Sara Craven - The Marriage Proposition

She told him reluctantly. She didn’t wish to be beholden to him, but sometimes it was easier just to give in gracefully rather than go on with an argument she suspected she wouldn’t win.

The trouble is, she thought ruefully, I’m not used to receiving kindnesses.

The Harrington clan on the whole tended to be takers rather than givers. And Nick …

Well, Nick gave nothing, she thought, as sudden unwelcome pain twisted inside her.

‘That’s all arranged,’ Brad said cheerfully, replacing the receiver. ‘I’ll send my car for you at noon to take you to the airstrip.’ He studied her, frowning. ‘Are you all right? Have I been putting on too much pressure? I don’t mean to.’

‘No,’ Paige assured him quickly. ‘Everything’s fine. I—I’m very grateful—really.’ She stood up. ‘Jack and Angie will be wondering where we’ve got to. Maybe we should join them.’

‘Of course,’ he said instantly. ‘I’m being selfish. It’s just so good to have you to myself for a little while.’ He came across to her and put his hands gently on her shoulders. ‘May I say goodbye now—in private?’

She smiled fleetingly, muttered something acquiescent as he bent towards her. His lips were warm and firm. The kiss was pleasant and not unduly prolonged.

‘Well,’ Brad said, as he let her go. ‘It’s a start.’

No, Paige thought with regret. It’s not.

She wished so much that it could be otherwise. That his kiss had lit some spark that would have prompted her to accede to his urging and stay. Explore a relationship with him, maybe become half of a couple.

Jack and Angie would have been so pleased—and so smug, she reminded herself wryly.

But it wasn’t to be, and that was all there was to it.

‘How did it go?’ Angie whispered as Paige sat down beside her.

‘He’s really sweet,’ Paige temporised.

‘But you’re still going back tomorrow.’ Angie’s face fell. ‘Jack said you would.’

‘He has wisdom beyond his years.’ Paige squeezed her friend’s arm affectionately. ‘But I’ll be back to stay some other time, if you’ll have me.’

She glanced around her. The tables, set with pristine white linen and gleaming silverware, were stationed round the edge of a large dance floor. The band, a four-piece combination, were playing quietly, but no one was dancing yet, although all the tables were fully occupied. Soft-footed waiters were moving among the diners, and there was a hum of conversation and laughter punctuated by the popping of corks.

Coloured lights were festooned across the thatched roof, and each table also had a candle burning in a pretty glass shade, surrounded by a garland of bright flowers.

‘It’s really lovely here,’ Paige commented. ‘And very crowded. I thought this was the off season.’

‘A couple of big yachts docked in the marina this morning. Jack says it’s Alain Froyat, who owns a string of European magazines, and Kel Drake, the film producer.’ Angie shrugged. ‘Apparently there’s been a weather warning, so they’ve decided to play it safe. And their guests have all come ashore to dine and lose some of their accumulated wealth in Brad’s casino.’

‘A weather warning?’ Paige frowned. ‘Do you mean a hurricane?’

‘Oh, it probably won’t be that bad. But we can get the odd tropical storm at this time of year.’ She pursed her lips. ‘And that might delay your ferry.’

‘That’s not a problem.’ Paige’s tone was rueful. ‘Apparently I’m going to Sainte Marie in style—courtesy of Brad, and someone called Hilaire.’

‘Holy smoke,’ said Angie. ‘I’m impressed. Hilaire must have had to toss out the odd millionaire to make room for you.’

Their table was in the corner of the restaurant nearest the beach, to take advantage of the breeze from the sea. Only there didn’t seem to be one. The air was very warm, and very still. In fact it had almost a brooding quality, Paige thought, watching the reflection of the moon on the calm water. Maybe the skippers on those yachts had known what they were doing when they’d looked for a secure haven. For a moment she was aware of a faint shiver of uneasiness, but dismissed it. She would be halfway home by the time bad weather struck, she told herself resolutely. If indeed it did.

The food was delicious—pumpkin soup followed by red snapper, and a spicy chicken dish served with fragrant rice, all of it accompanied by vintage wines. Dessert was slices of fresh pineapple marinated in liqueur, and a wonderful home-made coconut ice cream.

Brad was an attentive host, keeping the conversation general and light-hearted, and, to Paige’s relief, making no further comment about her imminent departure.

Now that the pressure was off, it was turning into a really enjoyable evening, she decided, as coffee and brandy were served.

The band was playing something soft and dreamy, and Jack and Angie got up to dance. Paige watched them slowly circling the floor in each other’s arms, Jack smiling adoringly into his wife’s eyes and Angie lifting her hand to stroke his cheek.

They’ve got it right, Paige thought, suppressing a pang of envy so fierce it was almost painful.

‘Shall we join them?’

Paige started. Brad was watching her enquiringly, his brow slightly furrowed.

She sent him a bright smile. ‘Why not?’

He was a good dancer, holding her lightly and not too closely. As they moved he exchanged greetings with the people at the tables they passed, or acknowledged someone’s presence with a smile and a nod.

‘You’re good at this,’ she told him.

His grin was rueful. ‘I’m in business, and the rich can be touchy. You can’t afford to ignore anyone. And when someone like Froyat hits town you’ve no idea who might be travelling with him, so it can be perilous.’

‘I bet.’ She was smiling as she glanced towards the big table he was indicating. A sea of faces, all animated, chattering to their neighbours. All relaxed and having a good time.

All, that was, except one. A dark face, cool and sardonic, swam out of the crowd. A man who wasn’t talking to anyone around him, who was even momentarily oblivious to the young and pretty blonde who was draped across him, her arm round his neck. A man who was staring right at her , his eyes narrowed and appraising.

The smile froze on her lips. She felt the breath catch in her throat, the sudden grim thud of her astonished heart against her ribcage.

No , she thought desperately. It can’t be. It can’t …

‘Are you all right?’ Brad’s voice was concerned.

‘Yes.’ Her voice was hoarse, unlike her own. ‘I mean—no. At least …’ She paused. ‘Do you think we could sit down, please?’

‘Of course.’ His arm went round her, supporting her, and she was grateful for it as they made their way off the floor. Because her legs were shaking under her.

‘Can I get you something?’ Brad put her gently into her chair. ‘What’s wrong? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’

No ghost, she thought. But someone only too real, who was, by some terrible mischance, right here on St Antoine.

She said quickly, ‘I think it’s the weather.’ She fanned herself with her hand. ‘It’s got so oppressive suddenly.’

She sipped the glass of iced water he poured for her, and assured him that the slight faintness was passing. That she’d be fine if she could just sit quietly for a few minutes. And that she’d really prefer to be on her own.

‘There must be people you should be talking to,’ she urged. ‘Go and do your social thing while I pull myself together. I feel such a fool …’

‘I’d rather not leave you.’

‘Then you’ll make me feel worse than ever. Please, Brad. I might even go for a quick stroll along the beach—clear my head properly,’ she added with determined brightness.