A Convenient Proposal

by Helen Brooks

  If they had crashed the night before the accident she would never have known about Ellie-Sue. Ellie-Sue, the waitress at the local fast-food restaurant whom Harper had been playing around with for months and who had decided Harper was the father of her unborn child. He had told her over a candlelit dinner at an expensive restaurant, stating that Ellie-Sue meant absolutely nothing to him and that he loved her, Candy, and had seemed almost surprised when she had stormed out of the building to the car.

  They had rowed bitterly on the way home. When he had realised she was serious about finishing the engagement he had turned ugly, telling her it was all her fault, that if she hadn't been frigid he wouldn't have had to satisfy himself elsewhere and that Xavier could easily afford to pay Ellie-Sue enough to keep her quiet.

  As it was the girl had married some other guy just three weeks after Harper's funeral, so it looked as though Ellie-Sue had had more than one beau on the go at the same time… Candy rose abruptly, walking across to her painting and jerking off the cover with a trembling hand.

  Harper had been marrying her because she was the niece—virtually the beloved daughter—of a millionaire, as much as anything else. He had seen her as a meal ticket An attractive, pleasant meal ticket, but a meal ticket none the less. And she hadn't guessed. She hadn't had so much as the whiff of an inkling before that terrible night. That was what had haunted her—frightened her to death in the aftermath of the accident It had shaken her to the core of her being that she could have got it so wrong, and her faith in herself had been shattered.

  Harper had made her feel she was nothing, less than nothing. A nonentity. And it had been a hard, slow climb out of the despair and pain as she had gradually clawed back a measure of self-confidence. But she still didn't trust her own judgement or discernment; perhaps she never would. One thing she did know. She would never put herself in such a vulnerable position again.

  She didn't want to fall in love. She didn't want to experience the highs and the lows, the ecstasy and the agony. She was finished with all that She couldn't go through what she had just come out of again and remain sane.

  But she didn't have to.

  She stood gazing at the painting without really seeing it She was well again. That was a priceless gift in itself. She could make her own future on her own terms and if nothing else the near death experience she had gone through had enhanced even the most ordinary day-to-day aspects of living. She had always been particularly aware of and sensitive to beauty, but now her senses had been sharpened to a point that was almost painful. And that could only improve her painting.

  She had lost something but she had been given something back in return. The possibility of marriage, motherhood, all the things that had once been so important, was gone, but she would carve a career that was spectacular. She would. Her soft mouth drooped unknowingly, but then her eyes focused on the painting and her back straightened. Time to get to work.

  Over the next three weeks the snow melted, hard white frosts replaced the slush and mud, and December dawned bright but bitterly cold.

  Quinn had telephoned Candy every two or three days for an update on the cat and kittens but he hadn't visited, and so when on the first Friday in December she heard the sound of the four-by-four outside she immediately glanced at Tabitha, suspecting the worst. He had found her owner! Oh, she wouldn't be able to bear it.

  The cat stared back serenely before cuffing an errant kitten as it attempted to scramble up the first tread of the stairs. It was the black one, of course, Alfie. Although only three weeks old, he was into everything, unlike his demure sisters, but he was bold and cheeky and Candy loved him.

  Her heart lurched when she opened the front door and saw Quinn approaching, and it wasn't altogether due to apprehension regarding the cat.

  'Hi.' She managed a fairly steady smile. He had had a haircut and he took her breath away.

  'Hi, yourself.' He grinned easily and then, as Tabitha shot past Candy to wrap herself voluptuously round his legs, they both looked down at the little cat in surprise.

  'She remembers you.' Still, what female wouldn't?

  'Hallo, puss.' He bent down and stroked the sleek fur which felt like silk before straightening again and walking, with Tabitha weaving in and out of his legs with amazing dexterity, to stand in front of her.

  'Before I offer you a coffee, this isn't to say you've found her owner, is it?' Candy asked with careful control.

  'What?' And then, as he realised, 'No, no, of course not Hell, is that what you thought? I'm sorry, Candy. No, this is to ask you a favour, actually.'

  'Right.' The relief was overwhelming.

  Once inside the warmth and brightness of the cottage Quinn bent down and scooped Alfie up into one large hand as the kitten attempted a kamikaze dive through the front door just as Candy went to close it behind them.

  'Nimble little fellow, isn't he?'

  The tender amusement with which he spoke about the kitten brought all sorts of feelings to the fore, and none of them were helpful. Candy looked into the hard, handsome face and reminded herself he wasn't here to see her. Candy Grey. He was here to ask a favour; he'd said so.

  'I'll put the coffee on,' she said evenly.

  Quinn nodded, glancing down at Tabitha and her two daughters, who were sitting prettily beside their mother. 'I'll just have a look at this lot while you do that and then we can have a chat,' he said nonchalantly.

  'Fine.'

  She watched him from the kitchen as he examined each small feline and their mother, and by the time she poured the coffee Quinn had pronounced them all well and thriving.

  'When are you going to start looking for homes for them?' he asked as he came to join her at the breakfast bar and she passed him his coffee and a plate of chocolate-chip cookies.

  'I'm not.' The dark eyebrows raised themselves, and in answer to them she said, 'Tabitha deserves to keep them all after what she went through, and this place is perfect for animals. I'll come to you soon to get the kittens vaccinated, and perhaps we'd better make sure Tabitha doesn't get romanced again, but I like the idea of having them around.'

  'They could prove expensive.'

  She shrugged. 'I can manage.'

  'And what about when you go home to Canada?'

  Candy's stomach contracted, and it was only in that moment she realised she was planning to stay in England for some time. 'I'll take them with me if I go,' she said quietly, 'but I like it here. I might be staying for quite a while.'

  'You'll get homesick after a few months,' Quinn said expressionlessly.

  She raised her chin slightly. It almost sounded as though he wanted her to go, she thought grimly. 'I don't think so.'

  'Well, you're the best judge of that.' It was dispassionate and detached.

  Yes, she was, she thought militantly, taking a gulp of the scalding hot coffee and then trying not to choke as it burnt her throat and made her eyes water. And it was nothing to do with Quinn one way or the other either, irritating man that he was!

  Quinn munched his way through the plate of rich, crumbly cookies with a dedication that left no time for conversation, and when the last morsel had gone he put down his coffee mug, his expression unreadable. 'I expect you're wondering why I called,' he said quietly.

  Candy shrugged elegantly. After that remark about her returning to Canada she was proffering nothing, she told herself tightly. She could match him for cool remoteness any day. 'Not particularly,' she drawled blandly. 'I was used to friends dropping by all the time back home.' Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Quinn Ellington! And she didn't care a jot about Philippa!

  He nodded, his hand lifting to rake back his hair and then pausing halfway. The new shorn style of the raven-black crop wouldn't move in a hurricane. 'I got it cut,' he said in explanation. 'I keep forgetting.'

  She inclined her head, allowing a slight smile to touch her lips. 'It suits you.'

  'Yeah, well, I told them I probably wouldn't be back for another six months so they needed t
o do a hatchet job.'

  He was uncomfortable, if not embarrassed by the compliment, Candy realised in amazement He was easily the most devastatingly attractive man for miles around and he was actually embarrassed because she had said she liked his haircut.

  It was at that moment an unexpected quiver ran through her, a subtle stirring of her blood that made her tingle in all her intimate places. She lowered her eyes to her coffee mug and drained it before saying briskly, 'Another coffee?'

  'Thanks.'

  He had settled back on his stool, perched on the other side of the breakfast bar, after pushing his empty mug towards her, and he actually cleared his throat before saying, 'The thing is, Candy, I need a favour.'

  'Yes?' She poured two more coffees, pushed his towards him, but remained where she was in the kitchen. 'What can I do for you?'

  What could she do for him? Quinn's eyes were inscrutable as he stared into the lovely face opposite him. She looked about sixteen this morning, with that glorious hair tied back in a high shining ponytail and her beautiful face scrubbed clean of make-up, but there was nothing adolescent about that luscious figure. She was one hell of a woman.

  A muscle worked in his jaw. And maybe this wasn't such a good idea? But it was too late now; he'd said too much. His thoughts caused his voice to be abrupt as he said, 'I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend for the evening.'

  Her eyes widened; her mouth partly opened. Whatever she had imagined it wasn't this. 'You need…'

  'Look, let me explain.' His hand went to his hair again and then he gave an impatient click of his teeth. 'This is a relatively small town, and the social scene isn't the hottest in the world, but as the resident vet I get invited to quite a few parties and dinners, that sort of thing. And as a bachelor I always seem to be the target for predatory females, or worse—predatory mothers with daughters they are desperate to offload. Get the picture?'

  She nodded even as she thought, It's not because he's a bachelor, or not just that anyway. Quinn would always draw women—predatory or otherwise.

  'Don't get me wrong, I'm more than able to fend off any attacks,' he said with wry humour, 'and I've always made it clear I'm not the marrying kind. However, there's one lady who is more persistent than most and it's got kind of embarrassing. You aren't interested in any kind of permanent relationship at the moment, right?'

  She nodded somewhat dazedly.

  'And we're friends. Right again?' he said persuasively.

  Oh, no, no, he wasn't going to use that to manoeuvre her into a corner, was he? It appeared he was.

  'So…'

  'So?'

  'So you don't know anyone here yet; there's no bosom friend to know you'd be acting a part and it would be the easiest thing in the world to help me out.' He eyed her wary face. 'I'd do the same for you,' he added compellingly.

  He might do. He very well might do. But whereas she obviously left him stone-cold, he didn't have the same effect on her hormones, Candy told herself crossly.

  'And it'd be a great way for you to meet some of the locals. All work and no play…'

  She stared at him. 'What, exactly, would this play-acting involve, Quinn?' she asked directly.

  Good question. In the intervening weeks since he had last seen her he had forgotten—or perhaps he should say he had tried to forget—just how beautiful she was. 'Exactly what you want it to,' he said evenly.

  Ball back in her court again. She took a big gulp of coffee, glanced towards the window, and then at Tabitha, who appeared to be listening intently to all that was being said from her vantage point at the entrance into the kitchen area and was ignoring her charges for once, and tried desperately to sort out the wheat from the chaff.

  The last thing she wanted was a romantic involvement of any kind, but Quinn was totally in agreement on that score. He had been nothing but kindness since she'd arrived, and just great over the affair with Tabitha and the kittens. She did owe him. And if she was totally honest she had been getting a little bored the last week or two. She loved the cottage and this life, she qualified hastily, she really did, but a little social intercourse wouldn't come amiss. And in her role of Quinn's girlfriend she wouldn't have to worry about any man getting the wrong impression.

  She could enjoy herself, meet all the local folk and relax knowing they knew she was already 'spoken for'. Everything to gain and nothing to lose. She wasn't cut out to be a total hermit. The thought brought a silent smile to her lips. She was still smiling as her eyes focused on Quinn's dark face again, and she said, her voice quiet but steady, 'Of course if I can help out at all I'd be happy to, Quinn, and it would be nice to meet your friends and acquaintances.'

  'Excellent.'

  Excellent, he'd said. So why, in the last minute or two, did he feel as though he had made a mistake? Quinn asked himself silently. He had been quite truthful regarding Joanna Embleton-White. The woman had become a perfect menace, following him about and even cornering him at Colonel Llewellyn's party the week before. She was shameless. But it wasn't Joanna who had prompted the suggestion that Candy accompany him to Meg Andrews' dinner; it was more his promise to Essie that he would try and draw Candy into the social scene as soon as he could. Essie had been worried Candy would shut herself away.

  And that was the only reason? His promise to Essie? The snide little voice at the back of his mind was challenging. He hadn't used the promise as a means to an end because he wanted to be with Candy? it asked baldly. Come on, who was he trying to fool?

  'Where is this…?'

  'Dinner. It's a dinner,' Quinn said quickly, 'at Meg Andrews' house. She's a solicitor, and one of the local big fish in this particular little pool, but a very nice lady for all that You'll like her. I'll pick you up next Saturday evening at round about eight, if that suits?'

  'Fine.' Candy finished her coffee. 'Formal dress?'

  Quinn nodded. 'Meg likes to dress up,' he said, a trifle apologetically.

  'Okay.' It was dismissive, and as Candy's gaze wandered across the room towards the easel Quinn stood up. She clearly wanted him to leave, he thought, and he was surprised and not a little disturbed that he felt put out.

  'Till Saturday, then.' His voice was cool and he was already walking towards the door as he said over his shoulder, 'Thanks for the coffee.'

  Candy didn't follow him immediately to the door, but by the time Quinn had reached the Discovery she was standing in the doorway and raised a hand in a brief goodbye.

  Those last few minutes, as the enormity of what she had promised had washed over her, had been difficult. As the tail-lights disappeared up the lane she raised both hands to her hot cheeks. She was going out on a date with Quinn Ellington!

  Well, okay, perhaps not a date in the true sense of the word, she amended silently, but nevertheless she was already regretting the impulse that had led her to say yes. She stared out over the white garden which, despite the fact that it was mid-morning, was still held firm in the grip of a hard, sparkling frost.

  Oh, well, she'd done it now. Tabitha appeared at her ankles, winding sensuously round her legs and purring like a small train, causing Candy to turn and automatically check where Alfie was.

  The small black pom-pom of fur was wobbling across the floor towards her, his two sisters just behind him, and suddenly Candy felt better.

  She did owe Quinn; he'd been absolutely marvellous when she'd needed him, and it wasn't his fault he was so darn attractive, she told herself firmly. Okay, so she fancied him physically—she might as well face that one and bring it into the light and get it out of the way. But he was very fanciable. She would have had to be six foot under or of a different sexual persuasion not to notice that! And at least it showed she was feeling something again—there had been a time in her depression when she could have had Brad Pitt or Mel Gibson in front of her and not felt a thing.

  Quinn wasn't interested in love or commitment and neither was she. He was a career man and she had decided her work was going to be her life, certainly for the
next decade or so at least But her nature didn't naturally lend itself to a solitary existence. It would be nice to meet a few people, and even nicer to have an escort…

  She shut the door just as the determined Alfie reached the threshold, and then giggled as the tiny kitten stared up at her reproachfully, his little head on one side as though to say, All that effort and then you spoil it!

  Whatever else, this suggestion of Quinn's seemed to indicate he wasn't interested in the lovely Philippa. Perhaps he didn't believe in mixing work and pleasure? Maybe she had a boyfriend? Or it could be—Candy stopped abruptly. Stop it, she warned herself steadily. It's nothing to do with you whether Quinn likes her or not What on earth was the matter with her, thinking like this?

  She would dress up on Saturday, and make sure Quinn didn't regret asking her to masquerade as his girlfriend, but it would be her way of thanking him for all he had done and nothing else. And, who knows, it might be fun?

  And then, as though someone had just queried the last statement, Candy said out loud, 'It might—it might be fun,' and went back to her painting.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The years of acting as Xavier's hostess for his house parties in Canada meant Candy was not fazed by any sort of social event. She could do the necessary patter, smile sweetly when she was bored stiff and her feet were aching, and converse as easily and warmly with a shy, gauche teenager as a formidable matron of advanced years or a lecherous old goat of a husband.

  For the last three or four years in Canada her success at her painting had meant her income was very healthy, and as she had continued to work from home, and had run Xavier's household for him until he had married Essie, she had bought herself an extensive and expensive wardrobe.

  Saturday morning saw her selecting and discarding one dress after another in a way she hadn't done for years.