The Corporate Bridegroom

by Liz Fielding

  Whether it was genuine calm, or she was simply keeping a tight lid on her feelings, it was impressive.

  A child tugged at his jeans for attention and held up her sweatshirt. He folded himself to child height to help her find her way into the sleeves.

  ‘Romana told me she fell asleep on your sofa,’ Molly said as she passed out the shirts.

  ‘Did I suggest anything else?’

  ‘I think you know exactly what you were suggesting. I must say you’re something of a disappointment. I hoped for much better when I fixed it so that you’d have to go home together.’

  The one thing that had gone wrong during the whole evening had been deliberately set up by Romana’s PA? Why, for heaven’s sake? Surely Romana Claibourne had men falling over themselves for the privilege of taking her home. Taking her anywhere she wanted to go.

  ‘Our relationship is purely business, Molly,’ he said firmly. And ignored the seductive memory of Romana’s skin beneath his fingers. Her sweetness in trying to protect him from painful reminders of Louise. Kindness that he’d rejected… But he was still here.

  ‘Romana said that, too.’ The child flung her arms around his neck and he stood up with her, looking around for her carer. ‘It doesn’t have to be that way,’ Molly added. ‘And, speaking personally, I think you should ask her out to lunch to make up for your total lack of gallantry this morning.’

  ‘Speaking personally,’ he replied, ‘I think she’d tell me what to do with lunch.’ But the idea, once planted, was immovably attractive. ‘However, if you book a table at the Weston Arms, I’ll see if I can tempt her.’

  ‘Consider it done.’

  At that moment, however, Romana was busy fixing up a ribbon for the official opening. As if sensing his gaze, she glanced up. Her expression suggested she wasn’t convinced by his involvement. And that lunch was unlikely.

  Romana pinned the ribbons in place, then concentrated very hard on tying large bows with trailing ribbons at each end. But, despite promising herself that she wouldn’t look in his direction, she still found her gaze drawn to Niall as he stood among the mothers and helpers, encouraging the children, keeping a watchful eye on them.

  There was nothing of the hard-edged businessman about him as he chatted to the carers, provided a steady hand as needed. And she couldn’t fail to notice the way he drew the eyes of every woman in the place.

  Any other time, any other circumstances, and she knew she’d be looking too.

  ‘Romana…’ She turned as someone grabbed her arm. ‘We’ve got a problem in the kitchen.’

  ‘What kind of problem?’ She glanced towards Niall. The Celebrity magazine photographer was prowling in his direction and she made a move to cut him off.

  ‘The kind that won’t wait.’

  ‘Mr Farraday?’ It was the Celebrity magazine photographer who’d been at the bungee-jump. ‘I’d like a photograph of you with the children, if you don’t mind.’ Niall glanced in Romana’s direction, expecting her to put a stop to his photo opportunity. But she’d disappeared.

  ‘Sure,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t believe this!’ Romana, kneeling in two inches of water, was in a mood to murder a plumber. The stopcock was wet and slippery and she couldn’t get a grip on it. And the stupid girl she’d asked for a cloth had rushed off like a headless chicken and hadn’t come back. In desperation Romana pulled off her sweatshirt and used that. Gradually the stopcock began to move. Soaked through and thoroughly chilled, she couldn’t tell whether anything was happening at the business end. ‘Someone—anyone,’ she shouted, ‘is it stopping?’

  ‘Problem?’

  She bit back an expletive as Niall crouched down beside her. ‘No, I do this for fun.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ He made a move to go. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then—’

  ‘No!’ She instinctively put out her hand, grasping his warm wrist to keep him at her side. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. The tap came off in the caterer’s hand.’ The sudden quiet at least assured her that the water had stopped gushing all over the kitchen. She realised that she was gripping his wrist like a drowning woman clinging to a life raft. ‘Niall…about last night.’ She expected him to say, Forget it. You were tired. Something like that. He didn’t say a word. ‘I shouldn’t have snapped at you when I arrived. I was just…well, I felt…’

  ‘Embarrassed?’

  ‘Yes. I don’t normally fall asleep when someone asks me to supper.’

  ‘I’m sure you were tired.’

  That might have done the trick if he hadn’t made it sound less like reassurance and more as if she’d been living it up instead of working day and night to make the JOY campaign a huge success.

  ‘I’ve been working long hours,’ she retaliated defensively. Then, because this was supposed to be an apology, she tried again. ‘And I shouldn’t have lied about the fashion show. I just didn’t think you’d want to…’ She faltered. It was so much easier to say exactly what she thought when she wasn’t thinking.

  ‘Want to shadow you at a fashion show?’

  ‘No. At least not that fashion show. I didn’t want to…’

  ‘Bring up the past?’

  ‘I don’t suppose it ever goes away, does it?’

  ‘No.’ Then, ‘Did you know you snore? Very gently. Like a little piglet…’

  She snatched her hand back, unravelled her soaking sweatshirt from around the stopcock.

  ‘What is it about stopcocks?’ she demanded, returning to the safer subject of plumbing. ‘Do plumbers get a kick out of tightening them to immovability, do you suppose? Or is it just to guarantee that feeble women have to pay their outrageous call-out charges?’

  ‘Sound business practice—if you’re a plumber,’ he said. ‘I’ll find a mop.’ Niall straightened, so that she was left with a full-frontal view of his denim-clad thighs. ‘And a bucket.’ She backed carefully out of the sink-unit cupboard, trying not to cause a wave, and stood up. ‘You get out of those wet things.’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Niall, a bit of water won’t kill me.’ She started opening cupboards, looking for the mop.

  ‘Here, take this,’ he said, pulling his sweatshirt over his head, ruffling his hair even more, and handing it to her.

  ‘Don’t fuss,’ she said, resisting the urge to take it, warm from his body, and wrap it about her.

  ‘I’m not fussing. Trust me on this, Romana. You really need to get out of those wet things. Now.’ And, pushing the sweatshirt into her hands, he backed her in the direction of the cloakroom.

  ‘But—’

  ‘But nothing. I may not know a lot about PR, but you can safely leave me to deal with a flooded floor.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  ROMANA deeply resented Niall’s high-handedness, but she didn’t have time to argue so she took the sweatshirt and retreated through the lobby and into the Ladies’.

  Then she turned and faced her reflection in the mirror.

  And groaned.

  Her white silk shirt was soaked through and transparent. As was the lace bra beneath it. She might as well have been naked.

  She knew she should be grateful that Niall hadn’t just left her to find out for herself when she opened the pages of Celebrity magazine, because the photographer wouldn’t have missed an opportunity like that. He’d have made a great story out of ‘How Romana Saved the Day’. And she’d have had to just grin and—she pulled a face—bear it.

  She stripped off her blouse and bra, rolled them up and stuffed them into her bag. Then she dried herself and her hair, which had taken a full-frontal soaking before she’d been able to get beneath the sink. Only then did she pull on Niall’s sweatshirt.

  It felt soft and warm against her skin, and it smelled good. There was leather and fresh air and something indefinable that was Niall Macaulay. She didn’t have time to analyse it, though. The caterers needed the kitchen. So she flung open the door, prepared to resume battle with the mop.

  It wasn’t necessary. Niall had
used a wet-and-dry vacuum to suck up the water. The floor was dry. Disaster averted. He wasn’t even breathing hard. She muttered something short and scatological beneath her breath.

  ‘Okay?’ he said, straightening from the cupboard where he was stowing the machine.

  ‘Er, yes. Thank you. You’ve done a great job. And thanks for this,’ she said, pulling at the front of the sweatshirt.

  ‘My pleasure.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it.’ She wasn’t usually coy, or given to blushing, but she really wished she hadn’t said that. Looking around, anywhere but at him, she quickly went on, ‘I don’t know where Molly’s girls have disappeared to.’

  ‘Maybe they didn’t want to get their feet wet.’ The corner of his mouth kinked in the suggestion of a smile.

  ‘While you’re getting used to it?’ she responded, finally meeting his gaze head-on.

  ‘You’re a dangerous lady to get close to,’ he agreed, but he was smiling as he said it.

  ‘We’re three dangerous ladies,’ she replied sharply. ‘Warn your partners.’ Then, ‘I’d better go and let the caterers know that it’s safe to return.’

  ‘Leave it a minute or two while I fix the tap.’

  ‘You can do that?’

  ‘Watch and learn,’ he told her. Just as she’d advised him. Then, ‘You learn fast when you live in an old house. Something’s always coming away in your hand.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ She tucked her damp curls behind her ears. ‘Well, I’d better go and make sure nothing else has gone wrong,’ she said. She turned in the doorway. He was already bent over the sink but she couldn’t leave it like that. ‘Thanks for your help,’ she said again. And, because she knew she’d been churlish, ‘This has to be above and beyond the call of shadowdom.’

  Niall straightened, and all trace of a smile had disappeared. ‘Just what did you expect, Romana? That I’d stand back and watch you struggle? Make notes, perhaps? Award you marks out of ten for the way you handled the situation? The speed with which you reacted? Taking points off for bad language?’

  ‘Of course not!’ She looked shocked at his angry response. He was rather shocked himself. Shocked that she could have thought him so cold. He hadn’t used to be cold. ‘I didn’t mean—’

  ‘Didn’t you? Those kids are more important than our petty squabbles. A lot more important than faulty plumbing fixing,’ he said, and meant it. But it didn’t change anything else. ‘Of course, if it had happened in the store—’ he shrugged ‘—I’d be less inclined to overlook the matter.’

  ‘I see. So why aren’t you there with a team of surveyors, checking the maintenance records? Why are you here at a very small, very local adventure playground for special-needs children?’

  She had a point. He wasn’t learning anything about running a national institution out here in the sticks. But he was learning a lot about Romana Claibourne. None of which Jordan would want to hear.

  ‘Getting you out of a fix?’ he offered.

  ‘Romana, I’ve got to get back to town. Legal stuff.’ India glanced in the direction of Niall Macaulay, who was talking to Molly. Then, ‘Was he impressed, do you think?’

  ‘Impressed?’ He put out his hand and touched Molly’s arm, smiling as he said goodbye, and Romana felt a sharp stab of something very like jealousy at the easy manner between them.

  ‘Romana?’

  ‘What? Oh…’ She dragged her thoughts back from the brink of that particular no-go area and decided that this was not a good moment to tell her sister how he’d saved the day. There never would be a good moment…‘He’s hardly likely to say so, is he?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ India said as she climbed into her car. Niall looked up, as if sensing that he was being talked about, and with a final word to Molly headed towards them.

  ‘Keep a close eye on him, Romana. He was talking to that photographer from Celebrity magazine the minute your back was turned.’

  He joined her as India reversed briskly out of her parking space with the minimum of effort, before heading out towards the main road. ‘You’re going to need a ride back to town,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll go with Molly.’

  ‘She anticipated that. She’s a bit pressed for room so she asked me if I’d give you a lift. She said she’ll see you at the auction.’

  Romana groaned. ‘I’m not going to survive today, let alone the week.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘How soon can we get back to town?’

  ‘She also said I was to make sure you had a proper lunch.’

  Her assistant, she decided, was getting entirely too bossy. She didn’t want to think about the surge of pleasure on learning that Molly’s tête-à-tête with Niall had been on her behalf.

  ‘Thanks shadow-man, but I’m a big girl. You can take it as read that I know how to use a knife and fork. I’m sure your bank needs you more than I do right now.’

  ‘I put in a day’s work between five and nine-thirty this morning. And bankers, like public relations directors, have to eat.’

  ‘I really do need to get back to work.’

  ‘I have my instructions. Give you a lift, give you lunch and apologise.’

  ‘Apologise? What for?’

  ‘Apparently I failed “gallantry” this morning,’ he said. He indicated his car. ‘If you’ve got everything?’ Since she had her roomy carryall bag over her shoulder, she could hardly deny it. ‘Then let’s go.’ He pressed the remote on his keyring to unlock the car and then, as an afterthought, offered her the keys. ‘Maybe you should drive.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘A shadow is a passive thing.’

  Passive? This man had never been passive in his life. The way he’d taken control of the kitchen disaster had shown him in his true colours. But she looked from the keys to the gleaming Aston Martin. ‘I suspect that offer was made through gritted teeth,’ she said. Then, much as she would have liked to see him sweat, she let him off the hook. ‘Don’t worry, Niall, your lovely car is quite safe from me. I don’t have motor insurance.’

  ‘You don’t have a car?’ Niall opened the door for her, and as she ducked quickly past him he seemed to catch a faint trace of the scent he’d bought her. Briefly her softly pleated trousers were moulded to her thighs, hips, as she settled into the seat, fastening the seatbelt.

  The seatbelt divided her breasts, emphasising them beneath the oversized sweatshirt, and it was hard not to remember how they’d looked with the thin, transparent silk clinging wetly to them. Hard not to think about her naked beneath the sweatshirt he’d been wearing. It was almost like touching her.

  She was so utterly female, he thought. Her curves soft and inviting. His mind filled in the silk of her skin beneath his hand and his body responded with an urgency that left him gasping.

  He realised she was looking up at him, a tiny frown creasing the space between her vivid eyes, as if she was waiting for a reply to something she’d said.

  ‘Sorry, what did you say?’

  ‘That it’s not compulsory. Owning a car.’

  ‘Compulsory?’ He was stunned at the way his mind was running, the fantasies it was conjuring up from nowhere, as if Louise had never existed. ‘Oh, no. I just assumed a smart little town car from Daddy would have been parked at the doorstep for your seventeenth birthday,’ he said. ‘Something small and sexy. In lipstick-pink.’ She looked great in pink lipstick. Though she hadn’t retouched it since she’d arrived this morning.

  Her soft, pouting lips looked great without it, he decided. And discovered that such thoughts were no help at all.

  ‘Oh, I see. One of those important milestones in growing up. Sex for my sixteenth birthday, a car for my seventeenth and a drink for my eighteenth.’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’ But he’d implied it. He shouldn’t be having this conversation. He shouldn’t have come today. This wasn’t shadowing; it had nothing to do with business.

  She shrugged. ‘It’s always seemed a rather odd arrangement of priorities to me.’

  ‘I imagin
e it’s more a question of bowing to the inevitable.’

  ‘You think so?’ Her lips tucked up in a tiny, catlike smile. ‘Oh, well, two out of three isn’t bad.’

  Oh, no, he wasn’t going there. He didn’t even want to think about that. ‘Well, as you say, it’s not obligatory.’ And he started the car.

  Which two?

  ‘Of course I do have a driver’s licence. Somewhere. And you’re right about the car—except that it was red, not pink—but I’ve lived in London all my life. Driving in the city is a layer of stress I can do without.’

  ‘Are you telling me you sent it back?’ He reversed out of his parking space and headed for the road.

  ‘Of course not. That would have been ungracious. I gave it to someone who actually needed a car.’

  He glanced at her. She had this knack of saying and doing things to make him look at her. ‘Your father didn’t object?’

  ‘Why should he? It was my car.’ She was shaking her fingers through her curls in a vain attempt to get them back in some kind of order. ‘He didn’t say anything. I don’t suppose he even noticed.’

  She wasn’t being deliberately shocking. She wasn’t really thinking about what she’d said. But he had the feeling that she’d just exposed a very small part of her private self. He doubted that she’d meant to, and he didn’t press it. He didn’t want to get involved with her on that level. On any level. This was business, he reminded himself. Just business.

  ‘Well, that’s a refreshingly different attitude,’ he said.

  She took out a compact and retouched her lipstick. ‘You’re not going to try and convert me?’ she asked, glancing at him sideways through ridiculously long lashes, and he suddenly caught on to the ‘girly’ stuff. It was deliberate, he realised. She did it when she wanted to annoy him.

  ‘Why would I do that?’ he asked, deciding that a little payback was in order. ‘One less woman on the roads can only be a matter for rejoicing.’