A Professional Engagement

Dear Reader,

I went to a friend’s wedding recently and was touched deeply by the ceremony, by the exchange of vows, by the circle of warmth encapsulating the bride and groom.

I felt how being near those totally and utterly in love has a lasting impact on all of those who share that moment.

I wanted to write about the women behind the scenes; the ones who make those special days happen, the ones who play fairy godmother, helping to create a memory built on love that extends beyond the span of days, months and years. The ones who, no matter how expert they are at helping others, can’t quite sort out their own lives.

I hope you enjoy reading about THE WEDDING PLANNERS as much as I enjoyed writing them. Look out for The Best Man’s Baby (July, #3805) and A Convenient Groom (August, #3809) coming soon in Harlequin Romance®!

Best Wishes,

Darcy Maguire wanted to grow up to be a fairy, but her wings never grew, her magic never worked and her life was no fairy tale. But one thing she knew for certain was that she was going to find her soul mate and live happily ever after. Darcy found her dark and handsome hero on a blind date, married him a year later and found that love truly is the soul of creativity. With four children too young to play matchmaker for (yet!) Darcy satisfies the romantic in her by finding true love for her fictional characters. It was this passion for romance, and her ability to sit in a chair every day, that led to the publication of her first novel, Her Marriage Secret. Darcy lives in Melbourne, Australia, and loves to read widely, sew and sneak off to the movies without the kids.

Books by Darcy Maguire

HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®

3745—HER MARRIAGE SECRET

3754—ACCIDENTAL BRIDE

A Professional Engagement

Darcy Maguire

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

RICK couldn’t place her.

She stood in the foyer by the front desk, almost as stiff as the black business suit she wore. A red folder was pressed close to her white shirt, her attention on scanning the busy room.

She looked all business, except for her hair…Rick tilted his head and furrowed his brow. It was short, dark and tousled, sticking out at wild angles, looking like a style that belonged on an artist or a model, not on such a serious looking woman.

He rubbed his jaw. Odd.

He knew all of his own staff intimately, the research subsidiary by name and the support team on sight. Was she a new employee or just a passer-by?

Rick shook himself. She wasn’t going to be a mystery. Two minutes and he’d have the young woman sorted, classified and pigeon-holed, like everything else in his life. He turned, focusing on the task at hand.

Rick straightened his tie and stepped up on to a chair, putting a smile on his face. ‘I’d like to congratulate everyone here on a job well done—the Hinney & Smith project has been a great success for us. We can now ship our products all over the continent ourselves, cutting costs and increasing our profit margins.’

‘We’re now a bigger and better company and I’m proud of all of you.’ He lifted his champagne glass. ‘To a great team with a bright and prosperous future.’

He took a gulp of the champagne amidst the cheers and whistles. He meant it too. They were a great bunch to work with. Their dedication and loyalty to research, finance and ultimately acquisition had ensured his company another success.

His gaze wandered back to the cool but pretty stranger. The woman stood in the doorway, casually surveying his employees.

She didn’t have a glass. He could remedy that.

Rick stepped down, smiling and shaking the hands of his team. He loved giving praise where praise was due—and hell, they all deserved heaps.

Rick rubbed his jaw. His next challenge was to merge the company with SportyCo, making his sports equipment twice the force in the marketplace. It was a risk to go for it so soon, but he couldn’t wait. He wanted it. He hadn’t worked so hard for the last ten years to baulk now.

It would probably be safer to wait, ensuring his playboy image was well behind him before he embarked on the ambitious move. It was unlikely that they’d agree to him as president of the combined company if he didn’t have the right sort of credibility.

The last six months with Kasey Steel should have done the trick in convincing the world that he’d left his wild days behind him. His friends were believing that he’d settled down. The business world couldn’t be far behind…?

No matter what he’d done he hadn’t been able to free himself from his past. His passion for extreme sports was seen as reckless, his nights out with the boys as drunken rages and his dating as womanising. He couldn’t win. Until now.

Rick hadn’t expected the effect a steady relationship could have on his reputation. Though nothing could have got in the way of him doing the right thing by his friend. But now, here was a bonus, his chance to finally shake his infamous exploits of years ago and be taken seriously.

He had it made. He just had to stay on track. Rick’s gaze darted back to the doorway. Right after he sorted out this woman.

He straightened his burgundy shirt and tightened his purple tie, smoothing down the silk. He buttoned his suit jacket, looking down at his matching black trousers. He’d pass.

He plucked another champagne glass from the table and weaved his way to the front desk, his eyes not leaving the newcomer.

She was taller than he’d first thought, almost as tall as himself in her black high heels. Her hair wasn’t as wild or riotous on closer inspection. The ‘do’ looked as engineered as the rest of her. It was orderly and precise—only a pretext of rebellion.

What was she? An accountant from the finance department? A wayward librarian? Or some starched schoolteacher with aspirations of becoming a cold fish? She certainly was working the image.

He hesitated. He was half tempted to turn on his heel and melt into the crowd, allowing himself the luxury of speculation about the woman a little longer, entertaining himself with the possibilities.

She turned towards him, her dark eyes stabbing him.

She was striking!

Rick strode forward and thrust the glass of champagne towards the stranger. ‘You look lost,’ he blurted like an idiot.

She smiled at him, putting up her hand and shaking her head at the glass. ‘No thanks. And no, not at all.’ She looked past him. ‘I’m exactly where I should be.’

Rick took a quick sharp breath, unable to tear his eyes off the woman. He hadn’t expected the vibrancy of her voice, the sweet lilt in her tone, or the brilliance in her dark eyes. There was no way she was as cool and controlled as she appeared to be.

His gaze slid over her, the chatter in the room fading, his breathing becoming louder, and his body becoming extremely aware of hers.

Rick cleared his throat, deftly discarded the drinks on a desk and moved into her line of sight.

She raised her dark eyes slightly to meet his, with an intensity that was discomfiting, as though she knew things that he wasn’t privy to. ‘I’m here for an appointment,’ she said smoothly, glancing at the empty receptionist’s desk. ‘But I think that’s the last thing on everyone’s mind.’

‘I could help,’ he offered.

‘Ye—es…’ She pursed her lips and tried to look past him. ‘Only if you can tell me where I can find Mr Keene.’

Warmth filled his body. He couldn’t help but smile. ‘You’ve found him.’

She looked taken aback for a moment as though he’d surprised her. She ran her dark gaze over him in a lazy perusal, from his black shoes, up his tailored suit, over his shirt and tie to his face.

Her eyes narrowed, searching his face as though trying to find the answer to a puzzle of her own.

Rick caught and held her gaze. ‘Do I measure up?’

‘Oh…sorry…of course.’ Her cheeks flushed.

He stood taller. ‘You were expecting someone else?’

‘I didn’t expect you to be so old.’

‘Old?’ What the—? ‘I don’t think thirty-four is old.’ Had his face dried and cracked up since this morning’s shave? Had a decade or three been stolen from his life? Admittedly, he no longer had the round, smooth features he’d had as a teenager. He rubbed his jaw. But he looked after himself.

She shrugged. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…’ She pressed her lips together and looked away. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt your celebrations. I could come back later?’

He put up a hand to stall her. ‘No. It’s not a problem.’ But what about him being old? A person couldn’t just blurt out a thing like that and not explain, especially not a young, pretty woman like this one, even if she was hiding being a cool façade.

‘So…?’ she asked softly. ‘Which way would be your office? I presume you’d like to talk somewhere a little quieter?’

‘Sure.’ His muscles tightened. What could this be about? Dammit. He scanned the room for his secretary, his mind toying with the possibilities. Usually she would have informed him of his appointments for the afternoon before he’d gone out for lunch. Today, he’d sprung the celebration on the office…

He walked down the hallway, vividly aware of the woman behind him, of her softly scented perfume and of the mystery that shrouded her.

Where was she from? Who did she work for? What was her job? He could usually pick at least a person’s occupation.

Rick opened the door to his private office and watched her pass him without a hesitation, her hips swaying gently. She moved as though she was in absolute control, with a musical rhythm, as though she was a dancer.

He rubbed his chin. Who was she? He strode into his large corner office. ‘Patrick Keene,’ he offered, holding out his hand. ‘And you are?’

‘Tara Andrews.’ She shook his hand firmly, meeting his eyes with a calm assurance.

The name meant nothing. Neither, he assured himself, did the jolt deep in his gut at her firm touch.

Rick turned on his heel and strode around his large teak desk and glanced out at the Sydney skyline. He turned to face the woman. ‘So?’

She barely glanced around at her surroundings. ‘I’m here about your proposal.’

He sighed, dropping his shoulders. Mystery over. She was just work. ‘Which one?’ He moved to the desk and flicked through the papers scattered across the surface.

‘Which one?’ she echoed.

‘Which proposal are you here to discuss, Miss?’

‘I—’

‘I have several projects in the pipeline—do you represent an investor or one of the parties involved?’ He steeled himself for the concerns, the judgements, the resentments and/or the litigious threats that would come next.

‘I’m not here for business,’ she said in a more gentle tone. ‘I’m here on a personal basis.’

He stared at her, his mind racing. Personal? How personal? There was no way he’d forget those deep dark eyes, those full red lips, her smooth tanned skin or her slender body, with curves that itched to be explored.

His body heated.

‘I’m a proposal planner. Mr Thomas Steel asked me to come and tell you about my service in the hope that I could assist you in giving his daughter a memorable proposal of marriage.’ She leant forward and handed him her business card.

‘Marriage?’ he echoed, his mind numbing. He took the card and stared at the words on it, trying to clear his head.

Had old man Steel got sick of waiting? He was always on about how old he was getting and how he wanted to see grandchildren before he died. Rick tensed. Had he and Kasey reached the end of their ruse? He hoped not.

‘Am I in the wrong place?’ Tara glanced at a page in the folder. ‘No. This is right. You are Patrick Keene, aren’t you?’

He stared at her. ‘Yes, but…’ A proposal planner? He crossed his arms over his chest, clenching his jaw against the rush of blood to his ears.

How could anyone think that a successful and extremely competent businessman like himself couldn’t handle a task as simple and straight-forward as a proposal of marriage?

Was old man Steel pulling his leg? Or didn’t he think that he was up to the task on his own? Or was he just tired of waiting for his daughter to come up with a family and figured he needed a shove in the back.

Unbelievable!

She pulled a chair away from his desk, positioning it to face him where he stood and sat down, crossing her long legs and propping the folder on her lap, her skirt riding up her smooth thighs in a most discomfiting way.

She offered him a small smile. ‘By the look on your face I’d have to say Mr Steel hasn’t broached the subject with you yet.’ She glanced at him with questioning eyes. ‘I’m sorry. Mr Steel came to me and requested that I come and have a chat with you, to let you know that help is available…’ Her voice faded. ‘If you need it.’

He lifted his eyebrows, shooting the woman a sardonic look. There was no way in hell he’d need help to propose!

The woman bit her bottom lip. ‘I understand you’ve been going out with his daughter for some time now?’

‘Yes,’ he said tightly.

‘Of course, the most important thing is that you propose to your girlfriend in your own time, when you’re ready…’

Rick let out the breath he’d been holding. ‘Thank you. I appreciate your consideration. I think Thomas Steel may have forgotten that particular point.’ And several others, especially that people prefer to live their own lives, not ones engineered by him.

‘I did try to tell him.’ She shrugged. ‘But he insisted.’

‘I know what that’s like.’

She licked her lips, staring at her folder. ‘I agreed to come and let you know that proposal planning is a new service that offers busy men like yourself the opportunity to employ a person—’ she touched her chest ‘—like me, to help you with many aspects of your proposal.’ She tapped her pen against the page in front of her.

‘I don’t need help proposing.’

She didn’t hesitate. ‘I understand that perfectly, but will you hear me out? Most men do rush into the proposal, following whatever misconception they have, mostly from television, mind you. They sell themselves short and their partners. After all, the proposal is as special, if not more so, than the wedding itself—a declaration of love and commitment that sets up your life together.’

Rick leant against the corner of his desk, his arms crossed, studying the proposal planner. She was nice to watch, and to listen to—and surely there was no harm in hearing her out.

She tapped the pen against her full red lips. ‘I can help you in many ways. We have an extensive library of books that you could borrow—poetry books, books of love letters and romance phrase books, if you’re having trouble with how you’re going to present the big question.’

Rick couldn’t tear his gaze away from those lips.

‘And then, of course, I can assist with all the legwork of investigating prices and possible venues for your proposal—’

He pressed his lips together to stop the smile teasing the corners of his mouth. Was she for real?

‘And then, of course, there are all the ideas on how exactly you’d like to propose—whether you want to jump out of an aeroplane and propose ten thousand feet above the world, with the wind rushing around you. Or on a tropical island in the moonlight with a thousand stars twinkling in the sky above you.’ She glanced up at him, her eyes bright. ‘Or at a romantic restaurant with the sweet aroma of exotic food and gentle music, and with her face lit by soft candlelight. Or on a yacht out on the ocean, as though you were the only two people in the world…’

He held up his hand, staring down at the planner. She was amazing! Daunting even. How could she be so cool, then suddenly light up with such passion? How could she hide it so efficiently?

That crop of hair that was standing in all directions made her all the more striking—it was hard to take his eyes off her. Off her hair, off her deep, dark eyes, off those lips and those long, long legs.

‘I think that—’ he said, swallowing hard, pushing down the rising heat in his body. ‘That although it sounds like a great idea, it’s not for me.’

She laid her hands in her lap, took a deep breath and looked up at him with cool dark eyes. ‘Of course, Mr Keene.’

He cleared his throat, trying to shake off the urge to keep her around a bit longer. ‘Thank you for coming in but I’m quite capable of handling a proposal on my own.’

She nodded. ‘I suspected that from the first moment I saw you.’

‘Sorry for all your trouble.’ He put his hand in his inner jacket pocket, grasping his wallet. ‘I’ll compensate you for your time, of course.’

She put up a hand. ‘No need.’ She slid her pen into the spine of her folder. ‘I understand perfectly. My service isn’t for everybody.’

He strode to the door and grasped the cold metal handle tightly. Much as he admired her passion, he couldn’t afford to entertain any thoughts about the woman and her service. Not now.

He held the door open. The last thing they needed was someone asking questions about his personal life, and Kasey’s.

‘Thank you for your time, and good luck,’ she said, standing up and smoothing the creases from her skirt, over her well-rounded hips and down her thighs.

Rick pressed his lips together, clamping down on the burning heat scorching through his veins. He wanted his to be the hands on her curves. Wanted her hands running over him.

She didn’t move, her eyes deep and dark and dangerously intent on him, almost as though she knew what he was thinking.

He pulled at his tie.

‘I wish you both every happiness,’ she said smoothly, her sweet voice even.

‘Thanks.’ Rick wanted to kick himself for his faltering, for the lack of his usual cool detachment, for his body’s traitorous response to her, and for the enticing mystery she offered.

Hell, for the first time in six months he was regretting forfeiting bachelor life for Kasey’s scheme. ‘Thank you for taking the time to see me, but I have to get back to the others,’ he said smoothly.

‘Bye.’

Rick lurched out of the doorway and strode down the hall. He had to get away from the disturbing woman before he did something he’d regret.

He hadn’t expected this. Not at all. How on earth had Thomas Steel even found the woman? He didn’t even know that proposal planners existed…What next?

He weaved his way into the throng of his employees, concentrating on the task at hand, trying to push the woman from his mind.

The planner had been a surprise. A tall, lovely one that had tested him. Cripes, and what a test! Rick dragged in a long deep breath. But she was finished and over.

She was not part of the plan.

CHAPTER TWO

‘YOU are like the stars in the starry heavens. Like the water is to the wet flowers. Like a dream I want to have for ever.’ He swallowed and shifted his weight on his knees. ‘I would be honoured…I would be thrilled…I want you to be my wife.’

She shook her head slowly.

‘You’re like a rose…a bird I want to hold, like a Porsche with shining bodywork—’

‘I don’t think so…’ she said gently.

‘But—’

Tara bit her lip, looking down at her client, her chest tight. ‘Maybe you should go home and think about it some more?’

He shook his head. ‘No. I have to practise. I know you don’t usually help with the words themselves, but I’m so hopeless when it comes to this sort of stuff.’

‘You’re doing—’

‘No, I’m not.’ Mr Faulkner looked up at her, his face creased in pain. ‘I really need you to hear it and help me get it right.’

Tara nodded.

He sucked in a deep breath. ‘I want you. I want to keep you. I want to wake up to your smiling face in the morning, and hold you tight every night. Be my wife. Please.’

‘It could work…’ Tara stood up and approached the poor guy, still kneeling, still staring at the chair where his sweetheart would be for the real thing.

He shook his head. ‘I don’t want it to just work, I want my proposal to rock her world.’

Tara stared at him. He was barely as old as she was. How did he think at twenty-six that he knew what he wanted? How did he know that he’d found his soul mate? That sharing a life with someone else was going to make his better?

‘Get up and stretch for a bit,’ she offered, looking down at her notes, unable to meet his eyes. ‘You’re doing…well.’ And at least he was into it, unlike Mr Keene.

Patrick Keene. What a hunk, if you liked that clean-shaven, strong jawed, short back and sides, office dweller look. Tara tapped her pen against her lips. He did it well, even if the colour scheme of his clothes was a little out there.

She should have expected him to say no. The man was obviously sitting on top of the world with his gigantic office in one of Sydney’s largest buildings, in that tailor-made suit that hugged his wide shoulders and accentuated his height and power.

He hadn’t seemed like the type of man to seek assistance for anything, let alone a proposal.

She bit the end of her pen and stared out of the window to the parked cars on the side street. She often fantasised about what a rich and influential client could do for their business. In the few hours from when Mr Steel had come to see her, until the moment she had laid eyes on Patrick Keene, she’d thought it was finally coming true.

The family business of Camelot would have thrived from the compliments Steel would have given their services, become a bustling hub of activity, everything that she planned it to be, just far sooner.

Pulling together her family’s talents, Tara had promised both her sisters and her mother all the security and success they were looking for. And with her at the helm she was sure their fledgling business would be a winner.

They’d just have to manage without Patrick Keene.

Did Patrick know that Miss Steel was the one? She turned around and looked at the young man mouthing words silently to the chair, practising. This guy couldn’t seem to find the words that expressed what it was about his partner that touched him deeply enough for him to consider spending the rest of his life monogamously with her.

Did Mr Faulkner really believe she’d be smiling every morning? That she’d want him to hold her every night? After the third baby arrived, after he’d been out with the boys, after he’d forgotten to put out the trash again, or after he’d come home late from work for the umpteenth time without an explanation….

Tara strode back to her desk, breathing short and fast. She straightened the papers, lined up the telephone to the edge and rearranged the pens in the cup.

‘We’ve been at this for an hour. I guess I’ve tortured you enough, Miss Andrews?’