Last-Minute Proposal

by Jessica Hart

  Bemused by the flood of words, or possibly by the allure of Tilly’s cleavage, the policeman backed away from the van. He had evidently given up trying to make sense of it all and simply held up a hand to stop Tilly in mid-sentence.

  ‘Where is this wedding?’ he asked gruffly.

  ‘At Hammerby Hall. It’s-’

  ‘I know where it is.’ He waved them back to the van. ‘If I catch you speeding again, I won’t be so lenient,’ he warned them, ‘but I’ll make allowances for today. We don’t want to disappoint the bride, do we?’

  Climbing on to his bike, he kicked up the stand and switched on the flashing light. ‘Follow me.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  C AMPBELL pulled out after the policeman, who was already speeding ahead along the dual carriageway, siren blaring, to clear the traffic out of their way, and for a good minute there was utter silence in the van.

  Then they both started to laugh at the same time.

  ‘I can’t believe you got away with that!’ said Campbell, still laughing but trying to sound disapproving. ‘I’ve never seen such a revolting display! I’m so sorry, officer,’ he mimicked her breathy voice. ‘Please look down my cleavage instead of writing a speeding ticket.’

  Tilly wiped her eyes. ‘It worked, didn’t it? It’s not as if you were getting far.’ She burst into giggles again. ‘I wish you could have seen your face when he asked if you were Mr Sweet!’

  Campbell snorted and shook his head. ‘That was your fault for making me wear that stupid apron!’ he said but his attempt at disgust was short-lived in the face of Tilly’s infectious laughter, and in the end he gave in and laughed too as they sped after the policeman.

  Thanks to their escort, they arrived bare moments before the bridal party. Waving a grateful farewell to their policeman, Tilly and Campbell hurried in and were just lifting the cover off the cake when the television crew turned up, all ready to record Cleo’s reaction.

  She didn’t disappoint, squealing with delight when she clapped eyes on the cake and throwing her arms around Campbell’s neck.

  ‘It’s so fabulous! You clever thing!’ she exclaimed as she planted a resounding kiss on his cheek. ‘Thank you so much, Campbell. It’s the best wedding cake ever! I’m never going to be able to cut it. Oh, I think I might be going to cry, it’s so perfect.’

  Alarmed at the prospect of tears, Campbell patted her gingerly and rolled his eyes over her shoulder at Tilly in a silent plea for help.

  ‘Cleo, what do you think of Antony’s costume?’ she asked, coming to his rescue. ‘Campbell researched it down to the last detail. He’s even got the shoes right!’

  To Campbell’s relief, Cleo let go of him and bent to examine the cake in more detail. ‘It’s incredible. I can’t believe you’ve learnt to do this in just two weeks, Campbell! Tony, come and look at this.’

  Fortunately for Campbell, her groom restrained himself from hugging, but he was equally complimentary. ‘This is really impressive,’ he said to Campbell. ‘I can see a hell of a lot of research has gone into it.’ He walked round the cake, inspecting it closely. ‘Isn’t Cleopatra’s Antony spelt without an “h”, though?’

  Tilly met Campbell’s gaze across the cake. A definite smile was tugging at his mouth, and the sight of it unlocked something deep in her chest, releasing a disquieting tingle that seeped slowly along her veins.

  ‘Could we have a quick interview?’

  Suzy’s voice at her elbow startled Tilly out of her thoughts. The producer drew her and Campbell away from the crowd gathering round the cake and beckoned Jim, the cameraman, over.

  ‘It’s certainly a wonderful cake, Campbell,’ Suzy began. ‘Is it really all your own work?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tilly, as Campbell said, ‘No.’

  Suzy looked from one to the other.

  ‘I had to have Tilly’s help in the end,’ he told her. ‘I’d made a mistake, and Tilly put it right.’

  ‘Why did you say that?’ Tilly demanded crossly under her breath while Suzy was conferring with the cameraman. ‘Now we’ll lose points! I thought you wanted to win.’

  ‘I do, but I’m not going to cheat to do it. The rules were clear. I had to make the cake entirely myself.’

  ‘You did that! It was perfect.’

  ‘It wasn’t perfect. I spelt the name wrong, and you had to put it right.’

  Tilly chewed her lip. ‘No one would ever have known it wasn’t you. You’d done it exactly the same, just without the “h”.’

  ‘I would have known,’ said Campbell. He looked at her curiously. ‘You’ve changed your tune, haven’t you? I thought you didn’t care whether we won or not?’

  Tilly couldn’t meet his eyes. She couldn’t tell him that she only wanted to win for his sake. ‘We’ve gone to all this effort,’ she said. ‘It just seems a shame to blow it now.’

  ‘We’ve done what we can,’ he said carelessly. ‘It’s down to the viewers now. One way or another, it’ll be over soon.’

  Tilly looked away. Yes, it would all be over soon, and that was probably just as well. The tension over the last few days had been almost unendurable, erupting at last in that stupid row over how to spell Anthony. She had been torn between not wanting their time together to end and wishing that it would so that she wouldn’t have to live any longer with the breathless churning that gripped her whenever she looked at Campbell.

  She was going to miss him so much, but there would be a certain relief in not having to fight the attraction any more. She had to think about that, and not about how empty the kitchen was going to be without his solid, straight but somehow steadying presence. She couldn’t allow herself to think about how the severe expression relaxed when he was amused, crinkling the corners of his eyes and deepening the creases on either side of his mouth.

  His mouth…she definitely couldn’t afford to let herself think about that. Or his hands. Or the whole lean, muscled length of him.

  It was extraordinary how a man so austere and restrained-looking on the surface could have reduced her to a state of feverish desire where the most casual brush against each other left her boneless, a smile would stop the breath in her throat and the touch of his hand was like a jolt of electricity.

  Campbell wasn’t romantic, he wasn’t passionate, he wasn’t any of the things Tilly yearned for in a man. He was tough and terse and acerbic, and she wanted him in a way she had never wanted anyone before.

  But she couldn’t have him. He was leaving. Remember that, Tilly?

  She wished now that she had ignored his reluctance and told him how she felt after that kiss. At least they could have had a week together and she would have had some memories. But it was too late now. Tomorrow he would be gone.

  There was no point being miserable about it, Tilly decided, forcing her shoulders back and fixing on a bright smile. She had made a choice and now she had to live with it. In the meantime, it was Cleo’s wedding, and Cleo would want her to enjoy herself.

  She threw herself into the party spirit with a touch of desperation, and it wasn’t, after all, that hard. She knew lots of people and there was a very happy atmosphere, especially after Cleo and Tony performed a dance routine for all their guests. This seemed to involve Cleo pushing Tony around the floor and hissing exasperated instructions at him. Clearly, he didn’t have a clue what he was supposed to be doing, and their audience was soon laughing uproariously.

  Campbell looked at Tilly beside him. She was almost doubled over, helpless with laughter. Her face was alight, her eyes glowing, and he was seized by the urge to touch her, to hold her, to draw her warmth and her light around him.

  So strong was the impulse that he had to make himself move away, but the more he tried to concentrate on making conversation with the other guests, the more aware he was of Tilly, scintillating, sparkling, in the background. She was talking and laughing, smiling, hugging friends, kissing acquaintances on the cheeks, and Campbell was gradually consumed by the longing to stride over, take hold of her and
pull her away, outside.

  To make her smile at him. Touch him. Kiss him.

  By the time Tilly danced over to him at last, he was in no state to be sensible. He couldn’t remember why resisting her had ever seemed like an option, let alone a necessity, and every stern resolution evaporated as she stopped in front of him. Buoyed up by champagne and the party atmosphere, she was attempting to belly dance but succeeding only in looking faintly ridiculous and yet incredibly sexy at the same time.

  ‘Come on, Campbell,’ she cried over the throb of the music. ‘Show us what you’re made of!’

  And Campbell gave in to the terrible temptation that had been tormenting him all evening and took her by the waist.

  ‘How can I refuse an invitation like that?’

  At the touch of his hands, Tilly abruptly lost her rhythm. She stumbled and would have fallen if he hadn’t been holding her and instinctively she put her hands on his arms to balance herself.

  And then she was lost.

  The feverish gaiety that had swept her through the evening evaporated without warning, sucked away with the music and the laughter and the other guests behind some invisible barrier where everything was muted, leaving the two of them stranded and alone, while the space shrank around them, shortening the air and making her heart boom and thump and thunder in her ears.

  It felt as if an insistent hand in the small of her back was pushing her towards Campbell, and it was a relief to give in, to let herself lean against him with a tiny sigh, knowing there was nothing else that she could do, that there was something more powerful than either of them forcing them together, insisting on balancing his hard strength and solidity with her softness and her warmth.

  And, once she had given in, it felt so wonderful that Tilly wondered why she had ever believed that she ought to resist.

  Afterwards, she could remember nothing about the music they danced to that evening. She knew only that she was holding Campbell at last, that he was holding her, and that they were dancing together.

  Her arms slid up to his shoulders, savouring the feel of the powerful muscles beneath his jacket. Her face was almost touching his throat. She could see the pulse beating below his ear, and she breathed in the scent of clean skin and clean shirt and something that was purely Campbell.

  Close to him, she felt light and shimmery, lit by the glow spreading through her, a glow that was burning brighter and brighter the tighter he held her. They were barely dancing, barely swaying, but his lips were against her hair, drifting downwards, and Tilly’s mouth curved expectantly. They would reach her cheek soon. They would graze her jaw, would nuzzle the lobe of her ear until she gasped and arched, and then she would turn her head and they would kiss, and that glow would ignite into a flame, a fire…

  Adrift in anticipation, Tilly didn’t realise that the music had stopped until Campbell straightened slowly. His hands fell from her, but he held her still with his eyes, eyes that could look deep inside her and could surely see the desire beating there.

  ‘Shall we go?’ he asked, his voice deep and low, and Tilly nodded.

  Still snared in the magic of the dance, she sat wordlessly beside Campbell as he drove the van back to the house. It seemed a long time since they had driven in the other direction, laughing helplessly as they’d followed their police escort.

  Campbell was silent, too. They hadn’t spoken at all, as if something stronger than both of them had them in its grip, but perhaps she had it wrong? The headlights from passing cars swept over them, illuminating the austere profile, and Tilly’s stomach hollowed.

  It won’t happen again, he had told her after that one devastating kiss, and she knew instinctively that he would keep that promise. If she wanted him, it would be up to her to tell him that. Did she dare?

  Careful, her heart reminded her. Remember how much it hurt last time. You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. The choice was hers.

  But with every sense, every cell in her body, clamouring for his touch, it didn’t feel like much of a choice to Tilly. She had gone too far to turn back now. The best she could do was protect herself as best she could.

  Just one night…What harm could there be in that? Her heart was on guard, so if she could just keep her emotions in check and make it clear to Campbell that she wasn’t looking for anything more than a night together, surely that wouldn’t be risking too much?

  Campbell turned into her drive and parked outside the front door. He cut the lights and turned off the engine, plunging them into darkness and utter silence. For a moment, they both sat completely still, staring straight ahead through the windscreen.

  It was up to her, Tilly remembered.

  She moistened her lips. ‘Do you remember being on that mountain?’ she asked. She wanted to sound cool, but of course her voice came out thready and wavering.

  ‘Ben Nuarrh?’ Campbell turned to look at her, his expression impossible to read in the darkness, but she thought she detected an undercurrent of amusement. ‘How could I forget?’

  ‘Do…you remember how we talked about fantasies?’ Tilly made herself persevere.

  ‘Yes,’ he said cautiously.

  She took a deep breath. ‘I’ve got a fantasy now.’

  ‘Does it involve food?’

  That was definitely a smile in his voice. Tilly wasn’t sure whether that was an encouraging sign or not.

  ‘Not this time.’ She hesitated. ‘It involves you.’

  Campbell stilled, and this time when he spoke the laughter had vanished. ‘Tell me.’

  And, suddenly, it was easy after all.

  ‘Well, in my fantasy we’re here, like we are now, in the dark, but there’s no future, no plans, no responsibilities, no being sensible. There’s just the two of us and one night together.’

  She swallowed. ‘In my fantasy, you reach out and lay your palm against my cheek,’ she said, and Campbell lifted his arm slowly and caressed her face.

  The warmth of his hand made Tilly suck in a breath. ‘You tell me that you’re leaving tomorrow, but you want to spend tonight with me.’

  ‘I want to spend tonight with you.’ His voice was so low, it seemed to reverberate down her spine. ‘I haven’t been able to think about anything else for weeks now.’

  ‘Hey, this is my fantasy,’ said Tilly shakily. ‘No improvising.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Even in the dim light she could see the quiver at the corner of his mouth, and she felt her bones liquefy.

  ‘Then you tell me you haven’t been able to think about anything else for weeks now.’

  The quiver deepened. ‘Then what?’

  ‘Then…then you kiss me.’

  There was a pause, then Campbell let his hand drift down to her throat, where it curved beneath her silky hair so that he could pull her with a breathless lack of speed towards him. Very, very slowly, he bent his head until their mouths met.

  ‘Like this?’ he murmured.

  His lips were gentle at first, tantalising and persuasive, until Tilly leant into him with a tiny sigh as she parted her own and wound her arms around his neck to pull him closer.

  It was so delicious to be able to kiss him, to taste him, to feel his hand at her knee, sliding insistently under her skirt as they kissed and kissed and kissed again-deep, sweet kisses that grew harder and hungrier with every moment.

  ‘Yes, like that,’ she said unsteadily, tipping back her head as Campbell’s lips trailed down her throat, and his free hand flicked open the buttons on her jacket. ‘Exactly like that.’

  She gasped as she felt him smile against her skin, and his fingers tightened possessively on her thigh.

  Kissing his way lazily back up to her earlobe, Campbell let his hands continue their delicious exploration. ‘Do I get to tell you my fantasy yet?’ he whispered in her ear and it was Tilly’s turn to smile.

  ‘What’s yours?’

  ‘You beg me to take you inside, right now, and make love to you all night.’

  ‘I’m not sure I like the ide
a of begging,’ Tilly managed and a laugh shook his big frame.

  ‘It’s my fantasy now,’ he pointed out. ‘Fair’s fair.’

  ‘How about if I ask nicely instead?’

  ‘How nicely?’

  She laughed, intoxicated with his touch. ‘Very nicely,’ she said. ‘I’ll ask very, very nicely.’

  Pushing him back into his seat, she clambered into his lap so that she was straddling him, and took his face between her palms, covering it with teasing kisses, tickling him with her tongue.

  ‘Please,’ she whispered, kissing her way down his throat in her turn. ‘Please, Campbell. Please take me to bed and make love to me all night.’

  ‘That’s quite nice,’ said Campbell in a ragged voice. ‘Ask me again.’

  He was pushing aside her jacket, tugging up her silk camisole, and Tilly shuddered and writhed with pleasure as his hands closed on her bare skin.

  ‘Please,’ she gasped again. ‘You don’t need to pretend anything. It’s not about love. It’s not about forever. It’s just you and me and one night together. Make love to me, please.’

  ‘Well, since you asked so nicely…’

  Somehow they got out of the van, but they couldn’t bear to let go of each other, couldn’t bear to stop kissing. For long, mindless minutes, Campbell pressed her against the driver’s door and Tilly didn’t care that the handle was digging into her hip, cared only that she could hold him and touch him and kiss him back.

  At last they made it to the front door. There was a short delay while Tilly fumbled for keys, distracted by Campbell kissing her shoulder and the nape of her neck, as his hot, hungry hands explored beneath her open jacket. Her fingers shook as she inserted the key impatiently and they practically fell through the door, still kissing.

  Unheeded, Tilly’s bag fell to the floor, closely followed by the jacket Campbell was peeling from her shoulders. He pushed her back against the door and she arched beneath his touch, gasping his name as she clutched her fingers in his hair, incoherent with desire.

  ‘What happens in your fantasy now?’ Tilly asked shakily when he raised his head at last, and Campbell took her by the hand and tugged her towards her bedroom.