looked like a note of a library fine. Chaos. And yet the bistro table was neatly set for two, and there was a compact electric steamer on the worktop next to the cooker, containing the vegetables. So there was a little order among the chaos.

Much like Claire herself.

‘Something smells nice,’ he said.

‘Dinner, I hope,’ she said, putting the white wine into the fridge.

He handed her a box. ‘I thought these might be nice with coffee after dinner.’

‘Thank you.’ She smiled. ‘Toffee, I assume?’

‘Samples,’ he said, smiling back. ‘There have to be some perks when you’re dating a confectioner.’

‘Perks. Hmm. I like the sound of that, though if we’re talking about a lot of calories here then I might have to start doubling the length of my morning run.’ She did a cute wrinkly thing with her nose that made his knees go weak, then looked in the box. ‘Oh, you brought those lovely soft caramel hearts! Fabulous. Thank you.’

Clearly she liked those; he made a mental note, and hoped she wouldn’t be disappointed with what these actually were. ‘Not quite,’ he said.

‘What are they, then?’

‘Wait until coffee. Is there anything I can do to help?’

‘No, you’re fine—have a seat.’ She gestured to the bistro table, and he sat down on one of the ladder-back chairs.

Small talk wasn’t something Sean was used to doing with Claire, and he really wasn’t sure what to say. It didn’t help that he was itching to kiss her; but she was bustling round the kitchen, and he didn’t want to distract her and ruin the effort she’d put into making dinner. ‘It’s a nice flat,’ he said.

She nodded. ‘I like it here. The neighbours are lovely, the road’s quiet, and yet I’m five minutes away from all the shops and market stalls.’

Work. An excellent subject, he thought. They could talk about that. ‘So how did the dressmaking go today? Are you on schedule for your big show?’

‘Fine, thanks, and I think I am. How about your meetings?’

‘Fine, thanks.’ Then it finally clicked that she wasn’t as cool and calm as she seemed. She was being super-polite. So did that mean that she felt as nervous about this as he did? ‘Claire, relax,’ he said softly.

‘Uh-huh.’ But she still looked fidgety, and he noticed that she didn’t sit down with him. Was she just feeling a little shy and awkward because of the newness of their situation, or was she having second thoughts?

‘Have you changed your mind about this?’ he asked, as gently as he could.

‘No-o,’ she hedged. ‘It’s not that.’

‘What is it, then?’

‘I’m usually a reasonable cook.’ She bit her lip. ‘What if it all goes wrong tonight?’

Nervous, then, rather than second thoughts. And suddenly his own nerves vanished. He stood up, walked over to her and put his arms round her. ‘I’m pretty sure it’ll be just fine. If it’s not, then it doesn’t matter. I’ll carry you to your bed and take your mind off it—and then I’ll order us a pizza instead.’ He kissed the corner of her mouth, knowing he was dangerously close to distracting her, but wanting to make her feel better. ‘Claire, why are you worrying that the food’s going to be bad tonight?’

‘Because it’s you,’ she said.

Because she thought he’d judge her? He had to acknowledge that he’d judged her in the past—and not always fairly. ‘You already know I’d rather wash up or take someone out to dinner than cook for them, so I’m in no position to complain if someone cooks me something that isn’t Michelin-star standard.’

‘I guess.’ She blew out a breath. ‘It’s just... Well, this is you and me, and it feels...’

He waited. What was she going to say? That it felt like a mistake?

‘Scary,’ she finished.

He could understand that. Claire fascinated him; yet, at the same time, this whole thing scared him witless. Her outlook was so different from his. She didn’t have a totally ordered world. She followed her heart. If he let her close—what then? Would he end up with his heart broken? ‘Me, too,’ he said.

The only thing he could do then was to kiss her, to stop the fear spreading through him, too. So he covered her mouth with his, relaxing as she wrapped her arms round him, too, and kissed him back. Holding her close, feeling the warmth of her body against his and the sweetness of her mouth against his, made his world feel as if the axis was in the right place again.

A sharp ding made them both break apart. ‘That was the steamer. It means the vegetables are done,’ Claire said, looking flustered and adorably pink.

‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ he asked again.

This time, to his relief, she stopped treating him like a guest who had to be waited on. ‘Could you open the wine? The corkscrew’s in the middle drawer.’

‘Sure. Would you prefer red or white?’

‘We’re having chicken, so it’s entirely up to you.’

He looked at her. ‘You’d serve red wine with chicken?’

‘Well, hey—if you can cook chicken in red wine, then you can serve it with red wine.’

He wrinkled his nose at her. ‘Am I being regimented again?’

‘No. Just a teensy bit of a wine snob,’ she said with a grin. ‘You need to learn to go with the flow, Sean. Carpe diem. Seize the day. It’s a good motto to live by.’

‘Maybe.’ By the time he’d taken the wine from her fridge, found the corkscrew in the jumble of her kitchen drawer, uncorked the bottle and poured them both a glass, she’d served up.

He sat down opposite her and raised his glass. ‘To us, and whatever the future might bring.’

‘To us,’ she echoed softly, looking worried and uncertain—vulnerable, even—and again he felt that weird surge of protectiveness towards her. It unsettled him, because he didn’t generally feel like that about his girlfriends.

‘This is really lovely,’ he said after his first mouthful. Chicken, stuffed with soft cheese and asparagus, then wrapped in parma ham. Claire Stewart was definitely capable in the kitchen, and he could tell that this had been cooked from scratch. He’d assumed that she’d be the sort to buy ready-made meals from the supermarket; clearly that wasn’t the case.

‘Thank you.’ She acknowledged his compliment with a smile.

‘But you’re not reasonable.’

She frowned. ‘Excuse me?’

‘You called yourself a reasonable cook,’ he said. ‘You’re not. You’re more than that.’

‘Thank you. Though I wasn’t fishing for compliments.’ She shrugged. ‘I used to like cooking with my mum. Not that she ever followed a recipe. She’d pick something at random, and then she’d tweak it.’

‘So I’m guessing that you didn’t follow a recipe for this, did you?’ he asked.

‘I cooked us dinner. It’s not exactly rocket science,’ she drawled.

Why had he never noticed how deliciously sarcastic she could be?

‘What?’ she asked

He blinked. ‘Sorry. I’m not following you.’

‘You were smiling. What did I say that was so funny?’

‘It was the way you said it.’ He paused. ‘Do you have any idea how delectable you are when you’re being sarcastic?’

It was her turn to blink. ‘Sarcasm is sexy?’

‘It is on you.’

She grinned. ‘Well, now. I think tonight has just got a whole lot more interesting. Are you on a sugar rush, Sean?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Working where you do, you have toffee practically on tap. Eat enough of the stuff and you’ll be on a permanent sugar rush. Which, I think, must be the main reason why you’re complimenting me like this tonight.’

No. It was because it was as if he’d just met her for the first time. She wasn’t the girl who’d irritated him for years; she was a woman who intrigued him. But he didn’t want to sound soppy. ‘Honey,’ he drawled, ‘the only sugar I want right now is you.’

She laughed at him. ‘Now you’ve switched to cheese.’

‘No. You’re the one who’s served cheese.’ He indicated the stuffing for the chicken. ‘And very nice it is, too.’

Her mouth quirked. ‘Keep complimenting me like this, and...’

‘Yeah?’ he asked, his voice suddenly lower. What was she going to do? Kiss him? That idea definitely worked for him.

‘Oh, shut up and eat your dinner,’ she said, looking flustered.

‘Chicken,’ he said, knowing that she’d pick up on the double use of the word—and he was seriously enjoying fencing with her. Why had he never noticed before that she was bright and funny, and sexy as hell?

Probably because he’d had this fixed idea of her as a difficult girl who attracted trouble. That was definitely true in the past, but now...Now, she wasn’t who he’d always thought she was. She’d grown up. Changed. And he really liked the woman he was beginning to get to know.

She served pudding next—a seriously rich chocolate ganache teamed with tart raspberries. ‘Come and work for my R and D department,’ he said, ‘because I think you’d have seriously good ideas about flavouring.’

She smiled. ‘I know practically nothing about making toffee, and if I make banoffee pie I always buy a jar of dulce de leche rather than making my own.’

‘That’s a perfectly sensible use of your time,’ he said.

She grinned. ‘It’s not so much that you have to boil a can of condensed milk for a couple of hours and keep an eye on it.’

‘What, then?’

‘I had a friend who tried doing it,’ she explained. ‘The can exploded and totally wrecked her kitchen.’

‘Ouch.’ He grimaced in sympathy, and took another spoonful of pudding. ‘This is a really gorgeous meal, Claire.’

‘I didn’t make the ganache myself—it’s a shop-bought pudding.’

‘I don’t care. It’s still gorgeous. And I appreciate the effort. Though, for future reference, you could’ve ordered in pizza and I would’ve been perfectly happy,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to spend time with you.’

‘Me, too,’ she said softly. ‘But I wanted to—well...’

Prove to him that she wasn’t the flake he’d always thought she was? ‘I know. And you did.’

And how weird it was that he could follow the way she thought. Scary, even. She was the last woman in the world he’d expected to be so in tune with.

Once he’d helped her clear away, she said, ‘I thought we could have coffee in the living room.’

‘Sounds good to me.’

‘OK. You can go through and put on some music, if you like,’ she suggested.

Claire’s living room had clearly been hastily tidied, judging by the edges of the magazines peeking from the side of her sofa—he remembered her telling him that she was addicted to magazines; but the flowers he’d sent her that morning were in a vase on the coffee table, perfectly arranged. Clearly she liked them and hadn’t just been polite when she’d thanked him for them earlier. And, given the pink tones in the room, he’d managed to pick her favourite colours.

Her MP3 player was in a speaker dock. He took it out and skimmed through the tracks. Given what she’d said at lunchtime, he’d expected most of the music to be pop, but he was surprised to see how much of it was from the nineteen-sixties. In the end, he picked a general compilation and switched on the music.

She smiled when she came in. ‘Good choice. I love the Ronettes.’ She sang a snatch of the next line.

‘Aren’t you a bit young to like this stuff?’ he asked.

‘Nope. It’s the sort of stuff my gran listens to, so I grew up with it—singing into hairbrushes, the lot,’ she said with a smile. ‘Best Friday nights ever. Totally girly. Me, Mum, Gran, Aunt Lou and my cousins. Popcorn, waffles, milkshake and music.’

It was the first time she’d talked about her family. ‘So you’re close to your family?’ he asked.

‘Yes. I still clash quite a bit with my dad,’ she said, ‘but that’s hardly tactful to talk about that to you.’

‘Because I’m male?’

‘Because,’ she said softly, ‘I’d guess that, like Ash, you’d give anything to be able to talk to your dad. And here am I grumbling about my remaining parent. Though, to be fair, my dad is nothing like yours was. Yours actually listened.’

Fair point. He did miss his parents. And, when the whole takeover bid had kicked off, Sean would’ve given anything to be able to talk about it to his dad. But at the same time he knew that relationships were complicated. And it was none of his business. Unless Claire wanted to talk about it, he had to leave the subject alone.

She’d brought in a tray with a cafetière, two mugs, a small jug of milk and the box he’d given her earlier. ‘Milk and sugar?’ she asked.

‘Neither, thanks. I like my caffeine unadulterated,’ he said with a smile.

Claire, he noticed, took hers with two sugars and a lot of milk. Revolting. And it also made him worry that she wouldn’t like the samples he’d brought; she probably preferred white chocolate to dark. Then again, he’d been wrong about a lot of things where Claire was concerned.

‘Right. This box of utter yumminess. Whatever else I might have said about you in the past,’ she said, ‘I’ve always said that you make seriously good toffee.’

Honesty compelled him to say, ‘No, my staff do. I’m not really hands-on in the manufacturing department.’

‘Now that surprises me,’ she said. ‘I would’ve pegged you as the kind of manager who did every single job in the factory so you knew exactly what all the issues are.’

‘I have done, over the years,’ he said. ‘Everything from the manufacturing to packing the goods, to carrying the boxes out for delivery. And every single admin role. And, yes, I worked with the cleaning team as well. Nowadays, I have regular meetings with each department and my staff know that I want to know about any problems they have and can’t smooth out on their own.’

‘Attention to detail.’

Her voice sounded almost like a purr. And there was a suspicious glow of colour across her cheeks.

‘Claire?’

‘Um,’ she said. ‘Just thinking. About Capri. About...’

And now he was feeling the same rush of blood to the head. ‘Close your eyes,’ he said.

Her breathing went shallow. ‘Why?’

‘Humour me?’

‘OK.’ She closed her eyes.

He took one of the dark salted caramel chocolates from the box and brushed it against her lips. Her mouth parted—and so did the lashes on her left eye.

‘No peeking,’ he said.

In return, she gave him an insolent smile and opened both eyes properly. ‘So we’re playing, are we, Mr Farrell?’

‘We are indeed, Ms Stewart. Now close your eyes.’ He teased her mouth with the chocolate and made her reach for it before finally letting her take a bite.

‘You,’ she said when she’d eaten it, ‘have just upped your game considerably. I love the caramel-filled hearts, but these are spectacular.’

‘You liked them?’ Funny how that made him feel so good.

‘Actually, I think I need another one, to check.’

He laughed. ‘Oh, really?’

‘Yes, really.’ She struck a pose.

No way was he teasing her with chocolate when she looked like that, all pouting and dimpled and sexy as hell. Instead, he leaned over and kissed her.

The next thing he knew, they were both lying full length on the sofa and she was on top of him, his arms were wrapped tightly round her, and one of his hands was resting on the curve of her bottom.

‘You’re telling me that was chocolate?’ she deadpanned.

‘Maybe. Maybe not.’ He moved his hand, liking the softness of her curves. ‘Claire. You’re...’

‘What?’

‘Unexpectedly luscious,’ he said. ‘None of this was supposed to happen.’

‘Says the man who made me close my eyes and lean forward to take a bite of chocolate. Giving him a view straight down the front of my dress, if I’m not mistaken.’

‘It was a very nice view,’ he said, and shifted slightly so she was left in no doubt of his arousal.

‘This is what chocolate does to you?’ she asked.

‘No. This is what you do to me.’

She leaned forward and caught his lower lip between hers, teasing him. ‘Indeed, Mr Farrell.’

‘Yeah.’ He was aware that his voice sounded husky. She’d know from that exactly how much she affected him.

‘So did you come prepared?’ she asked.

He couldn’t speak for a moment. And then he looked into her eyes. ‘Are you suggesting...?’

‘Capri, redux?’ She held his gaze and nodded.

He blew out a breath. ‘I didn’t come prepared.’

‘Tsk. Not what I expected from Mr Plan-Everything-Twenty-Years-in-Advance,’ she teased.

‘How do you manage to do that?’ he asked plaintively.

‘Do what?’

‘Make me feel incredibly frustrated and make me want to laugh, all at the same time?’

‘Go with the flow, sweetie,’ she drawled.

He kissed her again. ‘OK. Tonight wasn’t about expectations. It wasn’t about sending you flowers this morning so you’d sleep with me tonight. It was about getting to know you better.’

‘Platonic, you mean?’

‘I’d like to be friends.’

‘Uh-huh.’ She sounded unaffected, but he’d seen that little vulnerable flicker in her expression and he didn’t let her move. He pulled her closer.

‘I didn’t say just friends. I want to be your lover as well.’

Her pupils went gratifyingly large.

‘But I didn’t come prepared because I’m not taking you for granted.’

To his surprise, he saw a sheen of tears in her eyes. ‘Claire? What’s wrong?’

She shook her head. ‘I’m being wet.’

‘Tell me anyway.’

‘That’s not how it usually is, for me,’ she admitted.

Not being taken for granted? He brushed his mouth very gently against hers. ‘That’s because you’ve been dating the wrong men, thinking they’re Mr Right.’

‘I always thought you’d be Mr Wrong,’ she admitted.

‘And I always thought you’d be Ms Wrong,’ he said. ‘But maybe we should give each other a little more of a chance.’

‘Maybe,’ she said softly. ‘But next time—I think I’m going to be prepared.’

‘You and me, both.’ He nuzzled the curve of her neck. ‘Careful, Claire. You might turn into a bit of an über-planner if you keep this up.’

As he’d hoped, she laughed. ‘And you might start going with the flow without having to be reminded.’

He laughed back. ‘I think we need to move. While we still both have some self-control.’

‘Good plan.’ But when she climbed off him, he didn’t let her move away and sit in a different chair. He kept hold of her hand and drew her down beside him.

‘This works for me,’ he said. ‘Just simply holding hands with you.’

For a moment, she went all dreamy-eyed. ‘Like teenagers.’

‘What?’

She shook her head. ‘Ah, no. I’m not confessing that right now.’

Confessing what? He was intrigued. ‘I could,’ he suggested sweetly, ‘make you confess. Remember, I’m armed with seriously good chocolate.’

She drew his hand up to her mouth and kissed each knuckle in turn. ‘But I also happen to know you’re a gentleman. So you won’t push me right now.’

So even when she hadn’t liked him, she’d recognised that he had integrity and standards and knew that she was safe with him? That warmed him from the inside out. ‘I won’t push you right now,’ he agreed. He handed her the box. ‘Help yourself.’

‘Salted caramel in dark chocolate. Fabulous. Are they all like that?’

‘No. There’s a Seville orange version and an espresso.’

‘Nice choices. And you said earlier they were samples.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘So are you experimenting with new lines?’

‘Possibly.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Sean, I’m hardly going to rush straight off to one of your competitors and sell them the information.’

‘Of course you’re not.’ He frowned. ‘Do you think I’m that suspicious?’

‘You sounded it,’ she pointed out.

‘It’s an experiment, moving into a slightly different form of toffee,’ he said, ‘but I need to put them through some focus groups first and see what my market thinks.’

‘Ah, research. Looking at growing your market share.’ She smiled. ‘So either you sell the same product to more people, or you sell more products to the same people.’

At his raised eyebrow, she sighed. ‘I’m not a total dimwit, you know. I’ve had my own business for three years.’

‘I know, and it’s not just that. Ashleigh told me you turned down an unconditional offer from Cambridge for medicine, and I know you wouldn’t get that sort of offer if you weren’t really bright.’ He looked at her. ‘I always wondered why you became a wedding dress designer instead of a doctor.’

She looked sad. ‘It’s a long story, and I don’t really want to tell it tonight.’

Because she didn’t trust him not to judge her? ‘Fair enough,’ he said coolly.

‘I wasn’t pushing you away, Sean,’ she said. ‘I just don’t want to talk about it right now.’

‘So what do you want, Claire?’ He couldn’t resist the question.

‘Right now? I want you to kiss me again. But we’ve both agreed that’s, um, possibly not a good idea.’

‘Because I’m not prepared, and neither are you. So we’ll take a rain check,’ he said.

‘How long?’ She slapped a hand to her forehead. ‘No. I didn’t ask that and you didn’t hear me.’

‘Right. And I wasn’t thinking it, either,’ he retorted. ‘When?’

‘Wednesday?’

Giving them two days to come to their common sense. ‘Wednesday,’ he agreed. ‘I would offer to cook for you, except you’d get a sandwich at best.’

She laughed. ‘I can live with sandwiches.’

‘No, I mean a proper date.’

‘Planned to the nth degree, Sean-style?’ she asked.

Why did planning things rattle her so much? In answer, he kissed her. Hard. And she was breathless by the time she’d finished.

‘That was cheating,’ she protested.

‘Yeah, yeah.’ He rubbed the pad of his thumb along her lower lip. ‘And?’

‘Go home, Sean, before we do something stupid.’

‘Rain check,’ he said. ‘Wednesday night. I’ll pick you up at seven.’ He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, ‘And, by the time I’ve finished with you, you won’t remember what your name is or where you are.’

Her voice was gratifyingly husky when she said, ‘That had better be a promise.’

‘It is.’ He stole one last kiss. ‘And I always keep my promises. Which reminds me—I have washing-up duties.’

‘I’ll let you off,’ she said.

‘The deal was, you’d cook and I’d wash up.’

‘Do you really think it’s a good idea for us to be that close to each other, in the presence of water, and while neither of us is, um, prepared?’

He didn’t quite get the reference to water, but he agreed with the rest of it. ‘Good point. Rain check on the washing up, then, too?’

She laughed. ‘No need. I have a dishwasher. It’s horribly indulgent, given that I live on my own, but it’s nice when I have friends over for dinner.’ She paused, and added in a softer, sexier, deeper tone, ‘Or my lover.’

Which sounded as if she was going to invite him back.

And that set his pulse thrumming.

‘Right.’ He couldn’t resist one last kiss, one that sent his head spinning and left her looking equally dazed. ‘Enjoy the chocolate,’ he said. And then he left, while he was still capable of being sensible.