One Wedding Required!. Шэрон Кендрик

the security they needed. ‘Karolina and her mother want to live there?’ queried Amber. ‘Isn’t Birgitta a little old to be staying somewhere as basic as that?’

      Finn shot her a narrow-eyed look and Amber thought how pale his face looked when contrasted against the dark hair. ‘She’s Karolina’s chaperon.’ He frowned. ‘Where else are they going to stay? It’s only Karolina’s second job—she hasn’t earned enough yet to put herself up in any of the London hotels. Not long-term. And you know how much they need reassurance and guidance at this stage, sweetheart’

      ‘And you give it them,’ she observed.

      ‘Well, that’s all part of my job.’

      ‘Sure.’ Amber gave an automatic smile, but her heart felt unaccustomedly heavy. ‘Just that sometimes I wish that we could have a little more time together, that’s all.’

      ‘You’re wishing away our success?’ he queried, a half-smile hovering around his lips. But it was a rueful smile.

      Amber played with her engagement ring. ‘I just wish there was something in between having no work and having so much work you can’t think straight.’

      ‘But that’s life, business.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s all or nothing.’

      He had struggled so hard to get to where he was today that Amber sometimes wondered whether he would be able to function normally without that struggle. Because Finn had had to fight every inch of the way to become the man he was today.

      The youngest of seven children, Finn had come as a complete surprise to his brothers and sisters. And as a total shock to his mother—who had been in her late forties at the time of his birth and had thought her childrearing days were over. She’d been too tired to cope with the dark-haired infant’s vitality, so the afterthought had been brought up mainly by his eldest sister, Philomena—who had allowed him a lot more freedom than a strict mother might have done. As a consequence, Finn had grown used to quietly going about and getting what he wanted.

      And what he’d wanted was success.

      His good looks and natural grace had taken him out of the small Irish village of his birth and propelled him onto the international modelling scene like a rocket, at the age of eighteen—but he had soon tired of earning a living from his good looks. With a determination which was characteristic of the man, he had modelled when he could and laboured on the roads when he couldn’t, and by the time he was twenty-five had saved enough money to start his own model agency.

      He stifled a yawn. ‘God, I need a drink.’

      Normally Amber would have taken herself off and poured him one, but then normally he would have already taken her into his arms and kissed her very thoroughly indeed.

      Which, so far, he hadn’t. So far all he had talked about was Birgitta and Karolina.

      ‘I wouldn’t mind a drink myself,’ she told him.

      He blinked in surprise. ‘Okay. Wine do you?’

      The champagne had made her thirsty for a soft drink, but she wanted to go through the whole togetherness thing of sharing a bottle with Finn. Tonight she needed some reassurance of their closeness. ‘Why not?’ She smiled.

      She followed him out into the kitchen and put some heat beneath the chicken and rice while Finn opened a bottle. He was just about to throw the cork away when he noticed the empty golden-foiled bottle of very expensive champagne which was lying in the bin.

      He raised his eyebrows. ‘Been celebrating?’

      For some extraordinary reason Amber felt both defensive and indignant, though when she thought about it afterwards it was a question she might have asked herself, had the situation been reversed.

      Though perhaps not with as much accusation in her voice.

      ‘Not really,’ she hedged, knowing his dislike of journalists and wondering what mad blip had possessed her to give an interview.

      The dark eyebrows rose even higher. ‘Just consuming costly bottles of champagne on your own?’ he queried mildly.

      ‘Well, of course I wasn’t alone!’ she retorted, guilt making her sound much snappier than usual. ‘You must know by now that I’d never be able to drink that much on my own! Especially in the middle of the day!’

      ‘I don’t know anything, Amber,’ he contradicted stubbornly. ‘Since you seem determined to clothe your actions in secrecy.’

      Amber’s blue eyes widened into sapphire circles. If it hadn’t been so preposterous, it might almost have been funny, but she had never felt less like laughing. ‘Clothe my actions in secrecy?’ she repeated incredulously. ‘Did you mean to sound like the lead role in a poor spy movie, Finn, or was it unintentional?’

      ‘Damn you, Amber O’Neil’ he said softly. ‘What the hell has been going on here today?’

      This time she stared at him in utter confusion. What was happening? Why were they arguing? Why on earth was he talking to her like this? Suddenly Amber felt the shiver of misgivings as they trickled their way down her spine.

      She had never known Finn be so prickly and confrontational. Oh, they had sparred often enough in the time they had been living together—and before that. Plenty of times. But humour and affection had lain behind those exchanges, while there was certainly no humour or affection lurking in the depths of Finn’s emerald gaze right now.

      She bit her lip and wondered how to answer him, because now did not seem the right time to tell him that she had sold the story of their meeting to Wow! magazine.

      And he looked tired, too. Dog-tired. For the first time since he had arrived home Amber took a really close look at him—noting the blue-black shadows beneath his eyes and the tension around his jaw. His nerves were clearly jangled and stretched, and she frowned. He had been working too hard; that much was apparent. For where was the cool, calm Finn who coped equably with most things which were thrown at him?

      ‘Ursula came round for a drink,’ she told him, and offered a silent prayer of contrition for the lie. It was necessary, she told herself firmly. She would pick a better moment than this one to tell him the truth. A time when she was sure he would give her that easy, familiar laugh of his and tell her that, no, she shouldn’t have done it—but that no real harm had been done.

      ‘Ursula?’ He frowned. ‘Your sister?’

      ‘I know only one Ursula.’

      ‘What was Ursula doing round here in the middle of the day? Drinking champagne?’

      Amber rounded on him. Enough was enough. ‘There’s no need to make it sound as though we were up to no good!’ she told him furiously. ‘Some of the women that work in Ursula’s company go out to wine bars every single lunchtime!’

      ‘And do absolutely zilch in the way of work afterwards, I’ll bet!’

      ‘But it was my afternoon off!’ Amber pointed out, and to her horror she burst into tears.

      Finn stared at her in amazement. ‘Amber—’

      ‘Shut up! Just shut up!’ she sobbed, and ran from the kitchen towards the bedroom.

      She flung herself down on the bed, her shoulders shaking with the effort of trying to keep the tears back, but it was no good. Great rivulets came streaking their way in a salty path down her nose and into her mouth and she swallowed them down like medicine. She was just scrubbing at her eyes and sniffing back the last of her tears when she heard the door open quietly, and Finn began to walk towards the bed.

      She held her breath, froze into total stillness, her body language screaming out a wordless message of rejection. But it was a message which he was clearly choosing to ignore, for he put his hand on her shoulder.

      She tried to shake it off. ‘G-go away!’

      ‘You know you don’t want me to.’

      ‘How