A Convenient Proposal Page 15

  What should she say when they went into their bedroom? she asked herself feverishly. Or perhaps she wouldn't need to say anything at all? When he started to make love to her again she would let her mouth and her hands speak for her. Quinn was a sensual, passionate man; his virility clothed him like a dark aura. He had already said he found her beautiful and sexy. It would be all right. It would be all right.

  'There are the nursery quarters and two bedrooms on the second floor above,' Quinn drawled easily when they reached the landing, 'but they will wait until tomorrow. These are guest bedrooms, all with their own en suite—' he opened three doors in quick succession to show her massive bedrooms beautifully furnished and each with a separate colour scheme '—and this is the master bedroom.'

  This time he indicated for Candy to precede him into the vast, high-ceilinged room, which was decorated in silver and a deep violet-blue, and she saw their holiday luggage— which she had assumed was in the Aston Martin—was already in situ and must have been brought over earlier in the day.

  'What a truly incredible house,' Candy breathed softly as her eyes roamed the lovely room. 'Your friend's a very lucky man to have found a place like this.'

  'He's thinking of selling it, actually.' Quinn was leaning against the open door, his arms folded across his chest and his dark eyes watching her. 'He spends most of his time in the States now, and his wife and children get tired of seeing him once in a blue moon.'

  'Really?' She turned to face him. 'But who on earth would be able to afford somewhere like this?'

  The black eyes were contemplative as he said lazily, his tone matter-of-fact, 'Me, actually. If you like the thought of living here permanently, that is. There's an indoor swimming pool built on in an annexe at the back of the kitchen and a pretty well-equipped gym. It would be no trouble to extend a little further and add a studio.'

  'You could buy this place?' she asked, her voice high. And then, realising how rude her amazement sounded, she added hastily, 'What I mean is—'

  'I know what you mean.' He didn't sound at all offended.

  'I was left some money, a large amount of money, when I was younger, and Matt, the guy who lives here, invested a substantial amount for me—very wisely, as it happens. It grew, I played the stock exchange now and again, with Matt's guidance, and perhaps perversely—because I didn't care much if I won or lost—everything I touched turned to gold.'

  'But…' She stared at him, her lovely blue eyes puzzled. 'If you could afford somewhere like this why did you move in over the practice when you bought it? And why work as a vet at all?'

  'To answer your last question first, I like it. I trained for it. It was tough, but I got through, and it satisfies something deep inside,' he said steadily.

  She nodded slowly. Yes, she could understand that if she made a billion tomorrow she would still paint.

  'As to why I moved into the flat—why not?' He shrugged as he straightened up from the door. 'I was a bachelor again, and intending to remain so. When Laura and Joe died I went through a bad patch—' the hard mouth tightened '—and I dropped out of life for a time. You can do that when you've got money.' It was cynical and self-derisive, but before she could say anything he continued, 'And then I started working as a vet again and it was my salvation. I needed it So in the back of my mind I began to think it might be good to get my own practice again, like I had in Oxford when I was married. I travelled around a bit in my spare time to see the sort of area I'd like to live in—I was tired of the big cities—and then I answered Essie's advertisement for a vet The rest, as they say, is history.'

  She stared at him. 'Why didn't you tell me you were so wealthy before?' she asked quietly, her even tone masking the hurt. He played all his cards so close to his chest; she really didn't know this man at all. But he wasn't just a man, was he? He was her husband.

  'Does it matter?'

  His voice was so calm it was an insult, and her heart began to beat erratically as she realised just how little he had revealed about himself during the time she had known him. Every time she thought she was getting the tiniest bit close he let her know she still had miles—a lifetime—to go.

  'I think so, yes.' She raised her chin slightly but her eyes didn't flicker as she continued to stare into his. 'I know this marriage is one of convenience, but there has to be a foundation of trust at least,' she said levelly, wondering where the strength and control was coming from to speak so matter-of-factly when she was so churned up inside.

  His eyes held hers for an infinitesimal moment longer, and then he jammed his hands into his pockets, the action showing her he wasn't so calm as he would like her to believe. 'Point taken.'

  She hoped so, but she doubted it. He clearly envisaged they would be two people living under the same roof but engaging in separate lives. Well, that wasn't altogether his fault, but there was no time like the present to start chipping away at that formidable steel coating he had put on his emotions.

  'Good.'

  She managed a fairly normal smile, which froze as Quinn said, 'Is there anything you need before you turn in?'

  It wasn't so much the words themselves but the way he had spoken—that and the fact that he was already stepping backwards into the hall, his hand on the door to pull it shut.

  'Yes… No! I—' She stopped abruptly, trying to gather her scattered wits. He couldn't be saying what she suspected he was saying, could he?

  He could.

  'Try and get a good night's sleep; it's been an exhausting day,' Quinn said evenly, and then quietly closed the door, leaving her alone.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Candy remained standing where she was for a good minute as she struggled to take in that her new husband—her brand-new husband—had abandoned her on their wedding night.

  Then she walked over to the bed—a huge four-poster— and threw herself down on the antique lace coverlet and had a good cry. It helped—a little; at least it enabled her to strip off the erotic underwear with bitter mutterings along the lines of. 'It's his loss, the rat,' and no more tears.

  She padded into the en suite stark naked and found an amazing bathroom that would make even the most hard-boiled movie star sit up and take notice. All marble and mirrors and concealed lighting.

  Candy spent some moments examining herself from all angles in the mirrored walls and ceilings. Okay, so she wasn't one of those stick insects that were in all the fashion magazines these days, but neither was she grossly fat either, she reassured the pink-eyed reflection dismally. She had had guys coming on to her from when she was barely in her teens, so she couldn't be that bad, could she?

  She ran herself a bath in the sort of super-tub that would easily have accommodated a team of rugby players and flicked the switch to Jacuzzi mode, refusing to allow her mind to play on how different it could have been if Quinn were here at the side of her.

  She hated him! She did, she loathed him, she told herself savagely. She wouldn't allow him within ten feet of her if he went down on his knees and begged! How she could have imagined she loved him she just didn't know; she must have been having some sort of brainstorm. But she was in her right senses now and she could be every inch as cool and controlled as he was.

  He had said she could take all the time she needed to make their relationship a physical one and she would certainly do that all right. He would still be waiting when he was an old man with grey hair! He had shown her the matter was incidental as far as he was concerned, so there was no problem, was there? No problem at all.

  This chain of thought was threatening to bring on the tears again, and so she determined to suppress all thoughts of Quinn and let the silky bubbles ease her stiff limbs and tense muscles.

  She stayed in the water for over an hour—she would turn into a dried-out wrinkly prune and that would show Quinn, she thought with total irrationality—and then dried herself slowly, wrapping the huge fluffy bath sheet round her sarong-style before walking back into the bedroom. Its emptiness mocked her as she dried he
r hair and smoothed moisturiser into her face and body, but it was when she walked over to the luggage and realised there were only her two suitcases standing there that the tears surfaced again.

  He really didn't want her. She sank down on the bed and gazed round the fabulous room vacantly. Or not enough, at least. Where was she going to find the strength to change things? Could she change things?

  She suddenly felt very small and very alone—and unloved. Unloved and unlovable. It wasn't a new feeling; it had reared its head all through her somewhat isolated childhood in spite of Xavier's efforts to be all the family she needed. But tonight the feeling was overwhelming, and it emphasised her utter presumptuousness in imagining she could make Quinn Ellington fall in love with her. She must have been mad! She was mad—stark, staring crazy.

  She rolled into a tight little ball under the crisp cotton covers and cried herself to sleep.

  When Candy awoke the next morning it was out of a deep, dreamless sleep of mental, emotional and physical exhaustion. She surfaced slowly, layer upon layer of thick cottonwool heaviness anchoring her to the bed, but then it dawned on her somnolent senses what had roused her. Someone had drawn back the thick violet-blue drapes and opened the windows, letting fresh golden sunlight spill into the room.

  She opened her eyes to stare straight into Quinn's glittering black gaze.

  'Come on, sleepyhead,' he said lazily, his dark eyes washing over her tumbled red hair and creamy skin as Candy instinctively pulled the bedclothes more closely around her. 'It's ten o'clock on a beautiful summer Sunday and we're going to explore Matt's magnificent grounds. I've packed a picnic lunch already, so once you've eaten your toast and drunk at least two cups of coffee we'll be off.' He indicated the breakfast tray he had placed on the small table at the side of the bed with a smile.

  'You've got breakfast?' She remained exactly where she was, half snuggled under the covers, because she remembered she had been too miserable last night to search her suitcases for a nightie and had slept nude.

  'It didn't need much getting,' he returned dryly, glancing at the tray containing a glass of fresh orange juice, three slices of buttered toast and a tiny pot of blackcurrant preserve, a jug of steaming coffee, sugar and milk, along with a china mug gaily painted with poppies. 'I'll give you half an hour, okay?'

  'Okay.' She nodded obediently, silky tendrils of hair falling about her face and the blue of her eyes still smudged with sleep. She just wanted him to go! He looked gorgeous—freshly shaved, black hair still damp from the shower and dressed with immaculate casualness in an open-necked charcoal silk shirt and black jeans—whereas she must look a fright.

  And then, almost as though he had read her mind, he bent down and took her flushed face in his hands, planting a swift kiss on her surprised lips before straightening again. 'I knew you'd look good enough to eat in the mornings,' he said over his shoulder as he strolled over to the half-open door. 'Half an hour, and don't keep me waiting.'

  He knew she'd look good enough to eat? If he hadn't closed the door he would have got the tray aimed straight at the back of his arrogant head, coffee and all, Candy told herself furiously as she jerked into a sitting position. Talk about blowing hot and cold!

  All these months of touch-me-not culminating in the fiasco of last night and he dared to imply— What, exactly? What had he implied? She sat there, her glorious hair spilling about her slender shoulders and her brow creased in a frown. That he fancied her? That he wanted her? But he might not have meant that, might he?

  She glanced at the breakfast tray and sighed, loudly and irritably. Quinn Ellington was a law unto himself, that was the trouble, and if she was being absolutely honest she didn't have a clue what made the man tick.

  The thick gold band next to her engagement ring felt alien and heavy on her hand as she reached for the breakfast tray and, after drinking the orange juice, nibbled at a slice of toast. She wasn't in the least bit hungry; she didn't feel as if she would ever be hungry again, she told herself miserably. And she had no one but herself to blame for this mess. Quinn hadn't forced her to marry him; she had gone into this with her eyes wide open. She just hadn't expected…

  'Oh, quit griping!' She spoke the words out loud, her tone suddenly firm, and felt better for it. This was her first day as Mrs Quinn Ellington and she was blowed if she was going to spend it moping and whining. She was young, she was healthy, her career was about to take off in a big way and she was married to the man she loved. Admittedly he didn't love her, but who said life was ever perfect? She grimaced derisively to herself, finishing the slice of toast in two bites, and threw back the covers determinedly.

  A picnic, he'd said. And exploring the grounds. She ought to wear something very practical, like jeans and a top, or shorts, maybe, but this wasn't a time for practicality. This was a time for making Quinn Ellington squirm! He was a man with a very healthy libido and she would make him pant on the leash if it was the last thing she did. And then she would—very politely but firmly—remind him of all he'd said and make him pant some more.

  It took an extra ten minutes over the allotted half an hour to get ready, but when Candy stood surveying herself in the full-length bedroom mirror she told herself it was worth it. The white, full-skirted, sleeveless dress in fine broderie anglaise was ethereally lovely but subtly sexy too, with its plunging neckline and tightly fitting bodice ending in a deep V, and at least her white pumps were flat and easy to walk in. She closed her mind to the thought of grass stains and blessed the hot weather which had made everything tinder-dry.

  She had curled her hair about her shoulders, where it hung in shining waves, and applied just enough eye makeup to turn her eyes into deep pools of sapphire without it being obvious she had made herself up. Her skin was glowing and smelt delicious, thanks to the horribly expensive body lotion she had used with gay abandon, and her pale peach lipstick gave her lips a moistness that would make any red-blooded man want to taste them.

  She caught herself at the thought, staring at the image in the mirror with eyes that suddenly widened. What on earth was she doing? she asked herself faintly. What had Quinn turned her into? This wasn't the shy, nervous girl who had firmly repulsed all suitors most of her life and only allowed Harper the briefest of intimacies. She was behaving as brazenly as Joanna!

  Galvanised into action, she scrubbed at her lips with a tissue, but got no further before she heard Quinn call from beyond the bedroom door. She had no time to change now. She glanced at her reflection and grabbed a scrunchy from her cosmetics bag, looping her hair high in a ponytail with the elasticated band and standing back to survey the effect Better. Definitely not so come-hitherish.

  The knock on the bedroom door had her springing across the room and opening the door to see Quinn leaning against the far wall, his hands in his pockets and his dark eyes slumberous as they travelled over her hot face. 'All ready?'

  'Uh-huh.' Ready? She had never felt so less ready in all her life, especially when confronted with the pure male sensuality that was an intrinsic part of Quinn and lethal in content. She forced a quick smile and pulled the door shut behind her as he levered himself off the wall and held out his hand. Help! Double help! Triple help! She took his hand and walked with him down the stairs and out into the sunshine, as though the feel of his warm fingers holding hers wasn't causing her heart to beat in her throat.

  Quinn stopped just outside the threshold of the house, locking the door before picking up the wicker basket at the side of the stone steps. 'Lunch,' he explained briefly, and then handed her a pretty little homemade corsage of bright white daisies with gold centres. 'I had to fill in the time while I was waiting,' he said lazily in reply to her delighted thank you.

  'Here.' He took the flowers from her and fixed them into the band holding the ponytail. 'Perfect.' He stood back to admire the effect and then, as she smiled at him, the laughter died in his eyes and was replaced by something much more raw before he bent and picked up the basket again.

  'Matt
tells me there are some fifty acres of grounds in all,' Quinn said quietly as he reached for her hand again and drew her further into the sunshine. 'Formal gardens surrounding the house, then the orchards and paddocks beyond, and beyond them he's let a good number of acres grow into wild meadow. His wife is something of a conservationist,' he added almost apologetically. 'She's into planting wildflowers and so on.'

  'Good for her.' Candy glanced at him, so big and dark at her side, and felt her heart turn over, 'I love wildflowers; they're the prettiest of all.'

  'Yes, I thought you might.' He glanced at her, the black eyes narrowed in a face that was too handsome by half. 'We'll just follow our noses, then?'

  Unlike her wedding day, Candy was to remember every minute of that wonderful day for the rest of her life. There was a slight breeze in the air which stopped the day from being too hot, and as they strolled along in the warm sunshine they talked easily—too easily, Candy was to think later, when she realised just how much she had revealed about her childhood hopes and fears and the way things had been—until, just after two, when they were knee-deep in the meadows Quinn had spoken of, he suggested they eat lunch.

  'What a wonderful, wonderful place.'

  The grassy dell in which they were sitting was a carpet of wildflowers, their scents perfuming the still summer air and causing the steady drone of bees to become a low background hum as they searched for pollen.

  'Step out of life,' Quinn agreed lazily, and then, as he unpacked the very superior picnic hamper and caught her amazed eyes, he grinned, adding, 'Courtesy of a first-class local delicatessen, I'm afraid. I'd like to take the credit but my innate honesty forbids it.'

  It was the grin that did it. It was beguiling little boy and sexy man of the world and a million other things besides, and yet another facet to Quinn's complex personality. She knew there were countless other women who would be bowled over, just as she was, but it didn't make any difference. He was devastating. Devastating and dangerous and frighteningly irresistible.