by Helen Brooks
'She's a very thorough girl.'
It was pleasant and even, but something in Quinn's voice told Candy he wasn't going to be put off accompanying her. She stared into the midnight-dark eyes and then took several sips of coffee as her mind raced.
Her uncle Xavier—who had been mother, father, sister and brother to her for as long as she could remember, there being no other immediate family apart from her grandmother, who had died when Candy was eight years of age—had met, fallen in love with and married this man's colleague, a fellow vet, the year before.
In his pursuit of Essie, Xavier had bought this veterinary practice when the owner had put it on the market, but on their marriage they had sold the surgery to Quinn. Did Quinn now feel under some obligation—either through his purchase of the business or his previous friendship with Essie—to take her under his wing? Candy asked herself silently. Because if so it was the last thing she wanted, and she had better make that perfectly clear from day one.
'Mr Ell—, Quinn,' she hastily amended as she caught his eye, 'I don't know what Essie has told you, but I am perfectly able to look after myself.' And then she saw it, the merest flicker of his eyes, and she knew. Essie had asked Quinn to nursemaid her. Prompted, no doubt, by Xavier! Oh, how could they? She knew they meant well, but the last thing in all the world she wanted was this. 'I mean it,' she added, her voice cold now.
'Shortbread?' Quinn had watched her gather her thoughts and he knew she'd caught on; her face was very expressive as well as beautiful.
'No, thank you.' It was something of a snap and he groaned inwardly. He'd blown it.
'Homemade,' he countered breezily, 'Marion looks on herself as a surrogate mother as well as my receptionist, and she's made it her life's mission to feed me up.'
Candy bit her lip and looked straight at him, her vivid blue eyes narrowing. 'Essie has asked you to look out for me, hasn't she?'
She was nothing if not straightforward, thought Quinn appreciatively. He liked that in a person; it was a rare quality these days. Of course he could dodge the question he knew she was asking, but her directness deserved better than that.
'Yes.' It was equally forthright, and as he settled back in his chair, his ebony eyes holding her gaze and his long legs stretched out before him, Candy felt something tighten in her stomach. An awareness, a pulse, a throb of something she hadn't felt in a long, long time, and it scared her to death.
'Well, you needn't bother,' she said flatly. 'I'm not a child and I don't appreciate being treated like one.'
No, whatever else, she certainly wasn't a child, Quinn thought, as her scent—something delicate and elusive— drifted towards him as she rose abruptly.
'There's something wrong with people looking out for each other?'
He hadn't moved, and his voice was still relaxed and cool, but suddenly there was an element to his maleness that she hadn't been aware of before. An authority, something imperious and cold that told her she was being stupid. And it hit her on a raw place.
'No, of course not,' she shot back sharply, 'if that's what they want. But I don't want it; that's the point.'
'And you don't think it's perfectly understandable that Xavier doesn't want Essie worrying about you at such a vulnerable time in her pregnancy?' Quinn asked silkily.
Oh, nice one. She stared at him, her eyes widening with shock at being put in her place so adroitly. In one fell swoop he had accused her of being childish and selfish and ungrateful without voicing any of those things. There was a lot more to this man than met the eye, but then she had suspected that the minute she had set eyes on him. What you saw was not what you got with Mr Quinn Ellington, she told herself caustically. Mr Nice Guy when it suited him, but that was all.
'I shall stay in touch with them,' she said defiantly.
'That's very good of you.' It was deeply sarcastic.
Her nostrils flared and she would have loved to have made a grand exit, but she didn't have the key or the instructions.
'Sit down, Candy, and finish your coffee.' It was an order, not an invitation.
'I would prefer to leave now, if I can have the key?' Why was she behaving like this? Candy asked herself in disbelief. Even the note in her voice wasn't really her. She was never petulant.
'Sit down.' It was a bark this time, and she sat, acknowledging, with a touch of dark humour, that he was certainly in the right profession. There wasn't an animal alive that would step out of line if he spoke to it like that Well, she needed the key and so she would play along, but once she had it she would make sure she never set eyes on Mr Quinn Ellington again. Essie or no Essie!
'Thank you.' Quinn wasn't sure if he was angrier with himself or this Titian-haired virago who looked like an angel but had the temper of something from the other place. But she was Essie's fledgling, she was still recovering from the sort of accident that no one got out of alive, she was all alone in an alien country and he had promised to look out for her, damn it. He had promised. And he hadn't lost his temper for years; why had he to start with her, now? He took a deep breath and forced his mouth out of the grim line it had set in. 'Now, please drink your coffee; you look ready to drop and it will help you concentrate on the drive to the cottage.'
Oh, so she was an inept driver now as well? Candy scowled at him, her eyes shooting blue sparks that negated any idea she was sleepy. But she finished the coffee and ate the finger of shortbread Quinn had wedged on the saucer. It was delicious, and she would have loved another slice, but she would rather have been hung, drawn and quartered than say so.
'Ready?' Quinn rose as he spoke, and it dawned on her he was tall, very tall. He towered over her five feet eight by at least six inches, and he needed a haircut Her eyes widened slightly as the thought hit and she pushed it aside firmly. She didn't care if his hair grew down to his feet; it was no concern of hers if that quiff kept falling in his eyes.
'I'll meet you round the front.'
She had been hesitating on how to finish the meeting. It seemed a bit fatuous to thank him for the coffee, but she couldn't very well just ask for the key again. Now, as Quinn spoke, she found herself gaping at him before she shut her mouth with a little snap. So he was still determined to escort her to the cottage? She swallowed back the hot retort that had jumped to her lips and almost choked with the effort, before sweeping past him and wrenching open the front door.
Calm down, Candy; don't let him get to you. She stood for a moment on the doorstep and breathed deeply of the crisp, cold English air before striding over to the Fiesta and unlocking the door.
Once inside the car she started the engine and then waited. Within moments a sleek, beautiful champagne-coloured Aston Martin nosed on to the front drive from the back of the house. It figured. She allowed a small cynical smile to play round her angry mouth. This was a car women would take a second and a third glance at, and she didn't doubt that was why Quinn had bought it.
Oh, why was she being so bitchy? she asked herself in the next moment, as Quinn raised a hand in acknowledgment before easing the car past the docile little Fiesta. He was entitled to drive any car he liked!
Harper had liked powerful cars. The statement was in answer to her previous thoughts, and she recognised it as such as she followed Quinn out on to the main road. The realisation made her nip at her lower lip. No, she wasn't going to do this. She wasn't going to get all bitter and twisted and tar all men with the same brush. No doubt there were still a few men out there, nice, ordinary men, who were capable of being faithful all their lives. The thought was without conviction, and she frowned at herself before shrugging irritably.
It didn't matter one way or the other anyway. She didn't intend to fall into the trap of commitment and all that hog-wash ever again, so it was pointless to think along these lines. She clamped her lips together, straightened her back and followed Quinn into the sort of narrow country lane that was pure picture book England.
They passed several huge thatched cottages with magnificently laid out garden
s, and within a moment or two the lane had narrowed still more to show green fields either side of the drystone walls.
Candy was just thinking she hoped they didn't meet any traffic from the opposite direction when Quinn's indicator began to flash and his snail's pace slowed still more, before he eased the Aston Martin into a pull-in just big enough to take two cars.
'Oh, Essie…' Candy spoke out loud, as though Xavier's wife was in the car with her, but her first sight of the cottage Essie still couldn't bear to sell was enchanting.
It was tiny, minute, but the narrow winding path that led to the gnarled front door, the pretty front garden, the white-painted exterior and quaint leaded windows under their bonnet of thatch were chocolate-box material.
The cottage looked to have masses of ground at the back, and she could imagine the gardens would be a blaze of colour come the spring, but even now, with the bare branches of the trees silhouetted against the dying gold sky, the vista was breathtaking. She could understand now why Essie had hung on to her little corner of English heaven, even though Xavier had a penthouse in London for when he was over on business. If this was hers she wouldn't sell it No way.
And she was allowed to stay here as long as she liked— Essie had been adamant about that. 'Months, a year, two years, for ever,' Xavier's wife had said airily when she had' first offered Candy the sanctuary. 'Make it yours, Candy. It's the perfect spot to resume your painting and it's great to think of the place being used again. Xavier arranged for a lady to dust and air the place every so often, and there's a gardener who keeps the outside under control, but other than them you won't see a living soul unless you want to.'
The last words stayed with her now, as she opened the car door and looked over to where Quinn was holding the rickety garden gate open for her.
'Come in and have a nose round first and then I'll get your cases,' he said evenly, but without a smile.
'There's really no need. I can manage perfectly well—'
'And then I'll get out of your hair,' he cut in with cool aplomb. 'Okay?'
She ought to say she hadn't meant she was waiting for him to leave. It was the polite thing, the courteous thing to do. But she had meant just that and she wasn't going to lie. Candy raised her chin a notch or two, nodded brightly, and walked over to the gate. She had to brush past him to get through, and as she did so the smell of him, a mixture of delicious aftershave and something lemon, teased her nostrils, making her senses jump.
It didn't help either that he seemed even bigger and darker than before, in the heavy black leather jacket he had pulled on over his working denims, or that the muscled strength that padded his shoulders and chest was intimidatingly close.
She concentrated on walking to the front door with every ounce of her will, and by the time she reached it she was able to stand aside and let Quinn open the door for her with the magic key without a tremor. A few more minutes and then she would be alone. She could kick her shoes off her aching feet, have a long soak in a hot tub and fall into bed. That was all she wanted. Exploring, shopping for groceries, everything else could wait until tomorrow. She had never felt so exhausted in all her life.
The interior of the cottage was everything the outside promised and more. Polished wood floors, beamed ceilings, whitewashed walls with one or two good paintings—it was perfect, Candy decided happily.
The open-plan sitting room and tiny kitchen had stairs leading upstairs to the cottage's bedroom and diminutive bathroom and furniture was at a minimum—just a rich deep red sofa and two easy chairs, a nest of small occasional tables, a tiny bookcase tucked under the window and two bar stools standing under the little breakfast bar which separated the kitchen from the sitting room.
There was no TV, no microwave—although a hardy stove dominated the kitchen space—no fridge and no washing machine.
'I've had the telephone reconnected.' Quinn indicated the phone resting on the top of the nest of tables. 'And the fire's ready to light. There are more logs and coal stored in the old potting shed at the back of the cottage and a list of everyone—doctor, dentist, coalman et cetera—pinned to the inside of the top cupboard.'
'Oh, right, thank you.' Candy was beginning to feel like a worm. There were fresh flowers in a vase on the bookcase, and when she opened a couple of the kitchen cupboards they were full of food. The bread bin held a crusty loaf, there was a box containing fruit and vegetables on the breakfast bar, at the side of which stood a pack of thick steaks, bacon, eggs and other produce, including a couple of bottles of very good wine. She took a deep breath and asked, 'Did…did you get everything in?'
Quinn shrugged. 'No problem. I didn't think you'd want to shop your first afternoon.'
'How much do I owe you?' she asked jerkily, her cheeks fiery red.
'Don't be ridiculous,' he said shortly.
'Oh, but I must pay you.'
'I said don't be ridiculous.' This time it was accompanied by a scowl that brooked no argument, before he swung round and walked over to the tiny stone fireplace, reaching up for the box of matches on the wooden mantelpiece above and flicking a match to the coals and wood in the grate. 'It's a bit chilly now, but it will soon warm up,' he said quietly. 'There's no central heating, so it's advisable to make sure you don't run out of fuel.'
There was a small, fraught silence while Candy wondered whether to press the matter of payment for the supplies, but she found she didn't dare. 'Thank you,' she said again.
'There's a TV point if you want to get one. Essie never liked the idea herself.'
'Neither do I,' Candy said quickly. 'I shall be painting most of the time anyway, and I love to read, especially in front of a real fire.'
'A homebody?' Jet-black eyes wandered over the slim, expensively dressed and beautifully coiffured figure in front of him and a thick black eyebrow rose derisively. It made Candy want to hit him.
'Actually, I am,' she affirmed tightly.
'Right.'
Candy reminded herself about the food and the flowers and the fire now burning brightly in the grate and swallowed hard.
'I'll get your cases in.' There was something in the silky voice that told her he was well aware of the restraint she had just employed and had relished it.
She went exploring upstairs while Quinn brought her things in, and found the bedroom, with its pretty drapes and matching bedspread and leaded window under the eaves, delightful. There was no wardrobe or dressing table—Essie had warned her about the makeshift bar she had nailed to the wall which she had intended to replace with a wardrobe one day—but Candy didn't mind that She could perhaps buy a small pine wardrobe to match the bed, she thought to herself, and a few other things for Essie before she left She'd see how the painting went She had a list of contacts from her agent in Canada and several had appeared hopeful.
'Do you want these cases upstairs?'
Upstairs? The thought of Quinn in the bedroom was enough to send her scurrying down the bare wood stairs with more speed than was advisable, considering their steepness. 'No, it's all right,' she said breathlessly as she almost collided into him at the bottom of the stairs. 'I'll sort things out later.'
'Leave it to tomorrow, if you can; it must have been a long day.' She had looked like a young kid for a moment as she'd galloped down those stairs, but a kid with deep bruised shadows under her eyes and a soft mouth that was drooping with tiredness. He'd noticed she limped slightly too; it was barely discernible, but it was there.
Quinn's thoughts made his smile warm and open as he held out his hand. 'Goodbye, Candy,' he said softly. 'If there's anything you need don't hesitate to call.'
Candy hesitated for a moment, and then she carefully placed her small paw in his big fingers as she said, 'Thank you. I mean that. I didn't mean to be rude earlier, but it's just that I want to be left alone.' And then, realising that was insulting in itself, she groaned inwardly, adding quickly, 'What I mean is—'
'You mean you want the space to breathe.'
He was still hol
ding her hand, his dark head slightly bent towards hers, but it was the note of something undefinable rather than the actual words that brought her startled blue eyes into line with his ebony gaze. She didn't like the feel of what his hard, warm flesh was doing to her, or the fact that she knew she ought to pull away and couldn't. But the knowledge that he knew how she was feeling, really knew, had shocked her into immobility.
She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips and saw him follow the motion with his eyes, and the warmth it engendered was enough warning for her to be able to say, 'Yes, that is what I mean,' her voice guarded now.
'Just don't cut yourself off so completely it becomes impossible to take up the reins again.' His voice carried a roughness now, a huskiness that increased the warmth tenfold.
Did he know how sexy he was? she asked herself before she was aware what she was thinking. She didn't think she had ever met anyone with such naked magnetism in all her life.
'I've no intention of doing that,' she said shakily. 'I'm going to work here, at my painting. I've already got the possibility of an exhibition in London if my agent can fix it up, and—'
'I wasn't talking about work.' Suddenly her hand was free, and ridiculously she felt bereft. 'I'm talking about here, inside.' He touched the black leather over his heart 'There comes a point where feeling dies—take it from one who knows—and once it's gone it can't be resurrected.'
He was talking about himself. Candy stared at him. She wasn't at all sure how they had reached this point, but suddenly she knew he was talking about himself.
'You tell yourself that one day you'll perhaps take a chance again, open up, get back into the game, and then after a time you wake up one morning and realise you're self-sufficient You don't need anyone.' His eyes were granite hard now, and inward-looking.
'Surely that's good?' she asked faintly.
Her voice seemed to bring him back to the present and he blinked once, a mask covering his face as he said, his voice remote, 'Maybe, maybe not Who knows?' The brief moment of intimacy was over.
