A Convenient Proposal. HELEN BROOKS

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.

      ‘Well, you needn’t bother,’ she said flatly. ‘I’m not a child and I don’t appreciate being treated like one.’

      No, whatever else, she certainly wasn’t a child, Quinn thought, as her scent—something delicate and elusive—drifted towards him as she rose abruptly.

      ‘There’s something wrong with people looking out for each other?’

      He hadn’t moved, and his voice was still relaxed and cool, but suddenly there was an element to his maleness that she hadn’t been aware of before. An authority, something imperious and cold that told her she was being stupid. And it hit her on a raw place.

      ‘No, of course not,’ she shot back sharply, ‘if that’s what they want. But I don’t want it; that’s the point.’

      ‘And you don’t think it’s perfectly understandable that Xavier doesn’t want Essie worrying about you at such a vulnerable time in her pregnancy?’ Quinn asked silkily.

      Oh, nice one. She stared at him, her eyes widening with shock at being put in her place so adroitly. In one fell swoop he had accused her of being childish and selfish and ungrateful without voicing any of those things. There was a lot more to this man than met the eye, but then she had suspected that the minute she had set eyes on him. What you saw was not what you got with Mr Quinn Ellington, she told herself caustically. Mr Nice Guy when it suited him, but that was all.

      ‘I shall stay in touch with them,’ she said defiantly.

      ‘That’s very good of you.’ It was deeply sarcastic.

      Her nostrils flared and she would have loved to have made a grand exit, but she didn’t have the key or the instructions.

      ‘Sit down, Candy, and finish your coffee.’ It was an order, not an invitation.

      ‘I would prefer to leave now, if I can have the key?’ Why was she behaving like this? Candy asked herself in disbelief. Even the note in her voice wasn’t really her. She was never petulant.

      ‘Sit down.’ It was a bark this time, and she sat, acknowledging, with a touch of dark humour, that he was certainly in the right profession. There wasn’t an animal alive that would step out of line if he spoke to it like that. Well, she needed the key and so she would play along, but once she had it she would make sure she never set eyes on Mr Quinn Ellington again. Essie or no Essie!

      ‘Thank you.’ Quinn wasn’t sure if he was angrier with himself or this Titian-haired virago who looked like an angel but had the temper of something from the other place. But she was Essie’s fledgling, she was still recovering from the sort of accident that no one got out of alive, she was all alone in an alien country and he had promised to look out for her, damn it. He had promised. And he hadn’t lost his temper for years; why had he to start with her, now? He took a deep breath and forced his mouth out of the grim line it had set in. ‘Now, please drink your coffee; you look ready to drop and it will help you concentrate on the drive to the cottage.’

      Oh, so she was an inept driver now as well? Candy scowled at him, her eyes shooting blue sparks that negated any idea she was sleepy. But she finished the coffee and ate the finger of shortbread Quinn had wedged on the saucer. It was delicious, and she would have loved another slice, but she would rather have been hung, drawn