Patrick laughed.
‘What’s so funny? That’s as glamorous as I get.’
‘You looked beautiful that night, but I’d fallen long before then.’
‘Tell me about it,’ she said with an unabashed smile. ‘I’m all ears.’
‘Let me see…’ Reaching an arm around her shoulders, he hugged her. ‘I think it more or less dawned on me when I was so ridiculously excited about going back to London for my mother’s wedding. I mean, I was thrilled and happy for her and Jonathan, but I think I knew that a lot of my excitement was about wanting to meet you. Your e-mails were so open and honest. I loved your zest for life and your thirst for adventure and I wanted to share it.’
‘So it had nothing to do with the way I looked?’
‘Are you joking, Molly?’
‘Tell me. A girl likes to hear these things.’
Patrick was aware that he’d never been very forthcoming with compliments, but with Molly it was incredibly easy. ‘Actually, I was in lust with the photo you left on your fridge,’ he confessed. ‘I spent hours and hours, when I was supposed to be writing, staring at your legs, or trying to work out the colour of your eyes. And then I met the real thing and I was a lost man.’
Molly grinned, and her blue eyes sparkled, and she leaned in and rewarded him with another lovely kiss. ‘So I’m to blame for ruining your novel?’
‘Not really. That fault was all mine. I’m not very good at fiction.’ Patrick frowned, aware that he needed to broach a very important subject. ‘Molly, can you forgive me for pulling the Peter Kingston stunt?’
‘Of course,’ she said, surprisingly calm. ‘I’m sorry I made such a stink. That’s the big thing I waited at Heathrow to tell you. I realised you were just being kind.’ She turned to look at him with a direct and clear gaze. ‘That’s right, isn’t it?’
‘It was partly that—about trying to give you your fantasy.’ Patrick looked at the rising moon, which had cast a silver path across the sea almost to their feet. ‘But you had such high expectations, and I wasn’t sure I’d measure up on my own. It seemed safer, somehow, to hide behind a mask. I foolishly assumed that you’d understand.’
‘I understand now.’ She laid a gentle hand on his arm. ‘But you shouldn’t have worried. Patrick Knight has so much more going for him than Peter Kingston.’
‘Tell me why,’ he said, smiling with relief. ‘I’m all ears.’
‘Well, to start with, Patrick Knight lives in my favourite city in the whole world.’
‘There’s that, I guess.’
‘And he has a wonderful mother—someone I already look on as a friend.’
‘She adores you.’
‘And he likes my island.’
‘He does. He loves it.’
‘I should possibly also mention the fireworks in my veins every time I look at him.’
‘Molly…’
‘And the fact that he’s so sweet.’
‘Sweet?’
Molly smiled. ‘Don’t look so surprised. Patrick Knight is very kind and thoughtful. He sent me a book about London, and ever since he’s gone out of his way to make me happy. I’ve learned so much from him about the world beyond this little island, about my father, about myself.’ She pressed her nose against his neck. ‘And then there’s the way he smells. It drives me wild.’ Her lips grazed his jaw seductively. ‘Would you like to know the best thing?’
He gave a choked little laugh. ‘Sure.’
‘Patrick’s not always a perfect English gentleman. I have the distinct impression that I’m going to love his inner cave man.’
With a cry somewhere between laughter and longing, Patrick jumped to his feet, reached down and scooped Molly into his arms.
‘You can’t carry me,’ she gasped. ‘Not all the way to the cottage.’
‘I can try.’
‘No need. Put me down and let’s run.’
EPILOGUE
To: Patrick Knight
From: Molly Cooper
Subject: My first love letter
Dearest Patrick
By now you will be safely home in Chelsea. I hope you had a comfortable journey and that everything was just as it should be at 34 Alice Grove.
I’m sure you can guess that I’m missing you already, but I’m determined not to moan. How can I complain when I’ve had you all to myself for two whole, perfectly blissful weeks?
I’m thrilled that you broke your lifelong habit of hard work so you could devote all that time just to me. It was two weeks of heaven, and I’m honoured to know that this was one of the vitally important changes you wanted to make in your life—taking time out, not working, not writing a book. Just being.
With me.
I must admit that when you handed me your journal with that cute, shy smile of yours and said you’d like me to read it, I was a bit stunned. That’s a pretty big step for a guy, and I was very nervous about letting you read everything I’d written in my diary (especially about my trip to Cornwall).
But it was actually very liberating to share such complete and intimate honesty, wasn’t it? No wonder we felt so wonderfully close by the end of our two weeks—as if we’d known each other all our lives.
Now that you’re home again, Patrick, it’s time for me to get busy with planning for September. It was so sweet of you to insist on having our wedding here on the island.
I couldn’t think of anything more perfect than to be married to you on the beach at sunset. But to be honest, my darling, I would have married you anywhere—even in a Tube station. As for our honeymoon in Cornwall—you know how over the moon I am about that.
Next week I’m heading up to Cairns, to spend a few days with Karli and Jimbo. Of course I want to show off my gorgeous engagement ring, but Karli and I will also have huge fun hunting in the lovely Cairns shops for our dresses. She’s thrilled to be my bridesmaid.
So that’s my news.
I’m pleased that you’re going up to Scotland to visit your father, and that you’re going to invite him to our wedding. I’m looking forward to meeting him.
Good luck with finishing your book. I have my fingers crossed for you, but, honest to God, I’m your target audience and I think it’s absolutely brilliant. Even I could end up wealthy if I followed your advice.
I’m sure every publisher who sees your manuscript will want to buy it. There’ll be a bidding war, and very soon you’ll be a famous author and the backs of your books will announce that you divide your time between London and a tropical island.
Your readers will think that sounds wonderfully romantic, and they’ll be right. I’m sure they’ll also think that your wife is the luckiest woman in the world—and they’ll be right about that, too.
All my love, my kind, brilliant, sexy Englishman.
Until tomorrow, and all our tomorrows…
Molly xxxxxxxxx
ISBN: 978-1-4268-7949-4
MOLLY COOPER’S DREAM DATE
First North American Publication 2011
Copyright © 2011 by Barbara Hannay.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
For questions and comments about the quality of this book please contact us at [email protected].
® and TM are
trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
www.eHarlequin.com
Molly Cooper's Dream Date Page 16