‘No, Luke—I’m planning to make myself a comfy bed of sawdust and sleep right here!’
He turned then, exasperation and humour making his mouth twist and curve in all directions. ‘Any idea what you’d like to eat later?’ Evenings were becoming increasingly difficult, but he found that he could cope with her a little better if they weren’t on mutual territory. Squashy sofas and large, comfortable beds within carrying distance were proving something of a distraction. ‘We could always go to that pub again. Or find a restaurant, maybe?’
But Holly was reluctant. If they went out as a couple, it only served to remind her that they weren’t actually a couple, much as she would have liked them to be. She shook her head. ‘I’ll probably just have some eggs and an early night. I’ve still got lots of paperwork to do—figures that need going over.’
‘Everything adding up okay?’
She knew he found it fascinating that she could tot up a column of figures in her head. ‘Just because I majored in art doesn’t mean I’m a complete dough-brain when it comes to sums, you know!’
‘I know! I know! Skip the lecture, Holly. I think you’re brilliant in almost every way!’
Almost?’
‘If only you could cook!’ he sighed, and gestured behind him with his thumb. ‘Better get back in there—it’s been years since I did any carpentry!’
Holly walked through the already dark village street towards the silhouetted arch of the yew bush which framed his beautiful house. Then she stood still for a moment, and just stared.
Saturday would be the first of December and the opening of her brand-new shop. She was an adult, a grown-up—on the start of something big. Something exciting.
Why, then, did the thought of Saturday and leaving Luke make her feel as miserable as when the tooth fairy forgot to visit?
CHAPTER SIX
AN OLD-FASHIONED bell chimed out as Luke pushed open the shop door and stepped inside.
Perched halfway up a stepladder, Holly halted in the middle of hanging a bunch of golden balloons from the ceiling and looked down expectantly at him. It was important to her what he thought. Everything about the day so far had been good—it was crisp and clear, with golden sunshine gilding the intense blue of the early December sky. And all the work had been finished bang on time.
Outside, painted in old gold on a deep green background, the shop sign bore the legend ‘Lovelace Brides’. In the window itself, a faceless mannequin wore Holly’s prize-winning dress. The ivory duchesse satin gleamed with all the milky lustre of moonlight, the soft, heavy material falling in perfect folds from the pleated waist. The stark simplicity of the style simply took the breath away. Or so the departing builders had told a pleased and bemused Holly—though she didn’t have them marked down as wedding dress experts!
The mannequin was holding an exquisite bouquet designed by Michelle—a winter bouquet bright with glossy green foliage and scarlet berries, waxy white Christmas roses and sprigs of mistletoe.
In the background a CD played bridal music to add to the mood—at the moment it was trumpeting out the awesome majesty of ‘Pomp and Circumstance’. And, all in all, Holly felt that there was little she could do to improve anything in the shop.
But Luke’s opinion was somehow as important to Holly as all the other component parts which went to make up a success. He had put himself out on a limb by letting her choose the colour scheme, he had trusted her judgement—and she desperately wanted him to like it.
Luke looked around and took it all in very, very slowly. With the deep, rich colours she had chosen the effect could have been claustrophobic, but the high ceilings and elegant proportions of the building meant that it was exactly the opposite. Peacock, golden and purple. It was both ancient and modem—ageless and timeless. The huge mirrors on each wall which were a necessary feature of all bridal shops—since every angle of the bride had to be seen and scrutinised—reflected the colours and the space back and back again.
‘Well, well, well,’ said Luke, very softly.
‘Do you like it?’ she asked him quietly as she climbed down off the ladder and stood in front of him.
‘I like it very much,’ he replied. ‘How about you?’
‘I love it.’
‘You left very early this morning.’ He narrowed his eyes at her in question. ‘With all your gear.’
‘Well, I had a lot to do. And you were sleeping.’
‘Oh?’ There was a hint of teasing humour in the blue glint of his eyes. ‘Did you come in and check up on me, then, Holly?’
‘I—stuck my head round the door.’ Holly picked up a silver balloon and began to tie it to another, wondering whether he would notice that her fingers were trembling with the memory.
It had been a daunting and magnificent sight—Luke’s bronzed and muscular body sprawled carelessly out over most of a double bed. He had been covered by a duvet, true, but some of his chest had been bare and Holly’s eye had been drawn with fascination to the riot of gold-tipped hair which grew there. The soft feathers of the goose down quilt had moulded themselves closely to his shape—defining each muscular leg as it shifted restlessly, causing Holly to leave the room more hurriedly than she had intended.
‘Well, I didn’t hear you,’ he observed softly. He always slept in the raw, and now he found that his pulses were leaping with unbearable excitement at the thought of Holly watching him while he lay sleeping. ‘You should have woken me.’
She had been tempted—oh, yes! For one brief, mad moment of fantasy she had actually contemplated stepping out of her warm and cosy pyjamas and climbing in naked beside him, wrapping her soft skin against the hardened contours of his body. In the fantasy which followed he said nothing, just pulled her into his arms and began to kiss her very thoroughly. And that was as far as she had got before fleeing the room as sanity had seeped back in.
Luke walked up and down the shop, past the flowing silks and satins of the dress rail full of samples. He paused for a moment beside the pale frothy haze of bridal veils, with their pearled or glittery tiaras. There were shoes too, in different styles, lined up in neat lines, like rows of ivory satin soldiers. While right in the corner lay tiny drifts of minuscule bras and panties in finest silks and Belgian lace.
‘Underwear?’ he asked her, in surprise.
Holly flushed a horrid, unbecoming shade of magenta. ‘There’s no need to look so shocked!’ she complained.
He shook his head, the corners of his mouth lifting with amusement. ‘I’m not shocked,’ he told her. ‘Merely curious. Fascinated, actually—as to why you’re flogging knickers in a bridal shop!’
Holly sighed. ‘You men can be so dense sometimes! Because the bride-to-be is under enough stress as it is. What she wants is to simplify her life—and you can do that by saving her time. You sell as much as possible of what she wants to wear on the big day under one roof. And bridal underwear is a little bit specialised.’
‘Oh?’
‘It must be the very best—the finest silks, the purest lace—’
‘The flimsiest?’ he suggested with an ironic smile, as he impudently dangled a cream lace tanga from his index finger.
Holly’s eyes swam as the image of him holding the wisp of lace imprinted itself onto her mind. It looked—and she felt her heart race like fury—looked as if he had just slid that outrageous little garment off. Off her, perhaps? Oh-oh! There was that lethal wishful thinking again! She couldn’t look him in the face, let alone the eye, so instead she bent to pick up an imaginary speck of dust from the softly gleaming floorboards.
‘The house seems very bare without you,’ he said suddenly.
Holly swallowed down the lump of emotion which had risen in her throat and aimed for humour. ‘And very quiet, I imagine?’
Dark eyebrows were elevated. ‘Well, there is that,’ he admitted, with a smile.
He stood looking at her; he could have stood there looking at her all day. ‘You look fantastic, Holly,’ he said.
‘Do I?’ Holly searched helplessly for another speck of dust. She was wearing a daring thigh-high tunic made of thin layers of embroidered cream voile, with sheer floaty sleeves gathered tightly at the wrist. It was one of her own designs, which was what people would expect, and could almost be a wedding dress—if the bride had absolutely no qualms about showing acres of leg! ‘Honestly?’
‘Honestly. I didn’t realise you had legs.’ He let his eyes linger on them. Bad mistake. Luke quelled the heat which was threatening to rise.
‘You, um...you look very... very nice yourself,’ said Holly tamely, because she thought that ‘sensational’ might be a little too strong an adjective! She wasn’t used to seeing him dressed up—in fact, she realised that this was the first time she had seen him in anything other than faded denims.
He usually looked much more like a ranch hand than a man of some means, but today was the closest he had got to that particular image, in a shirt of delphinium silk and dark navy trousers. Yet he didn’t look a bit like a stuffed shirt, which a lot of men did if they weren’t used to wearing smart clothes. Luke just looked sexy. Unbelievably sexy. ‘Very nice,’ she finished.
‘Why, thank you,’ he answered drily, but he found that he was absurdly flattered by her halting compliment.
The darkening of his eyes was immensely flattering, but Holly found that it was making her feel light-headed, and she couldn’t think straight. Her voice sounded faint. ‘I-I’d better go and open some wine.’
‘I’ll do it.’ He followed her out to the small, newly fitted kitchen at the back of the shop and took the corkscrew she handed him. ‘What time are they arriving?’
‘Soon.’ But not soon enough, thought Holly with a swift glance at her watch. Much more time alone with Luke and she would surely do something unforgivable, like hurling herself into his arms and asking him to kiss her. Every bit of her!
She tipped crisps and peanuts into bowls and lined up the glasses she had hired for the day, while Luke extracted corks from wine bottles like an expert. They worked together in companionable silence, and Holly wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or not when she heard the clanging of the doorbell as the first of her invited guests arrived.
It was Michelle McCormack, the florist. She was dressed in apple-green and had brought two girlfriends with her. ‘Candy and Mary are both getting married in the summer,’ she told Holly excitedly. ‘So they’re going to be your first two customers!’
‘Please don’t feel under any pressure,’ Holly told them, with a smile.
‘Now that’s not the right marketing approach!’ scolded Michelle, but Holly shook her head.
‘On the contrary—I’m confident that with one look—they’ll be hooked!’
‘Well, why don’t we put it to the test?’ suggested Candy with a giggle, and she and Mary went off to gaze longingly at the wedding dresses.
‘Who’d like some wine?’ asked a deep voice behind them, and Holly watched as Michelle turned round and was momentarily transfixed by the sight of Luke Goodwin, resplendent in the soft silk shirt, his blue eyes glittering like a sun-kissed sea.
‘Me, too,’ whispered Michelle, goggle-eyed.
‘Me, too—what?’ asked Holly, blinking with confusion.
‘One look and I’m hooked!’
From Luke’s faint smile, Holly guessed that he must have heard, but Michelle didn’t appear to mind—or maybe it had been her intention that he heard!
Holly introduced them. ‘Luke, this is Michelle McCormack, who is responsible for all the beautiful flowers you can see. Michelle, this is Luke Goodwin—he owns the shop.’
‘You own it?’ Michelle’s eyes widened into saucers as she took a glass of white wine from him. ‘Holly didn’t tell me you were rich as well as beautiful!’
‘I don’t remember saying he was beautiful, either!’ said Holly crossly.
‘Didn’t you?’ queried Luke, with a teasing smile. ‘Oh, Holly—now I am disappointed!’
‘Why don’t we find a quiet corner together, Luke?’ suggested Michelle. ‘And then you can tell me your life story.’
Luke smiled. Women like Michelle he could cope with. Charming. Flirtatious. A bit over-the-top, maybe. But ultimately safe. There were no secrets or mysteries lurking behind Michelle McComack’s dark eyes. What you saw was what you got. ‘Love to,’ he replied easily.
Holly tried not to feel indignant or jealous or miffed—not when she knew that she had no right to feel anything other than gratitude towards Luke. Thanks to him, she had a shop which would not have looked out of place in one of London’s most exclusive streets.
The bell rang once more and the place began to fill up. Holly had sent an invitation to the local vicar, and, much to her astonishment, he turned up on a motorbike! He had collar-length blond hair, a face of almost cherubic innocence, and looked far too young to be legally entrusted with the task of performing marriages!
‘Hi, Holly, I’m Charles Cape,’ he told her, and held out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘Thanks for coming,’ smiled Holly, who had thought, he would toss the invitation into the nearest bin.
But he shook his head. ‘No—thanks for inviting me.’ He grinned. ‘Don’t look so surprised that I’m here! Apart from wanting to meet you, since you’re new to the village, we’re both in the business of making marriage more attractive to the general public, aren’t we?’
‘I suppose we are,’ she agreed thoughtfully.
Holly changed the music to an old-fashioned Christmas tape and began to refill everyone’s glasses, and soon the shop took on a party-like atmosphere, particularly when a few people plucked up courage and began to walk in off the street.
‘She doesn’t look like she’s in the market for a wedding dress!’ whispered one of Michelle’s friends to Holly, as a well-padded woman of about eighty plonked herself down on one of the window seats and began to glug contentedly at a glass of wine.
‘No, but she might have granddaughters who will be,’ said Holly, as she moved a bowl of peanuts away from the satin shoes.
Pete Thomas, the reporter from the Winchester Echo, had turned up with a photographer in tow.
‘We want to emphasise the wedding dress competition,’ he told Holly. ‘It’s a good angle—and it’s different. When are you planning to make the draw?’
‘On January the First,’ said Holly. ‘First day of the New Year. New beginnings, and all that. We won’t be open—but I’ll announce the winner in the window.’ She glanced across the room to where Luke was still sitting, chatting to Michelle, only they had now been joined by Michelle’s two friends.
For two brides-to-be, they were certainly paying a lot of interest to whatever Luke was saying, were Holly’s rather caustic thoughts. But she ignored the nagging feeling of jealousy and went round, topping everyone’s glasses up, until the shop was buzzing with chatter.
People began to filter away just before three, when some of the light had already begun to fade from the sky.
Michelle stood up to go, swayed on her high heels and giggled as she put her hand onto Luke’s shoulder to steady herself.
‘Whoops! Too much wine on an empty stomach. I need sustenance! How about you, Luke? A big, strong man like you could probably do with a plate of food, right?’
He shrugged and gave a regretful smile. ‘Perhaps some other time. I promised Holly I’d help her tidy away,’ he demurred smoothly, meeting a pair of pleased but bewildered emerald eyes over Michelle’s head.
Michelle shot Holly another envious look. ‘A boss who tidies up? Where have I been going wrong for all these years?’ She smiled. ‘Well, you know where I am, Luke. If you’re ever in Winchester and you fancy some company.’
‘I’ll be sure to bear that in mind.’ He smiled again.
Holly stood at the door, saying goodbye to those who were leaving, though part of her was distracted, wondering whether women came on to Luke like that on a regular basis. He must have an address book like an encyclopedia, she
found herself thinking wistfully. No wonder he never talked about women—he’d probably lost count!
‘Bye, darling!’ trilled Michelle, giving Holly the benefit of a rather glassy smile.
‘They loved your flowers,’ Holly told her softly.
‘I loved your boss,’ retorted Michelle. ‘Is he free, do you know?’
Holly resisted the urge to tell her no—that if Luke Goodwin was lined up for anyone, then it was her. But that would be the act of a child, not a woman. She nodded, and copper ringlets dangled around her face like burnished corkscrews as she quickly turned her head to check that he wasn’t listening. ‘Well, he hasn’t talked about a particular woman since I’ve been here—and he’s definitely not married—so I think it’s fairly safe to say he isn’t in love.’
‘So he’s all mine?’ Michelle queried, with a delighted grin.
‘Well...’ Holly smiled as Michelle planted a wine-laden kiss of farewell on her cheek. ‘That’s rather up to him, isn’t it?’
‘Mmm,’ said Michelle. ‘I’m metaphorically licking my lips at the thought of it!’
Everyone bar Luke had left by four, by which time the faint silver blink of stars had begun to pepper the indigo sky.
Holly looked around. What had happened to her beautiful shop? On every available surface were empty and half-empty wine glasses, bowls containing the remaining crumbs of crisps and peanuts, and lying on the wooden floor were two fading white roses which someone had obviously plucked out of one of Michelle’s flower arrangements.
‘Why the sour face?’ came a deep voice from behind her. ‘I thought it went very well.’
‘It did. It went brilliantly.’ She drew a breath, then flapped her hands around. ‘It’s just that it all looks such a mess!’
He threw her a disbelieving look. ‘Can this be the same woman who, days ago, was about to inhabit a building which resembled a corporation tip?’
One Bridegroom Required! Page 8