A New Year Marriage Proposal (Harlequin Romance) (9 page)

They paused outside her front door.

‘Do you, um, want to come in for coffee?’ she asked.

‘Thanks, but I have stuff I need to be getting on with,’ he said.

He’d been polite, but Carissa knew it was just an excuse to save her feelings. She gave him her brightest, glitziest smile. ‘Well, thanks for coming with me. I’ll catch you later.’

* * *

Quinn knew a brave, fake smile when he saw one—and he felt guilty as hell that he’d pushed Carissa into that role. He knew that her ex had made her do that, too. OK, so he hadn’t hurt her physically, the way Justin had done, but he still knew he’d hurt her and he hated himself for that.

But right now he needed some space to let himself think about all this.

It would be, oh, so easy to let himself fall for Carissa Wylde. To fall for the magic that she saw in Christmas—the way she saw the joy in things, the way her smile brightened up a room. And he hadn’t been able to resist kissing her in the middle of the Winter Fantasia. Especially with that song playing. Because he’d realised right at that moment that what he really wanted for Christmas was Carissa Wylde.

But.

She’d been hurt in the past. Physically as well as emotionally.

And Quinn didn’t think he was the one who could rescue her. Particularly as he knew he’d already been guilty of hurting people who’d wanted more from him emotionally than he’d been prepared to give. He could still see the look on Janine’s face when he’d told her it just wasn’t working and he didn’t want to mess her about—it was his fault, not hers, but they needed to break up. The light in her eyes had just drained away, and she’d looked crushed. He didn’t want to hurt Carissa like that, too. But he didn’t know how to change.

He let himself into his own house, miserable and wishing now that he’d made an excuse not to go with her. Because he’d lied to her, too. He’d deliberately made her think that he was being all bah-humbuggy, when this time he’d seen the magic. Felt it in the touch of her hand, the warmth of her skin against his.

He knew what he wanted for Christmas all right.

But, just like through all his childhood years, he knew he wasn’t going to get it. So it was pointless wishing.

CHAPTER EIGHT

S
HOULD
HE
GIVE
Carissa the present in person, or should he just post it through her letterbox?

Quinn stared at the Christmas-tree decoration.

He’d seen it on one of the stalls last night, but there had been no way at the time he could have bought it as a surprise for Carissa. Not without either letting go of her hand—and he’d discovered that he really, really liked strolling hand in hand with Carissa Wylde—or making some excuse to double back to the stall without her. There hadn’t been the right moment.

Fortunately the peacock hadn’t been sold between last night and the time when Winter Fantasia had opened this morning, so he’d been able to buy it this morning—a glittery confection of turquoise and gold with its little crown and spread-out feathers.

If he gave the ornament to Carissa in person, there was a good chance she might think there were strings attached. He’d bought it simply because he’d thought she might enjoy it. Like the fairy lights for her laptop—though admittedly those had been for a purpose. To persuade her to answer his questions about Project Sparkle. The peacock was simply to make her smile.

And he probably needed his head examined.

In the end, he scribbled the word ‘Enjoy’ on the top sheet of the jotter block on his desk, signed it with his initial, put the note and the unwrapped peacock into a padded envelope, and scrawled her name on the front.

He was pretty sure it was an office day for her, so he simply posted the package through her letterbox—it was just thin enough to fit—and then headed back to his desk, to work on the app he’d been tinkering with all week. At least if he buried himself in work he could concentrate and stop thinking about her, he told himself.

And he knew he was lying.

* * *

Carissa came home from a busy day at the office to find a pile of post on her doormat when she unlocked the front door. Christmas cards, a couple of brochures, a bank statement—and a padded envelope that just had her name written on the front. Clearly it had been delivered by hand, by someone who knew where she lived. And the padded bag had obviously been reused, because the front was rough where an adhesive label had been removed.

She didn’t recognise the handwriting. Curious, she opened the envelope and discovered a beautiful glittery peacock. A Christmas-tree ornament with a little loop to let it hang from a branch.

Who was it from?

She looked inside the bag again and discovered the note. Not exactly verbose: just the word ‘Enjoy’, and it was signed with a single initial.

Q.

Quinn
.

He’d bought her a peacock for her tree. A reminder of last night, when she’d fallen for the ice sculpture?

A reminder of last night, when he’d held her hand and kissed her?

And then all his barriers had come back up because she’d said the wrong words at the wrong time.

She couldn’t quite work him out. So what now? Was this his version of an olive branch, a way of reopening communications between them after he’d gone all closed off on her?

There was only one way to find out.

She called him, but his phone went straight through to voice mail. Maybe he didn’t want to talk to her after all; or maybe he was just busy. Rather than leaving a message, she texted him a brief thank-you note.

Carissa had just finished putting the peacock on the tree and her cards on the ribbon where she displayed them when her phone rang.

‘Hello,’ Quinn said.

‘Hello.’ She paused. ‘Thank you for the peacock. It’s fabulous.’

‘My pleasure.’

She waited. What now?

‘I, um, enjoyed yesterday,’ he said.

Which bit?
She just about stopped herself from asking him the question. Too needy. Too pathetic. ‘So did I,’ she said. She went to the Fantasia every year with friends and always enjoyed it, but last night had been different. Special.

There was another slightly awkward pause, and then he said, ‘Do you want to come over and watch a movie?’

Was he asking her on a kind of date, or was he just being neighbourly?

‘What kind of movie?’ she asked.

‘
Not
a Christmas one.’ There was a hint of amusement in his voice. ‘Though I don’t mind whether it’s a comedy, an action movie or a thriller. Maybe we can choose when you get here?’

‘I’ll bring popcorn,’ she said. ‘Give me five minutes.’

* * *

Quinn felt like a teenager.

Which was totally ridiculous.

He was thirty years old—not a shy, spotty thirteen-year-old who was too nervous to ask out the girl of his dreams in case she said no and everyone at school found out and laughed at him.

Nobody laughed at him, he didn’t have spots, and he was always the one to say no—he’d turned down quite a few offers. But he still felt like that nervous thirteen-year-old.

In five minutes—with typical lawyerly precision—Carissa rang his doorbell. Thankfully she wasn’t wearing her unapproachable lawyer suit, but the long-sleeved silky T-shirt she wore clung in all the right places and rendered Quinn temporarily tongue-tied.

He just about remembered his manners enough to offer her a drink.

Then she handed him a sealed paper bag. ‘I’m assuming you have a microwave.’

He gave her a look. ‘Not all of us have the time or the inclination to whip up a gourmet six-course meal in three seconds flat.’

‘Six courses is just greedy, and you’re totally exaggerating the time.’ She laughed. ‘So shut up and stick that in the microwave for three minutes.’

He couldn’t help laughing back and, following her instructions, he let the microwave pop in the bag while he poured them both a glass of wine, then ushered her into his sitting room.

Hot, buttery popcorn and crisp Pinot Grigio: it was a good combination.

The only thing that could make it better, Quinn thought, would be if he scooped her on to his lap. But the last time he’d done that had been when she’d told him about Justin. He didn’t want to bring back bad memories for her, so for now he’d be content just to sit next to her on the sofa.

‘Want to choose the movie?’ he asked, flicking into the film app and then handing her the remote control for the television.

She smiled at him ‘Are you quite sure I can’t pick a Christmas one?’

‘Quite sure,’ he said.

‘Pity,’ she said, ‘because
It’s a Wonderful Life
is the best movie ever.’

He didn’t care. He didn’t want all the gooey Christmassy stuff shoved down his throat.

‘Maybe you need your own personal Clarence,’ she said.

He rather thought his Clarence might be female, though her name was very similar to that of the angel in the movie. ‘Hmm,’ he said.

‘OK. How about a rom-com?’ she tested.

He was happy to put up with something sappy if it meant sitting on the sofa with her. ‘Anything you like—’ he began.

‘As long as it’s not a Christmas movie,’ she finished with a grin.

In the end she picked a comedy that was a little bit too slapstick for his sense of humour—but it was amusing enough. Somehow, he ended up holding her hand, and to his relief she returned the pressure of his fingers.

And when they’d finished the popcorn and he’d put the bowl on the floor out of the way, it was easy just to shift position slightly, so she had to lean against him. Which meant that it was easier still to move so that she was properly in his arms. They ended up lying full length on the sofa, with her head pillowed on his shoulder and his arms wrapped round her waist.

He could put up with the movie a lot more easily after that.

At the end of the movie she said, ‘I really enjoyed that.’

‘Mmm.’ He’d been much more focused on the pleasure of just holding her.

She turned to face him and laid her palm against his face. ‘Are you still working on that surveillance stuff?’

‘Why?’

‘I’m not prying—I know your work is confidential and I wouldn’t dream of asking you to break any rules,’ she said. ‘But do you remember we talked about a surveillance system for a house?’

‘And you said you’d think about it. Obviously you have.’ He held her gaze. ‘So are we talking about your house, Carissa?’

‘No.’

Clearly she wasn’t going to tell him any more than that. Which really didn’t help.

‘I can build you a system,’ he said, ‘but I would have to see the house first. I can’t work blind. I need to look at the house and its surroundings, so I can tell where the problem areas are. And it won’t just be me on the team. My expertise is the system itself, but I’d need a colleague to help survey the house and its grounds.’

She looked thoughtful. For a minute he thought she was going to back off again, but then she nodded. ‘OK, but only if your colleague is female.’

He frowned.

She paused. ‘There is a reason for it.’

‘Which is?’

‘A good reason.’

Another of her non-answers. ‘Are you going to tell me?’

‘Um—not right now.’

‘You really have trust issues, don’t you?’ he asked.

‘That’s a bit pots and kettles,’ she said, ‘considering that you don’t trust anyone either.’ She wriggled out of his arms and sat up. ‘Is it to do with the woman who hurt you?’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ he said frostily, also sitting up and folding his arms.

‘Yes, you do. The one you said was high maintenance.’

How had he let himself forget that she was a lawyer? Carissa paid attention to details and she remembered things. It was her job—but it was also who she was. The woman who laid a table properly, with damask tablecloths and napkins, and used serving platters even for takeaway pizza.

‘That’s in the past and it’s staying there,’ he said.

‘No, it’s not,’ she said, ‘because it’s stopping you moving forward.’

He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘You mean like you and Justin?’

He’d expected her to get angry with him. Instead, she just looked sad. ‘Exactly like me and Justin. Though at least I’m trying to move on from my past.’

Meaning that he wasn’t? Though maybe she had a point. He’d dated, since Tabitha—quite a lot—but every single one of his girlfriends had complained that he was too distant. And he’d compounded that by almost never having more than three dates with the same person, not wanting to risk getting hurt. He sighed and closed his eyes. ‘It’s like I said to you before. Sometimes you just pick the wrong person.’

And then he felt her fingers curling round his. ‘You also said,’ she reminded him softly, ‘that it was OK to walk away. Is that what you did?’

He’d never really talked about Tabitha to anyone. And although he hadn’t meant to say another syllable on the subject, he found the words spilling out. ‘No. She was the one who walked away.’

‘You loved her more than she loved you.’ It was a statement rather than a question. No pity, no contempt, just acceptance. Because she’d been there, too.

‘I wasn’t what she wanted. I wasn’t enough for her.’ He looked straight at Carissa.

She said nothing, simply waiting for him to talk—just like he’d waited for her to tell him about Justin.

Fair was fair.

He’d kept her confidence and he knew without having to ask that she would keep his, because Carissa Wylde had the biggest heart in the world.

‘I met Tabitha at a party. A friend of a friend of a friend.’ He hadn’t really dated that much before then, concentrating on his career and being the best he could possibly be. Playing second fiddle to his work hadn’t gone down that well with his girlfriends. But his friends had talked him into loosening up a bit and going to that fateful party. He hadn’t been on the receiving end of charm like Tabitha’s before, and he’d fallen for her hook, line and sinker.

He gave Carissa a mirthless smile. ‘I’d just graduated and I’d been headhunted to work for...a government department. And I think she liked the idea of having a geeky boyfriend with those kinds of connections.’

‘Clever being the new sexy,’ she said softly.

‘Or something like that. She was gorgeous. And way out of my league.’

Carissa raised her eyebrows. ‘Have you looked in a mirror lately?’

‘Thank you for the compliment, but I wasn’t fishing.’

‘I know.’

‘I meant socially,’ he said. ‘I came from a different background. I didn’t fit in with her friends or her family. I was stupid enough to think that it didn’t matter—I loved her and she loved me, so of course it would all work out.’ What he’d loved more had been the idea of having a family—people who’d accept him for who he was and maybe even love him back. And he’d been young enough to be really, really hurt when it had turned out to be the opposite.

Carissa’s fingers tightened round his. ‘That’s not stupid at all. In a relationship, you both make compromises. My parents came from different backgrounds, and it was never an issue.’

‘Because your parents loved each other,’ he said. ‘That was my big mistake. Tabitha didn’t love me.’ He blew out a breath. ‘I spent Christmas at her family’s home, that year. It was awful. I didn’t have the right clothes with me. I didn’t get any of their traditions. Half the time I wasn’t even sure that we were speaking the same language—I certainly didn’t get their in-jokes or their pet names.’

‘That was incredibly rude of them,’ Carissa said. ‘If you invite someone to stay at your home, then you make them
feel
at home. You don’t exclude them. And if there’s a dress code, you tell people well in advance.’

‘To be fair to them, I probably didn’t try hard enough,’ Quinn said.

Carissa scoffed. ‘You’re supposed to make a fuss of your guests. And that has nothing to do with social class and everything to do with common good manners.’ She paused. ‘I’m assuming you broke up with her at Christmas, so that’s another strike against Christmas for you?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I overheard a conversation between Tabitha and her sister. It should have warned me that it was time to end things—her sister said that Tabitha was dating me just to rebel against her parents.’

‘Tabitha,’ Carissa said crisply, ‘needed to grow up. A lot.’

‘She was twenty. A year younger than me.’