turned away—he had to, for fear that she would see him harden in front of her eyes. For God’s sake—what was the matter with him? Getting erections like a schoolboy? It was sheer bloody instinct, this response And a sheer bloody inconvenience, too. His voice was gritty as he spoke over his shoulder. ‘Are you going back up to the house?’
‘No, Luke—I’m planning to make myself a comfy bed of sawdust and sleep right here!’
He turned then, exasperation and humour making his mouth twist and curve in all directions. ‘Any idea what you’d like to eat later?’ Evenings were becoming increasingly difficult, but he found that he could cope with her a little better if they weren’t on mutual territory. Squashy sofas and large, comfortable beds within carrying distance were proving something of a distraction. ‘We could always go to that pub again. Or find a restaurant, maybe?’
But Holly was reluctant. If they went out as a couple, it only served to remind her that they weren’t actually a couple, much as she would have liked them to be. She shook her head. ‘I’ll probably just have some eggs and an early night. I’ve still got lots of paperwork to do—figures that need going over.’
‘Everything adding up okay?’
She knew he found it fascinating that she could tot up a column of figures in her head. ‘Just because I majored in art doesn’t mean I’m a complete dough-brain when it comes to sums, you know!’
‘I know! I know! Skip the lecture, Holly. I think you’re brilliant in almost every way!’
Almost?’
‘If only you could cook!’ he sighed, and gestured behind him with his thumb. ‘Better get back in there—it’s been years since I did any carpentry!’
Holly walked through the already dark village street towards the silhouetted arch of the yew bush which framed his beautiful house. Then she stood still for a moment, and just stared.
Saturday would be the first of December and the opening of her brand-new shop. She was an adult, a grown-up—on the start of something big. Something exciting.
Why, then, did the thought of Saturday and leaving Luke make her feel as miserable as when the tooth fairy forgot to visit?
AN OLD-FASHIONED bell chimed out as Luke pushed open the shop door and stepped inside.
Perched halfway up a stepladder, Holly halted in the middle of hanging a bunch of golden balloons from the ceiling and looked down expectantly at him. It was important to her what he thought. Everything about the day so far had been good—it was crisp and clear, with golden sunshine gilding the intense blue of the early December sky. And all the work had been finished bang on time.
Outside, painted in old gold on a deep green background, the shop sign bore the legend ‘Lovelace Brides’. In the window itself, a faceless mannequin wore Holly’s prize-winning dress. The ivory duchesse satin gleamed with all the milky lustre of moonlight, the soft, heavy material falling in perfect folds from the pleated waist. The stark simplicity of the style simply took the breath away. Or so the departing builders had told a pleased and bemused Holly—though she didn’t have them marked down as wedding dress experts!
The mannequin was holding an exquisite bouquet designed by Michelle—a winter bouquet bright with glossy green foliage and scarlet berries, waxy white Christmas roses and sprigs of mistletoe.
In the background a CD played bridal music to add to the mood—at the moment it was trumpeting out the awesome majesty of ‘Pomp and Circumstance’. And, all in all, Holly felt that there was little she could do to improve anything in the shop.
But Luke’s opinion was somehow as important to Holly as all the other component parts which went to make up a success. He had put himself out on a limb by letting her choose the colour scheme, he had trusted her judgement—and she desperately wanted him to like it.
Luke looked around and took it all in very, very slowly. With the deep, rich colours she had chosen the effect could have been claustrophobic, but the high ceilings and elegant proportions of the building meant that it was exactly the opposite. Peacock, golden and purple. It was both ancient and modem—ageless and timeless. The huge mirrors on each wall which were a necessary feature of all bridal shops—since every angle of the bride had to be seen and scrutinised—reflected the colours and the space back and back again.
‘Well, well, well,’ said Luke, very softly.
‘Do you like it?’ she asked him quietly as she climbed down off the ladder and stood in front of him.
‘I like it very much,’ he replied. ‘How about you?’
‘I love it.’
‘You left very early this morning.’ He narrowed his eyes at her in question. ‘With all your gear.’
‘Well, I had a lot to do. And you were sleeping.’
‘Oh?’ There was a hint of teasing humour in the blue glint of his eyes. ‘Did you come in and check up on me, then, Holly?’
‘I—stuck my head round the door.’ Holly picked up a silver balloon and began to tie it to another, wondering whether he would notice that her fingers were trembling with the memory.
It had been a daunting and magnificent sight—Luke’s bronzed and muscular body sprawled carelessly out over most of a double bed. He had been covered by a duvet, true, but some of his chest had been bare and Holly’s eye had been drawn with fascination to the riot of gold-tipped hair which grew there. The soft feathers of the goose down quilt had moulded themselves closely to his shape—defining each muscular leg as it shifted restlessly, causing Holly to leave the room more hurriedly than she had intended.
‘Well, I didn’t hear you,’ he observed softly. He always slept in the raw, and now he found that his pulses were leaping with unbearable excitement at the thought of Holly watching him while he lay sleeping. ‘You should have woken me.’
She had been tempted—oh, yes! For one brief, mad moment of fantasy she had actually contemplated stepping out of her warm and cosy pyjamas and climbing in naked beside him, wrapping her soft skin against the hardened contours of his body. In the fantasy which followed he said nothing, just pulled her into his arms and began to kiss her very thoroughly. And that was as far as she had got before fleeing the room as sanity had seeped back in.
Luke walked up and down the shop, past the flowing silks and satins of the dress rail full of samples. He paused for a moment beside the pale frothy haze of bridal veils, with their pearled or glittery tiaras. There were shoes too, in different styles, lined up in neat lines, like rows of ivory satin soldiers. While right in the corner lay tiny drifts of minuscule bras and panties in finest silks and Belgian lace.
‘Underwear?’ he asked her, in surprise.
Holly flushed a horrid, unbecoming shade of magenta. ‘There’s no need to look so shocked!’ she complained.
He shook his head, the corners of his mouth lifting with amusement. ‘I’m not shocked,’ he told her. ‘Merely curious. Fascinated, actually—as to why you’re flogging knickers in a bridal shop!’
Holly
