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‘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.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with being responsible and organised,’ he said.
‘There’s nothing wrong with being spontaneous, either,’ she retorted.
He smiled. ‘Not if it’s like Saturday night, no.’
Oh, why had he had to bring that up again? Now her temperature was spiking. Seriously spiking. ‘We’re too different,’ she said. ‘You’re my best friend’s brother.’
‘And?’
‘There’s a huge risk of collateral damage. I can’t take that risk.’ The risk of losing Ashleigh. Claire had already lost too much in her life. She wasn’t prepared to risk losing her best friend as well. ‘If it goes wrong between us. When it goes wrong between us,’ she amended.
‘Why are you so sure it will go wrong?’
That was an easy one. ‘Because my relationships always go wrong.’
‘Because you pick the kind of man who doesn’t commit.’
She didn’t have an answer to that. Mainly because she knew he was right.
‘You pick men who say they’re free spirits. And you think that’ll work because you’re a free spirit, too. Except,’ he said softly, ‘they always let you down.’
Claire thought of her last ex. The one who’d let her down so much that she’d temporarily sworn off relationships. He definitely hadn’t been able to commit. She’d found him in bed with someone else—and then she’d discovered that he was cheating on both of them with yet another woman. Messy and a half.
And the worst thing was that he’d assumed she’d be OK with it, because she was a free spirit, too... It had been a wake-up call. Claire had promised herself that never again would she date someone who could be so casual with her feelings. But it had shaken her faith in her judgement of men. In a room full of eligible men, she was pretty sure she’d pick all the rotten ones.
‘I guess,’ she said. ‘And anyway, what about you? You never date anyone for longer than three weeks.’
‘It’s not quite that bad.’
‘Even so, that’s not what I want, Sean. Three weeks and you’re out. That’s just...’ She grimaced. ‘No.’
‘I’m always very clear with my girlfriends. That it’s for fun, that I’m committed to the factory and won’t have time to...’ His voice faded.
‘Actually, that makes you the kind of man who won’t commit,’ she said softly. ‘Like every other man I date.’
* * *
Sean had never thought of himself in that way before. He’d thought of the way he conducted his relationships as protecting his heart. Not letting himself get too involved meant not risking losing someone. He’d already lost too much in his life, and he didn’t want to lose any more. So he’d concentrated on his career rather than on his relationships. Because the business was safe. Staying in control of his emotions kept his heart safe.
‘What do you want, Sean?’ she asked.
Such an easy answer—and such a difficult one. Though he owed her honesty. ‘You. I can’t think beyond that at the moment,’ he admitted. And that was scary. Claire had accused him of having a twenty-year plan; although it wasn’t anywhere near that long-range, he had to admit that he always planned things out, ever since his parents had died and he’d taken over the family business.
Planning had helped him cope with being thrown in at the deep end and being responsible for everything, without having the safety net of his father’s experience to help him. And planning meant that everything was always under control. Just the way he liked it.
She bit her lip. ‘I’ve got a wedding show in two months. My first collection. This could make all the difference to my career—this could be what really launches me into the big time. I’m hoping that one of the big wedding fashion houses might give me a chance to work with them on a collection. So I really don’t have time for a relationship right now.’
‘And I’ve just finished fighting off a takeover bid from an international conglomerate who wanted to add Farrell’s to their portfolio,’ he said. ‘The vultures are still circling. I need to concentrate on the business and make absolutely sure they don’t get another opening. If anything, I need to expand and maybe float the company on the stock market to finance the expansion. It’s going to take all my time and then some.’
‘So we’re agreed: this is the wrong time for either of us to start any kind of relationship. By the time it is the right time, we’ll both be back to our senses and we’ll know it’d be the wrong thing to do anyway.’
That was something else she’d thrown at him—he was the sensible one, the one who planned things out and was never spontaneous. So why wasn’t he the one making this argument instead of her? Why had he sent her flowers and moved an appointment so he could see her for lunch?
It was totally crazy. Illogical.
And he couldn’t do a thing to stop it.
Which exhilarated him and terrified him at the same time. With Claire, there was a real risk of losing control. And if he wasn’t in control...what then? The possibilities made his head spin.
The only thing he could do now was to state the facts. ‘I want you,’ he said softly. ‘And I think you want me.’
‘So, what? We have a stupid, crazy, insane affair?’
He grimaced. ‘Put like that, it sounds pretty sleazy.’
‘But that’s what you’re offering.’
Was it? ‘No.’
She frowned. ‘So what are you suggesting, Sean?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said. And it was a position he’d never actually been in before. He’d always been the one to call the shots. The one who initiated a relationship and the one who ended it. He shook his head, trying to clear it. But nothing changed. It was still that same spinning, out-of-control feeling. Like being on the highest, fastest, scariest fairground ride. ‘All I know is that I want you,’ he said.
‘There’s too much at stake. No.’
‘Unless,’ he said, ‘we have an agreement.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘What kind of agreement?’
‘We see each other. Explore where this thing goes. And then, whatever happens between us, we’re polite to each other in front of Ashleigh. Nobody gets hurt. Especially her.’
‘Can you guarantee that?’ she asked softly.
‘I can guarantee that I’ll always be polite to you in front of Ashleigh.’ He paused. ‘The rest of it—I don’t think anyone could guarantee that. But maybe it’s worth the risk of finding out.’ Risk. Something he didn’t usually do unless it was precisely calculated. This wasn’t calculated. At all. He needed his head examined.
‘Maybe,’ she said.
He curled his fingers round hers. His skin tingled where it touched her. ‘Come and have lunch with me.’
She smiled then. Funny how it made the whole room light up. That wasn’t something he was used to, either.
‘OK,’ she said. ‘I just need to get my bag.’
‘Sure.’ He waited for her; then, when she’d locked the shop door behind them, he took her hand and walked down the street with her.
CHAPTER SIX
CLAIRE WAS WALKING hand in hand with Sean Farrell. Down the high street in Camden. On an ordinary Monday lunchtime.
This was surreal, she thought.
And she couldn’t quite get her head round it.
But his fingers were wrapped round hers, his skin was warm against hers, and it was definitely happening rather than being some kind of super-realistic dream—because when she surreptitiously pinched herself it hurt.
‘So what do you normally do for lunch?’ Claire asked.
‘I grab a sandwich at my desk,’ he said. ‘In the office, we put an order in to a local sandwich shop first thing in the morning, and they deliver to us. You?’
‘Pretty much the same, except obviously I eat it well away from my work area so I don’t risk getting crumbs or grease on the material and ruining it,’ she said.
‘So we both work through lunch. Well, that’s another thing we have in common.’
There was a gleam in his eye that reminded her of the first thing they had in common. That night in Capri. She went hot at the memory.
‘So how long do you have to spare?’ he asked.
‘An hour, maybe,’ she said.
‘So that’s enough time to walk down to Camden Lock, grab a sandwich, and sit by the canal while we eat,’ he said.
‘Sounds good to me.’ The lock was one of her favourite places; even though the area got incredibly busy in the summer months, she loved watching the way the narrow boats floated calmly down the canal underneath the willow trees. ‘But this is a bit strange,’ she said.
‘How?’
‘I’ve been thinking—we’ve known each other for years, and I know hardly anything about you. Well, other than that you run Farrell’s.’ His family’s confectionery business, which specialised in toffee.
‘What do you want to know?’ he asked.
‘Everything. Except I don’t know where to start,’ she admitted. ‘Maybe we should pretend we’re speed-dating.’
He blinked. ‘You’ve been speed-dating?’
‘No. Sammy has, though. I helped her do a list of questions.’
‘What, all the stuff about what you do, where you come from, that sort of thing?’ At her nod, he said, ‘But you already know all that.’
‘There’s other stuff as well. I think the list might still be on my phone,’ she said.
‘Let’s grab some lunch, sit down and go through your list, then,’ he said. ‘And if we both answer the questions, that might be a good idea—now I think about it, I don’t really know that much about you, either.’
She smiled wryly. ‘I can’t believe we’re doing this. We don’t even like each other.’
He glanced down at their joined hands. ‘Though we’re attracted to each other. And maybe we haven’t given each other a proper chance.’
From Claire’s point of view, Sean was the one who hadn’t given her a chance; but she wasn’t going to pick a fight with him over it. He was making an effort, and she’d agreed to see where this thing took them. It was exhilarating and scary, all at the same time. Exhilarating, because this was a step into the unknown; and scary, because it meant trusting her judgement again. Her track record where men were concerned was so terrible that...
No. She wasn’t going to analyse this. Not now. She was going to see where this took them. Seize the day.
They walked down to Camden Lock, bought bagels and freshly squeezed orange juice from one of the stalls, and sat down on the edge of the canal, looking out at the narrow boats and the crowd.
Claire found the list on her phone. ‘Ready?’ she asked.
‘Yup. And remember you’re doing this, too,’ he said.
‘OK. Your favourite kind of book, movie and music?’ she asked.
He thought about it. ‘In order—crime, classic film noir and anything I can run to. You?’
‘Jane Austen, rom-coms and anything I can sing to,’ she said promptly.
‘So we’re not really compatible there,’ he said.
She wrinkled her nose. ‘We’re not that far apart. I like reading crime novels, too, but I like historical ones rather than the super-gory contemporary stuff. And classic noir—well, if Jimmy Stewart’s in it, I’ll watch it. I love Rear Window.’
‘I really can’t stand Jane Austen. I had to do Mansfield Park for A level, and that was more than enough for me,’ he said with a grimace. ‘But if the rom-com’s witty and shot well, I can sit through it.’