The Earl's Snow-Kissed Proposal

‘She’s ten years older than me but we clicked, and Martha and Cathy bonded instantly, so our friendship took off from there.’

‘You’re lucky to have each other.’

‘I know. We are totally different, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Steph would love all this.’ Etta glanced round the room. ‘She’d agree with you that I should take complete advantage of you.’

Oh, hell. Had she said that? The words took on a double meaning that she hadn’t planned, and now the words kept tumbling out.

‘I mean...I mean she thought I should take you up on the girlfriend idea and enjoy the publicity and the dinners and a romantic getaway. A fake romantic getaway obviously.’

Stop the talk. Now.

‘I’ve told you it’s not too late to change your mind.’

Lazy amusement touched his voice and she narrowed her eyes. No way would she let him think she regretted her decision.

‘The ball’s in your court,’ he continued.

‘That’s where it’s staying.’ Yet her tummy did a loop-the-loop at the depth of his voice, the way his dark eyes rested on her lips. ‘I was talking about Steph, and as I said she and I are chalk and cheese.’

‘So Steph would go for the shallow playboy type?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you won’t because...? Remind me again.’

‘Because there is more to attraction than the physical side of things.’

Really? asked her sceptical hormones—after all, in the last few years there had been no ‘physical side’ at all. With anyone. Just a sad series of failed fizz-free dates that had culminated in nothing. And before that there had been a couple of tepid relationships that were best consigned to the ‘bedroom disaster’ category of her memory banks.

‘So you admit there is a physical attraction?’

‘I...’ Darn the man! ‘That is irrelevant.’

‘It seems pretty relevant to me.’

‘I said there has to be more than physical appeal.’

‘Sure—I agree. Conversation is useful too. You and I don’t seem to have any problem there.’

‘That is still not enough.’

‘It works for me. What’s wrong with a few days of fun, no strings attached?’

‘It’s just wrong.’

The idea of letting go, revelling in sensation, was impossible to imagine.

An echo of her mum came: ‘Never cross the line, Etta.’ Any line. Even the smallest of childhood fibs had been a heinous crime. Her first Valentine, when she’d been aged ten—an innocent offering—had drawn forth horror. Her parents had made her tear it up into little pieces and told her she must have behaved with ‘promiscuity’ to attract it. She’d had to look the word up in a dictionary, and even now the remembered burn of shame seared her soul. Even though she’d come to understand her parents’ actions—they had been on a constant lookout for her unknown genes to show themselves.

‘So you disapprove from a moral viewpoint? You shouldn’t.’ The amusement had vanished now and his voice was edged with cold. ‘I am still in touch with nearly all the women I’ve dated. They aren’t mindless bimbos. They are all passionate and fun-loving and we had good times—in bed and out. They did nothing wrong and neither did I.’

‘I understand that, and I don’t disapprove. It just doesn’t make sense to me. What’s the point of entering into a short-term relationship with no future?’

‘That’s like saying, “What’s the point of going to a party?” just because you know it will end.’

‘You can’t equate a party to a relationship.’

‘Why not?’ His mouth quirked up, and the teasing glint was back in his blue-grey eyes.