of the little old-fashioned pub, which was all brass and leaded windows and oak beams, he merely brushed her forehead with his lips—as though she was five years old, Candy thought resentfully—and waved her goodbye.
And so it continued, through an evening out with Jeff and Lynn to the cinema and a meal afterwards, another party—at Colonel Llewellyn's beautiful home this time— and finally a Christmas dinner the night before Christmas Eve at Marion's home, with Jamie and his girlfriend making up a sixsome with Marion and her portly little husband.
On each occasion Candy enjoyed herself immensely and then, once she was home again and alone with Tabitha and the kittens, found herself pacing the cottage in a state of restless agitation for half the night. And she didn't understand why. Unless it was the strain of keeping up the pretence? she questioned on the morning of Christmas Eve, when she awoke late and found herself reluctant to leave the enveloping warmth of her bed.
And it was a strain, she admitted with a tired sigh as she snuggled back under the covers for another five minutes of wicked luxury. She had never been any good at acting a part since she had been cast as Mary in the school nativity play when she was five years old, and had frozen at her first sight of the sea of smiling faces and left poor Joseph to make his way to Bethlehem alone. But it wasn't just her fear of inadvertently saying something that would give the game away. She shut her eyes tightly. It was him. Quinn.
If he had been just a little less handsome, a little less good company, if he had had no sense of humour or been a typical macho man, picked his nose, anything, she could have coped.
As it was…she found herself as jumpy as a cat on a hot tin roof half the time, and it was exhausting. Her whole insides tensed every time he touched her and as his pretend girlfriend he touched her a lot And each time it happened she remembered what it had felt like to be in his arms, tasting him, feeling him, smelling him…
She sat up abruptly, brushing back her mass of silky red hair with an impatient hand. Last night, when he had sat beside her on one of Marion's cosy two-seater sofas after dinner, his hard thigh pressed close to hers and his arm stretched out casually at the back of her, which brought him even closer, she had decided that once Christmas was over she would tell him the deal was off.
She hugged her knees, her azure-blue gaze narrowed across the room. There might be women out there who could treat Quinn Ellington in a buddy-buddy fashion— although she doubted it—but she wasn't one of them. Whenever she was with him she felt such a see-saw of emotions she didn't recognise herself. Awkward, elated, unwanted, cherished, gauche or shamefully wanton! The list was endless and each one contradictory. She had never felt any of this with Harper.
She had been happy with Harper, happy and comfortable. There had been none of these exhausting swings of emotion that left her confused and miserable each time Quinn left. Harper hadn't disturbed something deep inside like Quinn did.
She paused abruptly in her thinking, her stomach churning faintly as though her mind was trying to tell her something her heart didn't want to hear. Her brow wrinkled and she dismissed the unease firmly. The difference was because Harper had been her fiancé and Quinn was— Well, she didn't know what he was exactly, she admitted ruefully. Boyfriend? Definitely not, by his own volition. Companion? Certainly the most disconcerting one she had ever had. Friend? No, she couldn't look on Quinn as a friend, whatever he said. Friends didn't disturb your sleep pattern and send you half crazy.
'Enough, Candy Grey.' She spoke out loud into the room and then wagged her head lugubriously at herself. He'd got her talking to herself now, first sign of madness! Yes, she would definitely call off this ridiculous farce once Christmas was over. She had known Quinn for two months, and in that time she had come to realise he was a highly discriminating and intelligent individual on top of everything else. He would understand the game had gone on long enough, but just in case he was put out at all she wouldn't rock the boat before the holiday was over. She owed him a pleasant and relaxed Christmas.
Candy worked for the rest of the day. She had finished the painting Quinn had admired some two weeks before and had decided to do a series of snow scenes which could either be sold as a collection or individually. It was warm and snug in the cottage, with the fire sending red and gold flames flickering cosily up the chimney and the cats playing at her feet, but there had been the smell of snow in the air when she had fetched more logs and coal from the potting shed earlier. The sky was low and heavy with it, she thought about four in the afternoon, when she peered out of the cottage window as the light began to fail rapidly. It looked as if all the forecasts of a white Christmas were going to come true.
It was just as the first fat white flakes began to fall from the laden sky some twenty minutes later that she heard Quinn's Discovery in the lane outside the cottage, and she raised her head from cleaning her paints in surprise. As far as she knew Quinn had been going to pick her and the cats up at ten in the morning. Whatever was he doing here now? Had he come to tell her the arrangement was off for some reason?
She refused to accept the bitter pang of disappointment which accompanied the thought and instead walked to the door, opening it just as Quinn reached the doorstep.
'Hi.' Quinn's flagrant masculinity was very pronounced today, with the black denim jeans and bulky waist-length black leather jacket he was wearing, and the word came out breathlessly, although she did better with, 'Don't tell me. The local animal population has decided they need you more than me tomorrow?' as she forced a bright smile.
He smiled in return—a warm and fascinatingly sexy smile, Candy thought a touch resentfully—as he said, 'Not at all. May I come in?'
'Oh, yes, of course, come in. I was just going to make a coffee,' she added quickly, 'would you like one?'
'Would a drowning man refuse a helping hand?'
'Here, help yourself.' She passed him the tin of chocolate chip cookies across the breakfast bar as Quinn seated himself on one of the high stools on the sitting room side of the bar, and after switching on the kettle and spooning coffee into two china mugs she turned to face him again. 'Hard day?' she asked carefully.
'Long day.' He grimaced. 'I was called out to Breedon's farm at two in the morning and haven't been to bed since. Old man Breedon has this big four-year-old chestnut Beautiful beast of a horse, but like many highly-strung animals he has his likes and dislikes, and one of the latter is needles.'
'And you had to…?'
'Inject him, yes. He'd managed to rip his shoulder on a loose piece of wood in his stable. Breedon had been out on some sort of shindig with the local golf fraternity and looked in on the horse before he went to bed. He'd had a skinful—Breedon, not the chestnut,' he added, with a grin that made her knees go weak, 'and in his intoxicated state decided he couldn't wait until a more civilised hour to call out the vet Anyway, once I'd done the job he was so grateful he decided I had to sample a taste of some old malt whisky he'd got, and then we sat before the fire talking for hours, and his wife is always up early and does a full cooked breakfast…'
'A few hours' sleep would have done you more good.'
'I hate getting into a cold bed at some unearthly hour in the morning when I've been out,' he said matter-of-factly as he bit into another cookie after shrugging off the leather jacket.
Of course. He'd probably be remembering what it had been like when his wife was alive to welcome him back into her arms. The shaft of pain was as sharp as it was unexpected, and it caused her voice to be abrupt as she said, 'Is this a social call, or was there something specific you wanted to see me about?'
'Both.'
Clear as mud! But then every moment with Quinn was like this, so perhaps she shouldn't expect anything different? Candy asked herself silently. She waited until he had finished the biscuit and then said, 'Well?' before he reached for another.
'You've heard the forecast?' He nodded towards the window as he spoke, through which they could see the snow coming down in a thick white mantle now.
'Yes?'
'They say we're in for a packet, so I was thinking…' He paused, taking a long gulp of the coffee she had just handed him, 'I was thinking it would be easier all round if you came tonight and planned to stay for a couple of days. This lane isn't great at the best of times, but after a heavy fall of snow it's plain murder.'