Harlequin Romance April 2015 Box Set (52 page)

* * *

Claire spent the rest of the evening socialising with the other guests, encouraging the younger ones to dance. All the time, she was very aware of exactly where Sean was in the garden, but she didn’t trust herself not to make
another stupid mistake. She’d got it wrong with him in the past. She couldn’t afford to get it wrong in the future.

Finally, she went back to the hotel with the last few guests, kicked off her high heels, and curled up in one of the wrought iron chairs on the balcony of her room, looking out at the moon’s sparkling path on the sea. She’d been sitting there for a while when there was a knock
at her door.

She wasn’t expecting anyone, especially this late at night—unless maybe someone had been taken ill and needed help?

She padded over to the door, still in bare feet, and blinked in surprise when she saw Sean in the doorway. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Yes,’ he said.

She went cold. ‘Ash?’

‘No.’

Then she saw that he’d removed his jacket and cravat. He looked
very slightly dishevelled, and it made him much more approachable. And much, much harder to resist.

He was also carrying a bottle of Prosecco and two glasses.

‘Sean?’ she asked, completely confused.

‘I think we need to talk,’ he said.

Again, for a split second, she glimpsed that vulnerability in his eyes. How could she turn him away when she had a good idea of how he was feeling—the
same way she was feeling herself? ‘Come in,’ she said, and closed the door behind him.

‘I saw you sitting on your balcony,’ he said.

She nodded. ‘I was a bit too wired to sleep, so I thought I’d look out over the sea and just chill for a bit.’

‘Good plan.’ He gestured to her balcony. ‘Shall we?’

Sean, the sea and moonlight. A dangerous combination. It would be much more sensible
to say no.

‘Yes,’ she said.

He uncorked the bottle with a minimum of fuss and without spilling a drop of the sparkling wine, then poured them both a glass.

Claire held hers up in a toast. ‘To Ashleigh and Luke,’ she said, ‘and may they have every happiness in their life together.’

‘Absolutely,’ he said, clinking his glass against hers. ‘To Ashleigh and Luke.’

‘So you’re
too wired to sleep, too?’ she asked.

He nodded. ‘I was walking in the hotel gardens. That’s when I saw you sitting on the balcony.’

‘So why do we need to talk, Sean?’

He blew out a breath. ‘You and me.’

The idea sent a shiver of pure desire through her.

‘I think it’s been a long time coming,’ he said softly.

‘But we don’t even like each other. You think I’m a flake,
and I think you’re...well...a bit
too
organised,’ she said, choosing her words carefully.

‘Maybe,’ he said, ‘because it’s easier for us to think that of each other.’

She took a sip of Prosecco, knowing that he was right but not quite wanting to admit it. ‘You turned me down.’

‘Nearly ten years ago? You know why,’ he said. ‘I think we’ve both grown up and got past that.’

‘I
guess.’ She turned her glass round. ‘Though I’m not in a hurry to put myself back in that situation.’

‘You won’t be,’ he said softly. ‘Because you’re not seventeen any more, you’re not drunk, and I’m not responsible for you.’

The three barriers that had been in the way, back then. It had hurt and embarrassed her at the time, but later Claire had appreciated how decent he’d been. Not
that they’d ever discussed it. It was way too awkward for both of them.

But, now he’d said it, she needed to know. ‘Back then, if I hadn’t been drunk, if I’d been eighteen, and if you hadn’t been responsible for me—would you have...?’

‘Let you seduce me?’ he asked.

She nodded.

His breath shuddered through him. ‘Yes.’

Heat curled in her belly. That night, she’d wanted him
so desperately. And, if the circumstances had been different, he would have made love with her. Been her first lover.

All the words were knocked out of her head. Because all she could think about was the way he’d kissed her tonight in the garden, and the way he looked right now. Sexy as hell.

‘Ashleigh’s engagement,’ he said softly. ‘
You
turned
me
down, that time.’

‘Because I was
being sensible.’ She paused. ‘This isn’t sensible, either.’

‘I know. But your perfume’s haunted me all evening,’ he said, his voice low and husky and drenched in desire. ‘Your mouth. And you’ve been driving me crazy in that dress.’

She made a last-ditch attempt at keeping the status quo. ‘This is a perfectly demure bridesmaid’s dress,’ she said. ‘It’s down to my knees.’

‘And I can’t
stop thinking about what you might be wearing under it.’

Her breath hitched. ‘Can’t you, now?’

The same heat that curled in her belly was reflected in his eyes. ‘Going to show me?’ he invited.

‘We’re on my balcony. Anyone could see us.
You
saw me,’ she pointed out.

‘Then maybe,’ he said, ‘we should go inside. Draw the curtains.’

She knew without a shadow of a doubt what
was going to happen if they did.

There would be repercussions. Huge ones.

But the old desire had lanced sharply through her, to the point where she didn’t care about the repercussions any more. ‘Yes.’

Without a word, he stood up and scooped her out of her chair. Carried her into the room and set her down on her feet. He turned away just long enough to close the curtains, then pulled
her into his arms and kissed her

That first kiss in the garden had been tentative, sweet. This was like lighting touchpaper, setting her on fire. By the time he broke the kiss, they were both shaking.

‘Show me,’ he said softly.

She reached behind her back to the zip and slid it down; then she held the dress to her.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Shy?’

She shook her head. ‘I’m
waiting for you to get rid of your waistcoat and undo your shirt.’

He looked puzzled, and she explained, ‘Because, if we’re going to do this, it’s going to be equal. Both of us. All the way.’

‘All the way,’ Sean repeated huskily. He removed his waistcoat, then undid his shirt and pulled it out of the waistband of his trousers. ‘Better?’

‘Much better. It makes you look touchable,’
she said.

‘Good—because I want you to touch me, Claire. And I want to touch you.’ He gestured to her dress. ‘Show me.’

She felt ridiculously shy and almost chickened out; but then took a deep breath and stepped out of the dress before hanging it on the back of a chair.

‘Now that I wasn’t expecting—underwear to match your dress.’ He closed the gap between them and traced the outline
of her strapless lacy bra with the tip of his finger.

‘I had it dyed at the same time as my shoes,’ she said.

‘Attention to detail—I like that,’ he said approvingly.

She slid her palms against his pectoral muscles. ‘Very nice,’ she said, and let her hands slide down to his abdomen. ‘A perfect six pack. I wasn’t expecting that.’

‘I don’t spend the whole day in a chair. The gym
gives me time to think about things,’ he said.

‘Good plan.’ She slipped the soft cotton from his shoulders.

‘So now I’m naked to the waist, and you’re not. You said we were in this together, Claire.’

‘Then do something about it,’ she invited.

Sean smiled, unclipped her bra and let the lacy garment fall to the floor. Then scooped her up, carried her to the bed, and Claire stopped
thinking.

CHAPTER FIVE

C
LAIRE
’
S
MOBILE
SHRILLED
. Still with her eyes closed, she groped for the phone on the bedside table. ‘Hello?’

‘C’mon, sleepyhead! You went to bed before I did—you can’t
still
be snoozing,’ Sammy said cheerfully. ‘There’s a pile of warm pastries and a bowl of freshly picked, juicy Italian peaches down here with our name on them. And the best coffee ever.’

Breakfast.

Claire had arranged to meet Sammy for breakfast.

And right now she was still in bed.
With Sean.
Whose arms were still wrapped round her, keeping her close.

‘Uh—I’ll be down as soon as I can,’ Claire said hastily. ‘If you’re hungry, start without me.’

‘Don’t blame me if the pastries are all gone by the time you get here. See you soon,’ Sammy said, her voice full of
laughter.

‘Who was that?’ Sean asked when Claire put the phone down.

‘Sammy. We arranged to have breakfast together this morning.’ Claire dragged in a breath. ‘Except...Sean, I...’ She frowned. ‘And now I’m being incoherent and stupid, and that isn’t me.’

‘Lack of sleep,’ he said, nuzzling her shoulder. ‘Which is as much my fault as yours.’

Oh, help. When he was being sweet
and warm like this, it made her want what she knew she couldn’t have. And she really had to be sensible about this. ‘Sean—we really can’t do this,’ she blurted out.

‘Do what?’

‘Be together. Or let anyone know about what happened last night.’ She twisted round to face him. ‘You and me—you know it would never work out between us in a month of Sundays. We’re too different. You have a twenty-year
plan for everything, and I hate being boxed in like that. We’d drive each other bananas.’

‘So, what? We’re going to pretend last night didn’t happen?’ he asked.

‘That’d probably be the best thing,’ she said. ‘Because then it won’t be awkward when Ash asks us both over to see the wedding photos and what have you.’

‘Uh-huh.’ His face was expressionless.

And now she felt horrible.
Last night had been a revelation about just how much attention Sean paid to things and how good he’d made her feel. And it had been better between them than she’d ever dreamed it would be as a starry-eyed teenager. If only they weren’t so different, she’d be tempted to start a proper relationship with him. Seriously tempted. But she knew it wasn’t going to work out between them, and she didn’t
want her oldest friendship to become collateral damage of a fling that didn’t last. She swallowed hard. ‘Last night... You made it good for me. Really good.’

‘Dear John—it’s not you, it’s me,’ he intoned, raising an eyebrow.

‘It’s both of us, and you know it,’ she said. ‘You hate the fact that I follow my heart. I know what you call me, Sean.’ Just as she was pretty sure that he knew
what she called him.

He shrugged. ‘I guess you’re right.’

So why did it make her feel so bad—so
guilty
? ‘I’m not dumping you, and you’re not dumping me, because we were never really together in the first place,’ she said. ‘We’d be a disaster as a couple.’

‘Probably,’ he agreed.

‘Sammy’s waiting for me downstairs. I don’t get to see her that much, with her job taking her away
so much. I promised her I’d be there. I really have to go,’ Claire said, feeling even more awkward. She wanted to stay. She wanted to pretend that she and Sean were two completely different people and that it would have a chance of working out between them.

But she had to face the facts. Tomorrow they’d both be back in London. And no way could things work between them there. Their lives were
too opposite, and they just wouldn’t fit.

‘I know I’m being rude and bratty and everything else, but would you mind, um, please closing your eyes while I grab some clothes and have the quickest shower in the world?’ she asked.

‘It’s a little late for shyness,’ he said dryly, ‘given that we saw every millimetre of each other last night.’

Not just saw, either. The memory made her
face hot. They’d touched. Stroked. Kissed.

‘Even so,’ she said.

‘As you wish.’ He rolled over and closed his eyes. ‘Let me know when it’s safe to look.’

‘I’m sorry. I really wish things could be different,’ she said, meaning it. ‘But this is the best way. A clean break.’

‘Apart from the fact that my little sister is your best friend, and we’ll still have to see each other in
the future.’

‘And we’ll do exactly the same as we’ve done for years and years,’ she said. ‘We’ll be polite to each other for her sake, and avoid each other as much as we can.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Like you said, last night—well, it’s been a long time coming. And now we’ve done it and it’s out of our systems.’ Which was a big, fat lie, so it was just as well that he couldn’t see her face.
She had a nasty feeling that Sean Farrell would never be completely out of her system. Especially now she knew what it was like to kiss him properly. To touch him. To make love with him.

She shook herself and grabbed some clothes. ‘It’s OK to look,’ she said as she closed the bathroom door.

She showered and dressed in record time. When she walked back into the bedroom, Sean was already
dressed and sitting on the bed, waiting for her. Well, he would. He had impeccable manners. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Um—I guess I’ll see you in London when Ash gets back. And I’ll sort out the money I owe you for that helicopter flight.’

* * *

Downstairs, Sammy was pouring a cup of coffee from a cafetière when Claire walked over to her table. ‘So who was he?’ she asked.

‘Who was
what?’ Claire asked.

‘The guy who kept you awake last night and gave you that hickey on the left-hand side of your neck.’

Claire clapped a hand to her neck and stared at her friend in utter dismay. She hadn’t noticed a hickey while she was in the bathroom—well, not that she’d paid much attention to the mirror, because she’d been too busy panicking about the fact that Sean Farrell was
naked and in her bed, and she’d just messed things up again.

And he’d given her a hickey?

Oh, no. She hadn’t had a hickey since she was thirteen, and her dad had been so mad at her that she’d never repeated that particular mistake. Until now.

When Claire continued to be silent, Sammy laughed. ‘Gotcha. There’s no hickey. But clearly I wasn’t far wrong and there
was
a guy last night.’

‘You don’t want to know,’ Claire said.

‘I wouldn’t be fishing if I didn’t,’ Sammy pointed out.

‘It was a one off. And I feel suitably ashamed, OK? I said I wouldn’t date any more Mr Wrongs.’

‘Forgive me for saying, but you didn’t have a date for Ash’s wedding,’ Sammy said. ‘So I think he doesn’t count as one of your Mr Wrongs.’

‘Oh, he does. You couldn’t get more wrong
for me than him,’ Claire said feelingly. More was the pity.

‘Was the sex good?’

‘Sammy!’ Claire felt the colour hit her face like a tidal wave.

Her friend was totally unrepentant. ‘Out of ten?’

Claire groaned. ‘I need coffee.’

‘Answer the question, Claire-bear.’

‘Eleven,’ Claire muttered, and helped herself to coffee, sugaring it liberally.

‘Then maybe,’ Sammy
said, ‘he might be worth working on. Sort out whatever makes him Mr Wrong.’

‘That’d be several lifetimes’ work,’ Claire said wryly.

‘Your call. Pastries or peaches?’

Claire couldn’t help smiling. Only Sammy would ask something so outrageous followed by something so practical and mundane. ‘I thought you’d already scoffed all the pastries? But if there are any left I’ll have both,’
she said.

‘Attagirl.’ Sammy winked at her. ‘And I hope you don’t have a hangover. Because we’re taking that boat out to the Blue Grotto this afternoon before we catch our flights—I’ve got a commission.’

‘Do you ever stop working?’ Claire asked.

‘About as much as you do,’ Sammy said with a grin. ‘Anyway, mixing work and play means you get to fit twice as much into your day—and you
enjoy it more.’

‘True.’

‘Pity about Mr Wrong.’

Yeah.

And Claire really wasn’t looking forward to facing Sean, the next time they met. Somehow, before then she needed to get her emotions completely under control.

* * *

Claire enjoyed her trip to the Blue Grotto, and the colours and textures gave her several ideas for future dress designs; but on the plane home she
found herself thinking about Sean. He’d been a very focused lover, very considerate. She still felt guilty about the way she’d called a halt to it, but she knew she’d done the right thing. Sean planned things out to the extreme, and she preferred to follow her heart, so they’d never be able to agree on anything.

Back at her flat, she unpacked and put the laundry on, checked her mail and her
messages, and made notes for what she needed to do in the morning. Though she still couldn’t get Sean out of her head. When she finally fell asleep, she had the most graphic dream about him—one that left her hot and very bothered when her alarm went off on the Monday morning.

‘Don’t be so ridiculous. Sean Farrell is completely off limits,’ she told herself firmly, and went for her usual pre-breakfast
run. Maybe that would get her common sense back in working order. But even then she couldn’t stop thinking about Sean. How he’d made her feel. How she wanted to do what they’d done all over again.

After her shower, she opened her laptop and logged in to her bank account so she could transfer the money she owed Sean for the flight into his account. And, once that was done, she knew she wouldn’t
need any contact with him until Ashleigh and Luke were back from honeymoon. By which time, her common sense would be back.

She hoped.

She went down to open the shop, then headed for her workroom at the back to start work on the next dress she needed to make for the wedding show. She’d just finished cutting it out when the old-fashioned bell on her door jangled to signal that someone
was coming through the front door.

She came out from the workroom to see a delivery man carrying an enormous bunch of flowers. ‘Miss Stewart?’ he asked.

‘Um, yes.’

‘For you.’ He smiled and handed her the flowers. ‘Enjoy.’

‘Thank you.’

It wasn’t her birthday and she wasn’t expecting any flowers. Or maybe they were from Ashleigh and Luke to say thanks for her help with the
wedding. She absolutely loved dusky pink roses; the bouquet was stuffed with them, teamed with sweet-smelling cream freesias and clouds of fluffy gypsophila. She’d never seen such a gorgeous bouquet.

She opened the envelope that came with it and felt her eyes widen with shock; she recognised the strong, precise handwriting immediately, because she’d seen it on cards and notes at Ashleigh’s
flat over the years.

Saw these and thought of you. Sean.

He’d sent her flowers.

Not just any old flowers—glorious flowers.

And he hadn’t just asked his PA to do it, either. The handwriting was his, so he’d clearly gone to the florist in person, and maybe even chosen the flowers himself.

Sean Farrell had sent her flowers.

Claire couldn’t quite get her head round that.

Why would he send her flowers?

She didn’t quite dare ring him to ask him. So, once she’d put them in water, she took the coward’s way out and texted him.

Thank you for the flowers. They’re gorgeous.

He took his time replying, but eventually the text came through.
Glad you like them.

Where was he going with this?

Before she could work out a way to ask without sounding
offensive, her phone beeped again to signal the arrival of another text.

Thank you for the flight money. Bank just notified me. Do you have an appointment over lunch?

Why?
No, that sounded grudging and suspicious. She deleted the message and started again
. No worries, and no
, she typed back.

You do now. See you at your shop at one.

What? Was he suggesting a lunch date? Dating
her? But—but—they’d agreed that the thing between them would be a disaster if they let it go any further.

Sean, we can’t.

But he didn’t reply. And she was left in a flat spin.

By the time the bell on the front door jangled and she went through to the shop to see Sean standing there—and he’d turned her sign on the door to ‘closed’, she noticed—she was wound up to fever pitch.

‘What’s this about, Sean?’ she asked.

‘I thought we could have lunch together.’

‘But...’ Her voice faded. They’d already agreed that this was a bad idea—hadn’t they?

‘I know,’ he said softly, and walked over towards her.

He was dressed in another of his formal well-cut suits, with his shoes perfectly shined and his silk tie perfectly knotted; he was a million miles away from
the sensual, dishevelled man who’d spent the night in her bed in Capri. And yet he was every bit as delectable. Even though he wasn’t even touching her, being this close to him made all her senses go on red alert.

‘I can’t get you out of my head,’ he said.

Well, if he could be brave enough to admit it, so could she. She swallowed hard. ‘Me, neither,’ she said.

‘So what do we do
about this, Claire?’ he asked. ‘Because I have a feeling this isn’t going away any time soon.’

‘That night in Capri was supposed to—well—get it out of our systems,’ she reminded him.

‘And it didn’t work,’ he said. ‘Not for me.’

His admission warmed her and terrified her at the same time.

‘Claire?’ he asked softly.

He deserved honesty. ‘Me, neither.’

He leaned forward
and brushed his lips against hers, ever so gently. And every nerve end on her mouth sizzled.

He tempted her. Oh, so much. But it all came back to collateral damage.

‘We have to be sensible,’ she said. ‘And why am I the one saying this, not you? You’re the one with—’

‘—the twenty-year plan,’ he finished. ‘For the record, it’s five years. Not twenty.’

‘Even so. You have your
whole life planned out.’