Sharon Kendrick - Bridegrooms Required - One Bridegroom Required / One Wedding Required / One Husband Required

Without giving herself time to change her mind, she pulled on a sweater, bundled on a waterproof jacket, and set off to find him.

Luke was sitting at the desk in the first-floor study, working on some of his late uncle’s papers, when a movement caught his attention, and he started with guilty pleasure, his eyes focussing in the gloomy light as he saw Holly walk through the leafy arch towards his house.

He watched her closely. With her long legs striding out in blue denim, she looked the epitome of the modern, determined woman. And so at odds with the fragility of her features, the wild copper confusion of the hair which the winter wind had whipped up in a red storm around her face.

He ran downstairs and pulled the front door open before she’d even had time to knock. He saw that she was white-faced with fatigue, and the dark smudges underneath the eyes matched the dusty marks which were painted on her cheeks like a clown. Again, that unwanted feeling of protectiveness kicked in like a mule. That and desire.

For a split second he felt the strongest urge to just shut the door in her face, telling himself that he was perfectly within his rights to do so. That he owed her nothing. But then her dark lashes shuddered down over the slanting emerald eyes and he found himself stepping back like a footman

‘Changed your mind about staying?’ he asked softly, though he noticed that she carried no overnight bag.

‘I had it changed for me,’ she told him unsteadily. ‘And you’re right—it is a dump! There’s no hot water, there’s a big patch of damp on the mattress and springs sticking through it! And before you point anything else out, I admit I should have checked it out better—insisted it be cleaned out before my arrival, or something. And I came ill prepared. No radio, no television, and the only book I brought with me is buried at the bottom of a suitcase I daren’t unpack because there’s nowhere to put anything! Just don’t make fun of me, Luke, not tonight—because I don’t think I can cope with it.’

He heard the slight quaver in her voice and saw the way her mouth buckled into a purely instinctive little pout. He thought how irresistible she was, with her powerful brand of vulnerability coupled with that lazy-eyed sensuality. ‘Come in,’ he growled quietly, and held the door open for her. ‘I have no intention of making fun of you. I’d much rather you came here than have you suffering in silence.’

‘Would you? Honestly?’

‘Yes,’ he lied, as he felt his pulse drumming heavily against the thin skin around his temple. Irresistibly, he let his eyes drift over her. ‘You look like you could use a hot tub—or maybe you’d prefer a drink first?’

“That’s real fairy-godmother language.’ She smiled at him, thankful that he hadn’t seen fit to deliver another lecture. ‘I’d like the hottest, deepest bath on offer!’

‘A bath it is, then. Come upstairs with me.’ His eyes glinted with humour. ‘God—I do sound like Bluebeard, don’t I?’

‘Who is this Bluebeard?’ she quizzed mischievously, her eyes sparking as she followed him upstairs, automatically running a slow finger along the gleaming bannister. ‘Nice staircase.’

Nice house in general. It soon became obvious that no money had been spared in modernising the place. The paintwork was clean and sparkling and the floorboards had been polished to within an inch of their lives.

He led her to the biggest bathroom Holly had ever seen, with an elegant free-standing bath painted a deep cobalt blue, and enough bottles of scent and bath essence to start a parfumerie. He pulled open the door to an airing cupboard where soft piles of snowy towels lay stacked on shelves.

Holly looked round her with pleasure, feeling like Cinderella ‘Mmm! Sybaritic!’

‘Did you bring anything to change into?’ he asked abruptly.

‘You mean—like pyjamas?’

He found that he couldn’t look her in the eye; the thought of her in pyjamas—or, even worse, not in pyjamas—was distracting to say the least. Bizarrely, he felt the hot hardening of an erection begin to stir, and he forced himself to channel the desire into something less threatening—like irritation. ‘I meant some different clothes—the ones you have on are filthy.’

Holly heard the undisguised disapproval in his voice and stared down at herself, at the dusty jeans and spattered sweater, the dirt beneath her broken fingernails. He was right—she looked like a tramp. She shook her head and damp tendrils snaked exotically around her face. ‘No, I didn’t.’ She gave him a rueful look. ‘It might have looked a little pushy if I’d turned up on your doorstep with a suitcase!’

It certainly wouldn’t have been very beneficial to his blood pressure. ‘I can loan you a dressing gown,’ he told her evenly. ‘And put everything else in the washing machine. It’ll be clean and dry in a couple of hours. Leave it outside the door and I’ll see to it. You can fetch your other clothes in the morning.’

‘You’re very kind,’ said Holly, meaning it.

‘Am I?’ His voice was mocking, but then ‘kind’ wasn’t an adjective he usually associated with himself. Certainly not where women were concerned. He watched as she shrugged out of her oilskin jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. ‘It’s all yours,’ he told her, and decided to absent himself as quickly as possible—his mind was already working overtime as he imagined her wriggling her jeans off and sliding her panties down over those long, long legs. Always presuming she was wearing any... ‘Take as long as you like.’

‘I will,’ she smiled, and shut the door behind him.

It was possibly the best bath of Holly’s life. She squirted jasmine and tuberose into the water and, when the bubbles had nearly reached the top, she climbed in and closed her eyes and tried to relax. She couldn’t do anything about a damp mattress right now—so the most sensible thing would be to put it out of her mind altogether.

She had been in there for the best part of an hour, dreaming up a frothy white bridal petticoat inspired by the fragrant bubble bath, when there was a rapping on the door and she heard Luke’s deep voice outside.

‘You haven’t fallen asleep, have you?’

She stirred in the water. Her flesh had deepened to rose-pink in the warmth, and the buds of her nipples instantly began tightening to the velvet caress of his voice. ‘N-not yet, I haven’t!’ Shakily, she turned the tap on and flicked some cold water onto her burning skin.

‘Then come and have something to drink. I’ve left you a robe outside.’

It was pure heaven to slide the soft white towelling robe on and knot it tightly around her narrow waist. She brushed her hair and left it, still damp and flapping around her shoulders, as she went in search of Luke.

He was sitting on the floor by a roaring fire in the first-floor drawing room, a tray of tea in front of him, half-read newspapers at his side. He watched as she came in, noticing how the pure white of the robe emphasised the firelight-red of her hair, while the soft fluffy material accentuated the carved delicacy of her bone structure. She looked a creature of contrasts, midway between angel and imp.

A pulse flickered at his temple and he felt the blood begin to pound in his head, but he had been the one who had invited her here. Was he crazy, or what? ‘Would you like some tea?’ he said evenly.

‘Please.’

‘How do you like it?’

‘Just milk—no sugar.’ She took the cup he handed her and sat in front of the fire, folding her long legs up beneath her and then carefully tucking the robe closely around her thighs until she saw him watching her, and stopped. She had meant to cover her legs, not draw attention to them.