Wedding Bell Wishes. Lynne Marshall
them would be a disaster if they let it go any further.
Sean, we can’t.
But he didn’t reply. And she was left in a flat spin.
By the time the bell on the front door jangled and she went through to the shop to see Sean standing there—and he’d turned her sign on the door to ‘closed’, she noticed—she was wound up to fever pitch.
‘What’s this about, Sean?’ she asked.
‘I thought we could have lunch together.’
‘But...’ Her voice faded. They’d already agreed that this was a bad idea—hadn’t they?
‘I know,’ he said softly, and walked over towards her.
He was dressed in another of his formal well-cut suits, with his shoes perfectly shined and his silk tie perfectly knotted; he was a million miles away from the sensual, dishevelled man who’d spent the night in her bed in Capri. And yet he was every bit as delectable. Even though he wasn’t even touching her, being this close to him made all her senses go on red alert.
‘I can’t get you out of my head,’ he said.
Well, if he could be brave enough to admit it, so could she. She swallowed hard. ‘Me, neither,’ she said.
‘So what do we do about this, Claire?’ he asked. ‘Because I have a feeling this isn’t going away any time soon.’
‘That night in Capri was supposed to—well—get it out of our systems,’ she reminded him.
‘And it didn’t work,’ he said. ‘Not for me.’
His admission warmed her and terrified her at the same time.
‘Claire?’ he asked softly.
He deserved honesty. ‘Me, neither.’
He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers, ever so gently. And every nerve end on her mouth sizzled.
He tempted her. Oh, so much. But it all came back to collateral damage.
‘We have to be sensible,’ she said. ‘And why am I the one saying this, not you? You’re the one with—’
‘—the twenty-year plan,’ he finished. ‘For the record, it’s five years. Not twenty.’
‘Even so. You have your whole life planned out.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with being responsible and organised,’ he said.
‘There’s nothing wrong with being spontaneous, either,’ she retorted.
He smiled. ‘Not if it’s like Saturday night, no.’
Oh, why had he had to bring that up again? Now her temperature was spiking. Seriously spiking. ‘We’re too different,’ she said. ‘You’re my best friend’s brother.’
‘And?’
‘There’s a huge risk of collateral damage. I can’t take that risk.’ The risk of losing Ashleigh. Claire had already lost too much in her life. She wasn’t prepared to risk losing her best friend as well. ‘If it goes wrong between us. When it goes wrong between us,’ she amended.
‘Why are you so sure it will go wrong?’
That was an easy one. ‘Because my relationships always go wrong.’
‘Because you pick the kind of man who doesn’t commit.’
She didn’t have an answer to that. Mainly because she knew he was right.
‘You pick men who say they’re free spirits. And you think that’ll work because you’re a free spirit, too. Except,’ he said softly, ‘they always let you down.’
Claire thought of her last ex. The one who’d let her down so much that she’d temporarily sworn off relationships. He definitely hadn’t been able to commit. She’d found him in bed with someone else—and then she’d discovered that he was cheating on both of them with yet another woman. Messy and a half.
And the worst thing was that he’d assumed she’d be OK with it, because she was a free spirit, too... It had been a wake-up call. Claire had promised herself that never again would she date someone who could be so casual with her feelings. But it had shaken her faith in her judgement of men. In a room full of eligible men, she was pretty sure she’d pick all the rotten ones.
‘I guess,’ she said. ‘And anyway, what about you? You never date anyone for longer than three weeks.’
‘It’s not quite that bad.’
‘Even so, that’s not what I want, Sean. Three weeks and you’re out. That’s just...’ She grimaced. ‘No.’
‘I’m always very clear with my girlfriends. That it’s for fun, that I’m committed to the factory and won’t have time to...’ His voice faded.
‘Actually, that makes you the kind of man who won’t commit,’ she said softly. ‘Like every other man I date.’
* * *
Sean had never thought of himself in that way before. He’d thought of the way he conducted his relationships as protecting his heart. Not letting himself get too involved meant not risking losing someone. He’d already lost too much in his life, and he didn’t want to lose any more. So he’d concentrated on his career rather than on his relationships. Because the business was safe. Staying in control of his emotions kept his heart safe.
‘What do you want, Sean?’ she asked.
Such an easy answer—and such a difficult one. Though he owed her honesty. ‘You. I can’t think beyond that at the moment,’ he admitted. And that was scary. Claire had accused him of having a twenty-year plan; although it wasn’t anywhere near that long-range, he had to admit that he always planned things out, ever since his parents had died and he’d taken over the family business.
Planning had helped him cope with being thrown in at the deep end and being responsible for everything, without having the safety net of his father’s experience to help him. And planning meant that everything was always under control. Just the way he liked it.
She bit her lip. ‘I’ve got a wedding show in two months. My first collection. This could make all the difference to my career—this could be what really launches me into the big time. I’m hoping that one of the big wedding fashion houses might give me a chance to work with them on a collection. So I really don’t have time for a relationship right now.’
‘And I’ve just finished fighting off a takeover bid from an international conglomerate who wanted to add Farrell’s to their portfolio,’ he said. ‘The vultures are still circling. I need to concentrate on the business and make absolutely sure they don’t get another opening. If anything, I need to expand and maybe float the company on the stock market to finance the expansion. It’s going to take all my time and then some.’
‘So we’re agreed: this is the wrong time for either of us to start any kind of relationship. By the time it is the right time, we’ll both be back to our senses and we’ll know it’d be the wrong thing to do anyway.’
That was something else she’d thrown at him—he was the sensible one, the one who planned things out and was never spontaneous. So why wasn’t he the one making this argument instead of her? Why had he sent her flowers and moved an appointment so he could see her for lunch?
It was totally crazy. Illogical.
And he couldn’t do a thing to stop it.
Which exhilarated him and terrified him at the same time. With Claire, there was a real risk of losing control. And if he wasn’t in control...what then? The possibilities made his head spin.
The only thing he could do now was to state the facts. ‘I want you,’ he said softly. ‘And I think you want me.’