Главная страница | Современные любовные романы | Last-Minute Bridesmaid

Last-Minute Bridesmaid
Nina Harrington


Kate Lovat, aspiring fashion designer, isn’t used to stepping out in her own glamorous gowns. But Heath Sheridan, her old school crush turned publisher extraordinaire, needs an emergency bridesmaid and a girlfriend stand-in, and offers Kate his business know-how in exchange for a weekend of pretence…Limousines, stylish dresses and hot CEOs chasing after her – Kate is finally living her teenage fantasy!But the sparks with Heath are even greater than she could ever imagined, and soon Kate realises that you have to be careful what you wish for - because sometimes you get a whole lot more than you bargained for!







She’s taking her bridesmaid duties very seriously!

It wasn’t how she planned to spend the weekend—but now Kate Lovat has been drafted in to be an emergency bridesmaid!

It may mean squeezing into the original bridesmaid’s dress, but it’s not all bad. She’s spending the day with Heath Sheridan, her old school crush turned publisher extraordinaire! She’s living out her teenage fantasy—with limos, stylish dresses and hanging out with Heath. But the sparks flying between them are even greater than she could ever have imagined, and soon Kate realizes that you have to be careful what you wish for—because sometimes you get a whole lot more than you bargained for!


LAST-MINUTE BRIDESMAID






“Let me check that I understand the deal,” she whispered.

“One all-expenses-paid wedding, complete with bridesmaid duties, in exchange for two full days of your time as a business consultant. And you would be doing the actual number crunching—not some minion. Okay?”

Heath took her hand and pressed his long slender fingers around hers and held them tight just long enough for her to inhale his intoxicating scent. Combined with the texture of his smooth skin against hers as he slowly raised her hand to his lips and kissed the back of her knuckles, sensible thought became a tad difficult for a few seconds.

Because the moment his lips touched her skin, she was seventeen again and right back on her doorstep.

“Better than okay. It’s a deal.”


Dear Reader,

Do you remember that high school St. Valentine dance when you were the only girl who turned up without a date?

Kate Lovat was rescued at the last minute by the stepbrother of her best friend Amber. Heath Sheridan is a gorgeous star university student and heir to the Sheridan publishing empire—and as far as Kate is concerned, the dreamiest date alive.

Now ten years later, it is Heath who needs the favor. Heath is the best man at his dad’s third wedding and has just been dumped by his girlfriend. He needs a replacement bridesmaid in a hurry!

Handsome business executives, limos and manor houses—bring it on!

And where would Kate be without her very special friends? Amber, Kate and Saskia met up again at a high school reunion and are all back in London and all working hard to make new lives for themselves.

Saskia is still single and trying to stay sensible and in control, while Amber had been reunited with her teenage love, Sam. Look out for Saskia’s story, which will be coming soon.

In the meantime I do hope that you enjoy Kate and Heath’s journey to love and the happiness that they each deserve.

I am always delighted to hear from my readers and you can get in touch through my website at www. NinaHarrington.com (http://www.ninaharrington.com).

Every best wish,

Nina


Last-Minute Bridesmaid

Nina Harrington














www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


About Nina Harrington

Nina grew up in rural Northumberland, England, and decided at the age of eleven that she was going to be a librarian—because then she could read all the books in the public library whenever she wanted! Since then she has been a shop assistant, community pharmacist, technical writer, university lecturer, volcano walker and industrial scientist, before taking a career break to realize her dream of being a fiction writer. When she is not creating stories that make her readers smile, her hobbies are cooking, eating, enjoying good wine—and talking, for which she has had specialist training.


Contents

Prologue (#u66c7f0a1-a3a6-50bf-8255-56b9e2b69828)

Chapter One (#u2f64339f-ba49-5195-ad1b-7fe20936ea41)

Chapter Two (#u27816b8c-a174-5bf4-8030-234020b1ac81)

Chapter Three (#u199bfda7-f8ea-5613-8754-d372b9343aa1)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)


PROLOGUE

High school parties were the worst punishment in the world! In fact, there should be a law banning them for all girls who had not managed to find a date—especially on Valentine’s Day.

Squeezing in between the gaggles of teenage girls who had formed a tight huddle on the other side of the dance floor, Kate Lovat clutched her empty plastic cola glass with both hands and tried to push her way through to the bar by waggling her hips and elbows.

It would be so much easier if she was a couple of inches taller!

Not even the high-heeled sandals she had bought in the January sales could bring her up to the shoulders of the posh clique of rich girl prefects who had made it their duty to take guard duty on the bar.

From this much sought-after position they could snigger and make snide comments about what every other girl at the sixth form school party was wearing or not wearing, who they had brought as their date and generally act superior in their designer mini dresses, which barely covered their gym-tight assets.

Kate had seen those assets in the school showers many times over the past three years and they still had the power to make her feel that she came from a different species of teenage girl. The kind that hated exercise and would rather eat her own feet than strut around the changing room in only a thong and heels, pretending to look for a hairdryer, which was Crystal Jardine’s speciality.

Shame that Kate was providing them with such excellent entertainment.

So far the evening had been a disaster and she could not even rely on her pals to get her out of this one. Kate lifted her chin and tried to look around the crush of bodies to catch a glimpse of her backup crew.

Amber was laughing and chatting away with Sam in the corner, oblivious to anyone else in the room, Saskia was doing her best to entertain a girl cousin who had arrived from France the day before, and Petra was flirting with every boy in the room while her handsome date was at the bar. Nope. For once she was on her own.

‘Kate...what a lovely dress,’ Crystal simpered as she sneered down at her. ‘It was so clever of you to find something second-hand suitable for a petite figure. Is that why you’re the only girl in the class to turn up without a date on Valentine’s? What a shame. After you’ve gone to so much effort to clean yourself up.’

A ripple of amused snorting ran around Crystal’s little band of followers, which had been dubbed the Crystallites by Saskia. Cold and transparent and all the same.

She couldn’t help it. Kate had to run one hand down the side of her new strapless dark purple satin prom dress. She didn’t have much in way of boobage or hips for a girl aged seventeen years and one month, but she had done what she could with the help of her friend Amber’s bra collection. ‘Oh, do you like the dress?’ Kate looked up with an innocent expression and tried to fling off a casual reply. ‘I designed it myself but I wasn’t sure about the colour for my evening gloves.’

The tall blonde replied with a dismissive choke, ‘Evening gloves? For a school disco? What era do you think this is? It’s really embarrassing for the rest of us—in fact I suggest that you should take them off right now.’ And with that she reached down and started pulling the sleeve of the glove down from Kate’s elbow before she had time to snatch it away.

Kate gasped in disbelief and took a breath, ready to tell Crystal exactly what she could do with her suggestion, but before she had a chance to reply, four things happened in quick succession.

The plastic cola glass in her right hand fell, clattering, to the hard floor, Crystal blinked, pushed out her chest and did the hair-over-one-shoulder flick she reserved for full-on boy entrancement, the other girls in the group stopped yapping and started gawping and Kate instantly knew in every cell of her body, even before she turned around, that a very tall, very gorgeous man boy had just invaded their little world.

Her senses seemed to tune out the noise of the disco blasting out from the stage and the chatter that only forty teenage girls and their assorted friends and dates could make. It was as though she had been waiting all evening, no, all her life, to hear that rustling sound of crisp fabric and a rich aromatic aftershave which smelt of everything that represented old-school class, elegance, wealth and gorgeousness.

But she was still not prepared for the manly arm that wrapped around her waist and practically lifted her off her feet.

‘Katherine, there you are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’

Kate half turned in the circle of his arms and slowly, hesitantly looked up into the face of the one and only Heath Sheridan.

Amber’s stepbrother. Captain of the university polo team, heir to the Sheridan publishing empire, top of his business class, the celebrity party favourite, nice to children and animals.

And, to her, the most gorgeous twenty-year-old man alive.

He was smiling down at her with the full-on power smile she had seen him use before on the rare occasions that he came over to London from the Sheridan estate in Boston.

But she had never been on the receiving end of it up close and personal before. At this distance she could see the flecks of gold in those amazing dark brown eyes and the small scar on his smoothly shaven chin where, according to Amber, he had fallen off his sledge as a boy.

Well, that boy was long gone.

And hurrah and hallelujah and no complaints from her about that fact.

Heath’s neat brown hair was clipped tight around his ears but just long enough at the back of his neck for her hand to touch as she raised both arms and linked them behind his head—just to lay it on extra-thick for the open-mouthed gawping audience, of course.

The fact that he instinctively slid both arms around her middle, forcing her to literally cling to his body, was a truly special bonus.

‘Darling, you look wonderful,’ Heath said, his gaze totally locked on her face. ‘And that dress is divine on you. I am so sorry my flight was late getting into London. Can you ever forgive me?’

His voice was so husky, tinged with a soft transatlantic accent and deep and intimate that she could eat it with a spoon. It seemed to echo back in the small space that separated them, burning up the air and lodging inside her head, making her feel dizzy from lack of oxygen.

‘Of course, Heath,’ she replied in a low whisper. Her eyes fluttered closed for a second as her chest pressed against the open-necked silky white shirt he was wearing, which revealed just the smallest amount of chest hair but enough to do serious damage to her blood pressure, especially when his lips pressed into the top of her hair.

‘Sorry, ladies,’ he breathed, scarcely breaking his gaze to flick a look at Crystal, ‘but I am going to have to steal my gorgeous girl away from you. We’ve been apart for far too long. Don’t you agree, baby?’

A very unladylike squeak and part giggle escaped her lips and she managed a tiny self-satisfied but apologetic shoulder shrug as she slid back into her sandals, her feet hit the floor and she clung onto Heath’s arm.

With a brilliant smile, his arm tightened around her waist, pulling her even tighter against his body and his lips met her forehead this time, claiming her in front of the entire posh clique, who were slowly moving from stunned shock to dagger-looks mode. As they moved away like some romantic three-legged race, Kate flicked her hair back and silently mouthed the words elbow gloves to the thunderous face of Crystal Jardine.

Two minutes later, Kate’s feet had hardly touched the floor and she found herself standing propped up by Heath, next to Amber and Sam, who were smirking like mad—at her.

‘How did I do, Kate?’ Heath whispered in his very best husky voice into her ear, with his chin pressed against her temple. ‘Do you think those girls got the message? Now why don’t I get you that drink before I escort you all home?’ Heath grinned and tipped up her chin with a cheeky wink. ‘I take my job as a stand-in party date very seriously. So don’t you dare go away. I’ll be right back.’

She waited until Heath’s hand had slid languorously down her arm and his back was turned before grabbing Amber by the arm and flicking her head towards the ladies’ room.

‘We’ll just be a minute,’ she absent-mindedly flung at Sam, who simply shook his head, far too used to their little gang of rebels sticking together whenever possible. Petra seemed to have gone outside with a boy—typical—but Saskia didn’t even have time to ask what was happening before Kate propelled her into the powder room and as far away as possible from the cubicles where most of the other girls in their class seemed to be either crying or noisily suffering the effects of cheap wine and vodka cocktails.

‘What’s the emergency? Has Crystal been winding you up again?’ Saskia asked, trying not to shout above the ear-damaging background noise. ‘I keep telling you that the girl is only jealous.’

Kate swept her two best pals into a tight huddle before taking a breath so that all of her words came out in one long rush. ‘Heath Sheridan has just rescued me from the Crystallites and called me darling. And now he has gone to get me a drink. Amber, help me out here. What shall I do? I didn’t think that Heath even knew my name!’

‘Do?’ the six-foot-tall stunning blonde replied with a laugh. ‘You’re asking the wrong person. He might be my stepbrother but Heath has always looked out for me. I say go with it and then accept his offer of a lift home. Your grandfather’s place is just a few streets away and, from what I saw, he would be more than happy to see you home safely after he has dropped me off.’

‘Safely? This is your Heath we are talking about here. You know, the boy who has his pick of the rich, gorgeous girls at university? And what about those celebrity mags you keep showing me? He always has some flash, sophisticated lady draped over him at some big cheese event or other. Boys like that don’t have time for a seventeen-year-old wannabe fashion student.’

Saskia wrapped her arm around Kate’s shoulder. ‘Stop putting yourself down like that. You’re gorgeous and he knows it. Top marks to Heath—and it’s not as though he’s a stranger. You have met him before and Amber adores him.’

Amber sniffed. ‘I do. There is nobody else my mum would trust to deliver me home safe and sound—not even Sam. Go for it, Kate. He won’t let you down. Be brave.’

* * *

Brave? Brave was fine when she was with her pals but it was a very different matter sitting in the passenger seat of Heath’s sports car an hour later.

Alone. With Heath Sheridan.

Listening to his warm deep voice chatter on about the lecture he was planning to attend the next day. The radio was tuned to popular music, the brightly lit streets spun by and it seemed only minutes between leaving Amber’s third dad’s house and pulling up onto the pavement outside Kate’s grandfather’s shop. Her brain was spinning to come up with something clever and witty and eloquent to say. No chance! Breathing was hard enough, never mind talking.

Heath must think that she was a complete idiot. It was so humiliating.

And now he was opening the car door for her. If she was going to say something this was the time.

‘Thank you, Heath,’ she choked through a throat as dry as the Sahara as she took his hand, locked her knees together and swung her legs out of the car with as much decorum as she could manage and lifted her chin. ‘It was very kind of you to bring me home.’

His reply was to wrap one arm around her waist, push the car door closed with the other and half support her all of the four steps to the front door of the shop. Then wait until she had fished her key out of her tiny evening bag.

It was heaven and she sneaked a cuddle before he laughed out loud and whirled her around. ‘You are most welcome, lovely lady. Any time.’ And before she could reply he had lifted her gloved right hand to his lips and kissed the back of her knuckles. ‘It was my pleasure.’ He wrinkled his nose up and winked at her. And slowly, slowly, slid his hand from hers and half turned to go.

He was leaving. Heath was leaving. No!

Which was when she did it. Kate Lovat, doing-okay-but-not-likely-to-win-any-prizes high school student, trainee fashion designer and glove aficionado extraordinaire, stepped forward, grabbed the lapels of Heath’s jacket with both hands, raised herself as high as she could on tiptoe, closed her eyes and kissed him on the mouth. Hard.

The startled and strangely delighted look on his face when she did squint her eyes open made her whirl around, turn the key in the door and hurl herself inside before she had to face him.

‘Goodnight, Heath,’ she whispered as she pressed her back to the door, heart thumping and lungs heaving. ‘Goodnight. And very, very sweet dreams.’


ONE

Eleven years later.

Heath Sheridan was going to kill her.

He was going to jump up and stomp around and scowl and say that he knew that he had made a huge, huge mistake trusting her with something as important as making the bridesmaid dresses for his dad’s wedding.

Kate Lovat lifted her left arm and squinted at her wristwatch for the tenth time in the last five minutes, then winced, sighed out loud and joggled from foot to foot.

Amber had warned her that Heath hated people being late to meetings. Hated it.

After all, he wasn’t some heart-throb student any longer. Heath Sheridan was a serious publishing executive running his own media empire. He might have turned up late for that Valentine’s Day dance, but this was different. This was business.

And she was now officially, undeniably, without doubt, late.

As in already ten minutes late. And that was allowing for the fact that her grandmother’s watch always ran slow.

If only she hadn’t bumped into Patrick, the friend she shared her loft with, on her way out.

Of course Pat wanted to check that he hadn’t left anything behind in the studio, and then they’d got talking about his leaving party and then Leo had arrived to organise the photo shoot and...she’d finally escaped almost thirty minutes later. But it had always been the same. She was hopeless when it came to her friends.

Simply hopeless.

Just like her business management skills.

Good thing that she was a goddess when it came to the actual tailoring.

Kate slumped into the corner of the carriage of the rush-hour train on the London underground with both arms wrapped so tightly around her precious dress box that whenever the carriage lurched to one side, she lurched with it.

Today, of all days, the tube was slow leaving every single station on the route from her lowly design studio to the posh central London address for Sheridan Press. It seemed to be teasing her and the faster she willed it to go, the slower it went.

She had given up apologising to the other passengers after the first few times she had crashed into them and braced herself against the grubby glass partition instead.

The fact that she was too vertically challenged, as her friend Saskia called it, to reach the plastic loop swinging above her head was entirely immaterial when every lurch and rattle of the train seemed to be calling out in a sing-song tune the word late, rattle, late, late, rattle, late. Taunting her.

But it didn’t matter. She had worked so hard on these dresses and they were lovely.

She would make Amber proud of her and prove to Heath and the wedding guests and their friends, hairdressers, postmen and anyone else they knew, how fabulously professional and creative she was and that they should choose Katherine Lovat Designs to create all of their future outfits.

With a bit of luck this wedding would be exactly the type of promotional opportunity she had been looking for. The first three dresses had already been delivered to the bride and the fourth and final dress had been finished right on deadline. Just as she had promised it would be.

Now all she had to do was go out into a thunderstorm and deliver the final dress—and she would be done.

Kate glanced down at her damp high-heeled peep-toe ankle boots and crunched her toes together several times to get the circulation going again.

Okay, maybe they weren’t the most sensible footwear in the world for trudging through city streets on the way to make a special delivery, but it shouldn’t be raining in July. It should be sunny and warm and the pavements dry enough to walk on without being in danger of being drenched from passing cars.

The train slowed but Kate’s pulse started to race as she peered out at the curved tile walls as they pulled into the tube station.

This was it. She swallowed down a lump of anxiety and nervous tension the size of a wedding hat, and then she lifted her chin and turned on her trademark bright and breezy happy smile.

Nothing to see here, folks. Move along. Everything is fine in Kate land.

No problems at all.

The lease on the warehouse studio which she rented with Patrick had not just doubled in cost in the last year, Patrick had not just decided to leave London and move to Hollywood as a wardrobe assistant in the movie business and, biggest of all, she was totally, absolutely not nervous about meeting the man she was on her way to see at that minute.

Heath Sheridan was Amber’s ex-stepbrother. That was all. And her silly teenage crush was over years ago!

So what if she had pounced on Heath the last time that she had seen him? They had both kissed a lot of other people since then. He was bound to have forgotten that embarrassing little incident...wouldn’t he?

She had never seen Heath since that night and he certainly hadn’t got in touch with her. But of course that was the autumn his mother had been taken ill and coming back to London wasn’t included in his plans.

No. This was a straightforward business transaction. Heath needed the last of the four bridesmaids’ dresses today and was willing to pay extra to have it delivered in person.

Why should it matter if Heath saw her looking like a drowned rat? With her soggy bare toes sticking out of her damp designer boots?

He probably wouldn’t even notice that she was late for their meeting. And wet.

Probably.

And if he did, well, she could simply make a joke of her problems. The way she always did.

The glass doors slid open behind her back and Kate exploded onto the crowded platform with the crush of other passengers behind her with such momentum that she had to press one hand against the wall to protect her precious cargo.

And instantly winced.

She had just touched a wall decorated with graffiti, and who knew what else, with her white lace summer gloves.

Well, this day was getting better all the time.

It would actually be funny if she wasn’t so nervous.

She sucked in a breath of hot fuel and soot-filled air charged with that tang of electricity from the tracks.

Nervous? Kate Lovat did not do nervous.

Kate Lovat was brave and strong and invincible and courageous.

Kate Lovat was going to exude an aura of total confidence and professionalism and Heath’s family would recommend her work to all of their friends.

Kate Lovat had just spent an hour on her make-up so that it looked natural, and much longer choosing a professional outfit which would impress even the toughest of clients.

She clutched the dress box to her chest as she boarded the escalator.

She needed high-profile clients like the Sheridans to adore the bridesmaids’ dresses she had created. After all, she had followed the brief Heath had emailed her to the letter.

Okay. Maybe she might have added a little something extra. After all, she had to stamp some Lovat flourish on her work. Otherwise, what would be the point of making something unique?

A smile crept up from her mouth to her eyes and a quick chuckle caught in her throat.

Watch out, Heath Sheridan. Ready or not, here I come. Get ready to be dazzled.

* * *

‘The trade fair figures are not what we wanted, Heath. The presentations were brilliant and every buyer I spoke to was impressed with the quality of the hardbacks, but they are dragging their heels when it comes to firm orders,’ Lucas explained, his exasperation clear even down the cellphone from a Malaysian hotel. ‘The book stores simply don’t want to hold a wide range of reference titles which only shift a few copies a year.’

Heath Sheridan scanned through the sales figures that had arrived onto his notebook computer in the past few minutes and quickly pulled together a comparison chart of how book sales were tracking in each region.

No matter how he mapped the data, the results were the same.

Sales were down in every category of reference book that had made Sheridan Press one of the few remaining commercially successful privately owned international publishing houses. The company had made its name one hundred and twenty years ago with high end, beautifully produced reference books. Biographies, dictionaries and atlases. Lovely books designed to last. And they did last. And that was the problem.

Over the past few weeks he had worked with Lucas and his talented marketing team to come up with a brilliant promotional campaign which focused on how Sheridan Press had invested in digital technology to illustrate the books which were still bound by hand so that every single reference book was a unique work of art. A superb combination of the latest technology with the finest hand-crafting techniques that four generations of the Sheridan family had created.

Shame that the booksellers did not see it that way.

That was precisely the kind of approach that his father had been looking for when he’d asked Heath to inject some new blood into the company—and save the jobs of hundreds of employees who made up Sheridan Press in the process.

Growing up, he had spent more time watching men embossing gold letters onto beautiful books than he had watching sports. These men had given their lives to the Sheridan family, just as their fathers and grandfathers had done before them.

He could not fail them. He would not fail them.

Heath exhaled long and slow before replying to his father’s Far East sales manager, who had lost just as much sleep as he had preparing for this sales trip. ‘I know that you and your team did the very best you could, Lucas—thank you for all of your hard work,’ Heath said, trying to inject a lighter tone to his voice. ‘Let’s see what Hong Kong brings! I can just see all of those new undergraduates heading off to university with some Sheridan books under their arms this fall.’

‘Absolutely.’ Lucas laughed out loud. ‘Call you when we get there. Oh—and don’t forget to take some time out to enjoy yourself at the wedding of the year. I’m glad I don’t have to come up with a best man’s speech for my own dad.’

‘Hey! I’m going to be a great best man. But, talking about enjoying yourself—why not take the team out to celebrate on Saturday? I’ll pick up the tab.’

‘Sounds good to me. Call you later in the week.’

The cellphone clicked off, leaving Heath in silence, his quick brain working through the ramifications of the call. Frustration and exasperation combined with resigned acceptance. This promotional tour of the Far East book fairs had to pay for itself in increased sales. This was precisely the market the investment in new technology was designed to attract.

He had been convinced that the techniques that had worked so brilliantly in the commercial fiction line of the Sheridan publishing empire, could be applied to the reference book section. He had taken over a tiny and neglected division straight out of university and transformed it into one of the seven top commercial publishers in the world. The profits from Sheridan Media had been keeping Sheridan Press afloat for years.

Surely it was time to reap the benefits of ten years of driving himself with a punishing workload. When was the last time that he had a holiday? And what about the series of failed relationships and missed family events?

There had to be a way to use all of that hard-won success to save the reference books. And save his relationship with his father at the same time.

His father had reached out to ask for his business advice. It was a small step—but a real step. And an important one in rebuilding their fragile family life. The media loved it and Heath had set up press releases and interviews which had rippled through the publishing world. New technology and traditional craftsmanship. Father and son. It was a golden ticket. Heath Sheridan was the equivalent of calling in the cavalry to save yet another much respected publisher from going to the wall.

He had jumped at the chance, excited by the possibilities. And excited by the opportunity to spend more time with Charles Sheridan. They had never had an easy-going relationship and this was the first time they had worked together as professionals.

Of course he hadn’t counted on being asked to be best man at his own father’s wedding. Especially considering who the bride was. That was an unexpected twist.

Asking for help or acknowledging any kind of problem had never been Charles Sheridan’s strong point. Maybe he should report back on what Lucas had told him.

Heath flipped open his phone when there was a polite cough and he looked up, blinking. The car had pulled to a halt and his driver was standing on the pavement, holding the door open for him while the rain soaked into the shoulders of his smart jacket.

Apologising profusely, Heath generously tipped the driver and stepped out of the executive car his father had sent to collect him from the airport. He stood long enough to take one quick glance up at the elegant stone building that was now the London office of Sheridan Press before the reporters realised who he was and ran out from the shelter of the arched entrance, cameras flashing.

Heath pulled his coat closer as protection against the heavy rain and smiled at the press.

Dealing with the media was all part of the job—as long as they produced column inches in the financial and trade press, then he was happy.

‘Mr Sheridan. Over here, sir. Mr Sheridan, is it true that you are taking over Sheridan Press when your father retires, Mr Sheridan?’

‘What can you tell us about rumours that the printing operation is going overseas, Mr Sheridan?’

‘How do you feel about being the best man at your father’s wedding? Is it third time lucky for Charles Sheridan?’

‘Thanks for coming out in this typically English summer weather, everyone.’ Heath smiled and waved at the cameras before turning to the female reporter who had asked the last question. ‘Alice Jardine is a lovely lady who my father has known for many years as a close friend. I wish them every happiness together. Of course I was delighted when my father asked me to be the best man at his wedding this weekend—it isn’t often that happens. As for the company? Business as usual, ladies and gentlemen. And no closures. Not while I am on the team. Thank you.’

And at that, by some unspoken signal, the main entrance doors slid open and Heath stepped inside with a quick smile and a wave.

But, just as he turned away from the press, a man’s voice echoed from over his shoulder, ‘Is it true that your late mother and Alice Jardine were good friends, Mr Sheridan? How do you feel about that?’

The doors slid shut and Heath carried on walking across the pale marble floor of the hallway, apparently deaf to the question, and it was only in the solitary space of the elevator that he slowly unclenched his fingers.

One by one. Willing each breath he took to slow down as the words of that last question repeated over and over again inside his head.

Feel?

How did he feel about the fact that the woman who had been his mother’s best friend was marrying his father?

How did he feel about the fact that Alice had been with his father while his mother lay dying in a hospice?

How did he feel?

Heath tugged hard at the double cuffs of his tailor-made shirt and fought back the temptation to hit something hard.

But that wouldn’t fit into his carefully designed image.

Heath Sheridan did not get ruffled or upset or display outrageous bursts of emotion and temper. Oh, no. He played it cool. He was a Boston Sheridan and the Boston Sheridans kept their feelings buried deep enough to be icebergs.

Well, this ice man was not going to melt and let the rest of the world feel the heat of the raging temper that was burning inside him at that moment, threatening to spill out into some ill-judged outburst.

So what if his father’s choice of bride hit one of his hot buttons?

He could deal with it. Was dealing with it. Would continue to deal with it.

Ironic that he should be asked that question outside the very house where his mother had spent the first twenty years of her life. The house had been built for his grandparents, who had been part of a group of aristocratic artist writers and intellectuals in the Arts and Crafts movement in the nineteen-thirties and the Art Deco features were original and stunning, especially in the library. Two storeys of hand-carved teak shelves were connected by a circular staircase which led onto an upper-level gallery, lit by a central domed roof.

Of course it had the wow factor for visitors to Sheridan Press, who were too much in awe to take notice of the fact that the recent catalogue of Sheridan books would fit neatly into one small part of the lower shelf.

Heath remembered playing hide-and-seek in the many stunning rooms, attics and cellars when he was a boy on rare visits to London with his parents, but now it was little more than a private meeting venue for his father and his circle of artist friends like Alice Jardine.

Closing his eyes, he could almost see his mother playing the piano in the drawing room below while he played with his grandparents in the patio garden outside the open French windows. The smell of lavender and beeswax. Old books and linseed oil. Because, above everything else, this house had always been filled with artists, the dinner table chatter was about art, the library full of books and exhibition catalogues about art and, of course, every available wall had been a living, constantly changing art gallery.

The thought of Alice walking these corridors where his mother had been so very happy was something that he was slowly coming to terms with. But he wasn’t there yet. And he wasn’t entirely sure that he ever would be.

That was something else he was going to have to work on.

In the meantime? He had a wedding to survive. A wedding where it was going to be crucial to pretend that all was rosy in the Sheridan family, and father and son were working together like the dream team they were pretending to be.

Heath strolled over to the lovely polished marquetry desk and sat down heavily on an antique chair, which creaked alarmingly at the weight.

His father and his new fiancée had ordered a relaxed country house wedding—and that was precisely what they were going to get—with his help.

Heath opened up his laptop and was just about to dive into the checklist for the wedding arrangements when his cellphone rang and he flipped it open and answered without even checking to see who was calling him.

‘Sheridan,’ he said, and jammed the phone between his solid wide jaw and his shoulder blade so that he could scroll down the project plan and highlight the key activities while taking the call at the same time.

‘Heath? Heath, is that you?’ a female voice called down the worst phone line that he had ever heard. Loud crackling noises and what sounded like thunder screamed out at him.

Heath instantly focused on the call. ‘Olivia, I was starting to get worried. Did you make your flight to London on time? Sorry about the British weather but the forecast is looking good for the next few days.’

The response was a loud clattering sound as though heavy objects were being dropped onto a metal floor, and Heath held the phone a few inches away from his ear until he heard his girlfriend’s voice, which gradually became clearer. ‘That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, but all the lines are down. I’m still in China. Heath?’

He closed his eyes and counted to ten before blinking. ‘Olivia, tell me that you’re joking.’

‘The tropical storm that hit three days ago has just been declared a typhoon,’ her echoing voice replied. ‘A typhoon! Would you believe it? Even the helicopters have been grounded.’

Heath pinched the top of his nose, and then quickly typed in search details for the weather in Southern China. Whirls of thick white cloud and misty shapes of land masses covered with warning symbols reflected back at him from the screen as he replied. ‘This looks serious. Are you okay? I mean, do you have somewhere safe to go until the weather clears?’

‘The valley has already flooded,’ she yelled, ‘so the whole team is being evacuated further up the mountain into the cave system.’ Then she paused for a second. ‘I have to be honest with you, Heath. Even if the weather had been good, I had already decided not to fly to London for your father’s wedding.’

Tension creased his brow as Heath tabbed though the images and he slumped back in the hard chair. ‘What do you mean? We talked about this a few weeks ago,’ he replied and clasped the fingers of one hand around the back of his neck and rubbed it back and forth as a cold hollow feeling pooled in the pit of his stomach.

‘No. You talked. And I tried to explain that I needed time away on my own to think about where our relationship was heading. It’s been almost a year now, Heath, and you are just as cold and guarded as you were the day I first met you. Your work is more important than me. Than us. I’m sorry, Heath, but I can’t keep this relationship alive on my own. I think it is better if we go our separate ways. I want something more. We both deserve a chance for happiness. And mine is not with you.’

She seemed about to say something when muffled voices and engine noise echoed down the phone. ‘I have to go. Please send Charles and Alice my apologies and tell them I’ll catch up the minute I get back. I’ll be thinking of you this weekend and we’ll talk more when I get back. And I am sorry, Heath, but this is goodbye. Have a great time at the wedding. Bye.’

And then the phone went dead.

Heath Sheridan stared at the completely innocent telephone for several seconds while he suppressed the urge to throw it out of the stained-glass window.

This is goodbye? Have a great time at the wedding?

What had just happened? Because, unless he had completely got it wrong...his girlfriend had just broken up with him. On the telephone. From China.

Okay. It was July and this would have been the first time that they had spent more than a couple of days together since New Year. He had frantically completed a major promotional tour for his bestselling thriller author before moving to Boston to work for Sheridan Press. There never seemed to be enough hours in the day, especially over the past few months.

And what about her work?

Olivia’s anthropology project with Beijing University had turned into a major excavation into cave art which would take years to complete. She had even had to send the dressmaker her dimensions for her bridesmaid’s dress by email. He knew this because he was the one who had taken the barrage of complaints from Kate Lovat about making a bridesmaid’s dress for a slim five-foot-three girl who would have to wear the dress without a single fitting.

Heath’s fingers froze on the keyboard.

Oh, no.

He was going to have to tell the bride that she was going to have to walk down the aisle of the village church on her family estate with three bridesmaids instead of four.

He dropped his head into his hands and groaned.

He was toast.


TWO

Kate stood in the doorway to the library room and took a breath.

The last time that she had seen Heath Sheridan was at a high school dance and it had certainly been a memorable occasion. Just thinking about that moment when she had jumped on him to say goodnight made her feel so embarrassed and intimidated. And that was without the height difference, which meant that he towered over her without even trying.

Kate shrugged off her nerves. That was years ago. This time they were equal. Two professionals with their own businesses.

Unfortunately for her poor heart, Heath Sheridan had the nerve to have actually become even more handsome than the man she remembered and Amber talked about constantly.

The star student who had made his name turning around the popular fiction division of the family publishing company should be round-shouldered and wear cardigans with leather patches at the elbow.

He had no right to be so tall and clear-skinned. And that hair! Lush dark brown hair which curled into the base of his neck and seemed to have a mind of its own. He had never been vain—she knew that from talking to Amber—but style and vanity were two very different matters and Heath Sheridan had style to spare.

Why shouldn’t he?

Amber wore gowns by top fashion houses and his family were on the top level of Boston society. It made perfect sense for him to be wearing a tailored black suit and shirt which fitted him so perfectly she knew instinctively that they had been made to measure.

Those strong shoulders, slim waist and hips would be a gift to any tailor.

Oh, my. And how she would like to dress him.

Suddenly the room become stiflingly hot and it had nothing to do with the weather!

‘Ah! There you are,’ Kate called out through a tight throat. ‘Special delivery for the man of the house, courtesy of Lovat courier services. Great to see you again, Heath.’

She waited for him to turn around and give her one of those fabulous grins that used to make her teenage knees wobble.

And she waited. And then she waited a little longer. But his gaze stayed totally locked onto whatever he was finding so fascinating on his computer screen. She could see that he was reading and typing so he was not asleep.

So she tried again.

‘Hi, Heath. Your one-woman dressmaker and delivery service is here.’

Kate looked at Heath and then looked at the pretty dress box that she had slaved for hours to create and then carted across London in a downpour.

She might forgive him for not turning around to greet her but there was no way that he was going to ignore the fabulous work that she had done.

‘Thank you, Kate. You were such a star to drop everything else that you were working on to create four amazing outfits at the very last minute as a personal favour,’ she murmured under her breath as she slung her shoulder bag higher over her shoulder.

‘Sorry I cannot find the time to even look at your work,’ she added with a mock lilt in her voice. ‘Don’t let the door swing on your way out.’

Heath did not even glance at her.

Right. Well, that answered that question. ‘Bye, Heath. See you around some time. Have a fabulous wedding. The bill is in the post.’

Still no reply.

What had she been thinking?

The fashion design company she had created from scratch and passion was in so much trouble. She should be back in her studio working on ballet costumes for her pal Leo, not spending what little free time she had stolen from the day getting dressed up to deliver wedding clothes as a favour for her friend’s stepbrother.

Her friend’s gorgeous, handsome, debonair and totally oblivious to the fact that she existed brother.

She was delusional. And more than a little pathetic.

‘Have a lovely wedding. I do hope everything goes well. Why don’t I just leave this last dress with you and call you later? Bye!’ she smiled and sang out in a sing-song voice.

Nothing. Not even a raised eyebrow.

Kate pressed a hand to each hip. Well, now he was just being rude.

Kate tossed her bag onto a chair and stomped over to the desk and, before Heath could do anything to stop her, closed the lid down on his laptop and swivelled the chair away from the desk.

And at that very moment he looked up and turned his head.

His mouth twisted into a half smile that screamed out that he had known that she was there the whole time. Eyes the colour of the burnt sugar coating on the top of a crème caramel dessert smiled at her, dazzling and driving any chance of sensible thought from her brain.

She half closed her eyes and scowled at him then rapped her knuckles twice on his forehead. Hard.

‘Hello. Is anyone at home?’ she said, ignoring his shouts of protest. ‘Remember me? The girl who has just gone out of her way to hand-deliver the last bridesmaid’s dress so that your new stepmum won’t be followed down the aisle by a girl in cargo pants?’

‘Kate. Yes. Of course. How long have you been waiting?’ Heath replied with a groan as he rubbed life back into his forehead.

‘Long enough to realise that you have not been listening to a word that I have said. In fact a person of delicate sensibilities might even call you rude and insulting.’

‘Oh, no. Did I just zone out on you?’

She nodded slowly, up and down, her lips pushed forward. ‘If that is what you call totally ignoring me for the past five minutes, then yes, you did.’

Then he did the smiley thing again and there was just enough of a twinkle in those eyes to drive away the clouds.

Wow, some men just ticked all the boxes. It was so unfair to the others.

‘I apologise. It is one of my many flaws and I had no intention of being rude or ignoring you. I spend most of my time in an open-plan publishing office with a team who are never off the phone. Being able to disconnect is actually an advantage. But not always.’

She leant back and scowled at him, ‘Really?’

‘Really,’ he whispered, and the corners of his mouth turned up into a small smile. ‘I do that a lot when I’m stressed. And I am stressed. This wedding is driving me crazy. Am I forgiven?’

‘I’m thinking about it,’ she retorted. ‘Well, that is such a pathetic excuse, but I suppose that it will have to do. But why is this wedding driving you crazy? Are you thinking of leaving the publishing world behind to retrain as a wedding planner?’

His eyes closed and he gave a pretend dramatic shudder. ‘I don’t know how they do it. This was supposed to be a small family wedding. Low-key. Intimate. You would think that it would be easy to manage. Think again.’ He raked both hands back through his hair and her breathing rate went up a notch just at the sight of it.

‘So why are you helping to organise this wedding?’

‘Family, duty. And the fact that my dad asked me to be his best man just when he was supposed to be in the middle of launching a new publishing line in Britain. It was only when I started asking questions that it soon became apparent that the whole event was in need of serious organisation.’

He shook his head. ‘Artists and writers are so talented, but their focus isn’t usually on the minute details. The bride’s cousin offered to make all of the arrangements as her—’ and at this he made inverted commas with his fingers ‘—wedding present to the happy couple. I thought that my mum’s family were bad enough but the Jardines have taken chaos to the next level.’

‘Hey. I’m an artist. And we can be organised when we have to be!’

* * *

Heath Sheridan swivelled around in the heavy leather chair and gave his full attention to the pint-sized bundle of brightness and fun and energy who had burst into the hallowed library.

And then looked twice. Then looked again.

The girl standing looking at him in the elegant grey business suit had Kate’s voice but she had certainly changed a lot from the fashion student with wild hair and wilder clothing who he vaguely remembered as one of Amber’s school friends.

Her layered short brown hair framed delicate features and a pair of clear, determined and very green eyes. A sprinkle of summer freckles covered her nose but her eyes and lips had been expertly made up to make her features look magical in the diffuse light of the library.

Kate Lovat was a pixie in a skirt suit.

She seemed taller than he recalled from their last meeting but then he was sitting down and she was wearing...what was she wearing on her feet? Platform stiletto boots—but the front had been cut away so that her toes stuck out.

Why would anyone wear ankle boots—which were open-toed?

There had to be some logical explanation but at that moment he could not think of a single one, except that, oh yes—the quirky Kate was still there under the slick make-up and suit.

‘Organised? I’m very pleased to hear it,’ he coughed, quickly trying to drag his gaze away from her legs, ‘because that would make two of us. My father wanted the wedding to go smoothly. So there was only one thing for me to do—take control of the arrangements as my gift to my dad. It’s a different sort of wedding present, but at least it saves on wrapping paper.’

‘Ah. Control.’ She smiled and gave a small shoulder wiggle, which acted like a shot of warmth in the cool room. ‘Now I’m getting the picture. Well, now you can relax because I have something special for you. The last of the bridesmaids’ dresses. I finished it this morning and it is fabulous—’ she paused and looked up from unwrapping a long thick card box and gave a small shrug ‘—of course—’ then went back to untying the ribbons and lifting off the lid ‘—so you can relax and tick that off your list. They are all done. And, what’s more, you have a chance to check the merchandise before the bride. Now that is an opportunity not to be missed. But clean hands only. No sticky paws.’

Sticky paws? What?

Heath closed the distance between them and leant down to peer inside the card box, which seemed to be filled with sheets of silky cream tissue paper.

Kate’s tailored pale grey and white tweed jacket hung open at the front, revealing a coral-coloured stretchy-looking top which clung to her curves above a slim matching grey pencil skirt.

She might be wearing high-heeled shoes but she still only came up to his shoulder. A floral fragrance of roses, gardenias and jasmine filled his head. She smelt of summer on a wet and windy day and suddenly his world seemed a happier place. How did she do that?

‘I have to admit,’ she continued and slipped away from his touch, ‘I am always happy to make personal deliveries to my customers, but you did cut it fine.’

He paused and glanced out of the window before strolling across to the fine wooden cabinet with a hidden refrigerator inside and picking out two bottles of water and two glasses. ‘Last-minute decision. What do you give the bride who already has everything?’

‘Um. Good point. A toaster wouldn’t exactly cut it. I mean...’ she turned her head from side to side as though to check that they were alone ‘...I take it that the bride is not some flighty gold-digger after your dad’s loot.’

The water caught in his throat and went down the wrong way, making him cough and splutter over his computer. Kate stood on tiptoe to thump him hard between the shoulder blades. Twice. Until he lifted his hand in submission and turned back to her. After a couple of deep breaths he blinked and wiped tears from the corners of his eyes, well aware that Kate’s gaze was locked onto his face.

‘Thank you,’ he wheezed. ‘And no. Alice is definitely not after my dad for his money. She was the one who wanted a family wedding at the Jardine country estate. She knows how my dad hates fuss. This suits him very well and I’m happy to help make it all go smoothly.’

‘Are you in training for Amber’s wedding?’ She nodded. ‘What? Why are you shaking your head like that?’

‘Because there is no way that I ever want to do this again. Once is quite enough. You have no idea of the things I have had to deal with. And just wait until Alice and my dad get back from the airport with the last batch of guests. You do not want to be here when I break the news about Olivia.’

Kate reared back with a puzzled look on her face. ‘Olivia? What news about Olivia?’

Heath pressed a finger and thumb into the bridge of his nose.

What news? How about the fact that my girlfriend has just decided to dump me days before my father’s wedding? That’s all. Because apparently I am cold and guarded. Nothing important. Nothing to worry about. Just one more relationship down the pan.

He closed his eyes for a second in a futile attempt to regain control. But Olivia’s words kept echoing through his brain until they were all he could think about.

Cold and guarded.

This was pretty much the same thing the two girlfriends before Olivia had complained about. Was he cold? Guarded, yes. He did protect himself from becoming emotionally dependent on anyone, and especially a woman. Why shouldn’t he? He had seen the massive damage that kind of relationship could have on the family and the man. There was no way that he could ever allow himself to love one person and one place so completely. Not when they could be snatched away from him at a moment’s notice and he was powerless to prevent it. But cold?

Blinking his eyes open, Heath was about to reply to Kate’s question with some casual throwaway comment, when his gaze fell on the open box.

Something sparkling and shiny nestled in the tissue paper.

In two steps he was standing, looking in disbelief at the confection of dusty pink lace and satin, scarcely able to believe his eyes.

‘What’s this?’ he asked, pointing to the swirls of iridescent ivory-coloured pearls which had been sewn into the lacework across the bodice and sleeves.

‘Embellishment, of course.’ She grinned.

He should have known that things were going too smoothly. Embellishment!

Amber had trusted Kate, but then again Amber adored her friends and was obviously incapable of being objective about their abilities.

After today’s little bombshell from Olivia, the last thing he wanted to do was deal with faulty bridesmaids’ dresses.

Heath picked up his tablet computer and scanned through emails. ‘Alice sent me very specific instructions about the bridesmaids’ dresses that she required for her wedding. All four had to be the same design and made of the same fabric. Very plain. And no mention of the word embellishment.’

He looked up at her, eyebrows raised. ‘Has she made any comments about the first three?’

Kate nodded. ‘Alice has been travelling with your father for the past two weeks so I sent them over to the Manor yesterday. She texted me to say that they had arrived safe and sound but she wasn’t going to open the boxes until her bridesmaids arrived.’

‘So Alice hasn’t checked the dresses yet.’

‘What? And spoil the fun of opening the boxes with the gals? It will be like Christmas morning.’

‘Right. All I asked you to do, Kate, was make four very plain dresses. That was simple enough, wasn’t it?’ His gaze focused on the beaded neckline. ‘I didn’t think that you would change the design into something more elaborate.’

‘You’re forgetting something very important.’ She glared at him. ‘People pay me to transform a simple idea into a beautiful design. Otherwise why bother having dresses made-to-measure? Alice could have gone to a department store for a plain dress. She expects me to do something creative with this idea. Don’t you like the idea of being creative?’

Creative? He had grown up with an artist mother whose idea of responsibility was making sure there was always paint and canvas in the house. Everything else was unnecessary. Timetables were for other people to follow, not her. She was talented, celebrated, enchanting and, for a teenage boy desperate for some structure in his life, totally exasperating.

Kate Lovat was clearly cut from the same mould.

Not even an elegant grey and white pinstripe skirt suit could hide the fact that she was just as irresponsible and creative as the girl he remembered from the last time they’d met.

He should have guessed that Kate had not changed that much. Who else would choose to wear quirky red leather ankle boots with her toes sticking out the front on a wet July afternoon?

His gaze scanned her legs—and lingered a little too long on those shapely smooth legs before focusing on the footwear. Her toenails were painted in the exact same shade of red as her boots.

Fire engine red.

A flaming symbol of her attitude to life.

Well, it certainly fitted, because she had just managed to spark a match under the very last scrap of patience he had held on to for emergencies and burnt it to a crisp.

There was one thing he hated above anything else—and that was surprises.

‘Are all four dresses like this one?’ he asked with a rock-stiff jaw.

‘Of course they are. You ordered matching outfits.’

A deep furrow appeared between Heath’s brows and the air practically crackled with electricity as he exploded with a reply. ‘Kate, Alice ordered plain. I don’t know much about fashion, but this is not plain.’

Kate stepped forward so that her entire body was only inches away from his, and the fire in her eyes was the same colour as her toenails.

‘And I know about fashion. Alice. Will love. These dresses. The bridesmaids will love these dresses. Your father will love these dresses. The entire clan gathered for this shindig will love these dresses. And the wedding will be a huge success, Heath. Job done.’

‘Job done? I don’t think so. Have you any idea how important this wedding is? This is the first time in ten years that my father’s asked me to do anything for him. I’m not prepared to see their wedding day ruined by you taking creative licence. These dresses will have to be altered.’

Concern fuelled his anger but Kate’s response threw petrol onto the flames.

Because she did not look away or back down. She stared him out, and the look in her eyes was something new, something he had not seen before.

This was not the same girl he remembered. Little Kate had certainly grown up.

‘Change them? Do you have any idea what you are saying?’ Her words came out in a staccato retort of crisp clear sounds as though she was struggling to contain herself. ‘There is no way that I can alter even one of these dresses before the weekend. So, as far as I am concerned, this is it. No negotiation. No replacements.’

A surge of disbelief swept through him and he was about to launch into a tirade when his cellphone rang. His personal assistant was returning his call.

‘Don’t go anywhere,’ he ordered, pointing the phone at her chest like a baton and turned back to the desk and the sales figures.

* * *

Kate desperately fought to find the words needed to frame some kind of response but was saved when he moved out of earshot.

With a twist of her heels she turned away from him and leapt back up the stairs and tugged open the glass cases that held the books and pretended to be fascinated in the first book she picked up.

Her eyes were too blurry to read the title on the spine or admire the fine end papers.

The one thing that she had been secretly dreading for years had finally happened.

She wasn’t good enough for Heath.

And he had no idea whatsoever of how much pain and humiliation she felt at a few simple words of condemnation.

He was rejecting this dress that she had worked on for hour after hour of painstaking hand-sewing after a few seconds of his so very precious time. How could he not know that when he rejected her work he was rejecting her and everything she stood for and had worked for at the same time?

Time and time again she had come up against the same attitude, the same complaint, and the same demand. Keep it simple. Don’t get clever. Conform to what everyone else is doing. That way we might like you and take you seriously.

Even her own parents thought that she should conform. Sacrifice her creativity and ideas on the altar of the bland and the stale and the conventional.

And just the thought of that made her heart shrink with pain and anguish.

She had always known that Heath would be different, but facing it head-on in a stark announcement like this was a lot harder than she had expected. The pain hit her just behind the knees and she casually flicked her skirt out and sat down on the step before she fell down and felt even more of a fool.

She had to get out of here.

That was it.

She had made her delivery. Her job was done.

The moment her legs started working again she could take off back to the studio and lock the door and laugh about what a silly teenage crush she had once upon a time on a man who turned out to be not worth it after all.

This was so totally crazy it was mad.

Heath had never looked on her as anything else than Amber’s funny little school friend. Someone he had never taken seriously. Someone he humoured because he loved Amber and wanted to make her happy.

Part of her respected that.

Shame that the rest of her wanted to get home as fast as she could and cry her heart out over a bucket of ice cream.

This was not just futile but ridiculous and pathetic. She had finally had the rose-tinted spectacles whipped from her eyes so that she could see Heath for who he was and not the boy she had kissed on her doorstep all of those years ago.

Strange. She should be used to being disappointed with men, but she had always hoped that Heath would be different. That he would be the caring man that Amber adored.

She had dated fashion designers, artists and musicians who all claimed to be creative and experimental—but in the end they all turned out to be bland and conformist, too willing to change their ideas to fit in, and she had walked away from every one of them.

Hoping for something better. Hoping for someone who liked her exactly the way she was and loved what she did and did not want to change her or ‘shape her talent’ as one agent had called it.

No, thanks. She decided what she did. She set the standards and followed her dream and nobody, not even Heath, was going to stop her from keeping her fashion designs alive.

No. She would stay as she was. Amber’s little friend. That way, Heath would never know how much effort it took for her to get back to her feet and look at him crossing the room through the raging sea of confused emotions and regret that were still roiling inside her.

‘Fine,’ she replied, and folded the tissue paper over the dress, closed down the lid on the box and popped it under her arm before staring up into his face with a clear serious expression. ‘I’ll take this dress. But you have to understand something. This might be your father’s third marriage, Mr Sheridan. But this will be my fifteenth. Yes, that’s right; so far fourteen brides have trusted me to be creative with their wedding garments and by the end of the season that will be twenty.’

She took a tight hold of the box, which seemed outrageously large compared to her tiny frame. ‘You know where to find me if you change your mind. Good luck on the big day. You’re going to need it. Because right now your precious girlfriend Olivia doesn’t have a bridesmaid dress—and try explaining that to the bride. End of.’

And with that she turned on her heel and walked straight out of the door, her hips swaying, her high-heeled boots clicking on the hardwood floor and her seriously annoyed nose high in the air.


THREE

Heath Sheridan stepped out from the back seat of the black London cab, tugged down his suit jacket, then turned and thanked the driver. The taxi slid away from the kerb, leaving him standing on the pavement outside Kate’s studio feeling rather like a teenager watching his parents drive away from his boarding school on the first morning of the new term.

He knew that feeling only too well and it nagged at the deep well of disquiet before he rolled his shoulders back and strolled out into the bright July sunshine.

An imposing two-level stone warehouse stretched out the whole length of one side of the cobbled street. It reminded him very much of the Sheridan print works back in an old part of Boston which had not changed over the last one hundred years. Impressive buildings like these were created to intimidate visitors with the power and wealth of the owners in a time before press conferences and the kind of celebrity TV interviews he was accustomed to organizing for his bestselling fiction writers.

Well, he knew all about that. Sheridan Press had built up a reputation through years of hard work and quiet, understated excellence. Not flashy promotions or grand gestures. That was the world that his father had grown up in, which made it even more remarkable that he had swallowed his pride and asked Heath to help him.

In hindsight he should have guessed that there was more to the request than the business problems—but he had never expected it to be personal.

Just one more reason why Alice Jardine was going to have four bridesmaids walking behind her on Saturday, not three.

A passing delivery van snapped Heath awake and he straightened his back and strode towards the warehouse.

There was only one girl who would fit that bridesmaid’s dress and that girl was Kate Lovat. So he had better gird himself to do some serious grovelling.

Attached to the wall was a modern nameplate with the words Katherine Lovat Designs in an elegant font.

It was classy but not stuffy or imposing. And it stopped Heath in his tracks.

Perhaps it’d been a mistake to underestimate Kate Lovat?

Kate had been an astonishing delight until he had opened his big mouth and put his foot in it. Surprising and intriguing and more than just attractive. She had a certain unique quality about her that Heath could not put his finger on and he was kicking himself for overreacting.

The breeze picked up some dry leaves and tossed them up towards Heath, bringing him back down to earth with a thump. He had to work fast. His father was already at Jardine Manor with Alice preparing the house for their wedding, which his son was organising so very brilliantly.

Heath slid his sunglasses into his hair and his smart black designer boots clattered up the well-worn stone stairs that led to the first floor.

He stretched out to press the doorbell just as he noticed that a piece of pink fluorescent paper had been taped onto the metal door. Someone had written in large letters:



Casting today 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. Gents to the left. Ladies to the right. All leotards and tutus must be collected before you leave. Any lingerie left behind will be recycled.



Tutus? Casting? Heath quickly checked his watch. Nine-thirty.

Amber had told him that Kate specialized in tailoring for women, but nothing about running dance shows! Surely designers used agencies for that sort of thing? Perhaps he had come to the wrong address?

The door was slightly ajar and, with a small tap on the frame, Heath opened the door and slipped inside the most remarkable room he had ever been in.

The entire floor of the warehouse was one single space. Large, heavy pillars supported the ceiling and no doubt the floor above. A row of tall sash windows ran the entire length of both sides of the room. Light flooded in and reflected back from the cream-painted brick walls, creating an airy light space with the quality of light he had only ever seen in an art gallery before.

He took a step further inside the room, the sound of his hard heels beating out a tune on the hardwood floorboards and echoing across the space. On each side of the door were changing areas made from what looked like tents hanging from the ceiling, and in front of the window was a very professional photo set-up with camera and lighting stands and lighting umbrellas and plain backdrops.

Someone had paid for the extras with this set-up.

But who? And where were they?

He strolled forward down the length of the room between two long white polymer worktables and a collection of ironing boards, tailors’ models in various sizes, naked and partly dressed, and two draftsman desks covered with stacks of coloured paper.

Everywhere he looked were abandoned rolls of fabric, sewing machines and what looked like cutlery trays stuffed with scissors and all kinds of boxes and packets.

So, all in all—his worst nightmare. Clutter and chaos. No sense of order or control. If he ran his office like this they would be out of business in a month.

Blowing out hard, Heath shook his head and peeked behind an elaborate Japanese lacquered folding screen. And froze for a few seconds, scarcely believing what he was looking at before breaking out into a wide smile. It was the first time that he had smiled that day—but he had good reason.

Kate was sitting at a desk under the window, nodding her head from side to side as she sang along to a pop song in a very sweet voice.

Of course he could have interrupted her—but this was a totally self-indulgent pleasure he wanted to stretch out for as long as he could.

She was wearing a tiny lime-green strappy top, which was almost covered by a necklace which seemed to be made up of bright green and yellow baubles. Her short brown hair was tousled into rough curls with some kind of hair product that made it stand out from her head and yet still seem soft and appealing. Touchable.

As a tribute to the warm July sunshine which was streaming in from the window only a few yards away, she had chosen what looked like a tight stretchy tube to wear as a skirt, which covered her hips and upper legs but moved when she stretched across the table, revealing shapely tanned legs which ended in brown platform sandals. And those amazing painted toenails which had rendered him speechless the evening before.

It was strange how this colourful and totally unlikely ensemble only seemed to make her lovely figure even more attractive.

This version of Kate was startling. Entrancing, fresh and natural.

The elegant woman in the slick city suit, designer boots and smart make-up he had met the previous evening was gone, replaced by a slim girl in working clothes doing her admin early on a Tuesday morning. She did not need make-up or expensive clothing or accessories to look stunning—she was lovely just as she was.

The city girl in the suit he had met last night he could deal with, but this version of Kate Lovat with the tape measure around her neck was far more of a challenge.

Was this her workshop? Or was she an employee of some bigger company?

He should have asked Amber a lot more questions before he’d left the hotel—background information was always useful for negotiations, and suddenly he felt out of place. This was Amber and Kate’s territory, not his. This pretty girl who looked absurdly cute might not be so generous when she remembered how he’d slighted her the night before.

Either way, he was standing here in a black business suit and crisp white shirt on a summer day, feeling completely overdressed, while she was comfortable and cool in her work clothes. He had rarely felt so out of his depth, or so attracted to a girl who was totally natural and comfortable in her own skin. And what skin!

That kind of combination would spell trouble if he stayed around long enough to get to know her better. She was dynamite with a slow-burning fuse. And the last thing he needed was another complication like Olivia to deal with.




Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/nina-harrington-2/last-minute-bridesmaid/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.