Читать книгу Wedding Bell Wishes: It Started at a Wedding... / The Wedding Planner and the CEO / Her Perfect Proposal - Lynne Marshall - Страница 15
ОглавлениеSEAN SENT CLAIRE a text later that evening.
Sweet dreams.
Yes, she thought, because they’d be of him. She typed back, You, too x.
He’d turned out to be unexpectedly sweet, so different from how he’d always been in the past. He was still a little regimented, but there was huge potential for him to be...
She stopped herself. No. This time she wasn’t going to make the same old mistake. She wasn’t going into this relationship thinking that Sean might be The One, that there would definitely be a happy-ever-after. OK, so he wasn’t like the men she usually dated; but that didn’t guarantee a different outcome for this relationship, either.
And this was early days. Sean had a reputation for not dating women for very long; the chances were, this would all be over in another month. Claire knew that she needed to minimise the potential damage to her heart and make sure that her best friend didn’t get caught in any crossfire. Which meant keeping just a little bit of distance between them.
Even though Claire tried to tell herself to be sensible, she still found herself anticipating Wednesday. Wondering if he’d kiss her again. Wondering if they’d end up at his place or hers. Wondering if this whole thing blew his mind as much as it did hers.
Wednesday turned out to be madly busy, and Claire spent a long time on the phone with one of her suppliers, sorting out a mistake they’d made in delivering the wrong fabric—and it was going to cost her time she didn’t have. A last-minute panic from one of her brides took up another hour; and, before she realised it, the time was half past six.
Oh, no. She still needed to shower, wash her hair, change and do her make-up before Sean arrived. She called him, hoping to beg an extra half an hour, but his line was busy. Swiftly, she tapped in a text as she went up the stairs to her flat.
Sorry, running a bit late. See you at half-seven?
She pressed ‘send’ and dropped the phone on her bed before rummaging through her wardrobe to find her navy linen dress.
She’d just stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel round her hair when her doorbell rang.
No. It couldn’t be Sean. It couldn’t be seven-thirty already.
Well, whoever it was would just have to call back another time.
The bell rang again.
Arrgh. Clearly whoever it was had no intention of being put off. If it was a cold-caller, she’d explain firmly and politely that she didn’t buy on the doorstep.
She blinked in surprise when she opened the door to Sean. ‘You’re early!’ And Sean was never early and never late; he was always precisely on time.
‘No. We said seven.’
She frowned. ‘But I texted you to say I was running late and asked if we could make it half past.’
‘I didn’t get any text from you,’ he said.
‘Oh, no. I’m so sorry.’ She blew out a breath. ‘Um, come up. I’ll be twenty minutes, tops—make yourself a coffee or something.’
‘Do you want me to make you a drink?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m so sorry.’
He stole a kiss. ‘Stop apologising.’
‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ she said, feeling horribly guilty. Why hadn’t she kept a better eye on the time? Or called him rather than relying on a text getting through?
She had to dry her hair roughly and tie it back rather than spending time on a sophisticated updo, but she was ready by twenty-five past seven.
‘You look lovely,’ he said.
‘Thank you.’ Though she noticed that he’d glanced at his watch again. If only he’d lighten up a bit. It would drive her crazy if he ran this evening to schedule, as if it were a business meeting. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked brightly.
‘South Bank.’
‘Great. We can play in the fountains,’ she said with a smile. ‘It’s been so hot today that it’d be nice to have a chance to cool down.’
He simply glanced at his suit.
And she supposed he had a point. Getting soaked wouldn’t do the fabric any favours. Or her dress, for that matter. But the art installations on the South Bank were fun.
‘I called the restaurant to say we’d be late,’ he said.
Sean and his schedules. Though if they didn’t turn up when they were expected, the restaurant would be perfectly justified in giving their table to someone else, so she guessed it was reasonable of him. ‘Sorry,’ she said again.
This was the side of Sean she found harder to handle. Mr Organised. It was fine for business; but, in his personal life, surely he could be more relaxed?
They caught the tube to the South Bank—to her relief, the line was running without any delays—and the restaurant turned out to be fabulous. Their table had a great view of the river, and the food was as excellent as the view. Claire loved the fresh tuna with mango chilli salsa. ‘And the pudding menu’s to die for,’ she said gleefully. ‘It’s going to take me ages to choose.’
‘Actually, we don’t have time,’ Sean said, looking at his watch,
‘No time for pudding? But that’s the best bit of dinner out,’ she protested.
‘We have to be somewhere. Maybe we can fit pudding in afterwards,’ he said.
Just as she’d feared, Sean had scheduled this evening down to the last second. If she hadn’t been running late in the first place, it might not have been so much of a problem. But right now she was having huge second thoughts about dating Sean. OK, so he managed to fit a lot in to his life; but all this regimentation drove her crazy. They were too different for this to work.
‘So why exactly do we have to rush off?’ she asked.
‘For the next bit of this evening,’ he said.
‘Which is?’
‘A surprise.’
Half past eight was too late for a theatre performance to start, and if they’d been going to the cinema she thought he would probably have picked a restaurant nearer to Leicester Square. She didn’t work out what he’d planned until they started walking towards the London Eye. ‘Oh. An evening flight.’
‘It’s the last one they run on a weeknight,’ he confirmed. ‘And we have to pick up the tickets fifteen minutes beforehand. Sorry I rushed you through dinner.’
At least he’d acknowledged that he’d rushed her. And she needed to acknowledge her part in the fiasco. ‘If I hadn’t been running late, you wouldn’t have had to rush me.’ She bit her lip. ‘I’m beginning to think you might be right about me being chaotic. I should’ve checked that the text had gone or left you a voicemail as well.’
‘It’s OK. Obviously you had a busy day.’
She nodded. ‘There were a couple of glitches that took time to sort out,’ she said. ‘And I’m up to my eyes in the wedding show stuff.’
‘It’ll be worth it in the end,’ he said.
‘I hope so. And I had a new bride in to see me this morning. That’s my favourite bit of my job,’ Claire said. ‘Turning a bride-to-be’s dreams into a dress that will suit her and make her feel special.’
‘That’s why you called your business “Dream of a Dress”, then?’ he asked.
‘Half of the reason, yes.’
‘And the other half?’ he asked softly.
‘Because it’s my dream job,’ she said.
He looked surprised, as if he’d never thought of it that way before. ‘OK. But what if a bride wants a dress that you know wouldn’t suit her?’
‘You mean, like a fishtail dress when she’s short and curvy?’ At his nod, she said, ‘You find out what it is she loves about that particular dress, and see how you can adapt it to something that will work. And then you need tact by the bucketload.’
‘Tactful.’ He tipped his head on one side and looked at her. ‘But you always say what you think.’
‘I do. But you can do that in a nice way, without stomping on people.’
The corners of his mouth twitched. ‘I’ll remember that, the next time you don’t mince your words with me.’
She laughed back. ‘You’re getting a bit more bearable, so I might be nicer to you.’
He bowed his head slightly. ‘For the compliment.’ Then he took her hand and lifted it to his mouth, pressed a kiss into her palm, and folded her fingers round it.
It made her knees go weak. To cover the fact that he flustered her, she asked, ‘How was your day?’
‘Full of meetings.’
No wonder he found it hard to relax and go with the flow. He was used to a ridiculously tight schedule.
But at least he seemed to relax more once they were in the capsule and rising to see a late summer evening view of London. Claire was happy just to enjoy the view, with Sean’s arm wrapped round her.
‘I was thinking,’ he said softly. ‘I owe you pudding and coffee. I have good coffee back at my place.’
‘Would there be caramel hearts to go with it?’ she asked hopefully.
‘There might be,’ he said, the teasing light back in his eyes.
This sounded like a spontaneous offer rather than being planned, she thought. So maybe it could make up for the earlier part of the evening. ‘That sounds good,’ she said. ‘Coffee and good chocolate. Count me in.’
And, to her pleasure, he held her hand all the way back to his place. Now they weren’t on a schedule any more, he was less driven—and she liked this side of him a lot more.
The last time Claire had been to Sean’s house, she’d waited on the path outside while he picked up his luggage. This time, he invited her in. She discovered that his kitchen was very neat and tidy—as she’d expected—but it clearly wasn’t a cook’s kitchen. There were no herbs growing in pots, no ancient and well-used implements. She’d guess that the room wasn’t used much beyond making drinks.
His living room was decorated in neutral tones. Claire was pleased to see that there were lots of family photographs on the mantelpiece, but she noticed that the art on the walls was all quite moody.
‘It’s Whistler,’ he said, clearly realising what she was looking at. ‘His nocturnes—I like them.’
‘I would’ve pegged you as more of a Gainsborough man than a fan of tonalism,’ she said.
He looked surprised. ‘You know art movements?’
‘I did History of Art for GCSE,’ she said. ‘Then again, I guess those paintings are a lot like you. They’re understated and you really have to look to see what’s there.’
‘I’m not sure,’ he said, ‘if that was meant to be a compliment.’
‘It certainly wasn’t meant to be an insult,’ she said. ‘More a statement of fact.’
He poured them both a coffee, added sugar and a lot of milk to hers, and gestured to the little dish he’d brought on the tray. ‘Caramel hearts, as you said you liked them.’
‘I do.’ She smiled at him, appreciating the fact that he’d remembered and made the effort.
‘You can put on some music, if you like,’ he suggested, indicating his MP3 player.
She skimmed through it quickly and frowned. ‘Sean, I don’t mean to be horrible, but all your playlists are a bit—well...’
‘What?’ he asked, sounding puzzled.
‘They’re named for different types of workouts, so I’m guessing all the tracks in each list have the same number of beats per minute.’
‘Yes, but that’s sensible. It means everything’s arranged the way I want it for whatever exercise I’m doing.’
‘I get that,’ she said, ‘but don’t you enjoy music?’
He frowned. ‘Of course I do.’
‘I can’t see what you listen to for pleasure. To me this looks as if you only play set music at set times.’ Regimented again. And this time she couldn’t just let it go. ‘That works for business but, Sean, you can’t live your personal life as if it’s a business.’
‘Right,’ he said tightly.
So much for reaching an understanding. She sighed. ‘I’m not having a go at you. I’m just saying you’re missing out on so much and maybe there’s another way of doing things.’
‘Let’s agree to disagree, shall we?’
Sean had closed off on her again, Claire thought with an inward sigh—and now she could guess exactly why his girlfriends didn’t last for much longer than three weeks. He’d drive them crazy by stonewalling them as soon as they tried to get close to him, and then either he’d gently suggest that they should be just friends, or they’d give up trying to be close to him.
She also knew that telling him that would be the quickest way of ending things between them; and from the few glimpses she’d had she was pretty sure that, behind his walls, the real Sean Farrell was someone really worth getting to know.
‘OK, I’ll back off,’ she said. ‘But you have absolutely nothing slushy and relaxing on here.’
He coughed. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m male.’
She’d noticed, all right.
‘I don’t do slushy,’ he continued. ‘But...’ He took the MP3 player gently from her and flicked rapidly through the tracks.
When the music began playing, she recognised ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’, but it was a rock version of the song.
‘The band played this at Ashleigh’s wedding,’ he said, ‘and I found myself looking straight at you—that’s why I asked you to dance.’
‘And there was I thinking it was because it was traditional,’ she deadpanned.
‘No. I just wanted to dance with you.’
His honesty disarmed her. Just when he’d driven her crazy and she was thinking of calling the whole thing off, he did something like this that made her melt inside.
He drew her into his arms, and Claire was surprised to discover that, even though the song was fast, they could actually dance slowly to it.
‘And then, when I was dancing with you,’ he continued, ‘I wanted to kiss you.’
She found herself moistening her lower lip with her tongue. ‘Do you want to kiss me now, Sean?’
‘Yes.’ He held her gaze. ‘And I want to do an awful lot more than just kiss you.’
Excitement thrummed through her, but she tried to play it cool. ‘Could you be more specific?’
‘I want to take that dress off,’ he said, ‘lovely as it is. And I want to kiss every inch of skin I uncover.’
‘That sounds like a good plan,’ she said. ‘So what do I do?’
He smiled. ‘I’m surprised you don’t already know that one. Isn’t it what you’re always saying? Be spontaneous. Follow your heart. Go with the flow.’
‘So that means,’ she said, ‘I get to take that prissy suit off you?’
‘Prissy?’ he queried. ‘My suit’s prissy?’
‘It’s beautifully cut, but it’s so neat and tidy. I’d like to see you dishevelled,’ she said, ‘like you were that morning in Capri.’
‘Would that be the morning you threw me out of your bed?’
‘Yes, and don’t make me feel guilty about it. That was mainly circumstances,’ she said.
‘Hmm.’
‘Besides, I can’t throw you out of your own bed,’ she pointed out.
‘Now that’s impeccable logic.’ He frowned. ‘Though, actually, if you said no at any point I hope you realised I’d stop.’
She stroked his face. ‘Sean, of course I know that. You’re...’
‘Dull?’
She shook her head. ‘I was going to say honourable.’
He brushed the pad of his thumb across her lower lip, making her skin tingle. ‘You normally call me regimented.’
‘You can be. You were tonight, and I nearly left you to it and went home.’ She smiled. ‘But there’s a huge difference between regimented and dull.’
‘Is there?’
‘Let me show you,’ she said. ‘Take me to bed.’
‘I thought you’d never ask.’
To her surprise, he scooped her up and actually carried her up the stairs. She half wanted to make a snippy comment about him being muscle-bound, to tease him and push him, but at the same time she didn’t want to spoil the moment. She was shocked to discover that she actually quite liked the way he was taking charge and being all troglodyte.
Once they were in his room, he set her down on her feet.
His bedroom was painted in shades of smoky blue—very masculine, with a polished wooden floor, a rug in a darker shade that toned with the walls and matched the curtains, and limed oak furniture. But what really caught Claire’s eye was his bed. A sleigh bed, also in limed oak, and she loved it. She’d always wanted a bed like that, but there really wasn’t the room for that kind of furniture in her flat. Sean’s Victorian terraced house was much more spacious and the bed was absolutely perfect.
‘The last time you took your dress off for me,’ he said, ‘your underwear matched. Does it match today?’
‘That’s for me to know,’ she said, ‘and for you to find out.’
‘Is that a challenge?’
‘In part. It’s also an offer.’ She paused. ‘Um, before this goes any further, do we have Monday’s problem?’
‘We absolutely do not,’ he confirmed.
‘Good.’ Because she was going to implode if she had to wait much longer.
He drew the curtains and turned on the bedside light; it was a touch lamp, so he was able to dim the glow. Then he sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Show me,’ he invited.
She unzipped her dress and stepped out of it, then hung it over the back of a chair.
‘What?’ she asked, seeing the amusement in his face.
‘You’re a closet neat freak,’ he said.
‘No. Just practical. This is linen. It creases very, very badly. And I’m not walking out of here looking as if I’ve just been tumbled in a haystack.’
He gave her a slow, sexy smile. ‘I like that image. Very much. You, tumbled in a haystack.’
She shook her head. ‘It’s not at all romantic, you know. Straw’s prickly and itchy and totally unsexy.’
‘And I assume you know that because you’ve, um, gone with the flow?’
‘Listen, I haven’t slept with everyone I’ve dated, and I certainly haven’t slept with anyone else as fast as I fell into bed with you,’ she said, folding her arms and giving him a level stare.
He stood up, walked over to her and brushed his mouth against hers. ‘I’m not calling you a tart, Claire. We both have pasts. It’s the twenty-first century, not the nineteen-fifties. I’m thirty and you’re twenty-seven. I’d be more surprised if we were both still virgins.’ He traced the lacy edge of her bra with one fingertip. ‘Mmm. Cream lace. I like this. You have excellent taste in clothing, Ms Stewart.’
‘It’s oyster, not cream,’ she corrected.
He grinned. ‘And you have the cheek to call me prissy.’
‘Details,’ she said. ‘You need to get them right.’
‘We’re in agreement there.’
She coughed.
‘What?’ he asked.
‘I’m in my underwear. You can see that it matches, so I’ve done my half of the bargain. And right now, Mr Farrell, I have to say that you’re very much overdressed.’
‘So strip me, Claire,’ he said, opening his arms to give her full access to his clothes.
It was an offer she wasn’t going to refuse.
* * *
Afterwards, curled in Sean’s arms, Claire turned her face so she could kiss his shoulder. ‘I’d better go.’
‘Not yet. This is comfortable.’ He held her closer. ‘Stay for a bit longer. I’ll drive you home.’
So Sean the super-efficient businessman was a cuddler? Ah, bless, Claire thought. And, actually, she rather liked it. It made him that much more human. ‘OK,’ she said, and settled back against him.
Funny how they didn’t really need to talk. Just being together was enough. It was peaceful. Something else she would never have believed about herself and Sean; but she liked just being with him. When he wasn’t being super-organised down to the last microsecond. And it seemed that he felt the same.
So maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t all going to end in tears.
When she finally got dressed and he drove her home, he parked outside her flat. ‘So. When are you free next?’ he asked.
‘Sunday?’ she suggested. ‘I have the shop on Saturday.’
‘Sunday works for me.’
‘You organised tonight, so I’ll organise Sunday,’ she said. ‘And that means doing things my way.’
‘Going with the flow.’ He looked slightly pained.
‘It means being spontaneous and having fun,’ she said. ‘I’ll pick you up at nine. And I won’t be late.’
‘No?’ he asked wryly.
‘No.’ She kissed him. ‘The first bit of tonight was, um, a bit much for me. But I loved dinner. I loved the London Eye and just being with you. Those kind of things works for me. It’s just...’ She shook her head. ‘Schedules are for work. And I keep my work and my personal life separate.’
‘Hmm,’ he said, and she knew he wasn’t convinced. But then he made the effort and said, ‘I enjoyed being with you.’
But the fact she’d been late had really grated on him. He didn’t have to tell her that.
He kissed her lightly. ‘I’ll walk you to your door.’
‘Sean, it’s half a dozen paces. I think I’m old enough to manage.’
He spread his hands. ‘As you wish.’
‘I’m not pushing you away,’ she said softly. ‘But I don’t need protecting—the same as you don’t.’ She already had one overprotective male in her life, and that was more than enough for her. And it was half the reason why she’d always chosen free-spirited boyfriends who wouldn’t make a fuss over everything or smother her.
Though maybe she’d gone too far the other way, because they’d all been disastrous.
But could Sean compromise? Could they find some kind of middle ground between them? If not, then this was going to be just as much a disaster as her previous relationships.
‘Thank you for caring,’ she said, knowing that his heart was in the right place—he just went a bit too far, that was all. ‘I’ll see you Sunday.’
‘Spontaneous. Go with the flow.’
‘You’re learning. Carpe diem,’ she said with a smile, and kissed him. ‘Goodnight.’
