One Wedding Required!. Шэрон Кендрик

signs.’

      ‘And what are they?’

      ‘It was when you ate that fourth after-dinner mint that I knew you were feeling tense!’

      Amber giggled.

      He pushed a wayward strand of golden hair off her flushed cheek. ‘Although I noticed that you soon found yourself an interesting diversion,’ he told her carefully.

      Amber’s heart hammered. ‘I take it you’re referring to the film director?’

      ‘You know I am.’

      Surely that wasn’t jealousy colouring his voice? Finn? Jealous of her? It thrilled her almost as much as it shocked her. ‘And did you mind?’ Amber’s voice was equally careful.

      ‘I guess I did. Stupid, isn’t it?’

      ‘Not stupid.’ She rested her head on his shoulder. ‘It’s natural to feel jealous—even when you know that your fears are groundless.’

      ‘I guess so.’ He planted a kiss on the silky curtain of her hair and Amber raised her head reluctantly.

      ‘Do we have to go back up there, Finn? From the predatory gleam in the eyes of some of those women, they’ll probably suggest throwing car keys into the middle of the room! Quite apart from the fact that I feel a little...’ she met his eyes, and blushed ‘...sticky.’

      ‘Me, too.’ He smiled back at her.

      ‘So do you suppose we could get away with sneaking off to our room and hope that no one will notice?’

      He shook his head and Amber noticed that he looked oddly keyed up. ‘Not yet. I’ve got something I want to say to you first.’

      She looked around the gleaming bathroom and wondered if a queue might be gathering outside, until she remembered that there were probably more bathrooms than guests in a house this size! Still, as an environment for talking, it did leave a little to be desired! ‘Can’t it wait?’

      ‘No, sweetheart. I’m afraid it can’t.’

      Amber raised her eyebrows quizzically, as some gritty quality in his voice alerted her to the fact that this was not your average run-of-the-mill post-coital chat. ‘Sounds ominous.’

      ‘Does it? I hope not.’ He lifted a shiny strand of amber hair and twisted it around his finger. ‘These women that come on to me—they don’t exactly show you any respect, do they, sweetheart?’

      She gave a hollow laugh. ‘Not exactly, no!’

      ‘And maybe that’s because they think that you’re just a girlfriend—’

      ‘Just?’ she interrupted indignantly. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

      ‘Kind of impermanent, I suppose,’ he observed slowly.

      ‘But we’ve been living together for almost two years!’

      ‘But they’re not to know that, are they?’ he questioned patiently. ‘They probably don’t think we’ve made any kind of commitment to each other.’

      ‘Well, that’s true. We haven’t,’ she pointed out truthfully. ‘But lots of people don’t—not these days. And it’s not as though I mind,’ she added hastily.

      ‘I know you don’t—but suddenly I do mind. I mind very much. And I want to do something about it.’

      ‘You’re talking in riddles, Finn Fitzgerald,’ she chided gently. ‘And it isn’t at all like you.’

      ‘Well, I’m a bit of a novice at this kind of thing.’ He grinned.

      Amber blinked. ‘And what kind of thing is that?’

      His eyes darkened and, when he spoke, his voice sounded so husky that he didn’t sound like Finn at all. ‘Proposals of marriage—that kind of thing.’

      ‘Pro-proposals of marriage?’ she echoed incredulously.

      ‘Do you want to?’

      ‘What?’ She needed to hear him say it out loud, because half of her wondered whether she wasn’t just dreaming the whole thing up.

      ‘Marry me?’

      Her heart stilled with disbelieving joy and she didn’t stop to question his intent for a second, because there was one thing she knew about Finn—and that was that he never said things he didn’t mean.

      ‘Oh, Finn,’ she whispered ecstatically. ‘My gorgeous, gorgeous Finn! How can you ask me a question like that? Of course I want to marry you!’

      And it wasn’t until they had stopped kissing that he withdrew a small leather box from his pocket, and Amber’s eyes widened with amazement to see that it contained a diamond ring which fitted her finger perfectly when he slid it on.

      ‘Good heavens!’ she squealed, as it sparkled like a starburst. ‘It’s the biggest diamond I’ve ever seen!’

      ‘That should keep predatory women away in future,’ he growled. ‘Do you like it?’

      ‘Don’t ask such idiotic questions! Of course I like it—I love it! But it fits! And fits so well!’

      ‘So?’

      ‘So you mean you had this whole proposal thing planned?’

      He gave her a slow smile. ‘Now who’s asking the idiotic questions? Of course I did! Or do you imagine I’d leave something as important as marriage just to whim?’

      ‘So you went out—and bought the ring?’

      ‘Well, I sure as hell didn’t steal it,’ he teased.

      ‘You guessed my size?’

      He shook his head. ‘I borrowed that tiny moonstone thing you wear. I took it from the dressing table weeks ago.’

      ‘And I thought I’d lost it!’

      And their eyes met in a long moment.

      ‘I love you,’ he said simply.

      ‘Snap,’ she told him shakily.

      ‘Amber? Amber?’

      Lost in her reverie, Amber looked up to find the journalist staring at her.

      His eyes were hard, but his words were casual—casual enough to lull her into a false sense of security. ‘So where exactly did he propose?’

      His question seeped insidiously into the mists of her consciousness, and Amber heard herself saying automatically, ‘In the bathroom—of all places!’

      ‘The bathroom?’

      ‘Yes, but I don’t really want to answer any more questions, certainly not on that—would you mind?’

      The journalist gave a contented smirk as he shook his head. He had a pretty good idea of what must have happened in the bathroom—she had one of those beautifully transparent faces that were a huge boon to his job! ‘Of course I don’t mind.’ He twirled his pencil in between his thumb and forefinger and drew in a deep breath as he psyched himself up to ask what he always termed his face-slapping question. Though, come to think of it, Amber O’Neil—despite her fiery golden hair—looked far too much of a lady ever to slap him round the face—no matter what the provocation!

      ‘You’re a good-looking woman, Amber—’

      ‘Why, thank you,’ she put in drily. ‘Very nice of you to say so!’

      ‘But you work in an industry peopled with beautiful women, some who—dare I say it?—are far more beautiful than you.’

      Amber’s voice was wry. ‘Oh, you can say it, Mr Millington—’

      ‘Paul.’

      ‘Paul,’ Amber echoed obediently, and smiled.