The Unconventional Bride. Lindsay Armstrong
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hair was still wet and she wore her clean jeans and floral blouse. Her feet were bare and her expression was still somewhat dazed.
Etienne waited until she’d sipped some of the brandy before saying, ‘Mel, are there any other unpaid bills?’
‘A couple.’ She shrugged.
‘Why isn’t your accountant helping you to deal with them?’
She looked at him over the rim of her glass. ‘His bill is one of them.’
He paused for a beat, then, ‘I’d like to see them.’
Her gaze clashed with his and she squared her shoulders but he said with soft menace, ‘Don’t.’
‘What?’ she uttered crisply.
‘Tell me it’s none of my business.’
‘It isn’t,’ she insisted.
He looked around, through the French doors to the elegant sitting room that opened onto the front veranda with its beautiful Persian carpet, its antiques and graceful chairs. ‘She was my sister,’ he said, with the planes and angles of his face suddenly hard.
‘She may have been but I don’t want any charity.’ Mel fortified herself with another sip of brandy and raised her chin.
‘You infuriating…’ He drew a breath and forced himself to relax. What was it, he wondered at the same time, that attracted him to this often prickly, difficult girl? Other than the obvious, he thought drily, such as a gorgeous figure she seemed to be unaware of, long, shapely legs she persisted in covering up and a lovely face.
Just that, perhaps? Her lack of awareness of her physical attributes? Along with a good splash of cussed independence, of course, he added to himself, and moved restlessly.
‘Uh—I wasn’t talking about charity,’ he said. ‘There’s a way of dealing with creditors other than selling off the farm, speaking metaphorically. What you need to do is keep in touch, advise them of your difficulties, ask for extensions—and come up with a plan. That’s what I could do for you.’ He looked at her ironically.
Mel lowered her chin and her shoulders slumped. ‘All right. So long as—’
She didn’t finish because the look in his eyes told her it would be dangerous in the extreme to do so. ‘Thank you,’ she said instead with a slight tremor in her voice.
He sat back and finished his drink. ‘What are you doing tonight?’
Her eyes widened in surprise. ‘Nothing. The usual, I mean. The boys will be home from school soon, so… Why?’
‘You don’t think it might be an idea to have a break from Raspberry Hill and all its problems?’
‘As in?’
‘As in dinner at a restaurant, nothing else,’ he said laconically.
‘Just you and I?’
‘Just you and I, Mel. What’s wrong with that?’
‘Oh, nothing,’ she assured him hastily, ‘except that I might fall asleep. I—’ she put her head back, stretched her neck and moved her head round a couple of times, ‘—I guess I did more—’
‘More fire-fighting than you should have,’ he completed for her. ‘All right, we’ll take a rain check.’ He stood up. ‘But I’ll take the bills home with me.’
‘Well,’ she temporised, ‘I—’
‘Now, Mel.’
Despite her stiffness and feeling of exhaustion, she bounced up. ‘Do you have any idea how dictatorial you are, Etienne?’
‘Yes,’ he drawled. ‘It’s a good way to get things done. I’m not going home without them,’ he warned.
She expressed herself colourfully.
He grinned, and added insult to injury by patting her on the head. ‘Just get them, kid.’
‘No! I refuse to be treated like a kid let alone called one,’ she said through her teeth and stood her ground.
‘Well,’ his eyes glinted, ‘there are ways of dealing with stubborn women that you might prefer.’ He put one arm around her, bent her back against it and kissed her thoroughly.
When he’d finished, Mel came up for air absolutely lost for words and unbelievably conscious of a flood of sensations rushing through her right down to the tips of her toes.
Her lips felt bruised; she touched them involuntarily, but although his kiss had been a violation—she’d neither expected it nor asked for it—by some sort of subtle chemistry it had also been fascinating. While she was pressing against him, with his fingers stroking her throat, her skin had felt like silk, her breasts had tightened, and it had suddenly occurred to her that her hips were deliciously curved beneath his hand—something she’d not given much thought to before.
To make matters worse, her woodland-nymph fantasy had come right back to mind…
‘Well,’ he said with a lurking smile, ‘you’re right and I was wrong. You certainly don’t feel like a child.’
His gaze skimmed down her body then he waited as a tide of colour rushed into her cheeks, but words escaped her. He smiled a strange little smile. ‘May I have the bills now?’
Her lips parted and she breathed deeply, but that was a mistake because it brought the whole smoky, wonderful essence of Etienne Hurst to her—as if she wasn’t already dizzy with the taste and feel of him—and all he could think of were her bills.
She made an odd sound in her throat, whirled around and disappeared indoors.
But she didn’t take the bills out to him. She seconded Mrs Bedwell to do it and took refuge in her bedroom.
Several minutes later Mrs Bedwell knocked on the door and came in. ‘He said to say thanks. He said to tell you he’ll be back in a couple of days with a plan… What’s wrong with you, Mel?’
‘Nothing,’ Mel replied, although she was sitting on her bed hugging herself.
‘You look a bit shook up,’ Mrs Bedwell observed slowly. ‘You know, there was really no need for you to go fire-fighting like that.’
‘There’s every need for me to fight certain fires—uh—Mrs B, would you do me a favour?’ Mel stopped hugging herself and looked up at her housekeeper.
‘Sure.’
But Mel took an exasperated breath because to ask her housekeeper to stop calling on Etienne Hurst and inviting him to lunch could have unforeseen consequences, knowing Mrs Bedwell as she did. ‘Nothing.’
‘OK.’ Mrs Bedwell shrugged. ‘What do you mean about “certain” fires?’
‘It was just a figure of speech, Mrs B.’ She got up and tried to collect herself. ‘What’s for dinner?’
‘That’s for me to know and you to wonder about!’ It was Mrs Bedwell’s stock answer and, having delivered it, she bestowed one more curious glance on Mel, and then left her to herself.
CHAPTER FOUR
FOUR days later, Etienne was back.
Four terribly anxious days for Mel, since she’d received advice through her solicitor that, as she had no close relatives, the Department of Family Services would be looking into the situation of her brothers.
This time, she was presiding over coffee and homemade shortbread while trying her best to be composed and as if she’d never been kissed witless by this man.
It was a sparkling day as early spring graced the region, and from the vantage point of Raspberry Hill the waters of the Narrows glinted in the sun and the mock-orange bushes below the veranda were scenting the air.
For