feet, his features almost austere in the dim lighting as he trod slowly back to where she sat, his hands in the pockets of his trousers, emphasising the narrow, sexy cut.
Suddenly, Honey’s mouth went dry and her heart tripped over itself. He looked, as he paced towards her, like a dangerous animal intent on its prey. But the brief and unprecedented moment of girlish trepidation was wiped out of existence as he offered quietly, ‘Marry me.’ Then dropped into the chair opposite hers and smiled slowly into her pale-skinned, open-mouthed face, raising one hand in a tacit command to silence as the gradual beginnings of a scornful flush crept up from her neckline. ‘It would be a mere formality, you understand. A piece of paper to get Graham Trent finally off your back. And over just as soon as you deemed it safe to be available again. I’m willing, if you are,’ he added in a cool, flat voice. ‘Think about it. The offer will be open for another twenty-four hours.’
CHAPTER THREE
OH, BUT he was a cool customer... Cool and calculating. Honey slammed the door of the lock-up and huddled deeper into her raincoat, dragging the hood up over her bright head.
Today had been a total waste of time. Too many London dealers had gathered at the country house sale, outbidding her on each and every item she had wanted. And spring had done a U-turn, making the day gloomy with chilling rain. And, more annoying still, she hadn’t been able to drag her mind away from Ben Claremont and his crazy proposal.
Crazy or calculating?
A man would have to be out of his mind to propose a paper marriage to a woman he hadn’t known existed until twenty-four hours ago. Out of his mind or on to a good thing!
But what? What could he gain from such a marriage? Honey simply couldn’t begin to guess. Her shoulders hunched against the rain, the high heels of her boots beating an angry tattoo on the cobbles, she turned into Stony Shut and for once the warm glow of light coming from the windows of her shop failed to take the edge off her aggravation.
If only she could stop thinking about him, about his odd proposal, about the way he’d simply said goodnight, politely thanked her for the meal and walked away leaving a thousand and one questions racing round her brain.
It wasn’t as if she had any intention of accepting his insane offer of a ‘solution’—even if he had been serious about it, she grumbled at herself. So why couldn’t she get it, or him, out of her mind?
‘Honey—’ The masculine voice was thin and irritated and she lifted her head, screwing her eyes up against the rain and groaned a disgusted protest. Graham. All she needed right now was Graham.
He was approaching from the other end of the Shut and even in the gloom of the wet afternoon she could see his face was pinched and tight, almost completely eradicating his film-star good looks. He looked about as pleased with life as she was, and if he’d come to ask her to apologise for her behaviour on the night of Sonia’s party he would have a long, long wait.
She was nearer the shop premises than he, and dived into the shelter of the doorway, waiting for him, her teeth clamped together, her hands on her hips, like a warrior defending her kingdom. But his peeved expression had to have more to do with the way the rain had slicked his hair to his head, was dripping off the hem of his stuffily styled shortie car-coat and soaking his trousers than any of her numerous—to him—shortcomings. Because his tone was conciliatory in the extreme as he peered into her bristling brown eyes and told her, ‘I’ve come to bury the hatchet, old thing.’
‘Wow! Make my day. What have I done to deserve such a treat?’ she growled, willing him to go away. All she needed right now was a hot soothing bath, a nice cup of tea and the opportunity to unknot her mind. But sarcasm was wasted because Graham stepped into the shelter of the doorway with her, stoically smiling.
‘Don’t be like that, sweetheart. That spat the other night was as much my fault as yours, I freely admit it. So let’s put it behind us, shall we?’ The film-star smile flashed again, the effect slightly diminished by the drop of rainwater on the end of his too perfect nose. ‘I’ve booked a table for two at the Crown. I would have given you more warning but when I phoned this morning that odd-job man of yours said you’d be out all day. I just dropped by on the off-chance you’d be back—otherwise I would have left a message.’
‘I don’t—’
‘I won’t come in just now,’ he cut across her, as if an invitation to do just that had been extended. ‘Must dash. But I’ll pick you up at eight.’
‘No.’ Honey recognised that look in his eyes. It meant he was about to honour her with one of his totally unremarkable kisses. She backed away, knocking into the shop door, her voice tight with temper as she spat, ‘You don’t give up, do you? I won’t have dinner with you tonight, or any other night. So why don’t you go back home and tell your father to keep his nose out? I won’t marry you, because I don’t want to. And, if you think about it, you don’t really want it either.’
But he was still smiling, as if she were a bad-tempered child who didn’t know what she was talking about. Still advancing, too. And she had nowhere to go but into the haven of her shop and she was already fumbling for the door-latch when it swung open behind her, sending her toppling into a strong pair of arms—another kind of haven.
‘You always fall into my arms so beautifully, my angel. That’s just one of the things I love about you.’ The relaxed and slightly amused tone of Ben’s voice calmed her and the strong arms around her body warmed her, dispelling the memory of the chilling rain. Graham’s face was a picture of outrage and she closed her eyes because Graham’s face was not what she wanted to see, and nestled her head into that broad, accommodating, soft-leather-clad shoulder. And heard his voice assume a cool toughness. ‘Is there anything we can do for you? The premises are about to close and, as you can see, my fiancée needs to get out of her wet things.’
Which brought Honey’s eyes flying wide open again, and she could swear her heart actually stopped beating for whole seconds. And it wasn’t a reaction to the words Ben had said, oh, no, just a frantic need to see how Graham took that ‘my fiancée’ bit.
If he actually believed she was engaged to this suave stranger then surely he would drop his own pursuit, the desire to fall in with his father’s wishes and marry the woman the cunning old man had picked out for him. It might work, it just might work, and if it did she would treat Ben to the best meal the Crown could offer, the best champagne too, by way of celebration.
But luck wasn’t riding with her because Graham’s face had gone black with temper and his voice was more incisively confident than she had ever heard it before as he bit out, ‘As you said yourself, Honey—’ he invested her name with a kind of disgust ‘—I don’t give up. And there’s no way I’m going to let some smooth-talking Yank take my woman.’ His eyes snapped with a ferocity she wouldn’t have believed him capable of as he swung on his heels and delivered his parting shot, ‘And you’d better believe it. Both of you.’
‘Oh, heavens!’ Honey’s bright head burrowed more deeply into Ben’s wide shoulder, the tangle of her damp curls brushing his tough jawline. She might well have stayed there forever had he not gently put her aside, she recognised with a grumble of self-disgust when he brushed drops of water from his jacket and said wryly,
‘Quite a determined guy you’re up against there.’ Then, his eyes taking in the rain-darkened corkscrew twists of her hair, her dripping raincoat and sodden boots, he told her crisply, ‘Time to get out of those wet things,’ and closed the shop door behind them, flicking the ‘Open’ sign
