A Convenient Proposal

by Helen Brooks

  If she could have convinced herself Quinn was struggling and finding it hard to withstand her appeal it might have been easier, but he seemed content with the friendly, practically platonic relationship they shared And it was driving her bananas!

  She wanted him. In every single way she wanted him, physically, mentally and emotionally, and more than that she wanted him to want her too. But as the weeks went by fierce pride came to her rescue and enabled her to erect some barriers—flimsy, but nevertheless barriers all the same—against her deepest needs. She found Quinn wasn't the only one who could hide behind a mask.

  And the deadline of the exhibition proved a blessing. She ate, slept and breathed her art, and apart from one weekend in March, when she drove up to Oxford at Quinn's mother's invitation and the two women went shopping for Candy's wedding dress, she worked non-stop at her painting.

  Spring came early, and by the time the exhibition was due the air was warm and scented with clouds of May blossom.

  Quinn insisted on driving Candy up to London at the beginning of the exhibition week and stayed with her for a day or so until work commitments prevailed, and she was grateful for the way his presence eased her into the exacting, difficult but very successful few days.

  Too grateful, she told herself once he had gone home and she realised how much she missed him. She couldn't afford to rely on Quinn for emotional support, or at least no more than she would any other friend. Independence, friendship coupled with self-reliance and autonomy—that was the arrangement.

  By the end of the exhibition Candy had made some valuable contacts and sold a considerable amount of her work, as well as taking an important commission that would keep her busy until the end of the year. The whole exercise had been a triumph, but with the wedding looming and just seven days away she was more keyed up than ever.

  So all in all it wasn't really surprising, when Xavier and Essie arrived a couple of days early in the middle of the week, that Candy burst into tears of relief and joy and a whole host of other mixed-up emotions at the sight of them on her doorstep.

  Xavier reacted with typical manly bewilderment and fluster, but Essie ushered her into the cottage and sat with her on the sofa, hugging her, soothing her and generally picking up the role of surrogate mum which she had assumed after the accident. Once Candy had made inroads into a box of tissues and Xavier had bumbled about in the kitchen making them all a cup of tea, the three of them saw the funny side of it, or at least Candy thought Essie had. Until the two women went upstairs for Essie to have a preview of the dress.

  'Okay, what's wrong?' There was no amusement on Essie's beautiful face as she contemplated her husband's niece. 'And don't give me the same line as downstairs, that you were just so pleased to see us and tense about the wedding. I know there's more.'

  'Oh, Essie.' Candy was sitting with the ravishingly lovely dress in her hands, and now she looked down at the cream Thai silk on her lap—the sleeveless, pencil-slim design and classical cut moulded to her figure as though it had been specially made for her—and sighed loudly. 'It's all so complicated.'

  'It usually is,' said Essie, with all the wisdom of her changed shape. The baby was due in seven weeks and she was big. 'Especially if a man's involved. And Quinn is quite a man.'

  'Tell me about it.'

  'No, you tell me,' Essie probed gently.

  Her lonely childhood and troubled upbringing had not been conducive to making close friends, but Candy knew Essie's history—an abusive, violent stepfather followed by a disastrous love affair when the other woman had been at university—and she knew if anyone could understand the tangle she had got herself into Essie would.

  'You won't tell Xavier?' she asked pleadingly.

  'Not if you don't want me to.'

  And so Candy found herself telling Essie how she had come to be marrying the man she loved knowing he couldn't return the emotion, and the look on Essie's face by the time she'd finished made Candy bite her lip hard to prevent herself crying all over Essie's pretty blouse again. 'Don't be too sympathetic, Essie,' Candy warned chokingly. 'I'm a bit hormonal at the moment.'

  'I'm not surprised.' Essie was frowning now. 'And I'm amazed at Quinn; I thought better of him.'

  'It's not his fault.' Quite why she was defending him she didn't know, Candy thought ruefully. 'He doesn't know I love him and he thinks this arrangement is as much for my benefit as his.'

  'Huh!' Essie's grimace made her point of view clear.

  'And I'll be all right, really. It was just seeing you both again.'

  'You ought to call it off, Candy, now. Or at least tell him how you really feel,' Essie said worriedly.

  'No.' It was immediate and definite, and they stared at each other for a long moment until Essie said, 'Oh, Candy…'

  When Candy awoke on the morning of her wedding it was to a perfect May day. The sky was a cornflower-blue, the sun was sailing high and the heady scents from Essie's garden were already perfuming the bedroom with their intoxicating fragrance although it was only six o'clock.

  Candy sat up in bed and hugged her knees as her stomach went haywire. This was it. This was really it Essie and Mary would be arriving at eight—Essie and Xavier were staying in a nearby hotel and Quinn's parents had spent the night in Quinn's spare room—to help her get ready for the service at eleven, and by noon she would be Mrs Ellington. Butterflies with hob-nailed boots began to do a dance just under her ribcage.

  Toast. Two slices of toast and a cup of coffee and she'd feel better.

  She pushed back the duvet and padded downstairs in her nightie without bothering to pull on her robe. The cottage seemed dead and empty without the cats—they had been living at the practice for the last couple of days and had already established their supremacy over the dogs and laid down the ground rules for future co-existence—and for a moment a sense of panic and something akin to desolation flooded her. And then she saw the package by the front door.

  'This is a wedding present for the most beautiful girl in the world,' Quinn had written in his strong, firm hand, 'and my future partner through life.' There was no signature or 'love', just a black 'Q' that ended in a flourish.

  The pearl necklace and earrings were exquisite.

  He must have walked down the lane and slid them through the letterbox when she was asleep, because she hadn't heard the car, Candy thought as she gazed at the smooth, lustrous pearls with a thudding heart. And 'the most beautiful girl in the world' was a start. Wasn't it?

  And she was thinking just that, concentrating on the thought and that alone, as she walked down the aisle on Xavier's arm five hours later.

  Her delicate dress flared out demurely over her satin pumps, the fragrant cream rosebuds entwined in her hair and tiny frothy veil surrounded her in a cloud of perfume and chiffon, and the rosebuds were reflected in the bouquet she carried, along with deep red roses and trailing freesias and fern.

  Quinn turned to her as she reached his side and for a brief moment the mask was ripped aside and she saw the fierce hunger and dark desire he had been keeping at bay for so long. She stared at him, quite unable to smile for a moment as the unexpectedness of seeing his passion laid bare after his remote coolness of the preceding months brought her eyes wide with shock. Almost immediately the mask was back in place as he saw her expression, and the service was commencing.

  And then she was walking back down the aisle, but this time as Mrs Ellington, her arm in Quinn's and his big lean body in its grey suit and cream shirt and cream and gold waistcoat at the side of her. He was her husband; she was his wife.

  They emerged to the ringing of the church bells and brilliant sunshine, and as the photographer led them over to a cherry tree bordering the cobbled church path, its mass of ethereal blossom the perfect setting for the wedding photographs, Quinn smiled down at her as he touched the pearl necklace at her throat.

  'It doesn't do such beauty justice,' he said softly, his voice low and deep. 'There isn't a man alive who isn't envying me right
at this moment.'

  'A slight exaggeration,' she managed breathlessly, her heart pounding. There was a dark power in his magnetic attractiveness at the best of times, but today the sensuous charm was overwhelming.

  His ebony eyes held her azure-blue ones for a second, and then Quinn said, his voice a throaty murmur for her ears only, 'Don't be frightened of me, Candy. I meant what I said. You can take all the time in the world.'

  He thought she was nervous of the night ahead? She stared at him, searching for the words to tell him he had it all wrong without giving her real feelings away, but her inexperience was against her and the moment to speak was lost as the photographer turned and began positioning them in the traditional wedding poses.

  The rest of the day passed in a whirl of images and voices, none of which Candy felt she would remember. It was as though she was the chief performer in an elaborate play; none of it seemed real.

  But it was real. She was married. To Quinn. It was his ring on her finger and his arms holding her close as they danced the evening away, and it was his bed she would sleep in from this night forth.

  She missed her step at the thought and immediately his dark face peered down at her, his voice very deep as he said, 'Tired? It's been a long day.'

  'Not really.' Tired? She was so keyed up with excitement and nervous anticipation that the adrenalin was pumping like a piston in every nerve and sinew, she thought a trifle feverishly. It probably wasn't at all the appropriate thing on a girl's wedding day, and it certainly negated that 'air of delicacy' that Quinn's mother had complimented her on at Christmas, but all she had been able to think of for the last few hours as she had floated in his arms was how he would make love to her once they were alone.

  Quinn naked, that big, lean body in all its magnificence stretched out next to hers. His hands and mouth on her skin, her breasts, her thighs, touching her, pleasuring her…

  She missed her step again, and this time he stroked the back of her neck with soothing fingers that were unbearably erotic as they massaged tense muscles. 'Come on, time to slip away,' he said huskily. 'Let's make our goodbyes.'

  Her heart was beating in her throat as she forced her legs to carry her overwrought self off the little dance floor at the hotel Quinn had booked for the reception and begin the round of farewells.

  She was tucked into his side as though she belonged there, and it was wonderful.

  When they came to Essie and Xavier, Essie's gentle, 'Candy, we wish you both all the happiness in the world,' made her swallow hard.

  She was able to say, 'We'll be happy, Essie, I know it,' with a message in the words just for the other woman alone.

  Essie looked hard and long at her, and whatever she read in Candy's face seemed to satisfy her, because she smiled gaily and murmured, 'Of course you will, darling.'

  And then there was the mad flourish of their exit, when Candy threw her bouquet into the squealing crowd of eager women who had gathered to catch it, and they were outside in the warm May night and surveying Quinn's beautiful Aston Martin, which several bright sparks had covered in ribbons and shaving foam and risqué messages, as well as fixing to it a train of cans several feet long.

  Quinn had offered her the choice of any place in the world for their honeymoon when they had set the wedding date, and when Candy had shyly asked if they could stay right where they were in England and tour round so that she could see her adopted country he had been quite amiable, if a little quizzical. 'Funny girl.' He had touched her hair lightly with a mocking hand. 'But if that's what you want…'

  What she wanted was him, and now the same flood of whirling elation and thrilling warmth that had filled her that day at the thought of having Quinn all to herself for three whole weeks made her cheeks flush again.

  She would make him love her, she told herself excitedly as Quinn settled her in the front of the car with careful attention to the shot-silk dress and jacket that was her going-away outfit She would. It was a strange thought that she was setting out to seduce her own husband, but that was what it boiled down to, she supposed. Certainly the wildly sexy black lace thong pants and black lace bra she was wearing would cause any man to take a second look, especially when teamed with gossamer-thin stockings and suspender belt.

  She had never worn a suspender belt before, and although it felt strange it made her feel sensual too, and very definitely a wicked woman. And that was what she wanted to be for Quinn. Mistress, wife, lover, friend…whatever he needed.

  She had shocked herself at first, when she had realised she wanted to do to Quinn everything she had ever read lovers did and much more besides, and that she wanted him to do the same to her. It had caused her to wonder if she had more of her grandmother in her than she had suspected, until common sense had come to her aid.

  She loved Quinn, completely, utterly and for ever—this wasn't some hole-and-corner affair that would be repeated with a different man once the present one grew tired of her. It made all the difference in the world. She took after her mother—not her grandmother.

  As Candy saw Quinn's mother—her hands pressed to her chest and her eyes moist—from the passenger window, something in the other woman's face made her wind down the window and call to her. Mary must be remembering that other marriage, and all the pain it had entailed, and although she knew Quinn's mother liked her this wasn't an easy time for the older woman.

  As Mary approached the car Candy opened the door and stood to her feet, hugging the other woman close for a few moments before she said softly, 'I'll look after him, Mary. I promise.'

  'I know you will.' The tears were streaming now.

  'And we won't be that far away,' Candy added comfortingly. 'Any time you want to come down for a few days you will be welcome. You know that, don't you?'

  'Bless you, dear.'

  'Did you mean that?' The shouts and cheers of their guests faded into the background and the night swallowed the car in its mellow blackness as Quinn drove swiftly along the road away from the hotel. 'About them coming to stay with us?'

  'Of course.' Candy glanced at him in surprise, but Quinn kept his eyes on the dark country vista beyond the windscreen as he said, his voice almost expressionless, 'Thank you. That will mean a great deal to her. Laura…Laura never liked them to visit, you see. We only lived a short drive away in Oxford, but even after Joe was born Laura made any contact a trial by fire, and although I used to ask them just the same my mother wouldn't make things any more difficult for me than they were. I think she ached to see more of Joe, though.'

  'I'm sorry, Quinn.' She was, terribly, but the mere words sounded inept and inane.

  It was another few moments before Candy said quietly, 'Where are we staying tonight? Is it far?'

  'Not too far.' He shot her a quick smile, but it was remote, almost polite. 'I thought a hotel was a little impersonal, especially as you're bound to be tired tomorrow and will probably want a late start, and it just so happens an old friend of mine is in the States at the moment and he offered his farmhouse for as long as we wanted it We can relax there for a day or two and then start the grand tour, if that suits, Mrs Ellington?'

  'Certainly, Mr Ellington.' She tried to inject her voice with the light, bantering tone he had used, but it was difficult with her heart thudding so hard it made her dizzy.

  The 'farmhouse' turned out to be one of the most en-chantingly beautiful homesteads Candy had ever seen. It was huge, with a bevy of mullioned windows twinkling under their mop of thatch and surrounded by acres and acres of grounds, set all by itself in the countryside.

  Once Quinn had shepherded her inside she found the interior was the last word in old-world luxury; oak beams, gleaming brasses, deep sofas and cherrywood floors all reeking of unlimited wealth.

  'What does your friend do for a living?' Candy asked breathlessly when she walked into the massive luxury kitchen that was fitted with every gadget under the sun but still retained a country charm, with bunches of dried flowers hanging from the ceiling and a superb
farmhouse table and chairs in the middle of the terracotta-tiled floor.

  Quinn shrugged easily as he walked over to an enormous fridge-freezer and extracted a bottle of chilled champagne. 'Stocks and shares,' he answered off-handedly. 'He's a financial wizard Here, we'll have a glass of bubbly and then I'll show you the upstairs. It's gone twelve and you must be exhausted.'

  Upstairs. She jumped a little as the champagne cork popped, and then blinked at him as he handed her one of the fluted glasses. Upstairs. All the hidden fantasies and forbidden sweet, erotic dreams were going to happen. She was going to lie in his arms; he was going to make love to her.

  'To you, Mrs Ellington.' Quinn raised his glass as he spoke, his ebony eyes unfathomable and his handsome face smiling.

  'To us,' she corrected bravely, the blood pounding in her ears as she kept her gaze on the glittering eyes.

  'To us.' He lightly touched her glass with his and then downed half the contents in one swallow before lowering his head, his gaze never leaving hers. His mouth was warm and tasted of champagne, and the alcohol's fizz seemed to have transported itself to her ears, which were buzzing.

  His mouth parted her lips, slowly and sensuously, and as his tongue probed the hidden depths she had to will herself to stop the little moan that had started somewhere in the core of her. But she couldn't hide the shudder that her desire had caused. Immediately his mouth withdrew, as he mistook her reaction, and he turned, walking to the door before she could bring coherent words out of the turmoil of her mind and ask him to kiss her again.

  'Come on, come and see the rest of it,' he said coolly, holding out a commanding hand as he turned to face her again in the open doorway.

  He was so in control, so unaffected by her… She forced her shaking legs to totter over to him and took the hand he offered. But she had turned him on more than once in the past, she knew it, and she would do it again if it killed her.

  The farmhouse staircase was more suited to a Hollywood movie than anything else, but as Candy climbed the huge winding and very gracious steps to the galleried landing above, she was quite oblivious to her surroundings.