Wedding Bell Wishes: It Started at a Wedding... / The Wedding Planner and the CEO / Her Perfect Proposal

‘How do you know my size?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘I measured you for a wedding suit, remember?’

He sighed. ‘Claire, you didn’t need to buy me a pair of jeans.’

‘You don’t own any. So actually, yes, I did.’

He looked at her, and she sighed. ‘Sean, don’t be difficult about this. I bought you a present, that’s all. It’s what people do when they date.’

He still didn’t look convinced.

‘Look, you bought me those gorgeous flowers, and I don’t think you’d enjoy it if I bought you flowers—well, not that I think you can’t buy a man flowers,’ she clarified, ‘but I don’t think you’re the kind of man who’d really appreciate them.’

‘Probably not,’ he admitted.

‘Most people would buy their man some chocolate, but I can hardly give chocolate to someone who owns a confectionery company, can I? Which leaves me pretty stuck for buying you a gift. It’s just an ordinary pair of jeans, Sean. Nothing ridiculously overpriced. So come on. Do something you haven’t done since you were a teenager,’ she coaxed, ‘and wear the jeans. And swap those shoes for your running shoes.’

‘My running shoes?’ he queried.

She nodded. ‘Because I bet you don’t have a pair of scruffy, “go for a walk and it doesn’t matter if they’re not perfectly polished” shoes.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with looking smart at work,’ he protested.

‘I know, but you’re not at work today, Sean. You’re playing. You can keep the shirt, but lose the tie.’

‘Bossy,’ he grumbled, but he did as she asked. By the time he’d changed into the jeans and his running shoes, he looked fantastic—much more approachable. Touchable. Claire was glad she’d picked a light-coloured denim that looked slightly worn. It really, really suited him.

She folded her arms and looked at him.

‘What now?’ he asked. ‘I’m not wearing the tie.’

‘But your top button is still done up. Fix it, and roll your sleeves up.’

‘Claire...’

‘We did your date your way,’ she said. ‘And you agreed that we’d do this one my way.’

‘This is the giddy limit,’ he said, and for a moment she thought he was going to refuse; but finally he indulged her.

‘That’s almost perfect,’ she said, then sashayed over to him, reached up to kiss him, and then messed up his hair.

‘Why did you do that?’ he asked, pulling back.

‘It’s the “just got out of bed” look. Which makes you look seriously hot,’ she added. ‘Like you did in Capri.’

He gave her a predatory smile. ‘So if you think I look hot...’

‘Rain check,’ she said. ‘Because we’re going out and having fun, first.’

* * *

There was a bossy side to Claire, Sean thought, that he’d never seen before. The whole idea of giving up control—that just wasn’t how he did things.

Claire Stewart was dangerous with a capital D where his peace of mind was concerned.

‘This is your car?’ He looked at the bright pink convertible Mini stencilled with daisies that was parked on the road outside his house. ‘Oh, you are kidding me.’

‘What’s wrong with my car?’ She put her finger into the keyring and spun her keys round.

What was wrong with the car? Where did he start?

He closed his eyes. ‘OK. I know, I know, go with the flow.’ He groaned and opened his eyes again. ‘But, Claire. Pink. With daisies. Really?’

Finally she took pity on him. ‘I borrowed it from a friend. I don’t have a car of my own at the moment.’

‘Then we could go wherever it is in mine,’ he suggested hopefully.

‘Nope—we’re doing this my way.’ She gave him another of those insolent grins. ‘Actually, my friend wants to sell this. I was thinking about buying it from her.’

He pulled a face, but said nothing.

‘Very wise, Sean, very wise,’ she teased.

She tied her hair back with a scarf, added some dark glasses that made her look incredibly sexy, and then added the disgusting khaki cap he remembered from Capri and which cancelled out the effect of the glasses. Once they were sitting in the car, she put the roof down, connected her MP3 player, and started blasting out sugary nineteen-sixties pop songs. Worse still, she made him sing along; and Sean was surprised to discover that he actually knew most of the songs.

By the time they got to Brighton, he’d stopped being embarrassed by the sheer loudness of the car and was word-perfect on the choruses of all her favourite songs.

‘Brighton,’ he said.

‘Absolutely. Today is “Sean and Claire do the seaside”,’ she said brightly.

‘And this isn’t planned out?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t be daft—you don’t plan things like going to the seaside. You go with the flow and you have fun.’ She parked the car, then took his hand and they strolled across to the seafront.

This was so far removed from what he’d normally do on a Sunday. He might sit in his garden—perfectly manicured by the man he paid to mow the lawn, weed the flower beds, and generally make the area look tidy—but nine times out of ten he’d be in his study, working. He couldn’t even remember the last time he went to the seaside. With one of his girlfriends, probably, but he hadn’t paid much attention.

But with Claire, he was definitely paying attention.

He hung back slightly. ‘Those are very short shorts.’ And it made him want to touch her.

She just laughed. ‘I have great legs—I might as well show them off before they go all wrinkly and saggy when I’m old.’

‘You’re...’ He stopped and shook his head.

‘I’m what, Sean?’

‘A lot of things,’ he said, ‘half of which I wouldn’t dare utter right now.’