by Helen Brooks
She was nervous, she realised with something of a shock. Nervous that she wouldn't be wearing the right sort of thing, that she wouldn't fit in, that Quinn would be disappointed by her.
'Oh, for goodness' sake pull yourself together, girl!' She glared at her reflection in the mirror as she stood shivering in her silk slip. The downstairs of the cottage was as warm as toast, with the fire blazing and Tabitha and the kittens stretched out in the wicker basket fast asleep, but the up—although not freezing—never got really warm.
'Right, decision time.' Her eyes narrowed and she leached for a sleeveless black crepe dress with an asymmetric lace border and thin straps, teaming it with precariously high strappy black sandals. The original little black dress. Her nose wrinkled. But she always looked good in black, it suited her colouring, and if she put her hair up and wore the matching gold earrings and necklace Essie and Xavier had bought her the Christmas before she would do.
She laid the dress and matching underwear out on the bed, pulled on jeans and a thick jumper and put all further thoughts of the evening out of her mind. She intended to work today until four o'clock, then have a bath and generally pamper and preen herself, and then… Prepare to be impressed, Quinn Ellington, she warned him silently.
Candy didn't question why she felt the need to impress him as she scurried downstairs and made herself a mug of strong black coffee before starting work. And it was just as well she didn't question herself; it might have spoilt her enjoyment in the day's painting. But at ten to eight that evening, as she heard the Aston Martin in the lane outside the cottage, her stomach was fluttering like a host of butterflies.
And the butterflies went berserk when she opened the door to Quinn. He was in black dinner jacket and tie— immaculate from the top of his raven head to the soles of his shining shoes—and he was the stuff fantasies were made of.
Candy couldn't have spoken to save her life, but she did manage a fairly natural smile as she stood aside and waved her hand for him to enter.
Although he didn't. He kissed her instead. And it was a slow kiss, a pleasurable kiss, a kiss that made her toes curl in the expensive sandals and her cheeks flush. Apart from his lips on hers he wasn't touching her, he hadn't taken her into his arms or made any attempt to move close, but then, as the kiss ended and he stepped into the cottage, he turned and lifted her chin to meet his glittering eyes. 'Canada's loss is England's gain,' he said softly. 'You look fantastic.'
'Thank you.' He had thrown her, completely and utterly thrown her, and because she wasn't thinking straight she said shakily, 'I thought… Friends? I thought we were friends?'
'We are.' This Quinn was new to her, and as unlike the dedicated caring vet or remote, cool ally of Essie as it was possible to be. He was dashingly suave, the smooth and confident Casanova and Lothario, and Candy found herself thinking that if this was the persona he adopted out of working hours he couldn't very well blame these women who made a habit of throwing themselves at him. He asked for it!
'Right.' Her stomach curled over but she couldn't help it; he was so darn handsome. 'You usually kiss your friends like that?' she asked with an amused casualness she was inordinately proud of.
'Only the female variety.'
This evening was not such a good idea. If he carried on like this she was going to spoil all his plans by leaping on him herself! The thought was enough to cause her back to straighten and her smile to have an edge to it as she said, 'Perhaps it might be better to save such little touches until there's an audience to appreciate them?'
His eyebrows raised, and then he gave an amused chuckle as he nodded easily. 'Blame it on that dress,' he drawled lazily. 'Like I said, you look fantastic. Here—' he handed her a little box '—although it can't compete with your beauty,' he added gallantly as she opened the lid to see the exquisite rose-tinted orchid nestling on a bed of silk.
'It's beautiful, Quinn. Thank you,' she murmured softly.
'Here, let me.'
He took the flower from her as she lifted it out of the box, pinning it on her dress with an expertise that told Candy he had done the same thing many times before. To many women. But she knew he had had women, lots of women, she told herself tightly as her heart jumped at the thought. He must be thirty-three, thirty-four maybe, and you didn't get to that age—looking like Quinn—without being sexually experienced. And he'd been married She mustn't forget that, she warned herself shakily as she made every effort to ignore the feel of his warm, firm fingers on the soft flesh of her upper breasts as he fixed the orchid in place.
'Shall we go?' She took a step backwards away from him as she spoke, reaching for her wrap which was hanging over the back of the chair and checking the guard was fixed firmly round the fire. Alfie was too inquisitive by half, and although the little family were fast asleep at the moment she didn't trust the black kitten.
The night was cold and crisp as they stepped out of the warmth of the cottage, but the severe frosts of the last few days had given way to slightly milder weather. Nevertheless, Candy shivered as they walked down the path towards the Aston Martin crouched broodingly next to her sturdy little Fiesta, but it was more to do with Quinn's hand at her elbow and the feel of his thigh next to hers than with the evening air.
Once in the luxurious confines of the car the faint but stomach-clenchingly seductive smell of Quinn's aftershave had her sitting stiff and straight in the leather seat, and it didn't help when Quinn leant over, brushing a wisp of hair from her forehead as he said quietly, 'Don't worry, you'll be fine. They are an easy bunch to get on with on the whole.'
He thought she was nervous about the evening ahead. The relief Candy experienced went some way to relaxing her tense muscles, and by the time the Aston Martin drew into the grounds of a very superior detached house she and Quinn were conversing easily. He had even made her laugh more than once as he related an amusing anecdote from a visit he'd made to one of the farms earlier in the day, when he had lost a battle with a particularly imposing and irate bullock who had taken exception to having a growth removed from its more intimate regions.
Harper had never really made her laugh. The thought came shooting out of the blue as Quinn stopped the car and left his seat to open her door for her, but as she watched the big, tall, dark figure walking round the bonnet of the Aston Martin she knew it was true. Harper had had great charisma—he'd been undeniably handsome and charming and everything a young girl could want—but he would no more have considered telling a story against himself like Quinn had just done than flying to the moon. Image had been everything with Harper; cool, macho man, always smooth and perfectly groomed.
She looked up at Quinn through her eyelashes as he opened the car door. Humour was important She had heard Xavier make Essie laugh until she nearly cried, and she had noticed more than once that her uncle's wry and wicked wit was not unlike Quinn's.
She took the hand Quinn offered and slid gracefully out of the car, but as she straightened at the side of him he bent his dark head, whispering, 'You know that audience you spoke of…?' before he drew her into his arms and kissed her thoroughly. Very thoroughly. So thoroughly that her legs were like jelly and her heart was pounding under the black crepe by the time he released her.
And then, before she could say anything, he had turned, drawing her in to the side of him as he said, his voice reflecting reserved politeness, 'Joanna, how are you? I don't think you have met Candy, have you? Candy Grey, Joanne Embleton-White.' There was a large, floridly handsome man just behind the tall, slim ash-blonde, and as Candy exchanged a flustered 'How do you do?' with the woman who had approached them, Quinn added, 'And this is Monty Hardingstone, the best accountant in the district. Monty, meet Candy.'
In contrast to Joanna Embleton-White, whose voice had held all the warmth of liquid ice, Monty's was hearty and his eyes approving as he said, 'So this is the little lady you've managed to snare, eh, Quinn? I can see why you didn't give the rest of us a chance. Nice to meet you, m'dear. Nice to meet you.'
>
'Thank you.' Candy managed to extricate her hand from Monty's vigorous grip after a moment or two and she carefully avoided looking at Joanna's face after one swift glance. The other woman's beautiful cold features had been stiff with annoyance.
The four of them walked across the drive and somehow Quinn managed to tuck her in to his side as though she was—what? Candy asked herself tautly. His girlfriend? His mistress! She tried to wriggle free once, but as his arm tightened round her waist like a band of steel she gave up the struggle, and listened to him making conversation with Monty with something like resignation.
However, there was nothing resigned about her face or voice when, on entering into the hall of the mansion, Candy found herself alone with Quinn for a second or two.
'Don't hold me like that,' she said quietly as her fingers prised at the arm round her waist.
'Like what?' was the calm rejoinder. 'You're supposed to be my loving girlfriend. Remember?'
'I know that, but—'
'No buts, Candy.' A pair of glittering ebony eyes in a dark, handsome face looked down at her, and as her breath caught in her throat Quinn said, 'If we're doing this we do it properly, okay? I'm a…physical man, and if you were my girlfriend I'd hold you like this and make sure that every other male in the vicinity knows you are mine. When I am with someone, I'm with someone. I don't believe in all this baloney about 'open' relationships.'
'Neither do I,' she said indignantly. It had been as if he was accusing her of something.
'So, we both believe in faithfulness for as long as it lasts,' Quinn murmured softly. 'That's good, don't you think?'
'You're avoiding the issue and you know it,' she retorted huffily.
The dark eyes were laughing at her now, and he pulled her close for a moment, nuzzling her forehead with his chin as he said, 'Relax, Candy. It's a game, just a game; we both know that. But if we're playing it we play it for all it's worth. Agreed?'
'You're impossible. You know that, don't you?' She tried to frown at him but he was too handsome, too wicked, too Quinn for her to be really mad. And if she was being really honest, she admitted to herself silently, there was something very nice about being held and protected and loved by Quinn Ellington. Even if it was all just a show for the assembled crowd.
Candy enjoyed the rest of the evening although she hadn't expected to. There were a couple of less than comfortable moments, one of which being when Joanna cornered her in the downstairs cloakroom and managed to make a number of veiled hints as to her relationship with Quinn before Candy had arrived on the scene. Candy smiled sweetly, said little, and was gracious and charming, but it was something of an effort in the face of the other woman's covert hostility.
If nothing else it eliminated the faint sense of guilt she had felt at fooling Joanna and the rest, though. She knew Joanna's insinuations were without foundation—Quinn had been quite straightforward about his dislike of Joanna when she had questioned him about her after the episode on the drive, and very specific that he and the lovely blonde had never had so much as the whisper of an amour—but if she had really been his girlfriend, and the careful poison in Joanna's subtle remarks had done its job, she would have been feeling devastated.
As it was she lightly touched the other woman's arm on leaving the cloakroom, her voice mellow and her face sympathetic as she said, 'I'm sure Quinn will always look on you as a dear, dear friend, Joanna,' and left the blonde literally grinding her teeth in impotent fury.
When Meg Andrews entertained she did it in style, and there were twenty, including the hostess, seated at the magnificent table for dinner, which was a picture of gleaming silver cutlery, fine damask linen and sparkling crystal.
The conversation was witty and sharp, the endless courses delicious, and by the time she and Quinn left, just before midnight, several couples present had pressed invitations for the forthcoming Christmas celebrations upon them, all of which Quinn had seemed to accept, from what Candy could gather.
She broached the subject as soon as they were safely ensconced in the car.
'Quinn, how long had you envisaged this…tactic shall continue?' she asked carefully as he slid into the driving seat after settling her into the passenger seat as though she was breakable. Which was very pleasant And seductive.
'Tactic?' He started the engine before turning to glance at her once, his ebony eyes narrowed.
'You know what I mean. This ploy about us being together,' she answered, just a little too sharply. 'It doesn't seem fair to keep it up.'
'No?' He expertly manoeuvred the car in a semicircle on the drive and let it purr gently towards the big gates in the distance. 'Unfair to whom, exactly?'
'Just…everyone. You said for an evening, remember?'
'Did I?' He sounded genuinely surprised, but Candy didn't trust him. She had seen a new side of Quinn tonight, and she was beginning to wonder if there were other facets of his complex personality just waiting to rear their beads.
'Yes, you did,' she said firmly.
'It's not a problem to continue a while longer, is it?' he asked in tones of patient reasonableness. 'You enjoyed yourself tonight, didn't you?'
'Of course I did, but that's not the point.'
'And it kept the lechers in check.'
'What?' Her head shot to look at his dark profile but Quinn was concentrating on easing the car on to the main road.
'You mean to say you didn't notice Monty drooling into his bow tie?' Quinn asked pleasantly. 'Or Brigadier Kealey panting at the leash?'
'I don't know what you're talking about.' She was honestly bewildered.
'Candy, those guys like you. Hell, any guy would like you. You're very…likeable.'
'Quinn—'
'It worked well tonight.' He did glance at her hot face then, one swift, all-encompassing glance. 'And nothing has changed as far as I can see. We both know what we want, and it doesn't include messy romantic involvements. I enjoyed being with you tonight and I had a great time. Can you say the same?'
'You know I can.'
'Then why spoil a good thing when there's no reason to? Neither of us have anyone on the horizon we're keen to date at the moment, but if that changed we both know where we stand. I'd like to think we could still be friends, though.' His voice was rational and quiet and there was no reason at all for Candy to want to do or say something outrageous to break that cool composure but she did. If all those other men—according to Quinn—found her so attractive, how come he was immune?
Was she being petty? She darted a swift glance at him from under her eyelashes. Probably, she admitted silently. And she wasn't normally like that But then this wasn't exactly a normal situation, not as far as she was concerned at least. But as Quinn had pointed out neither of them were losing anything and they had everything to gain…didn't they? Oh, she wished she'd never started this ridiculous charade!
'Candy?' Quinn prompted lazily.
'Yes, fine, if you're happy to continue so am I,' she tossed back with detached coolness. 'I just didn't want to cramp your style, that's all.'
'There's no question of that. I've got a hell of a lot on my plate at the moment building the business up; the last thing I want is Joanna or someone similar causing problems.'
This was so cold-blooded. Candy suddenly felt totally drained, but she didn't intend to let Quinn see that. She casually fixed into place a loose curl that had come adrift from the carefully tousled knot on the top of her head, and then settled back in her seat before she said, 'In that case there's no problem.'
'Excellent.'
Quinn flashed her an approving smile and then turned back to the view beyond the windscreen. Why was he protracting this? He couldn't blame her for questioning it because he'd done the same thing himself. When he had first suggested this evening he'd had in mind a one-off—a way of introducing her into the social scene without there being any danger of someone frightening her off. She needed time to heal both physically and emotionally, that was what Essie had told him,
and he could understand that Apart from the physical trauma of the accident she had lost her fiancé; the man she had promised to spend the rest of her life with, the man she had loved and adored.
But she was too damn gorgeous for half the blokes round here to take that into consideration. His eyes narrowed on the road ahead as the surge of anger—he wouldn't allow himself to regard it as jealousy—that had burnt on and off all evening reared its head again at the memory of how it had been. The men had been sniffing round her all evening, damn 'em, and that was when she'd had the protection of being his girlfriend. What would it have been like if they'd known the truth? They had had all the finesse of rutting stags.
He found he was gripping the steering wheel with considerably more force than was necessary, and made a conscious decision to relax, taking several deep, silent breaths before he said, 'I should have checked with you before I accepted any other invitations though, Candy, especially in view of the fact that you might be spending Christmas at home?'
'Home?' Home was the cottage, with Tabitha and the kittens, and it was a second or two before it registered he meant Canada.
'Oh, no, I shan't be going home,' she said quickly. 'There's the cats to consider now.'
He could offer to board the cat and kittens at the practice for her but he didn't. What he did say was, 'In that case spend Christmas with me?'
He felt sorry for her, was that it? She thought about how he had remained at her side all evening rather than circulating, as most of the others had done, his arm round her waist for a good deal of the time and his manner if not possessive than certainly protective. Yes, he felt sorry for her. 'I don't think so,' she said pleasantly. 'I'm sure you're going to be very busy and I was looking forward to a quiet Christmas Day this year.'
'I don't think it will be a riot at my house,' he said with wry amusement.
'But you must have family to visit and so on?'
Should he tell her his parents were coming down to stay for a couple of days? His mother had been insistent that he have a decently cooked Christmas lunch when they'd discussed the holiday the last time he had popped up to Oxford in October, and it had been easier—certainly on his father, who bore the brunt of his mother's fretting and worrying— to invite them. But Candy would probably feel she was intruding if he said anything.
