It Started at a Wedding.... Kate Hardy
hand.
It was his second shock of the afternoon, how her skin felt against his. It made him feel almost as if he’d been galvanised. Very similar to that weird sensation when she’d measured him for the waistcoat—even though her touch had been as professional and emotionless as any tailor’s, it had made him feel strange to feel the warmth of her fingers through his shirt.
Oh, help.
Sexual attraction and Claire Stewart were two things that definitely didn’t go together, in his book.
OK, so there had been that night, all those years ago—but Claire had been seventeen and his mother had dispatched him to rescue the girl and get her safely to bed back at their house. Of course he’d been tempted when she’d tried to kiss him—he was a man, not an automaton—but he also knew that he was responsible for her, and no way would he ever have taken advantage of her.
And the times since when their eyes had met at one of Ashleigh’s parties...
Well, she’d normally had some dreadful boyfriend or other in tow. In Sean’s experience, Claire’s men were always the type who’d claim that artistic integrity was much more important than actually earning a living. Sean didn’t have much time for people who wouldn’t shoulder their fair share of responsibility and expected other people to bail them out all the time, but he still wouldn’t encourage their girlfriend to cheat on them. He’d never made a move.
Except, he remembered with a twinge of guilt, for the night Ashleigh had got engaged to Luke. He’d asked Claire to dance—solely for his sister’s sake. But then Claire had looked up at him, her blue eyes huge and her mouth parted, and he’d reacted purely on instinct.
He’d kissed her.
A kiss that had shaken him to the core. It had shaken him even more when he analysed it. No way could he feel like that about Claire Stewart. She was his total opposite. It would never, ever work between them. They’d drive each other crazy.
He’d been too shocked to say a word, at first, but then she’d made some terrible joke or other and he’d somehow managed to get his common sense back. And he’d blanked out the memory.
Except now it was back.
And he had to acknowledge that the possibility of something happening between himself and Claire had always been there. Right now, the possibility hummed just a little harder. Probably because he hadn’t dated anyone in the last three months—this was a physical itch, he told himself, and Claire definitely wasn’t the right woman to scratch said itch. Their approach to life was way too different for it ever to work between them.
‘Claire.’ This time, he shook her a little harder, the way he would’ve liked to shake himself and get his common sense back in place.
She woke with a jolt. She blinked, as if not quite sure where she was, and he saw her expression change the second that she realised what had happened. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t intend to fall asleep. I hope I didn’t snore too loudly.’
He could tell that this was her way of trying to make a joke and ease the tension between them. Good idea. He’d follow her lead on that one. ‘Not quite pneumatic drill mode,’ he said with a smile.
‘Good.’
Like him, she thanked the pilot and the stewardess for getting them there safely. And then they were in the bright Italian sunshine, so bright that they both needed to use dark glasses. And Sean was secretly glad of the extra barrier. He didn’t want Claire guessing that she’d shaken his composure, even briefly.
And no way was he going to let her struggle with three dress boxes. ‘I’ll take these for you.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘They’re not that heavy, Sean. They’re just a bit bulky.’
‘Even so.’
‘I can manage.’
Did she think that he was being sexist? ‘I’m taller than you and my arms are longer,’ he pointed out. ‘So it makes sense for me to carry the boxes.’
‘Then I’ll carry your suitcase and briefcase.’
He’d almost forgotten just how stubborn she could be. But, at the same time, he had a sneaking admiration for her independence. And he always travelled light in any case, so his luggage wouldn’t be too heavy for her.
On the way from the plane to the airport terminal, Claire said to Sean, ‘Perhaps you can let me have your friend’s name and address, so I can send her some flowers.’
‘Already done,’ he said.
‘From you, yes. I want to send her something from me.’
‘Sure,’ he said easily. ‘I’ll give you the details when we get to the hotel.’
‘Thank you.’ She paused. ‘And I need to pick up my case and the bridesmaid’s dress. I checked them in to the left luggage, this morning.’
‘Wait a second.’ He checked his phone. ‘Good. Jen—my PA—has booked us a taxi from here to Sorrento and arranged the hydrofoil tickets.’
They went through passport control, then collected Claire’s luggage. He waited while she checked with the airline whether Ashleigh’s original dress had turned up yet. He knew from her expression that there was still no luck.
* * *
The taxi driver loaded their luggage into the car. Claire and Sean were sitting together in the back seat. She was very aware of his nearness, and it made her twitchy. She didn’t want to be this aware of Sean. And how did you make small talk with someone who had nothing in common with you?
She looked out of the window. ‘Oh, there’s Vesuvius.’ Looming over the skyline, a brooding hulk of a mountain with a hidden, dangerous core.
‘You went there with Ashleigh, didn’t you?’ he asked.
‘And Sammy. Three years ago. It was amazing—like nothing any of us had ever seen before. It was what I imagine a lunar landscape would look like, and we squeaked like schoolkids when we saw steam coming out of the vents.’ She smiled at the memory. ‘I think that’s why Ash chose to get married in Capri, because she fell in love with the island when we came here and had a day trip there.’
They both knew the other reason why Ashleigh hadn’t planned to get married in the church where she and Sean had been christened and their parents had got married—because their parents were buried in the churchyard and it had been too much for Ashleigh to bear, the idea of getting married inside the church while her parents were outside.
‘It’s a nice part of the world,’ Sean said.
‘Very,’ Claire replied. She ran out of small talk at that point and spent the rest of the journey looking out of the window at the coastline, marvelling at the houses perched so precariously on the cliffsides and the incredible blueness of the sea. At the same time, all her senses seemed to be concentrating on Sean. Which was insane.
Finally the taxi dropped them at the marina in Sorrento. Claire waited with their luggage while Sean collected their tickets—and then at last they boarded the hydrofoil and were on their way to Capri.
There were large yachts moored at the marina. As they drew closer she could see the buildings lining the marina, painted in brilliant white or ice cream shades. There were more houses on the terraces banking up behind them, then the white stone peak of the island.
Once they’d docked, they took the funicular railway up to the Piazzetta, then caught a taxi from the square; she noticed that the cars were all open-topped with a stripy awning above them to shade the passengers. So much more exotic than the average convertible.
The taxi took them past more of the brilliant white buildings, in such sharp contrast to the sea and the sky. There were bougainvillea and rhododendrons everywhere, and terracotta pots full of red geraniums. Claire had always loved the richness and depth of the colours on the south European