by Anna Cleary
‘You look lovely, Ivy,’ Amber told her sincerely.
‘Oh, well. You have to make an effort to fit in,’ Ivy said. ‘It never mattered over here. But over there …’
Amber lifted her brows and smiled. Poor Ivy couldn’t hurt her. No one could.
Everything in her life was rosy. Her shop, her friends, her man.
Although of course he wasn’t her man officially. And maybe he never would be. A man who’d suffered the trauma Guy had would be unlikely to want to make the sort of commitment most women dreamed about.
It didn’t matter to Amber. She could be happy with the way things were. She felt pretty sure they’d still see each other regularly, although it would be a wrench not to wake up beside him every morning.
With the pressures of work for both of them, it wasn’t realistic to think she’d see him every day. Though she had been hoping he’d spend a little more time at her party. He had come for an hour this morning, but then he’d had other things to do.
She wasn’t worried any more about the Jo situation, of course. Guy had explained a little about Jo’s motivations in backing out of the wedding, and he didn’t seem to bear any rancour.
‘It’s a funny thing,’ he’d said, leaning up on the pillow beside her one afternoon. ‘You know how you read about the scales falling from people’s eyes?’
Amber nodded.
‘Well, that’s how I felt when I talked to her at The Owl. I don’t blame her for changing her mind. Anyone should be allowed to draw back—right up until the moment of saying I do. It was her explanation for not letting me know that stunned me. She said she was too busy with the preparations for her flight. It was all so sudden, she just didn’t think until it was too late.’
Amber was still unable to imagine being in such a hurry as not to remember a waiting bridegroom.
But she was pleased she and Guy had finally talked through the painful experience. Guy had really opened up about the whole thing. Sometimes she had the feeling he’d kept it locked inside for fear she’d in some way hold it against him.
As if.
By late on Saturday Amber’s energy for the celebrations had begun to flag a little. There were only so many hours of socialising and retailing a woman could do in one day, and she’d been working since before dawn.
‘Why don’t you go up and have a rest?’ Jean had come down again for another bout. ‘I’ll mind the store for the last hour if you trust me.’
Amber turned to her. ‘Oh, Jean, that’s a lovely offer. But I couldn’t …’
‘Yes, you could. Sure you could. Come on. Accept it.’ That was Guy’s deep voice.
Amber spun around. He’d strolled in, looking dangerously gorgeous and athletic in jeans and leather jacket, his grey eyes gleaming with some barely concealed excitement.
Amber’s sharp eye instantly zeroed in on his jaw.
Aha. He’d recently shaved.
She narrowed her eyes. ‘So, what brings you back here?’
Heedless of his interested aunt and the party crowd, he bent to kiss her lips. ‘There’s something I want to show you.’
Amber hardly needed persuading. There were infinite ways of relaxing, and she was always open to suggestion.
Once in the car, Guy seized her in a steamy, breath-stealing, wide-ranging clinch that convinced her of his genuine pleasure in seeing her. Then he drove her across the bridge and through the city to nearby Woollahra.
Amber loved the area, with its pretty tree-lined streets and elegant villas. The house Guy had inherited from his grandfather was on the crescent of a hill, with harbour views from its upper storey.
Pulling on the handbrake in the garage, Guy said, ‘Come on upstairs.’
The house was built on several levels. Some walls on the garden side had been replaced with glass, to increase the spacious feel of the old residence. There was a faint scent of freshly hewn timber and sawdust.
Amber slipped off her heels so as not to mark the wooden floors.
She felt his eyes on her naked feet and knew at once that their ever-simmering desire was at risk of escalating at any moment. He took her through the sparsely furnished rooms, showing her all his home’s beauties of harmony and style. Then on the upper floor he opened a door and stood aside for her to enter first.
She stepped inside and her heart seized. This room was long and wide. As long as the entire house. There was no furniture, apart from a piano at one end, but three of the walls were mirrored and one of them had a barre rail. The fourth had wide windows with views of the bay.
‘Oh,’ she gasped. ‘Oh, Guy.’
She walked into the middle of the room, this room that wrenched her heart, hardly knowing what to say. Questions clamoured in her mind. How come? she wanted to ask. Who’s it all for?
What’s the point?
She turned to look at him, speechless.
He moved towards her, his grey eyes uncertain, even a little anxious. ‘You see, I can’t believe you’re ready to give it up.’
A huge sea of buried emotion somewhere deep inside her welled up and sprang a leak. Tears swam into her eyes. ‘Oh, Guy.’
‘I thought … correct me if I’m wrong … I thought you might like to … once the shop is on its feet and thriving … let someone else run it and take up your career again.’
Why then she would never understand, but hearing her most secret fantasy spoken aloud was too much for the dam inside her, and whatever had been walling it up so tightly for so long burst. She covered her face with her hands and cried.
Guy held her while sobs racked her body and tears rained on his leather jacket, stroking and soothing her, patting her and murmuring things like, ‘My darling …’ ‘My beautiful girl …’ ‘My sweetheart …’
If the poor man was as frightfully embarrassed as she supposed, he didn’t even show it. And when at last she’d slowed enough to make a hoarse cry of, ‘Tissues!’ with urgent pointing motions towards her bag, he rummaged in its depths and brought out a whole bunch, which she gladly accepted.
‘You do know,’ she said, dabbing tissues in all the wet areas, ‘I might not be able to get back into the company? And my life is here in Sydney now. You. The shop. You.’
‘But there are dance companies in Sydney, aren’t there?’
She nodded. ‘But places here are fiercely contested. I’ve been out of it so long I’d have to work like mad even to reach scratch for an audition.’
‘Then that’s what you’ll do.’
He was so confident for her it gave her such a boost.
Maybe she could do it. She could. If she didn’t have to run the shop full time.
‘I’ve been thinking about your shop. How about letting Serena run it? She seems to like the business. She could hire a couple of people to work weekends for her. And you could let her stay in your flat.’
‘But where will I stay?’
He smiled. ‘Here.’
Eventually he led her downstairs where, thankfully for her wobbly legs, he had a sitting room with a proper sofa and chairs. Even a thick Persian rug. The plastic covers were still on the sofas, so instead she let her feet sink into the sumptuous pile of the rug.
‘The whole place needs furnishing properly,’ he said, looking around. ‘I thought you might like to have a say in that.’
She lifted her brows. ‘Me?’
‘Yeah. You see, I was hoping …’
She noted a sudden tension in his stance.
Her pulse made an excited leap and her heart began to bump against the wall of her chest. A throbbing, vibrant tension inhabited the space between them, as if something momentous was about to happen.
He dropped his gaze. ‘You know, I never thought I’d trust a woman to love me after what happened.’
‘I know.’ Her heart ached for him so fiercely she had to apply another tissue to her eyes. ‘I’m not surprised. It was a horrible tragedy. No one would get over it easily.’
He shrugged. ‘Oh, well … Worse things have h
appened to people. But when I met you … When I saw you for who you are …’
It was hard not to cry when someone was saying such beautiful sincere things. But she willed back the tears, pressed her lips together and held her breath.
His eyes were so warm and tender it was worth the struggle. ‘I fell in love with you right away.’
She smiled. ‘Did you?’
‘Yeah. That day you told me off in the shop. I’m still madly in love with you, if you want to know.’
‘I do want to know.’ She felt her smile bubbling up inside and pouring through every pore.
‘Yeah?’ He grinned and kissed her.
She kissed him in return. ‘I want to know every single thing.’
He laughed, and she laughed too, though it was pretty shaky, what with her feeling so excited and emotional and her eyes being constantly washed with salt water.
‘You know,’ she said breathlessly, ‘I’ve been wanting to tell you for so long. About how I love you.’
His eyes glowed. ‘Honestly?’
She beamed. ‘Honestly and sincerely. With all my heart.’
He took her in his arms and kissed her. It was a deep, fervent and intensely satisfying affirmation. Afterwards they were both breathless, and not a little aroused. He was such a passionate, emotional guy. He always brought out the best in her.
‘You know, you’re the most beautiful, unique and special woman I ever knew in my life.’
‘Truly?’ she breathed, hardly able to believe what she was hearing.
‘Absolutely,’ he said firmly. ‘So now I want you to tell me the honest truth about something.’ He held her a little away from him and studied her face. ‘Honestly, now. Do you want to actually get married?’
He crinkled his brow a little. His crow’s feet were charmingly in evidence, somewhere between a frown and a wince.
She hesitated, trying to read his eyes. What if she said the wrong thing here? She could absolutely ruin the moment. But … it was their moment of truth. Would any moment so tender ever come again?
And she knew she just had to be true to her inner nerd.
‘Well, actually, Guy …’ she said, her heart bursting with love and hope. Crossing her fingers, she took a deep breath. ‘In actual fact … yes.’
He smiled. Then he laughed. ‘Yeah, I thought you’d say that.’ He grinned again. ‘Great. We’ll get married.’
Her heart nearly exploded, her joy was so rapturous. But other sensations were fast asserting themselves—some of them due to that rug and its marvellous feel under her feet.
There was something truly sensuous and voluptuous about a Persian rug.
As her lover kissed her to the floor, thrilling her with the intensity of his desire, she couldn’t help sparing a thought for that silly, empty woman who’d thrown away the most gorgeous man on the planet. The most honourable. And the most loving. And very possibly the most virile.
Inspired by the impressive manifestations of his affection, she said huskily, ‘Would you like me to show you Straddle Position Number Seven?’
A piercing hot flame lit his eyes. When he spoke his voice was deeper than a subterranean seam of the purest dark chocolate. ‘Oh, Amber.’ The heartfelt growl in his voice was utterly convincing. ‘Sweetheart, you truly are the most bewitching woman alive.’
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All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.
All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II BV/S.à.r.l. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.
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First published in Great Britain 2012
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited.
Harlequin (UK) Limited, Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road,
Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR
© Ann Cleary 2012
ISBN: 978-1-408-97426-1
Table of Contents
Cover
Excerpt
About the Author
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Copyright
