The City-Girl Bride

That seriously stomach-churning feeling she was getting couldn’t possibly be caused by doubts about the wisdom of what she was doing, by second thoughts, could it? No, of course not…

Of course not!

Even so, was it really necessary for her to spend so much time carefully parking her car, reversing it so that it faced the drive—for a speedy and dignified exit—and then straightening it not once but three times until she was finally satisfied.

As a small confidence-booster she had only the previous week given in to the temptation to buy herself a pair of irresistibly delicious shoes, with high heels and peep toes—peep toes in winter: totally impractical—made in a deliciously soft tweed fabric. And she had even bought herself a matching bag. Not that she needed to boost her confidence in order to confront Finn…not at all. No, it had been entirely for other reasons that she had bought them. After all, she hadn’t known then that she would be going to see him again. Had she?

The little designer dress she was wearing underneath her coat was equally impractical: a flimsy silk tea dress confection in fine voile printed with bees in which, the sales assistant had said, that she looked ‘darling’. That comment had almost been enough to stop her from buying the dress, but in the end she hadn’t been able to resist.

She had worn it to go and see her grandmother, who had exclaimed in delight that it reminded her of a dress she herself had worn in the forties. ‘It was one of your grandfather’s favourites…’

The little fake fur tippet that went with it somehow added to the dress’s forties look, a look that was surely designed to be shown off in a sophisticated city setting, not worn in the depths of the country in the presence of a man who would only deride its impracticality—and who would no doubt lose no time in saying so.

Good, Maggie decided as she got out of the car and closed the door. She liked the idea of Finn giving her even more reason to take issue with him. Not that she had worn it to antagonise him.

Of course not.

As she left her car and walked towards the house she suddenly realised how still everything was, how silent. Not even the slightest breeze moved the air, which was winter-cold. The sky had a grey heaviness to it, and as she stared up at it a soft white flake of snow brushed her cheek.

Snow. In November. The end of November, admittedly, but it was still November. Wrapping her coat tightly around herself, she hurried up to the front door which, disconcertingly, immediately swung open.

‘Finn!’ she exclaimed in tones of angry resentment.

‘Who else were you expecting?’ Finn countered. ‘After all, I do live here.’

As he spoke he stepped back so that she could walk into the hall—a much cleaner, brighter and better polished hall than she remembered from the auction, Maggie realised, as she took in the fire burning in the grate and the polished wooden floor, grateful that the need to inspect her surroundings was giving her time to prepare herself before she looked at Finn.

Not that she needed time or preparation. He was just a man, after all. Just a man who…As though he had grown tired of waiting for her to look at him, Finn moved into her line of vision, all six foot two, powerful muscle-packed maleness of him. Ridiculously, for such a cold day, he was wearing a thin white tee shirt, which hugged the contours of his chest almost as lovingly as the faded jeans he was wearing were clinging to his thighs.

Helplessly Maggie’s gaze devoured him, her brown eyes smouldering passionately over every resented inch of him. How fatally easily she could picture him without that tee shirt, the soft whorls of his body hair flattened against the taut muscles of his stomach, just where she had stroked and then kissed the delicious hardness of the definition of his six-pack. Later, when he had growled and then groaned his appreciation and approval of what she was doing, she had moved lower, and then…

Dry-mouthed, she tried to wrench her gaze away from him and then realised as it clashed with his that he was studying h

er just as intently as she had been doing him. But it was derision and not desire she could see in his glance as it roved from the fashionably dark polish on her exposed toe nails, over her shoes, and upwards over her body, to rest momentarily on her face before dropping back to her feet.

This was better, Maggie acknowledged in relief as anticipatory antagonism filled her. Just let him say one word, make one criticism of her outfit and…

‘Nice. It suits you.’

His calm words couldn’t have had a more dramatic effect on Maggie. Stupefied, she stared at him, her mouth a round ‘O’ of bewilderment. Where were the contentious words of mockery and disapproval she had been expecting to hear?

As he watched her Finn wondered grimly if she had any idea just what the effect of seeing her was having on him, never mind seeing her wearing an outfit—a dress—which lovingly underscored every feminine centimetre of her. A dress she had no doubt bought and worn for her precious lover, Fin told himself, deliberately goading himself into jealousy and anger.

‘Lucky, though, that the house’s central heating system turned out to be working and efficient, otherwise I suspect you’d be rather cold. I’m using the library as my office. It’s this way,’ he told her, adding, ‘I’m surprised you bothered to come all this way. Our solicitors could have sorted out the contract.’

Determinedly Maggie refused to move from where she was standing. ‘There isn’t going to be any contract,’ she told him contentiously.

Finn turned and looked at her. ‘No?’

His voice, like his eyes, was flat and hard, and awesomely polite in a way that sent a small shiver of electric triumph through her. He didn’t like what she had said Good! Well, now he was about to hear something else he wasn’t going to like.

Taking a deep breath, Maggie demanded, ‘How dare you try to hold me to ransom? To tell me what I can and can’t do and who with.’

‘With whom,’ Finn corrected her automatically.

Maggie took a deep breath, openly seething, but before she could speak, Finn continued calmly, ‘Am I to take it that it’s the condition that you will not be able to share a bed in the Dower House with your lover that’s brought you…er…’ He looked down at her shoes, before drawling tauntingly, ‘Hot-foot down here.’

‘My shoes, like who I share my bed with, are my concern, and only mine,’ Maggie replied furiously.