Wedding Bell Wishes. Lynne Marshall
made two of them.
Part of her wanted to do this. To go with him—her room or his, it wouldn’t matter. She knew they both needed a release from the tension of the last few days.
But the sensible part of her knew that doing that would make everything so much worse. How would they face each other in the morning? They certainly didn’t have a future. Yes, Sean was reliable, unlike most of her past boyfriends—but he was also too regimented for her liking. Everything had to go within his twenty-year plan. Which was fine for a business, but it wasn’t the way she wanted to live her personal life. She wanted to take time to smell the roses. Spontaneity. A chance to seize the day and enjoy whatever came her way. Live life to the full.
‘We need to stop,’ she said. While she could still be sensible. If he kissed her once more, she knew she’d say yes. So she’d say the word while she could still actually pronounce it. ‘No.’
‘No.’ He looked at her, his eyes haunted. For a second, he looked so vulnerable. She was about to crack and place her palm against his cheek to comfort him, to tell him that she’d changed her mind, when she saw his expression change. His common sense had snapped back into place. ‘You’re absolutely right,’ he said, and took a step back from her.
‘I have bridesmaid stuff to do,’ she said. It wasn’t strictly true—the rest of the evening was all organised—but it was an excuse that she thought would save face for both of them.
‘Of course,’ he said, and let her go.
Even as she walked away, Claire regretted it. Her old attraction to Sean had never quite gone away, no matter how deeply she thought she’d buried it or how much she denied it to herself.
But she knew it had been the right thing to do. Because no way could things work out between her and Sean, and she’d had enough of broken relationships and being let down. Keeping things platonic was sensible, and the best way to avoid heartbreak.
* * *
Claire spent the rest of the evening socialising with the other guests, encouraging the younger ones to dance. All the time, she was very aware of exactly where Sean was in the garden, but she didn’t trust herself not to make another stupid mistake. She’d got it wrong with him in the past. She couldn’t afford to get it wrong in the future.
Finally, she went back to the hotel with the last few guests, kicked off her high heels, and curled up in one of the wrought iron chairs on the balcony of her room, looking out at the moon’s sparkling path on the sea. She’d been sitting there for a while when there was a knock at her door.
She wasn’t expecting anyone, especially this late at night—unless maybe someone had been taken ill and needed help?
She padded over to the door, still in bare feet, and blinked in surprise when she saw Sean in the doorway. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘Yes,’ he said.
She went cold. ‘Ash?’
‘No.’
Then she saw that he’d removed his jacket and cravat. He looked very slightly dishevelled, and it made him much more approachable. And much, much harder to resist.
He was also carrying a bottle of Prosecco and two glasses.
‘Sean?’ she asked, completely confused.
‘I think we need to talk,’ he said.
Again, for a split second, she glimpsed that vulnerability in his eyes. How could she turn him away when she had a good idea of how he was feeling—the same way she was feeling herself? ‘Come in,’ she said, and closed the door behind him.
‘I saw you sitting on your balcony,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘I was a bit too wired to sleep, so I thought I’d look out over the sea and just chill for a bit.’
‘Good plan.’ He gestured to her balcony. ‘Shall we?’
Sean, the sea and moonlight. A dangerous combination. It would be much more sensible to say no.
‘Yes,’ she said.
He uncorked the bottle with a minimum of fuss and without spilling a drop of the sparkling wine, then poured them both a glass.
Claire held hers up in a toast. ‘To Ashleigh and Luke,’ she said, ‘and may they have every happiness in their life together.’
‘Absolutely,’ he said, clinking his glass against hers. ‘To Ashleigh and Luke.’
‘So you’re too wired to sleep, too?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘I was walking in the hotel gardens. That’s when I saw you sitting on the balcony.’
‘So why do we need to talk, Sean?’
He blew out a breath. ‘You and me.’
The idea sent a shiver of pure desire through her.
‘I think it’s been a long time coming,’ he said softly.
‘But we don’t even like each other. You think I’m a flake, and I think you’re...well...a bit too organised,’ she said, choosing her words carefully.
‘Maybe,’ he said, ‘because it’s easier for us to think that of each other.’
She took a sip of Prosecco, knowing that he was right but not quite wanting to admit it. ‘You turned me down.’
‘Nearly ten years ago? You know why,’ he said. ‘I think we’ve both grown up and got past that.’
‘I guess.’ She turned her glass round. ‘Though I’m not in a hurry to put myself back in that situation.’
‘You won’t be,’ he said softly. ‘Because you’re not seventeen any more, you’re not drunk, and I’m not responsible for you.’
The three barriers that had been in the way, back then. It had hurt and embarrassed her at the time, but later Claire had appreciated how decent he’d been. Not that they’d ever discussed it. It was way too awkward for both of them.
But, now he’d said it, she needed to know. ‘Back then, if I hadn’t been drunk, if I’d been eighteen, and if you hadn’t been responsible for me—would you have...?’
‘Let you seduce me?’ he asked.
She nodded.
His breath shuddered through him. ‘Yes.’
Heat curled in her belly. That night, she’d wanted him so desperately. And, if the circumstances had been different, he would have made love with her. Been her first lover.
All the words were knocked out of her head. Because all she could think about was the way he’d kissed her tonight in the garden, and the way he looked right now. Sexy as hell.
‘Ashleigh’s engagement,’ he said softly. ‘You turned me down, that time.’
‘Because I was being sensible.’ She paused. ‘This isn’t sensible, either.’
‘I know. But your perfume’s haunted me all evening,’ he said, his voice low and husky and drenched in desire. ‘Your mouth. And you’ve been driving me crazy in that dress.’
She made a last-ditch attempt at keeping the status quo. ‘This is a perfectly demure bridesmaid’s dress,’ she said. ‘It’s down to my knees.’
‘And I can’t stop thinking about what you might be wearing under it.’
Her breath hitched. ‘Can’t you, now?’
The same heat that curled in her belly was reflected in his eyes. ‘Going to show me?’ he invited.
‘We’re on my balcony. Anyone could see us. You saw me,’ she pointed out.
‘Then maybe,’ he said, ‘we