A Convenient Proposal

The hall was empty, and so was the reception area beyond it, but just as she seated herself somewhat uncertainly in one of the straight-backed upholstered chairs dotted about the bright and cheerful waiting area, a large middle-aged woman popped her head round the door leading from the hall.

‘Are you Candy? Xavier’s niece?’ It was rushed and harassed, and Candy only managed a quick nod—opening her mouth to speak before the woman cut in again with, ‘We’ve got an emergency. I must get back. Wait there and Quinn will be with you as soon as he can.’ Then the door closed again and all was quiet.

Great. Candy stared blankly across the space. She hadn’t expected the red carpet treatment or anything like that, but a, Hi, how are you? or a, Nice to meet you, wouldn’t have come amiss.

She eased her flat leather shoes off her feet and dug the fingers of both hands into the small of her back, working tense, bunched muscles for some moments before settling back with a tired sigh and shutting her eyes. She might as well relax while she waited, she decided drowsily. No point in getting ruffled. She let her head fall back against the whitewashed wall behind her and was asleep in the next moment.

When Quinn walked into the reception area five minutes later he had the apology hovering on his lips, but instead of a possibly irate or testy young woman confronting him he saw Candy. Fast asleep, her coppery hair in silky disarray, thick eyelashes lying like smudges on the pale cream of a skin that looked to be translucent. Impossibly lovely and quite alarmingly fragile.

He stopped abruptly, ebony eyes narrowing into slits of black light, and he remained like that for a good few seconds before glancing at his watch. Five minutes and she was sleeping the sleep of the dead; she must have been out on her feet. Still, that wasn’t surprising. He knew Xavier and Essie had been hotly against this young woman making the journey from Canada alone, but Essie had informed him—ruefully—that Xavier’s niece had a lot of her uncle’s stubbornness. It was in the genes.

He hadn’t expected her to be quite so beautiful; her photo hadn’t done her justice. The thought came from nowhere and Quinn brushed it aside irritably, his strong, chiselled face hardening. This was Xavier’s niece and she had been through hell; whether she was beautiful or not was irrelevant. She needed peace and quiet and looking after, although the last was to be done without her knowledge. But he’d promised Xavier and Essie he would keep an eye on this young woman and he would. In a fatherly fashion.

He glanced again at the lovely face, the dusky red lips lying slightly open in a small pout, and felt his senses stir before he turned sharply, making his way through the heavy fire door into the rear of the building and walking to the end of a long corridor, into the surgery’s neat, shining kitchen.

Marion was in there, her plump, good-natured face flushed and perspiring. ‘The coffee’s nearly ready.’

‘She’s asleep.’ He inclined his head towards the door. ‘But thanks anyway. I’ll take the tray through in a minute and wake her up. And thanks for helping out too; it would happen today of all days.’

They had just dealt with the canine victim of a road accident, and due to the fact Quinn had sent his two assistant vets out on calls, and the practice nurse was off ill with flu, there had only been Marion—his very able but slightly squeamish receptionist—to assist whilst he conducted the emergency operation the dog’s injuries had necessitated. But all had gone well and that was the main thing.

Marion smiled at him now, nodding at his face as she said, a touch of laughter in her voice, ‘Wipe the blood off first, eh? You’re liable to frighten the poor girl to death like that.’

Quinn flicked a glance at himself in the square triangle of mirror above the sink as he muttered, ‘Damn it.’ He wiped the blood off his cleft chin and one hard, angular cheekbone before raking back a lock of jet-black hair off his forehead with his damp hands and making an effort to smooth down the rest of his unruly locks. ‘I need a haircut.’

‘I’ve been telling you that for weeks,’ said Marion with a motherly sigh. The trouble was, Quinn couldn’t care less about his appearance, she thought fondly. Considering the quite shattering ruthless attractiveness of the man that seemed to make him irresistible to every female he came into contact with, he was the most modest individual she had ever met. And that in itself proved to be an added fascination. The magnetism he exuded was lethal, but because he neither understood or wanted it he simply didn’t acknowledge it existed. Which was typical Quinn, really. As her eighteen-year-old daughter had said when she had first set eyes on him, ‘Mum, he’s walking dynamite!’

‘Put a few of your shortbread biscuits on, Marion,’ said Quinn now, indicating the tray with a wave of his hand. ‘She looks like she needs feeding up a bit.’

‘For goodness’ sake don’t tell her that,’ Marion said quickly, her face horrified. Another of Quinn’s attributes—she wasn’t sure if it was a virtue or not—was an alarming tendency towards directness which cut through all equivocation and flannel and went straight to the heart of any matter. It was refreshing in a world where most people were falling over backwards to present themselves in the best light possible, but it did cause problems. And yet he was the most compassionate soul she had ever met. An enigma. Marion nodded at the thought. That was Quinn all 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.