right.
Candy was still fast asleep when Quinn walked through with the tray of coffee and shortbread a few minutes later, but this time he didn’t allow himself to meditate on the delicate beauty and far too slender form slumped in the chair before he gently shook her awake.
However, in the few moments before she opened her eyes he found himself reflecting that this paternal role he had told himself he would adopt might be a little…inappropriate. The photograph he had received of Essie’s wedding, which had taken place under blue Caribbean skies in March, had seemed to suggest that Candy, who had been Essie’s bridesmaid, was a tiny, thin little waif of a thing. Mind, she had been in the early days of recovery from the accident and still in a wheelchair, he reminded himself ruefully. He should have taken that into consideration.
Candy came out of the layers of sleep slowly, like a drowsy child, her small pink tongue moistening her lips, and again something stirred in Quinn which he found he didn’t want to examine.
‘Coffee?’ As Candy opened eyes of dazzling blueness Quinn kept his voice low and calm, his tone reflecting the soothing quality he used with more nervy patients when he needed to reassure them all was well. ‘You fell asleep waiting for me,’ he said softly.
‘Oh, did I?’ For a moment Candy couldn’t focus, and then, as a pair of ebony eyes set in a truly gorgeous dark, handsome face came into view in front of her, she shot up straight, her face flooding with colour. The movement was too violent for the recently healed vertebrae which had suffered the main extensive bruising and swelling, and she winced, a soft, ‘Oh’ escaping her lips before she could restrain it.
‘Are you all right?’
Quinn was all concern, but Candy had had enough fussing over the previous twelve months to last a lifetime, and her tone reflected this when she said, ‘Perfectly, thank you. I was just a little startled, that’s all.’
Okay, so she didn’t want him asking after her health. Quinn smiled widely, not at all taken aback by her coolness. Coolness he could take; in fact coolness was a refreshing change after some of the gushing and simpering from the females round these parts.
‘Black or white?’ he asked blandly.
‘What?’
‘The coffee.’ His tone was patient now, pointedly so.
‘Oh.’ Candy’s flush deepened. She was behaving badly and she didn’t know why, except that this man was… Well, he wasn’t what she’d expected. When Essie had spoken of her old work colleague she had never indicated he was a Pierce Brosnan lookalike…
‘Well?’ The glittering gaze pinned hers.
‘White, please. Two sugars.’
She watched him while he poured the coffee and she had to admit he was something else. Big, lean, sexy—how could Essie not have told her? But then her uncle’s wife had eyes for no one but her husband, and he for her; ‘wrapped up in each other’ didn’t even begin to describe it.
As though he had read her thoughts, Quinn said, ‘How’s Essie? I hear there’s a little Grey on the way?’ as he raised his head and handed her the coffee.
Candy nodded stiffly. ‘Just about. The baby’s due in June.’
Hell, but this one was prickly. Had she always been like this or had the accident made her this way? Whatever, he was going to have his work cut out to communicate at all, let alone act as the buddy Essie had asked him to be.
And then, in confirmation of the thought, Candy said formally, ‘I understand you have the key to Essie’s cottage, Mr Ellington?’
What was with this Mr Ellington? ‘Quinn. The name’s Quinn.’
Her eyelashes flickered. ‘The thing is, it’s been a long journey and I would like to get settled in, so if you could give me the instructions on how to find Essie’s cottage I’ll get out of your hair.’
He liked her Canadian drawl. Even when she was trying to be aloof and distant, like now, the accent was warm and lazy. ‘I’ll do better than that,’ Quinn offered easily. ‘I’m finished here now until evening surgery, and Jamie—you met him at the wedding?—and my other assistant will be back soon. I’ll lead the way, if you like, and show you how the stove and everything works.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of imposing on your time in such a way,’ Candy said hastily. ‘And Essie has described everything very thoroughly.’
‘She’s a very thorough girl.’
It was pleasant and even, but something in Quinn’s voice told Candy he wasn’t going to be put off accompanying her. She stared into the midnight-dark eyes and then took several sips of coffee as her mind raced.
Her uncle Xavier—who had been mother, father, sister and brother to her for as long as she could remember, there being no other immediate family apart from her grandmother, who had died when Candy was eight years of age—had met, fallen in love with and married this man’s colleague, a fellow vet, the year before.
In his pursuit of Essie, Xavier had bought this veterinary practice when the owner had put it on the market, but on their marriage they had sold the surgery to Quinn. Did Quinn now feel under some obligation—either through his purchase of the business or his previous friendship with Essie—to take her under his wing? Candy asked herself silently. Because if so it was the last thing she wanted, and she had better make that perfectly clear from day one.
‘Mr Ell—, Quinn,’ she hastily amended as she caught his eye, ‘I don’t know what Essie has told you, but I am perfectly able to look after myself.’ And then she saw it, the merest flicker of his eyes, and she knew. Essie had asked Quinn to nursemaid her. Prompted, no doubt, by Xavier! Oh, how could they? She knew they meant well, but the last thing in all the world she wanted was this. ‘I mean it,’ she added, her voice cold now.
‘Shortbread?’ Quinn had watched her gather her thoughts and he knew she’d caught on; her face was very expressive as well as beautiful.
‘No, thank you.’ It was something of a snap and he groaned inwardly. He’d blown it.
‘Homemade,’ he countered breezily. ‘Marion looks on herself as a surrogate mother as well as my receptionist, and she’s made it her life’s mission to feed me up.’
Candy bit her lip and looked straight at him, her vivid blue eyes narrowing. ‘Essie has asked you to look out for me, hasn’t she?’
She was nothing if not straightforward, thought Quinn appreciatively. He liked that in a person; it was a rare quality these days. Of course he could dodge the question he knew she was asking, but her directness deserved better than that.
‘Yes.’ It was equally forthright, and as he settled back in his chair, his ebony eyes holding her gaze and his long legs stretched out before him, Candy felt something tighten in her stomach. An awareness, a pulse, a throb of something she hadn’t felt in a long, long time, and it scared her to death.
‘Well, you needn’t bother,’ she said flatly. ‘I’m not a child and I don’t appreciate being treated like one.’
No, whatever else, she certainly wasn’t a child, Quinn thought, as her scent—something delicate and elusive—drifted towards him
