Blind-Date Marriage

Long-stemmed candlesticks flanked

an arrangement of fresh flowers in the

center. Never in Serena’s wildest dreams

had she imagined a man would pamper

her so. Jake must be really serious about

her. The ramifications of that thought

made her heart skip a little faster.

The most she’d ever got from a boyfriend before was a packet of peanuts thrown across the pub table after he’d been to the bar. In her experience, musicians who knew she had a rich father didn’t bother frittering their hard-earned cash on her. Quite the opposite. But it wasn’t the quality of Jake’s chinaware that impressed her. It had taken time and careful thought to create all this—just for her. It was utterly seductive.

Jake was shaping up to be Mr. Right.

FIONA HARPER

As a child, Fiona Harper was constantly teased for either having her nose in a book or living in a dream world. Things haven’t changed much since then, but at least in writing she’s found a use for her runaway imagination. After studying dance at university, Fiona worked as a dancer, teacher and choreographer, before trading in that career for video editing and production. When she became a mother she cut back on her working hours to spend time with her children, and when her littlest one started preschool she found a few spare moments to rediscover an old but not forgotten love—writing.

Fiona lives in London, but her other favorite places to be are the Highlands of Scotland and the Kent countryside on a summer’s afternoon. She loves cooking, good food and anything cinnamon flavored. Of course, she still can’t keep away from a good book, or a good movie—especially romances—but only if she’s stocked up with tissues, because she knows she will need them by the end, be it happy or sad. Her favorite things in the world are her wonderful husband, who has learned to decipher her incoherent ramblings, and her two daughters.

Blind-Date Marriage is Fiona’s debut novel.

Blind-Date Marriage

Fiona Harper

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For the unknown man I soaked while driving through a puddle

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ONE

JAKE knew only two things about the woman he was going to meet: her name was Serena and her father had money.

Serena.

Sounded kind of horsey. She probably wore jodhpurs. Mel had refused to comment on whether she was pretty or not, so she probably looked like a horse as well. He could see it so clearly: the gymkhana trophies, the chintzy bedroom. Serena wore her mousy hair in a bun and had too many teeth.

He stepped off the kerb of the busy London street and zigzagged through the gaps in the traffic. Headlights lit up his knees as he squeezed between the bumpers. A horn blared.

That was why he liked to walk. It gave him a sense of freedom in the midst of the cloying traffic. He wasn’t about to take orders from anyone, especially not a pole with coloured lights on top.

Once on the pavement again, he stopped to shake the drizzle off his hair. It was more mist than rain, only visible in the orange haloes of the street lamps, but somehow he was wetter than if he’d been hit by big, splashing drops. He was going to look less than perfect when he arrived at the restaurant.

His long strides slowed as he contemplated the evening ahead. Should he be marching this briskly towards the unknown? Probably not. But he wasn’t going to be late. He speeded up to his former tempo. This evening he would be polite, he would be charming, and then he would be high-tailing it out of there as fast as possible.

As long as Serena didn’t have a horsey laugh to match her appearance, he could endure the temptation of the pocket-sized window in the restaurant toilet. At least he hoped there was a window. Just for emergencies.

He should have checked.

In future he would do a reconnaissance of any potential venues when forced on blind dates by his meddling little sister.

Not that there was going to be a next time if he could help it.

He was still a bit hazy about how she’d talked him into going on this one. Mel had rung him at work and slipped it into the conversation while he was studying a balance sheet and saying ‘mmm’ and ‘yup’ at suitable intervals. Before he knew it, he was meeting a total stranger for drinks and dinner at Lorenzo’s.

One day he would have to put his foot down with Mel. She’d been able to wind him round her little finger ever since she’d bestowed her very first smile on him. He was pretty sure she knew he hadn’t been listening when she’d arranged this date. Most likely she’d planned the exact timing of her call to maximise his suggestibility.

He cut through a little park in the centre of the square rather than keeping to the busy street. It was a refreshing change from the unrelenting grey of the city. Not that there was much green within the park’s wrought-iron railings at this time of year.

At least it smelled like November—acorns and rotting leaves. He took a deep breath and savoured the warm, earthy aroma. That was when he became aware of the tramp, more noticeable by his body odour than his appearance. He might easily have taken him for a forgotten coat on the bench otherwise.

The old man was oblivious to the rain. Saliva trailed from his open mouth down his chin, and the wind rolled an empty beer can to and fro beneath the bench. Jake removed the copy of the Financial Times from under his arm and spread a few pages over the man’s shoulders and torso, making sure he didn’t accidentally touch his coat. Hopefully, by the time the pages were wet through, the old guy would be sober enough to move himself somewhere drier.

He hurried through the park gate and re-entered the rush hour. The restaurant was only a few minutes away now. He didn’t go in for that kind of place much. Lorenzo’s was an odd choice for horsey old Serena.

According to the brief review he’d read on the internet, the restaurant was a small, family-run affair—nothing special in his book. He preferred places that were obviously exclusive now he could afford them. Give him women with diamonds, men with fat wallets and waiters that bowed any day.

However, the food was supposed to be tasty, and the critic had raved about a cannelloni dish. Not that it would make any difference to Serena. She was probably going to push a couple of lettuce leaves drenched in balsamic vinegar round her plate and complain about how everything went to her rather expansive hips.

The escape window was sounding more tempting with every step. Perhaps he should pop round the back and check the exact dimensions before he went inside?

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t see the blocked drain. He didn’t see the deep puddle that had collected over the top of it. He also didn’t see the sports car driving up behind him.

He did, however, see the great tidal wave as car met puddle. He watched, helpless, as in slow motion tendrils of spray reared up and soaked him from head to foot.

She saw the wall of water in her rear-view mirror and gasped.

She’d been so busy daydreaming about the evening ahead she’d forgotten to manoeuvre round the small pond that always appeared on this corner in bad weather. Without thinking whether it was a good idea or not, she pulled the car to a halt, got out, and ran straight up to the sodden figure on the pavement. He didn’t look as if he’d moved at all. He was just staring down at his dripping suit with his arms aloft.

‘Oh, my goodness! I’m so sorry—’

He lifted his head and glared at her.

‘Are you okay?’

One eyebrow shot up. At least she thought it did. It was hard to tell under the dark hair plastered onto his forehead.

‘You’re soaked! Let me give you a lift to wherever you were going. It’s the least I can do.’

She’d been talking to him for a good fifteen seconds, but suddenly she had the feeling he was only just taking a good look at her. He was staring. Hard. She looked down at her suede boots and ankle-length skirt. Sure, she was getting a little soggy as she stood here in the rain, but it wasn’t as if she’d come out with her skirt tucked into the back of her knickers. At least she didn’t think she had.

When she looked back up he was smiling. And not just the polite tilt of the mouth you gave waitresses when they brought you a drink. This was a real one.

A shiver skittered up her spine. That was a great smile. She looked a little closer at the face it was attached to.

Nice.

This was one cute guy she’d drenched.

‘You were saying…?’

She shook herself.

‘Yes. It’s just—I…I mean it’s the least I can do. Drop you off somewhere, that is.’

‘That’s probably a good idea. I’m not sure I’m in any fit state to go out to dinner like this.’

Her hands flew to her mouth. ‘I feel just awful…Well, that settles it, then. I’ve ruined your evening. I’m dropping you off somewhere dry and warm. No arguments.’

He looked her up and down, a crinkle at the corners of his eyes. ‘No arguments from me. Shall we?’ He motioned towards the car. ‘Nice wheels.’

The drizzle was making a more concerted effort at proper rain, and a drop splashed on her forehead. Without talking further, they both ran to the low-slung metallic blue sports car and climbed inside.

She watched him shake his head and run his fingers through thick dark hair as he sat in the passenger seat. He looked even better with it slicked back. She could see his face properly. How did eyes that cool blue manage to smoulder? And look at that firm jaw. He looked like a man in control of his destiny. She liked that.

‘The car’s not mine, actually.’

The smile was back. ‘What did you do? Steal it?’

‘No, of course not. Mine’s being repaired. I borrowed this from my…a friend.’

She wasn’t about to tell him she was riding round in her father’s car. It had mid-life crisis stamped all over it. Not that her father’s crazy behaviour had started in his fifties. He’d got a head start in his teenage years, and had never stopped long enough to mature.

She didn’t like admitting to her parentage when she met a man who caught her eye. She’d learnt the hard way to keep dear old dad out of the picture until it was safe to drop the bombshell—and even then she was never one hundred per cent sure if she was the main attraction.

The smouldering eyes were looking at her intently. ‘A friend?’

Drat! He’d spotted the little detour in her explanation.

He sat back in the seat and smiled, a wistful expression on his face. ‘That’s too bad. Tell him I think he’s got great taste in cars…and women.’

She fumbled with the keys in the ignition.

Come on, girl! Think of something sparkling and witty to say! Tell him he’s got the wrong end of the stick.

‘So, where can I drop you off?’

Great. Really smooth. Well done.

‘Great Portman Street. Do you know it?’

‘I know someone who lives down that way.’ She indicated and pulled away. ‘It’s not that far from here, is it?’

‘No, but in this traffic it could take a good twenty minutes.’

‘I know. Sometimes I think it would be quicker if I walked.’

‘My opinion exactly.’ He pinched at his trouser leg and inspected it. ‘Although I can’t vouch for it being the drier option.’

She sighed and started to speak, but he warded the words off with a raised hand.

‘Please, don’t apologise again. You did me a big favour, in fact. I wasn’t looking forward to my evening, and you’ve given me the perfect excuse to bow out.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really. I was destined for a date from hell with a girl that looks like a horse—and I’m not sure whether it’s the front end or the back end she most resembles!’

Her laugh was loud and unexpected.

‘Well, consider me your knight in shining armour, then,’ she added, giggles bubbling under the surface.

He laughed along with her. ‘My eternal gratefulness, kind lady. In fact, I should thank you in some way. How about dinner?’

Since they were sitting at yet another red light, she shot a look across at him. ‘Have you forgotten why you’re in my car in the first place? You’re dripping wet!’

‘It wouldn’t take me long to get dry and changed. We could nip out somewhere local. We’d be in a public place. You’d be perfectly safe.’

‘How do I know that? We’ve only just met. I don’t even know your name.’

‘It’s Jake.’

‘Well, Jake, I still don’t know you from Adam—except that your name’s not Adam, that is.’ Oh, God, she was rambling!

‘Then why did you let me in your—I mean your friend’s car, then? I could be anyone. I could be an axe-wielding maniac, for all you know.’

She went cold. He was right. She’d been so busy feeling bad for him she hadn’t even considered basic personal safety. Her voice was braver than she felt when she answered.

‘Don’t be daft! I rescued you, remember? You’re a Jake-in-distress. You can’t possibly be an axe-wielding maniac!’ Could he?

Now it was his turn to laugh. Her shoulders untensed, but she stayed quiet and concentrated on the traffic. Quicker than expected, they drew up in Great Portman Street.

‘Which one?’ She leaned forward and peered down the road. One side was almost entirely occupied by a red brick block of Victorian apartments.

‘Right here. Top floor.’

‘Very posh.’

She kept her eyes on the road as the car came to a halt. Even without the tell-tale reflection in the windscreen, she’d have sensed he’d turned to face her. Strange, she’d always thought that being able to feel someone’s eyes boring into you was a load of poppycock.

‘Come inside and have the grand tour.’

‘You’re very forward, aren’t you?’

‘I know what I want, and I don’t stop until I get it.’

The implication of that sentence made her cheeks burn. She was very proud of the wobble-free voice that came out of her mouth.

‘Sorry, Jake-in-distress, I have a prior commitment. Maybe another time.’

‘Couldn’t you stand him up?’

A reply like that would normally have had her spitting, but he said it with such lazy charm she found herself laughing.

‘No.’

But she wanted to. Miraculously, the prospect of an evening with Charles Jacobs seemed even greyer.

‘Too bad.’ The tone of his voice said he respected her decision more than he cared to admit. ‘At least give me your number.’

‘Give my number? To an axe-wielding maniac? You must be mad!’

She smiled at him.

He smiled back.

Boy, those smiles got more brilliant with every outing. If she didn’t get out of here quick, she was going to change her mind about dinner. Then Cassie would kill her for standing up the ‘suitable’ man she’d found for her, and that would never do. She was looking forward to the prospect of another time with Jake too much.

He reached into his pocket, fished out a business card and scribbled something on the back with a fountain pen.

‘Have it your way. Here’s my number, then.’

She took it from him. Even the little rectangle of card was soggy. She’d done a really good job with that puddle.

He looked her straight in the eye. ‘Use it.’

Her gaze collided with his. He was so sure she was going to call. There wasn’t a flicker of doubt in his expression. Women probably fell over themselves to follow his every whim on a daily basis. Part of her felt like throwing the card out of the window and into the gutter; the other part wanted to tuck it inside her bra to make sure she didn’t lose it.

Her lips pursed. She meant to look peeved, but somehow a small smile escaped.

‘Maybe. Goodbye, Jake.’

She put the car into reverse and started to move out of the parking space. Before she had a chance to pull away, he pounded on the window. ‘Wait!’

She pressed the button and enjoyed his mounting irritation as the window edged down bit by bit.

‘You haven’t even told me your name.’

‘So I didn’t.’

‘Well?’

‘I get the feeling you’re the kind of man who won’t let a tiny detail like that stop you. You’ll find out—if you want to badly enough.’

With that, she rolled up the window and drove away. She risked a glance in the rear-view mirror and a huge grin spread over her face. He was standing in the street with his mouth hanging open.

She didn’t look back. Instead, she tooted the horn and did a little finger wave.

Now, that had been smooth!

Stupid, but smooth.

Stupid, because the only reason she hadn’t told him her name was the funny reaction it provoked in almost everyone she met. She hadn’t wanted to spoil the moment, hadn’t wanted the delectable Jake to have the usual set of preconceptions about her.

What had her parents been thinking when they called her Serendipity? It was tantamount to child abuse! She’d been the target of bullies from her first day of school because of her name.

Why couldn’t she have been called Sally or Susan? Nice, sensible, traditional names. No one would think Susan was a hippy wild child. And Sally was the kind of girl whose dad worked a nine-to-five job in an office, while her mum baked jam tarts and fussed over the amount of make-up her teenage daughter was wearing.

She sighed.

Daft to run away without telling Jake her name. Now she would have to look all eager and phone him if she was interested. Which she was. She should have given him her number and let him do the running—she’d always liked the old-fashioned idea of being courted.

She turned the corner and headed back towards the restaurant. Perhaps it had been worth not telling Jake her name just to see the look on his face as she drove away. At least she’d have something to smile to herself about if Charles Jacobs turned out to be as yawn-worthy as he sounded.

She looked at her watch as she pulled up outside the restaurant. Only half an hour late. If she smiled, and flipped her long dark hair around a bit, perhaps Charles wouldn’t mind.

She hopped out of the sports car, ran inside, and straight up to the small bar that doubled as a reception desk. There were far too many bunches of plastic grapes and straw-covered bottles for the décor to be in good taste, but she didn’t care. It was homey.

Someone was loading small bottles of orange juice onto the bottom shelf. She’d recognise that acre-wide Italian rump anywhere!

‘Hey, Maria!’

Maria stood up so fast she sent a couple of bottles rolling across the floor. Her hands flew into the air and she yelled in the general direction of the kitchen, ‘Gino! Our girl is here!’

A round, middle-aged man appeared from the door connecting the kitchen to the bar. ‘We thought you’d been run over by a bus—didn’t we, darling?’

She ducked behind the bar and gave each of them a kiss on the cheek. ‘You fuss like an old woman, Gino. Now, tell me—and don’t spare my feelings—what’s he like?’

Gino made a dismissive wave towards her favourite table by the window. A monstrous potted palm blocked her view. She stood on tiptoe to get a better look.

The table was empty.

She turned round to Gino, eyebrows raised. ‘He hasn’t shown up yet?’

Gino shook his head, almost overwhelmed by the tragedy, and she swallowed the urge to chuckle.

‘Oh, well. Bring me the usual. I’ll hang around until nine. I got here late myself, so I can hardly moan.’

He’d better be worth the wait, though! She’d murder Cassie if she’d set her up with a first-class loser again. Her friend knew she was looking to settle down, but couldn’t quite get the distinction between stable and reliable and utterly dull. She’d only agreed to go on this date because it was less hassle than arguing with Cassie about it. If she said no, Cassie would only badger her for a fortnight until she gave in, so she might as well agree and save herself the earache.

Gino brought her a glass of her favourite red wine, and she sat at the table and scanned the rain-swept horizon.

She sat up and smiled as a man in a smart suit with a bunch of flowers passed the window, but he walked straight past the door and into the arms of a waiting blonde outside the tube station. Minutes ticked past. The only other person to enter the restaurant was a small bald man with bad teeth. She whipped up her menu as an impromptu shield and held her breath. Thankfully, he was greeted by a tall woman with equally bad teeth on the other side of the restaurant. She dropped the menu enough to peek over the top, then jumped as Gino appeared, apparently out of thin air.

‘There’s a message for you. He telephoned.’

By the look on Gino’s face, it was not good news. She lowered the menu slightly and held her head high. ‘Let me have it, Gino.’

‘He said he’s very sorry, but something came up.’

Something came up! What kind of lame excuse was that?

The puff of air she let out lifted her fringe.

‘What did he say, exactly?’

‘He said he was not able to come, that he’s very sorry, and asked you to meet him tomorrow for lunch at Maison Blanc, one o’clock.’ Gino wrinkled his nose at the suggestion of anyone eating somewhere other than his establishment, then he grinned. ‘But he also said dinner tonight is on him.’

She slapped the menu closed and smiled like a cat.

‘In that case, my good friend, it’s the caviar to start for me, followed by the priciest entrée Marco can conjure up, and a glass of champagne for everybody in the room.’

Gino winked. ‘That’s my girl! You show him.’

The nerve of the man. Standing her up, then practically summoning her to lunch the following day, with no thought at all as to whether it was convenient for her. The fact she was free, and could go if she wanted to, had no bearing on the matter. He was an arrogant jerk to assume she was so desperate for a date that she’d trot along at his beck and call.

Not in this lifetime, buster! No way was she turning up tomorrow. He could be the one to sit and fiddle with his cutlery.

Dinner was good, but revenge on Mr Jacobs was even tastier. She enjoyed every bite, because with each mouthful she could hear the ding of a cash register. By the time she had finished her espresso, she was imagining the look on his face when he saw the total. She had a mind to turn up at Maison Blanc tomorrow, just to see him wince as she delivered the news in person.

Perhaps that wasn’t such a bad idea after all. She could bat her lashes and give him the Oops! Silly me! I never was much good at maths routine. The added bonus would be that Cassie couldn’t moan at her for not giving the latest offering in the husband hunt a fair go.

Thinking of Cassie, it was time to give her an earful. She took her mobile phone out of her bag and punched in the number.

Cassie was never one for pleasantries, and this time was no exception.

‘How’s it going? Isn’t he hot?’

‘Not noticeably.’

‘Really? I was sure you two would hit it off. My new project worker has talked about her brother so much I feel like he’s a long-lost friend.’

‘Yeah? Well, he’s also my long lost date.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He didn’t show, Cassie! Some sorry story and an instruction to have dinner on him. You can tell your friend that she’d better get as much visiting time in with her brother as she can, because he’s going to have a heart attack when he sees his credit card statement.’