so surprised? Melinda, you’re like sunlight. You make everything around you seem better. And you make me a better man.’
How, when he was already a better man than she could ever wish for? ‘I…Dragan, I don’t know what to say.’
‘I’m sorry. Forget I said anything. I’ll take you home.’
‘Take me home?’ She stared at him, not following his logic. ‘Why?’
‘Because I’ve upset you.’
‘Upset me?’ She shook her head. ‘How could asking me to marry you upset me? I said yes!’
‘No, you didn’t,’ he pointed out.
‘I didn’t?’ She stared at him. ‘But I…’ Then the penny dropped and she smiled. ‘Ask me again. Properly.’
He stood up and pulled her to her feet, then dropped to one knee in front of her. ‘Take the sunrise as read. We’re on a cliff overlooking the sea and it’s a bright new day ahead.’ He smiled. ‘Melinda Fortesque, I love you. Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’
‘Yes. Yes, please.’
He whooped, stood up, then picked her up and spun her round. And then kissed her, hot and sweet and slow. Telling her with his body as well as his mouth that he loved her. ‘I did this all the wrong way round. I should’ve bought you a ring.’ He dropped a kiss on the ring finger of her left hand.
‘It doesn’t matter. We can choose one together.’ She blinked back the tears. ‘Dragan. You really want to marry me?’
He nodded. ‘Though I really should have asked your father for his permission first.’
Her father. Oh, lord. How could she tell Dragan that he’d have to ask the king of Contarini for his permission?
And would he even want to ask her father once she told him who she was? That thing he’d said about being a better man…Would knowing the truth about her background make him want to walk away?
This was getting messier and messier. She didn’t want to lose the man she loved. She couldn’t keep lying to him, but how could she tell him the truth? ‘No need,’ she said quickly.
He frowned slightly, and she flinched inwardly. How tactless could she get? He’d just told her that he’d lost his family—and it would sound to him as if she was dismissing hers. Which she wasn’t…But her family came with complications. Major complications. ‘It’s the twenty-first century and I’m a modern woman,’ she said softly. ‘I can make my own decisions. And I choose to accept your proposal.’ She stroked his face. ‘I would be honoured to be your wife, Dragan.’
‘Then we’ll talk to Reverend Kenner,’ he said. ‘Unless you’d prefer something less traditional?’
‘No. I’d like nothing more than to marry you at St Mark’s.’ The beautiful little parish church with its lych-gate—so different from her own parish church and all that heavy, overpowering gilding. Tourists loved her family church in Contarini, whereas Melinda had always found it oppressive. She much preferred small, quiet, simple English country churches like the one here in Penhally. ‘With all the spring blossom around. Like confetti falling on us—but we can’t have confetti.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because foil isn’t biodegradable and it can choke birds, and the paper sort contains dyes and bleach.’
He smiled. ‘Trust you to know that sort of thing.’
‘I’m a vet. Of course I know that sort of thing.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Dried flower petals are fine. Or the stuff that contains seeds for the birds.’
‘Whatever you want, carissima. So when do you want to get married? Summer?’
‘Spring,’ she said, stroking his face. ‘This spring. Because I can’t wait to be your wife.’ She reached up to kiss him. ‘I love you, Dragan. I really, really love you. I hope you know that.’
‘I do. And I love you, too.’ He held her close. ‘But I do need to buy you a proper ring. I was going to suggest going shopping this weekend, but I’m doing Saturday morning surgery.’
‘Me, too—but I’m not on call in the afternoon. Are you?’
‘No. OK, we’ll go and choose a ring together then. And move your stuff across from the flat to here. If you want to, that is,’ he added diffidently.
‘Of course I want to.’
He smiled. ‘I never knew life could be so perfect.’
‘Me, too.’ There was a definite stormcloud ahead, in the shape of her family—but then again, they’d had to accept that she had the right to choose her job. They’d have to accept that she had the right to choose her own life partner, too. That she’d chosen the man she loved—and that he loved her right back.
As long as Dragan knew she loved him, that who she was really didn’t matter, everything was going to be just fine.
She’d find the right words to explain.
Soon.
CHAPTER THREE
DRAGAN’S estate car wasn’t parked outside the little terraced cottage. It didn’t necessarily mean the doctor was out, Nick thought. It might be that he hadn’t been able to find a parking space on Harbour Road. Although it wasn’t yet peak season, the tourists had already started to trickle into the village.
Nick rapped on the door and waited.
No reply.
So obviously Dragan was either still out on house calls or he’d gone somewhere—probably with Melinda, if the village gossip was correct. The Croatian doctor was always so close-mouthed—in over two years of working together at the practice, Nick still really didn’t know him that well. Dragan wasn’t one to sit in the staffroom and chat over coffee and Cornish fairings with the rest of the team. He was brilliant at his job, and the staff at the practice adored him because he was always even-tempered and polite and remembered everyone’s birthdays, but as to what made the man tick…It was anybody’s guess.
Nick shrugged, resigned. Never mind. He could catch Dragan tomorrow morning before surgery.
And then the front door of the cottage next door opened.
‘Well, hel-lo,’ a voice drawled.
Nick looked across at the woman leaning against the door. Her jeans did nothing to disguise her curves—or just how long her legs were. Her green eyes held the most sexy comehither look he’d ever seen. And her long blonde hair was slightly tousled, as if she’d just got out of bed—despite the fact that it was late afternoon.
His body tightened at the thought.
‘I’m Natasha Wakefield,’ she said.
‘Nick Tremayne.’ He smiled at her. ‘Are you new to the village?’
She
