attractive all day.’
Amy smiled. He didn’t miss a beat. A smooth talker. He was probably very good at kissing, too. Her gaze slid down involuntarily to assess his lips.
‘I’ve been thinking about that myself.’
‘About what?’ Amy murmured. She wasn’t ready to be distracted.
‘About this.’ Smoothly, he moved closer. Bent his head and touched his lips to hers. And there was Amy Brooks, absent without leave from her own engagement party, kissing a total stranger in the summer house. And she had been right. He was very good. Very, very good. Amy didn’t want him to stop. She didn’t care about breathing any more. Who needed air when you had this?
But he did stop. He drew back from her lips slowly. Maybe he didn’t really want to stop either.
‘Sent from heaven is right,’ he said in awed tones. The soft brown gaze was locked on Amy again. ‘You are an angel.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Must be something in the air. I hear that Nigel is announcing his engagement to some poor woman tonight.’
The observation had all the effect of a cold shower. ‘He is,’ Amy confirmed curtly. ‘And I’m the poor woman.’
The man let go of her as if he’d been burnt. He took a step back. ‘What the hell were you kissing me for, then?’
‘I wasn’t,’ Amy denied hotly. ‘You were kissing me.’
‘You let me.’
‘So it’s all my fault?’ Amy queried sweetly. ‘Typical!’
‘You must be mad,’ the man told her.
‘Why, because I let you kiss me? I might be inclined to agree with you there, mate.’
‘Because you’re planning to marry Nigel Wesley.’ The gaze, still fixed on Amy, darkened. He actually looked angry. ‘What’s the attraction?’ he asked unpleasantly. ‘Money?’
‘Of course not,’ Amy snapped. ‘And it’s none of your business.’ He wasn’t the only one who could get angry. ‘Just what gives you the right to express opinions on something you know absolutely nothing about?’ Amy snorted incredulously. ‘What is it about me? Even a perfect stranger thinks he can tell me what I should or shouldn’t be doing.’ Amy snatched up the bottle of champagne and her glass.
‘Stay out of it,’ she ordered imperiously. ‘And stop…’ She glanced over her shoulder, causing her progress down the path to weave quite dramatically. ‘Stop staring at me.’
Amy sailed back into the house, through the conservatory towards the drawing room. Jennifer was standing in the breakfast nook near the entrance to the kitchen. A waiter stood beside her holding a large silver tray covered with bite-sized savouries.
‘What’s in the little round ones?’ Jennifer was asking.
‘Satay chicken.’ The waiter seemed to be enjoying the attention.
‘And the triangles?’
‘Sun-dried tomatoes, feta cheese and olives.’
‘Have you found Noel yet?’ Amy asked Jennifer.
‘No, but I forgive you anyway, Amy. These things are delicious. Have some satay chicken.’
‘I’m not hungry,’ Amy stated. She eyed the mass of humanity visible through the double doors of the drawing room. Nigel’s face appeared. He frowned at Amy. Amy sighed loudly.
‘What’s the matter?’ Jennifer spoke around a mouthful of filo pastry. She grabbed another savoury from the platter as the waiter moved towards the door. He nearly collided with Nigel.
‘Amy, where on earth have you been? Lorraine’s waiting to make the announcement.’
‘I’m sure she can wait a bit longer,’ Amy said evenly. ‘Or is it getting a bit close to dawn?’
Jennifer sputtered over the remains of her pastry. Nigel’s frown deepened.
‘What?’ His expression changed to one of calculation. ‘How much have you had to drink tonight, Amy?’
‘Not much,’ Amy lied. ‘In fact, I think I’ll have some more.’ She reached out and collected a full crystal flute from the silver tray another waiter was taking into the gathering. Goodness knows what she’d done with the bottle and glass she’d been holding a few minutes ago.
‘I think you’ve had enough,’ Nigel told her.
‘Amy’s quite capable of deciding when she’s had enough to drink,’ Jennifer informed Nigel.
‘That’s right.’ Amy nodded. ‘To tell the truth, I’m getting a little bit fed up with other people deciding things on my behalf.’
‘Good for you, Amy,’ Jennifer said encouragingly.
‘Yes, good for you,’ a voice echoed.
Amy swivelled sharply. There he was again! In the kitchen!
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Nigel queried coldly.
‘That’s just what I was going to ask,’ Amy said in surprise.
‘Shut up, Amy.’ Nigel was glaring at the intruder.
‘I beg your pardon? You can’t speak to me like that, Nigel.’
The man nodded calmly. ‘Damned right he can’t. You tell him, Amy.’
Jennifer grinned at the stranger. ‘I think I like you,’ she announced.
The catering staff had all paused in their tasks. They were staring openly at the scene unfolding before them in the breakfast room.
Nigel took hold of Amy’s arm. ‘Come with me,’ he ordered curtly.
‘No,’ Amy protested but her legs were too wobbly to cooperate. She found herself being pulled across the hallway and into the throng of guests. Her support team had vanished. She was in enemy territory again. Gaps appeared in the crowd as Nigel moved purposefully forward. Greetings and conversational openings were acknowledged merely by a brisk nod from Nigel. Then the progress halted abruptly. Nigel’s registrar, Noel Fenton, was standing in front of them.
‘Noel,’ Amy said happily. ‘Jen’s been looking for you.’
‘Jen? Who’s Jen?’
‘Never mind,’ Nigel snapped. ‘Listen, Noel. Amy needs to go home. She’s over-indulged a little. Can I leave it to you to—?’
‘Jennifer Bowman, my flatmate,’ Amy told Noel earnestly. ‘She’s very keen to meet you and I promised—’
‘Amy!’ Nigel gave her arm a shake.
Amy jerked away from his hand. ‘Don’t shake me, Nigel,’ she warned sharply. ‘And don’t tell me to shut up again either.’
