A New Year Marriage Proposal. Kate Hardy
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It was the first time a man had kissed her in three years.
It should have sent Carissa running straight for cover.
And he looked as shocked as she felt.
Swept off her feet.
This is magical. The words echoed through her head. The way his mouth had made her lips tingle. The Christmas tree lights and the scent of hot chocolate. The Christmassy music playing.
Yes, this was magical.
Unable to help herself, she reached up to lay the flat of her palm against his cheek.
“Quinn,” she whispered, and he dipped his head again. Brushed his mouth against hers all over again. And she was shaking so much that she had to hold on to him to stop herself falling over on the ice. She felt as if she were spinning in an endless pirouette, faster and faster and totally out of control.
This had to stop.
And yet she didn’t want it to stop.
A New Year Marriage Proposal
Kate Hardy
KATE HARDY lives in Norwich, in the east of England, with her husband, two young children, one bouncy spaniel, and too many books to count! When she’s not busy writing romance or researching local history she helps out at her children’s schools. She also loves cooking—spot the recipes sneaked into her books! (They’re also on her website, along with extracts and stories behind the books.) Writing for Mills & Boon has been a dream come true for Kate—something she wanted to do ever since she was twelve. She also writes for Medical Romance™.
Kate’s always delighted to hear from readers, so do drop in to her website at www.katehardy.com.
For Chris and Chloe—
who inspired the song between them and who always make my Christmas special.
Contents
‘GO AWAY,’ QUINN O’NEILL muttered as the doorbell rang. Right now was the worst possible time for an interruption; he was running a test on the new system, and if it fell over then he’d prefer to see it happen, to save him having to wade through thousands of lines of coding to find out exactly where the problem was. Whoever was at the door wasn’t expected, hadn’t been invited, and definitely wasn’t wanted right now. And who would ring someone’s doorbell at a quarter to eight in the morning anyway?
The bell rang again.
Oh, for pity’s sake. It wasn’t as if he could pause the test. If he cancelled it, that would be an hour and a half wasted. ‘Give up and go away,’ he said, scowling.
It rang again.
Whoever was at the front door clearly wasn’t going to go away, so he didn’t really have any choice. He’d have to answer the door, get rid of whoever it was as quickly as he could, and just hope that the system didn’t fall over before he got back to it.
His first thought as he opened the door was that she looked like a lawyer or someone in high finance. She wore a little black suit—expensively cut—teamed with a crisp white shirt, soft burgundy leather gloves and a matching cashmere scarf as concessions to the chilly November morning, and killer high heels, with her blonde hair pulled back severely in a French pleat. Make-up that was barely there. Glasses that made her look academic and just a little bit intimidating. Lawyer, then.
‘Yes?’ he drawled.
She extended one hand, and he noticed then that she was carrying a large cylindrical tin and a plant as well as a briefcase. Leather. Expensive. Definitely something in law or the City.
‘Mr O’Neill, welcome to Grove End Mews.’ Her accent was totally plummy. Wealthy background, he guessed. Then again, given how much he’d just paid for his new house in Belgravia, it was pretty obvious that all his neighbours would be from wealthy backgrounds. Assuming she was his neighbour. But why else would she be welcoming him to the area?
As if his thoughts were written all over his face, she introduced herself. ‘Carissa Wylde, chair of the residents’ association.’
‘Clarissa?’
‘Carissa,’ she corrected chirpily. ‘No L.’
Clearly a lot of people made that mistake, then.
She gave him a sweet smile. ‘I hope you’ve moved in OK. I brought you these from the Residents’ Association to welcome you to the mews.’
Oh, no. He really didn’t have time for this sort of nonsense.