A Convenient Proposal

by Helen Brooks

  'What?' Candy had just been wondering how soon she could drain the glass of wine and rise to her feet with a casual comment about going to her room, and now she cleared her dry throat as she said, 'Lots of girls just cover them with foundation, that's all, but there are thousands of women who don't.'

  'Really?' he murmured huskily. 'Perhaps I just haven't been looking.'

  Now that she did doubt!

  'They're very…sexy anyway.' And then as her eyes shot to meet his he raised his eyebrows and added, 'What's the matter? Aren't I allowed to notice that?'

  She wasn't sure just what little game he was playing, but it was dangerous without a doubt. 'You're allowed to notice anything you like, Quinn,' she said quietly, but with an edge. 'You're a free agent after all. And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm tired and I'd like to go to bed.' She finished the wine in two gulps, warning herself fiercely not to splutter as it burnt a trail down her throat.

  'Me too.' His voice had a smoky tinge as he watched her rise gracefully to her feet.

  'I'll put the cat basket in the recess in the kitchen, shall I?' she asked sternly, absolutely refusing to dwell on the connotations of the softly drawled words.

  'Don't worry, I'll do it.' Quinn shifted position slightly and every nerve in her body responded. 'I might have another glass of wine before I turn in.'

  'Right.' She stood looking down at him and felt faintly ridiculous when she realised she didn't know what to say. 'Well, thank you for having us all,' she managed lightly, the flick of her hand encompassing Tabitha and the kittens, the former watching her son crawl belly-fashion across the carpet as he stalked his two sisters, who had momentary control of the messy sphere of wool.

  'My pleasure.'

  The smoky flavour was stronger, and she could feel his eyes on the back of her neck as she walked towards the door.

  'Candy?'

  She actually had her hand on the doorhandle when he spoke and she had to nerve herself to turn and face him with a studiously blank expression. 'Yes?'

  'Happy Christmas.'

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  When Candy awoke early on Christmas Day in the beautiful cream bedroom, she would have laughed in derision if someone had told her she was about to enjoy the best Christmas of her life. But from the moment she joined Quinn at the breakfast table an hour later there was magic in the air.

  Quinn had metamorphosised into the perfect host; amusing, considerate, charming and attentive. And once Mary and Bernard joined them and the four of them had swapped presents the festive atmosphere just continued to grow.

  Candy experienced a slight hiccup in her state of euphoria when she unwrapped Quinn's present to her. If she had expected anything at all it had been perfume, or something relatively impersonal, but the exquisite gold bracelet made up of tiny beautifully fashioned links which on closer inspection turned out to be minute cats, was anything but that.

  'It's beautiful.' She raised surprised and wary eyes as her face flushed a rosy pink.

  'So are you.' His hands cupped her face and he kissed her swiftly on the lips as his parents looked on approvingly.

  Candy reminded herself, strongly, that they were supposed to be in the first throes of mad, passionate love, and managed to force a weak smile as she lowered her gaze to the bracelet in her hands. She hoped his parents would assume her lack of response to his kiss was embarrassment, as she had only known them for such a short time, and it appeared this was so as Mary said warmly, 'I have to say you are such a refreshing change from some of these rather hard-boiled types that seemed to be all the fashion these days, Candy. I'm not an anti-feminist, far from it, but so many girls seem to have lost the air of delicacy that makes women attractive, don't you think? And Quinn tells us you are a wonderful cook.'

  'I wouldn't say that.' She raised her eyes to Mary's happy, smiling face and wondered what Quinn's mother would think if she voiced exactly what she was thinking right at this moment about her precious son! It wasn't fair to get Mary's hopes up like this, it really wasn't, not when there wasn't a chance of a relationship developing.

  'Oh, but I would, darling.' Quinn was still standing next to her, and as she raised narrowed blue eyes to his handsome, satisfied face he must have read the very definite warning the azure gaze was sending, because his easy grin wavered a little and he quickly said, 'Here, let me put it on for you. The safety clasp is difficult to get used to at first.'

  His hands were very big and strong as he took her slender wrist and draped the fine lacy bracelet over her skin, his fingers warm and sure of themselves. He stroked one thumb across the tender base of her hand before he let go, and she felt the mild caress like an electric current.

  'Thank you.' She almost snatched her hand away; Mary and Bernard had turned away to rescue Alfie, who had managed to jam himself under the sofa as he hunted a scrap of Christmas paper, so there was no need to pretend.

  If Quinn noticed the action he didn't betray it by so much as the flicker of an eyelid, and once they had finished the giving and receiving the four of them put on their coats and trudged through the snow, which was a good few inches thick, to the little church Mary had spotted the day before.

  Quinn tucked her arm through his as they began to walk, pulling her into his side and looking down at her with such a deliriously sexy smile that it took every inch of the short stroll for Candy to pull herself together. But she managed it—just—and she had to admit, as she slipped into bed at the end of what had been a perfect day, that he had behaved faultlessly throughout.

  Once the short service in the quaint fifteenth-century parish church had been over they had all wandered back to the apartment through the Christmas-card wonderland as a few lazy snowflakes had begun to fall, enjoying a couple of sherries before their enormous Christmas dinner of turkey and all the trimmings.

  Candy and Quinn had taken the dogs for a walk in the silver glow of the afternoon—his parents had chosen to listen to the Queen's speech on TV before dozing in front of the fire—and then they had all tucked into turkey sandwiches, hot muffins oozing with butter and jam and enormous slabs of Mary's scrumptious Christmas cake before playing cards.

  Boxing Day followed equally enjoyable lines, but then just after tea—when Mary and Bernard were due to leave to drive back to Oxford—Quinn's mother took Candy aside while the two men finished watching an action film on TV.

  'Candy, I'm probably speaking out of turn,' Mary began quietly, 'but I just want you to know that this is the happiest I've seen Quinn in years. He is very fond of you, my dear.'

  Candy stared at the older woman for a second as her brain refused to come up with coherent words, and then she stammered, 'We're more good friends than anything,' as she felt the hot flood of colour that had started at her toes surge into her face.

  'But that's marvellous, don't you see?' Mary responded fervently. 'To my knowledge Quinn has never had that with any other woman, even poor Laura,' she added as her voice dropped even lower. 'He has always been popular with the opposite sex, even as a little boy the girls would fight to have him to their parties and make any excuse to call and see him, and he grew up thinking… Well…'

  Quinn's mother suddenly looked extremely uncomfortable.

  'That he only had to crook his little finger and they came running?' Candy put in somewhat dryly.

  'Exactly.' Mary's tone was rueful. 'He never seemed to go through the spotty, gangly stage that afflicted most of his friends.'

  No, she had to admit she couldn't see Quinn Ellington with pimples and awkward lanky limbs, Candy agreed silently.

  'When he went away to university and then veterinary school he broke quite a few hearts,' Mary continued fondly, 'and then his paternal grandfather died and left him all he owned. Do you know about that?'

  'No, no, I don't.' This was awful, terrible, but she didn't know how to stop the conversation from progressing unless she was rude, and she couldn't be like that with Quinn's mother.

  'It was a considerable amount of money,' Ma
ry said quietly, 'so now of course he had the added allure of wealth besides everything else, which is not particularly good at the tender age of twenty-six. I think he was what the younger generation call a 'hellraiser' for a time, and then…he married Laura four and a half years ago.'

  Candy shifted uncomfortably, and Mary suddenly seemed to be aware that she was talking too much. She patted Candy's arm lightly, her voice still confidential as she said, 'Well, anyway, my dear, suffice to say I have never seen him rush out to buy anyone flowers like he did on Christmas Eve when he thought you might be staying.'

  Those flowers, the beautiful, exquisitely delicate lilies, had been specially for her? Candy stared into the warm, lovely face of Quinn's mother but she couldn't think of a thing to say.

  'But now we really must be going.' Mary seemed un-aware of the slight gape to Candy's mouth as she smiled brightly and called to her husband across the room, 'Bernard? We mustn't leave it too late, dear. The roads still might be difficult in places.'

  Candy gave the impression she was carefree and breezy through the goodbye hugs and promises of future meetings, but once they had waved Quinn's parents off she took a couple of deep breaths. She was going to tell him she wanted to go home now, tonight, and she wasn't going to take no for an answer, she told herself resolutely. But then, as the tail-lights disappeared and the noise of the engine faded, Quinn quite took the wind out of her sails.

  'Right, get your glad-rags on.'

  'What?' They were standing on the top step, Quinn's aim casually round her shoulders, and now she shrugged him away as she said, 'What are you talking about?'

  'Monty's party tonight,' Quinn said evenly and then, as though her abrupt tone hadn't registered, he continued conversationally, 'Always seems funny when I speak of Monty Hardingstone. I've a patient, a Great Dane, with the name of Monty, who has the devil of a time with his anal glands, and I can't help connecting the two in my mind.'

  'Really.' Candy eyed him coldly, her tone indicating a hundred Montys—complete with anal glands or without them—were of no interest. 'You haven't mentioned this party before.'

  'No?' Quinn raised surprised eyebrows in an innocent face.

  'No. Which is a shame.' Candy smiled sweetly. 'Because it might have been fun. As it is, I really do have to get home,' she said with grim reasonableness.

  'Why?'

  'Lots of reasons.' She was not going to let him force her to justify herself!

  'Name one.'

  Because something had subtly shifted with his parents going, and she didn't want to explore what it was unless there was a good mile or so between her and Quinn! 'I shouldn't have to. I want to go home and that is sufficient,' Candy said with icy dignity.

  'Not for me.' And he had the nerve to grin widely.

  'Quinn!' Damn! She had promised herself she wouldn't lose control. 'I mean it.'

  'Candy, it's gone six o'clock and that lane is as black as pitch at the best of times,' Quinn said mildly. 'I have absolutely no intention of battling down there when I can't even see clearly; that would be stupid.'

  No, she was the stupid one—to think that she could trust a word Quinn Ellington said!

  'I'll take you home in the morning, if you insist,' he continued steadily, 'but tonight we are going to Monty's party together, as planned.'

  'It wasn't planned, not as far as I was concerned at least,' Candy said sulkily.

  'Have you really had such a terrible time that you can't wait to leave?' he asked with sudden sad reproach. 'I thought it was a great Christmas.'

  'It was. I mean—it was very nice. Your parents are very nice people.' Her voice trailed to a halt and she sighed deeply. Why did he always make her feel so confused she asked herself silently.

  'So, Christmas was nice, my parents are nice, and what about me?' he asked with silky softness, his eyes brimming with laughter but his face quite serious. 'How would you describe me?'

  'You don't want to know,' she shot back sharply, suddenly hurt in spite of herself. This was just a game to him, it hadn't touched his heart at all, whereas she…

  The world stopped spinning and shot off into space as time splintered into a million tiny pieces.

  She loved him.

  Somehow, at some point in the last few weeks when they had been playing that insane game, she had committed the ultimate crime and fallen in love with Quinn Ellington.

  It made all the other mistakes she had ever made—including her unquestioning blind devotion to Harper—pale into insignificance. She was the most stupid person in all the world, in all the universe and beyond. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  Hadn't she learnt anything in the last long, painful fourteen months? she asked herself fiercely. How could she have made such a fundamental error?

  '…in about an hour or so?'

  'What?'

  Candy came out of the abyss with a start to find her eyes had been glued on Quinn's dark face, but without seeing or hearing anything but the black morass of her thoughts.

  'I asked you if you could be ready in an hour or so.' Quinn's voice had a steely note now. He obviously didn't appreciate a female daydreaming in his exalted presence, Candy thought bitterly, as Mary's words about the constant adoration he had received from the opposite sex stung painfully.

  'I…I suppose so.' She swallowed hard. If he was determined not to take her home until the next day a party was a darn sight safer than a cosy night at home.

  'Good.' If he was surprised at her sudden capitulation he didn't show it. 'We needn't stay to the bitter end,' he added smoothly, for all the world as though it was his ancient granny he was escorting. 'I can see you are a little tired.'

  What did that mean? That she looked awful? Candy's back straightened as hot colour flooded into cheeks that shock had made creamy pale.

  She'd show him.

  And an hour later show him she did.

  She had only brought one faintly partyish dress with her, on the vague off-chance that Quinn might have a few friends round, but the silk-mix short-sleeved mini-dress in ice-blue with silver edging round the low neckline and sleeves dressed up very nicely when teamed with strappy silver sandals and long silver earrings.

  She spent some time on her hair, looping the thick copper strands in deliberate disarray on the top of her head and securing them with pretty silver flower grips, before setting to work on her face, stroking silver eyeshadow on to her eyelids and then applying several coats of mascara to her naturally thick, curly lashes until her eyes resembled deep midnight-blue pools. Sexy plum lipstick, a brush of colour on her cheeks and one or two cheeky little glittering stars scattered on the cream swell of her breasts and she looked ready enough to party, she told herself firmly as she surveyed herself in the mirror an hour later.

  There was a brittle smile on her lips as she walked into Quinn's sitting room a minute or two later, and it remained stitched on her face as she surveyed him lounging on the sofa as he waited for hen He looked simply gorgeous, but then he always looked simply gorgeous. It was just that tonight he looked especially gorgeous, which meant she had to be even more careful than normal, she warned her treacherous heart, which was pounding so hard it hurt.

  One more night and then she could bow gracefully out of his life without him ever knowing she had made the ultimate fool of herself—like every woman he came into contact with, she added with bitter exaggeration. And she would do it. Oh, yes, she would. Bad as the experience would be, the alternative—of remaining close to him and one day giving herself away—was too debasing to contemplate.

  The party was in full swing by the time they reached Monty Hardingstone's big grand stone house, and almost the first person they saw as they crossed the gracious threshold was a beautifully coiffured Joanna in the sort of slinky black strapless and backless dress that left nothing to the imagination.

  'Quinn, darling…' Joanna was in distinct vamp mode, but was lovely enough to carry it off perfectly, and, judging by the number of men gathered around her, Quinn was the onl
y one who was oblivious to the cool ash-blonde's charms. 'You must be the last to arrive. Naughty boy!' She had made her way to their side as she spoke and now tapped Quinn on the chest lightly, her eyes flashing a message that was blatant She utterly ignored Candy.

  Quinn's mouth had tightened ominously at Joanna's overt rudeness to the woman at his side, but .whatever cutting comment he had been about to make was lost as Monty spoke just behind them in the next moment, forcing them to turn and acknowledge their host.

  That Joanna had decided it was all-out war was obvious, Candy thought ruefully, when the other woman moved smoothly to Quinn's side as they stood chatting with Monty. Joanna immediately clung to Quinn's free arm, making a cosy little quartet, and when Monty took Candy's elbow and suggested she might like a glass of champagne it seemed as though there was nothing else she could do but walk with him into the massive crowded drawing room, leaving Quinn and Joanna bringing up the rear.

  It set the tone for the evening. In spite of Quinn's frosty attitude with the sensuous Joanna she was never from their side for more than a few minutes, and brazen in her pursuit She had obviously heard that Candy was staying at Quinn's apartment, and just as obviously didn't intend to bow out quietly.

  You had to admire her sheer tenacity and confidence in her own desirability, Candy thought more than once as the hours raced by in a haze of conversation and dancing. Joanna clearly considered herself the best thing since sliced bread, and even the most direct of Quinn's sardonic and often sarcastically cutting remarks just seemed to go right over the lovely blonde's immaculate head. She really couldn't believe that she wouldn't manage to snare Quinn in the end.

  And somehow Joanna's determination to refuse to accept Candy and Quinn as a couple had seemed to rub off on Monty too. The big, jolly and slightly dim country gent was making no bones about the fact that he found Candy attractive, in spite of Quinn's dark hostility and barbed remarks that increased as the evening progressed.

  It came to a head—as it was bound to—just after midnight, when Candy returned to the drawing room after visiting the cloakroom and searched the throng—many of whom were dancing to the strains of an old pop song—for Quinn.