Wedding Bell Wishes: It Started at a Wedding... / The Wedding Planner and the CEO / Her Perfect Proposal

Why had he never noticed how deliciously sarcastic she could be?

‘What?’ she asked

He blinked. ‘Sorry. I’m not following you.’

‘You were smiling. What did I say that was so funny?’

‘It was the way you said it.’ He paused. ‘Do you have any idea how delectable you are when you’re being sarcastic?’

It was her turn to blink. ‘Sarcasm is sexy?’

‘It is on you.’

She grinned. ‘Well, now. I think tonight has just got a whole lot more interesting. Are you on a sugar rush, Sean?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Working where you do, you have toffee practically on tap. Eat enough of the stuff and you’ll be on a permanent sugar rush. Which, I think, must be the main reason why you’re complimenting me like this tonight.’

No. It was because it was as if he’d just met her for the first time. She wasn’t the girl who’d irritated him for years; she was a woman who intrigued him. But he didn’t want to sound soppy. ‘Honey,’ he drawled, ‘the only sugar I want right now is you.’

She laughed at him. ‘Now you’ve switched to cheese.’

‘No. You’re the one who’s served cheese.’ He indicated the stuffing for the chicken. ‘And very nice it is, too.’

Her mouth quirked. ‘Keep complimenting me like this, and...’

‘Yeah?’ he asked, his voice suddenly lower. What was she going to do? Kiss him? That idea definitely worked for him.

‘Oh, shut up and eat your dinner,’ she said, looking flustered.

‘Chicken,’ he said, knowing that she’d pick up on the double use of the word—and he was seriously enjoying fencing with her. Why had he never noticed before that she was bright and funny, and sexy as hell?

Probably because he’d had this fixed idea of her as a difficult girl who attracted trouble. That was definitely true in the past, but now...Now, she wasn’t who he’d always thought she was. She’d grown up. Changed. And he really liked the woman he was beginning to get to know.

She served pudding next—a seriously rich chocolate ganache teamed with tart raspberries. ‘Come and work for my R and D department,’ he said, ‘because I think you’d have seriously good ideas about flavouring.’

She smiled. ‘I know practically nothing about making toffee, and if I make banoffee pie I always buy a jar of dulce de leche rather than making my own.’

‘That’s a perfectly sensible use of your time,’ he said.

She grinned. ‘It’s not so much that you have to boil a can of condensed milk for a couple of hours and keep an eye on it.’

‘What, then?’

‘I had a friend who tried doing it,’ she explained. ‘The can exploded and totally wrecked her kitchen.’

‘Ouch.’ He grimaced in sympathy, and took another spoonful of pudding. ‘This is a really gorgeous meal, Claire.’

‘I didn’t make the ganache myself—it’s a shop-bought pudding.’

‘I don’t care. It’s still gorgeous. And I appreciate the effort. Though, for future reference, you could’ve ordered in pizza and I would’ve been perfectly happy,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to spend time with you.’

‘Me, too,’ she said softly. ‘But I wanted to—well...’

Prove to him that she wasn’t the flake he’d always thought she was? ‘I know. And you did.’

And how weird it was that he could follow the way she thought. Scary, even. She was the last woman in the world he’d expected to be so in tune with.

Once he’d helped her clear away, she said, ‘I thought we could have coffee in the living room.’

‘Sounds good to me.’

‘OK. You can go through and put on some music, if you like,’ she suggested.

Claire’s living room had clearly been hastily tidied, judging by the edges of the magazines peeking from the side of her sofa—he remembered her telling him that she was addicted to magazines; but the flowers he’d sent her that morning were in a vase on the coffee table, perfectly arranged. Clearly she liked them and hadn’t just been polite when she’d thanked him for them earlier. And, given the pink tones in the room, he’d managed to pick her favourite colours.

Her MP3 player was in a speaker dock. He took it out and skimmed through the tracks. Given what she’d said at lunchtime, he’d expected most of the music to be pop, but he was surprised to see how much of it was from the nineteen-sixties. In the end, he picked a general compilation and switched on the music.

She smiled when she came in. ‘Good choice. I love the Ronettes.’ She sang a snatch of the next line.

‘Aren’t you a bit young to like this stuff?’ he asked.

‘Nope. It’s the sort of stuff my gran listens to, so I grew up with it—singing into hairbrushes, the lot,’ she said with a smile. ‘Best Friday nights ever. Totally girly. Me, Mum, Gran, Aunt Lou and my cousins. Popcorn, waffles, milkshake and music.’

It was the first time she’d talked about her family. ‘So you’re close to your family?’ he asked.

‘Yes. I still clash quite a bit with my dad,’ she said, ‘but that’s hardly tactful to talk about that to you.’

‘Because I’m male?’

‘Because,’ she said softly, ‘I’d guess that, like Ash, you’d give anything to be able to talk to your dad. And here am I grumbling about my remaining parent. Though, to be fair, my dad is nothing like yours was. Yours actually listened.’

Fair point. He did miss his parents. And, when the whole takeover bid had kicked off, Sean would’ve given anything to be able to talk about it to his dad. But at the same time he knew that relationships were complicated. And it was none of his business. Unless Claire wanted to talk about it, he had to leave the subject alone.

She’d brought in a tray with a cafetière, two mugs, a small jug of milk and the box he’d given her earlier. ‘Milk and sugar?’ she asked.

‘Neither, thanks. I like my caffeine unadulterated,’ he said with a smile.

Claire, he noticed, took hers with two sugars and a lot of milk. Revolting. And it also made him worry that she wouldn’t like the samples he’d brought; she probably preferred white chocolate to dark. Then again, he’d been wrong about a lot of things where Claire was concerned.

‘Right. This box of utter yumminess. Whatever else I might have said about you in the past,’ she said, ‘I’ve always said that you make seriously good toffee.’

Honesty compelled him to say, ‘No, my staff do. I’m not really hands-on in the manufacturing department.’

‘Now that surprises me,’ she said. ‘I would’ve pegged you as the kind of manager who did every single job in the factory so you knew exactly what all the issues are.’

‘I have done, over the years,’ he said. ‘Everything from the manufacturing to packing the goods, to carrying the boxes out for delivery. And every single admin role. And, yes, I worked with the cleaning team as well. Nowadays, I have regular meetings with each department and my staff know that I want to know about any problems they have and can’t smooth out on their own.’

‘Attention to detail.’

Her voice sounded almost like a purr. And there was a suspicious glow of colour across her cheeks.

‘Claire?’

‘Um,’ she said. ‘Just thinking. About Capri. About...’

And now he was feeling the same rush of blood to the head. ‘Close your eyes,’ he said.

Her breathing went shallow. ‘Why?’

‘Humour me?’

‘OK.’ She closed her eyes.

He took one of the dark salted caramel chocolates from the box and brushed it against her lips. Her mouth parted—and so did the lashes on her left eye.

‘No peeking,’ he said.

In return, she gave him an insolent smile and opened both eyes properly. ‘So we’re playing, are we, Mr Farrell?’

‘We are indeed, Ms Stewart. Now close your eyes.’ He teased her mouth with the chocolate and made her reach for it before finally letting her take a bite.

‘You,’ she said when she’d eaten it, ‘have just upped your game considerably. I love the caramel-filled hearts, but these are spectacular.’

‘You liked them?’ Funny how that made him feel so good.

‘Actually, I think I need another one, to check.’

He laughed. ‘Oh, really?’

‘Yes, really.’ She struck a pose.

No way was he teasing her with chocolate when she looked like that, all pouting and dimpled and sexy as hell. Instead, he leaned over and kissed her.

The next thing he knew, they were both lying full length on the sofa and she was on top of him, his arms were wrapped tightly round her, and one of his hands was resting on the curve of her bottom.

‘You’re telling me that was chocolate?’ she deadpanned.

‘Maybe. Maybe not.’ He moved his hand, liking the softness of her curves. ‘Claire. You’re...’

‘What?’

‘Unexpectedly luscious,’ he said. ‘None of this was supposed to happen.’

‘Says the man who made me close my eyes and lean forward to take a bite of chocolate. Giving him a view straight down the front of my dress, if I’m not mistaken.’

‘It was a very nice view,’ he said, and shifted slightly so she was left in no doubt of his arousal.

‘This is what chocolate does to you?’ she asked.

‘No. This is what you do to me.’

She leaned forward and caught his lower lip between hers, teasing him. ‘Indeed, Mr Farrell.’

‘Yeah.’ He was aware that his voice sounded husky. She’d know from that exactly how much she affected him.

‘So did you come prepared?’ she asked.

He couldn’t speak for a moment. And then he looked into her eyes. ‘Are you suggesting...?’

‘Capri, redux?’ She held his gaze and nodded.

He blew out a breath. ‘I didn’t come prepared.’

‘Tsk. Not what I expected from Mr Plan-Everything-Twenty-Years-in-Advance,’ she teased.

‘How do you manage to do that?’ he asked plaintively.

‘Do what?’

‘Make me feel incredibly frustrated and make me want to laugh, all at the same time?’

‘Go with the flow, sweetie,’ she drawled.

He kissed her again. ‘OK. Tonight wasn’t about expectations. It wasn’t about sending you flowers this morning so you’d sleep with me tonight. It was about getting to know you better.’

‘Platonic, you mean?’

‘I’d like to be friends.’

‘Uh-huh.’ She sounded unaffected, but he’d seen that little vulnerable flicker in her expression and he didn’t let her move. He pulled her closer.

‘I didn’t say just friends. I want to be your lover as well.’

Her pupils went gratifyingly large.

‘But I didn’t come prepared because I’m not taking you for granted.’

To his surprise, he saw a sheen of tears in her eyes. ‘Claire? What’s wrong?’

She shook her head. ‘I’m being wet.’

‘Tell me anyway.’

‘That’s not how it usually is, for me,’ she admitted.

Not being taken for granted? He brushed his mouth very gently against hers. ‘That’s because you’ve been dating the wrong men, thinking they’re Mr Right.’

‘I always thought you’d be Mr Wrong,’ she admitted.

‘And I always thought you’d be Ms Wrong,’ he said. ‘But maybe we should give each other a little more of a chance.’

‘Maybe,’ she said softly. ‘But next time—I think I’m going to be prepared.’

‘You and me, both.’ He nuzzled the curve of her neck. ‘Careful, Claire. You might turn into a bit of an über-planner if you keep this up.’

As he’d hoped, she laughed. ‘And you might start going with the flow without having to be reminded.’

He laughed back. ‘I think we need to move. While we still both have some self-control.’

‘Good plan.’ But when she climbed off him, he didn’t let her move away and sit in a different chair. He kept hold of her hand and drew her down beside him.

‘This works for me,’ he said. ‘Just simply holding hands with you.’

For a moment, she went all dreamy-eyed. ‘Like teenagers.’

‘What?’

She shook her head. ‘Ah, no. I’m not confessing that right now.’

Confessing what? He was intrigued. ‘I could,’ he suggested sweetly, ‘make you confess. Remember, I’m armed with seriously good chocolate.’

She drew his hand up to her mouth and kissed each knuckle in turn. ‘But I also happen to know you’re a gentleman. So you won’t push me right now.’

So even when she hadn’t liked him, she’d recognised that he had integrity and standards and knew that she was safe with him? That warmed him from the inside out. ‘I won’t push you right now,’ he agreed. He handed her the box. ‘Help yourself.’

‘Salted caramel in dark chocolate. Fabulous. Are they all like that?’

‘No. There’s a Seville orange version and an espresso.’

‘Nice choices. And you said earlier they were samples.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘So are you experimenting with new lines?’

‘Possibly.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Sean, I’m hardly going to rush straight off to one of your competitors and sell them the information.’

‘Of course you’re not.’ He frowned. ‘Do you think I’m that suspicious?’

‘You sounded it,’ she pointed out.

‘It’s an experiment, moving into a slightly different form of toffee,’ he said, ‘but I need to put them through some focus groups first and see what my market thinks.’

‘Ah, research. Looking at growing your market share.’ She smiled. ‘So either you sell the same product to more people, or you sell more products to the same people.’

At his raised eyebrow, she sighed. ‘I’m not a total dimwit, you know. I’ve had my own business for three years.’

‘I know, and it’s not just that. Ashleigh told me you turned down an unconditional offer from Cambridge for medicine, and I know you wouldn’t get that sort of offer if you weren’t really bright.’ He looked at her. ‘I always wondered why you became a wedding dress designer instead of a doctor.’

She looked sad. ‘It’s a long story, and I don’t really want to tell it tonight.’

Because she didn’t trust him not to judge her? ‘Fair enough,’ he said coolly.

‘I wasn’t pushing you away, Sean,’ she said. ‘I just don’t want to talk about it right now.’

‘So what do you want, Claire?’ He couldn’t resist the question.

‘Right now? I want you to kiss me again. But we’ve both agreed that’s, um, possibly not a good idea.’

‘Because I’m not prepared, and neither are you. So we’ll take a rain check,’ he said.

‘How long?’ She slapped a hand to her forehead. ‘No. I didn’t ask that and you didn’t hear me.’

‘Right. And I wasn’t thinking it, either,’ he retorted. ‘When?’

‘Wednesday?’

Giving them two days to come to their common sense. ‘Wednesday,’ he agreed. ‘I would offer to cook for you, except you’d get a sandwich at best.’

She laughed. ‘I can live with sandwiches.’

‘No, I mean a proper date.’

‘Planned to the nth degree, Sean-style?’ she asked.

Why did planning things rattle her so much? In answer, he kissed her. Hard. And she was breathless by the time she’d finished.

‘That was cheating,’ she protested.

‘Yeah, yeah.’ He rubbed the pad of his thumb along her lower lip. ‘And?’

‘Go home, Sean, before we do something stupid.’

‘Rain check,’ he said. ‘Wednesday night. I’ll pick you up at seven.’ He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, ‘And, by the time I’ve finished with you, you won’t remember what your name is or where you are.’

Her voice was gratifyingly husky when she said, ‘That had better be a promise.’

‘It is.’ He stole one last kiss. ‘And I always keep my promises. Which reminds me—I have washing-up duties.’

‘I’ll let you off,’ she said.

‘The deal was, you’d cook and I’d wash up.’

‘Do you really think it’s a good idea for us to be that close to each other, in the presence of water, and while neither of us is, um, prepared?’

He didn’t quite get the reference to water, but he agreed with the rest of it. ‘Good point. Rain check on the washing up, then, too?’

She laughed. ‘No need. I have a dishwasher. It’s horribly indulgent, given that I live on my own, but it’s nice when I have friends over for dinner.’ She paused, and added in a softer, sexier, deeper tone, ‘Or my lover.’

Which sounded as if she was going to invite him back.

And that set his pulse thrumming.

‘Right.’ He couldn’t resist one last kiss, one that sent his head spinning and left her looking equally dazed. ‘Enjoy the chocolate,’ he said. And then he left, while he was still capable of being sensible.

CHAPTER EIGHT

SEAN SENT CLAIRE a text later that evening.

Sweet dreams.

Yes, she thought, because they’d be of him. She typed back, You, too x.

He’d turned out to be unexpectedly sweet, so different from how he’d always been in the past. He was still a little regimented, but there was huge potential for him to be...

She stopped herself. No. This time she wasn’t going to make the same old mistake. She wasn’t going into this relationship thinking that Sean might be The One, that there would definitely be a happy-ever-after. OK, so he wasn’t like the men she usually dated; but that didn’t guarantee a different outcome for this relationship, either.

And this was early days. Sean had a reputation for not dating women for very long; the chances were, this would all be over in another month. Claire knew that she needed to minimise the potential damage to her heart and make sure that her best friend didn’t get caught in any crossfire. Which meant keeping just a little bit of distance between them.

Even though Claire tried to tell herself to be sensible, she still found herself anticipating Wednesday. Wondering if he’d kiss her again. Wondering if they’d end up at his place or hers. Wondering if this whole thing blew his mind as much as it did hers.

Wednesday turned out to be madly busy, and Claire spent a long time on the phone with one of her suppliers, sorting out a mistake they’d made in delivering the wrong fabric—and it was going to cost her time she didn’t have. A last-minute panic from one of her brides took up another hour; and, before she realised it, the time was half past six.

Oh, no. She still needed to shower, wash her hair, change and do her make-up before Sean arrived. She called him, hoping to beg an extra half an hour, but his line was busy. Swiftly, she tapped in a text as she went up the stairs to her flat.

Sorry, running a bit late. See you at half-seven?

She pressed ‘send’ and dropped the phone on her bed before rummaging through her wardrobe to find her navy linen dress.

She’d just stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel round her hair when her doorbell rang.

No. It couldn’t be Sean. It couldn’t be seven-thirty already.

Well, whoever it was would just have to call back another time.

The bell rang again.

Arrgh. Clearly whoever it was had no intention of being put off. If it was a cold-caller, she’d explain firmly and politely that she didn’t buy on the doorstep.

She blinked in surprise when she opened the door to Sean. ‘You’re early!’ And Sean was never early and never late; he was always precisely on time.

‘No. We said seven.’

She frowned. ‘But I texted you to say I was running late and asked if we could make it half past.’

‘I didn’t get any text from you,’ he said.

‘Oh, no. I’m so sorry.’ She blew out a breath. ‘Um, come up. I’ll be twenty minutes, tops—make yourself a coffee or something.’

‘Do you want me to make you a drink?’

She shook her head. ‘I’m so sorry.’

He stole a kiss. ‘Stop apologising.’

‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ she said, feeling horribly guilty. Why hadn’t she kept a better eye on the time? Or called him rather than relying on a text getting through?

She had to dry her hair roughly and tie it back rather than spending time on a sophisticated updo, but she was ready by twenty-five past seven.

‘You look lovely,’ he said.

‘Thank you.’ Though she noticed that he’d glanced at his watch again. If only he’d lighten up a bit. It would drive her crazy if he ran this evening to schedule, as if it were a business meeting. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked brightly.

‘South Bank.’

‘Great. We can play in the fountains,’ she said with a smile. ‘It’s been so hot today that it’d be nice to have a chance to cool down.’

He simply glanced at his suit.

And she supposed he had a point. Getting soaked wouldn’t do the fabric any favours. Or her dress, for that matter. But the art installations on the South Bank were fun.

‘I called the restaurant to say we’d be late,’ he said.

Sean and his schedules. Though if they didn’t turn up when they were expected, the restaurant would be perfectly justified in giving their table to someone else, so she guessed it was reasonable of him. ‘Sorry,’ she said again.

This was the side of Sean she found harder to handle. Mr Organised. It was fine for business; but, in his personal life, surely he could be more relaxed?

They caught the tube to the South Bank—to her relief, the line was running without any delays—and the restaurant turned out to be fabulous. Their table had a great view of the river, and the food was as excellent as the view. Claire loved the fresh tuna with mango chilli salsa. ‘And the pudding menu’s to die for,’ she said gleefully. ‘It’s going to take me ages to choose.’

‘Actually, we don’t have time,’ Sean said, looking at his watch,

‘No time for pudding? But that’s the best bit of dinner out,’ she protested.

‘We have to be somewhere. Maybe we can fit pudding in afterwards,’ he said.

Just as she’d feared, Sean had scheduled this evening down to the last second. If she hadn’t been running late in the first place, it might not have been so much of a problem. But right now she was having huge second thoughts about dating Sean. OK, so he managed to fit a lot in to his life; but all this regimentation drove her crazy. They were too different for this to work.

‘So why exactly do we have to rush off?’ she asked.

‘For the next bit of this evening,’ he said.

‘Which is?’

‘A surprise.’

Half past eight was too late for a theatre performance to start, and if they’d been going to the cinema she thought he would probably have picked a restaurant nearer to Leicester Square. She didn’t work out what he’d planned until they started walking towards the London Eye. ‘Oh. An evening flight.’

‘It’s the last one they run on a weeknight,’ he confirmed. ‘And we have to pick up the tickets fifteen minutes beforehand. Sorry I rushed you through dinner.’

At least he’d acknowledged that he’d rushed her. And she needed to acknowledge her part in the fiasco. ‘If I hadn’t been running late, you wouldn’t have had to rush me.’ She bit her lip. ‘I’m beginning to think you might be right about me being chaotic. I should’ve checked that the text had gone or left you a voicemail as well.’

‘It’s OK. Obviously you had a busy day.’

She nodded. ‘There were a couple of glitches that took time to sort out,’ she said. ‘And I’m up to my eyes in the wedding show stuff.’

‘It’ll be worth it in the end,’ he said.

‘I hope so. And I had a new bride in to see me this morning. That’s my favourite bit of my job,’ Claire said. ‘Turning a bride-to-be’s dreams into a dress that will suit her and make her feel special.’

‘That’s why you called your business “Dream of a Dress”, then?’ he asked.

‘Half of the reason, yes.’

‘And the other half?’ he asked softly.

‘Because it’s my dream job,’ she said.

He looked surprised, as if he’d never thought of it that way before. ‘OK. But what if a bride wants a dress that you know wouldn’t suit her?’

‘You mean, like a fishtail dress when she’s short and curvy?’ At his nod, she said, ‘You find out what it is she loves about that particular dress, and see how you can adapt it to something that will work. And then you need tact by the bucketload.’

‘Tactful.’ He tipped his head on one side and looked at her. ‘But you always say what you think.’

‘I do. But you can do that in a nice way, without stomping on people.’