The Final Proposal. Robyn Donald
essential trust that allowed normally sensible and wary people to confide their life and their happiness to another person.
She just wanted everything, she thought sardonically: the electric, passionate involvement, the eager companionship and the complete faith in each other. And if she couldn’t have it all, she wouldn’t settle for less.
Relishing the tangy flavour of her drink, she sipped slowly while into her mind came an image of the man who had wrenched her out of the way of the horse.
A disturbing heat expanded through her. He had presence. However, that wasn’t why she remembered him. She was accustomed to men with presence; her stepfather had it, so did Lucas. And so did Drake Arundell, the husband of a great friend of hers.
The stranger had more than presence; he possessed a disciplined, formidable authority that sent out warning signals. And he moved with the dangerous, predatory swiftness of a hunter.
Finishing the juice, she eyed the dishwasher, then with a half-laugh washed the glass and put it away.
‘He’s probably just your ordinary, average polo player,’ she said firmly as she walked across the passage to her office. ‘Overpaid, oversexed and over here.’
Weaving fantasies about a man she didn’t know and wasn’t likely to see again was stupid and futile. Life was not slipping by; she helped people as best she could, she was good at what she did and she earned good money doing it—and she had a warm, appreciative family. If she never married she’d be a superb aunt to Anet and Lucas’s children when they had some.
Perhaps she should see about getting a cat.
Dressed in a smooth-fitting ivory dress, its neat lines conforming discreetly to her body, Jan walked with her mother across the big sitting room and out onto the wide terrace. A group of her friends were already there, and as she came through the French windows-they began clapping, and called out birthday wishes.
‘You look great,’ Gerry said exuberantly when they had a moment to talk. She, as befitted an entirely more dramatic personality, wore a floating outfit of purples and blues and plum.
‘Thanks,’ Jan said lightly.
Gerry eyed the demure dress. ‘You’re well covered up. Bruises?’
‘A few,’ Jan admitted. ‘Nothing to worry about.’
‘I should have anchored that damned hat,’ Gerry sighed.
‘Yes, well, I’m just glad that no one got hurt. And that the horse and the rider were OK.’
‘The hero was gorgeous,’ her cousin said thoughtfully. ‘I wonder who he was.’
‘One of the polo players.’
‘Perhaps we should have suggested your mother invite a few.’ She leered unconvincingly. ‘They’d give your party a certain je ne sais quoi. All those splendid muscles rippling beneath their shirts. Not to forget the equally splendid ones beneath—’ Stopped by Jan’s raised brows, she broke into a gurgle of laughter and finished, ‘In their legs.’
‘Most of them probably can’t string more than ten words together,’ Jan said, knowing she was being unfair.
‘Who cares? They look like gods.’
‘Centaurs.’
Gerry laughed. ‘OK, although they’re not exactly joined at the waist to their horses. And even if they can’t speak in words of more than two syllables, we could just sip a little champagne and admire their form. Speaking of which—Oh, good Lord—’
Jan turned to follow her entranced gaze. There, standing beside Sally Porter, a friend from schooldays, and directing that killer smile at her mother, stood the man who had saved Jan from being squashed a few hours ago—all six feet two or three of him.
‘Sally’s latest?’ Gerry muttered. ‘I didn’t see her at the polo, but of course she could have been there.’
Jan barely heard her. A hateful, febrile anticipation prickled through her.
‘I’d better go and greet them,’ she said with enormous reluctance when she saw her mother look across to her.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Gerry offered, trying to sound heroic.
Together, they threaded their way across the terrace and inside. Sally, redheaded and vivacious, waved cheerfully. Not a muscle moving in his face, the man beside her watched them walk across the room.
‘Darling,’ Cynthia said warmly, ‘I forgot to tell you that Sally was bringing her cousin with her.’
His name was Kear Lannion, and for some reason the fact that he was Sally’s cousin was important.
Jan’s wary gaze met pale, crystalline eyes and a cool, unsettling smile. Suddenly, violently, awakened to awareness, she rescued her own smile from the oblivion to which shock had consigned it. ‘But we’ve met,’ she said woodenly, holding out her hand. To her mother she explained, ‘Kear was the man who probably saved my life this afternoon.’
He took her hand gently, tempering his strength to her slender bones. ‘Jan,’ he said, in a voice that was deep and rough enough to send a sensual shiver down her spine. ‘It suits you.’
Pierced by swift, sharp antagonism, she smiled. ‘Short and snappy?’
His glance mocked her. ‘Well, no, that’s not exactly what I had in mind. Have you fully recovered?’
‘Yes, thank you’
She wasn’t going to mention her bruises. Neither, although she had to bite back the words, was she going to explain what she’d been doing in that stupid outfit. And she was not going to tell him that he’d only seen the ‘before’ picture. Especially not that, because if she did he’d realise she’d noticed his absence during the ‘after’ session.
But oh, how she wanted to! She even found herself hoping that Gerry would make the explanations. Unfortunately, smiling and fluttering her lashes in a manner Jan found vaguely annoying, Gerry confined her conversation to social pleasantries.
Her mother thanked him fervently, ending with, ‘What a coincidence that you should be Sally’s cousin.’
‘The handsomest of my cousins,’ Sally informed them with relish. If she’d hoped to embarrass him she failed; he gave her that slow smile and, close relative though she was, she lost her place before summoning the poise to continue, ‘The most athletic too. I think the New Zealand team is going to lose half its fans now that Kear’s stopped playing.’
Interestedly, Gerry said, ‘Oh, have you retired?’
‘I can’t give it the time I need to pull my weight. So, yes, today was my last game for New Zealand.’
Another group of people came in through the door. By the time Jan had done her duty by them and found someone for them to talk to, Sally and Kear were deep in discussion with Gerry and another woman on the terrace.
Jan kept well away, but an hour or so later his deep, distinctive voice said from behind her, ‘You look as though you could do with a refill. What would you like?’
‘Orange juice, but I can get it.’
‘It’s no trouble,’ he said. Together they walked across to the temporary bar.
‘Are you a teetotaller?’ he asked when the barman had served her.
‘No, but when you’re my size half a glass is enough to make you uncomfortably hot,’ she said, wondering why her skin felt too tight for her.
‘Wise woman.’
Shrugging, she returned, ‘One learns.’ She covertly searched for someone she could leave him with in a little while, when it wouldn’t be too obvious that she was running away.
Just as the silence between them