A New Year Marriage Proposal (Harlequin Romance) (12 page)

‘No.’

‘Look, this isn’t a last-minute thing. I meant to ask you. I was
sure
I already asked you and you said yes.’

Quinn knew that Carissa believed in including people. She’d been scathing about the way Tabitha’s family had treated him.

She grimaced. ‘Sorry. I had so many things on my list. It must’ve been the one thing I didn’t tick off. I feel really guilty now.’

‘It’s fine, and anyway I’m sure your family would prefer it to be just you.’

She shook her head. ‘I haven’t introduced you properly yet to Granny and Gramps. Come with us, Quinn—and anyway, if it wasn’t for you the virtual Santa wouldn’t exist, so you’re definitely part of this.’

Tom came over, clearly hearing Carissa’s last words. ‘You are coming with us, aren’t you, Quinn? Or don’t you like Asian food?’

‘Actually, I do,’ he said. ‘Very much.’

‘Good.’ Tom clapped him on the back. ‘Because we’re going to Brick Lane, to one of the best curry houses in London.’

In the East End, too, Quinn thought, smiling; the Wyldes were proud of their heritage.

Someone had booked the restaurant, which was just as well as their party took up half the tables in the room. After a noisy few minutes everyone agreed to have a mix of dishes and share them. Somehow Quinn managed to end up being seated next to Carissa and opposite her mother’s parents.

‘Quinn, I didn’t introduce you properly earlier,’ Carissa said. ‘These are my grandparents, Jennifer and William Burton.’

‘Pleased to meet you,’ Quinn said, shaking their hands in turn across the table.

‘Granny, Gramps, this is Quinn O’Neill.’

How was she going to introduce him? he wondered. Neighbour? Colleague? Friend? Lover?

Then again, these were her grandparents, so maybe not the latter.

And they weren’t lovers anyway.

Yet
.

The thought made him feel hot all over. ‘Quinn’s my virtual Santa expert,’ she explained.

‘Ah, “Smart Is the New Sexy”,’ Jennifer said.

He groaned. ‘Please tell me she didn’t show you that article.’

‘It was a very nice piece, sweetie,’ Jennifer said, ‘though it did make you sound rather mysterious.’

‘Granny, if he tells you about his job, he’ll—’

He waited for the ‘have to kill you’ joke.

But this time Carissa finished, ‘End up in prison for breaking the law.’

‘Right,’ Jennifer said. ‘And then your grandfather would have to go into court and explain that it wasn’t Quinn’s fault, it was a silly old woman being very silly indeed.’

There was nothing silly about Jennifer Burton, Quinn thought. He’d already noticed that everyone in Carissa’s family was bright.

Despite the Burtons’ posh accents being so different from the Wyldes’ East London accents, the two families seemed very close. Just as she’d told him, their backgrounds made no difference. Quinn could see for himself that they really were a unit. There were no tensions, and none of the suspicion towards in-laws that Quinn’s own family had demonstrated.

It was a bit hard to remember everyone else’s names, though he remembered meeting George and Little George.

But the strangest thing was how he felt with the Wyldes and the Burtons. It was the first time that most of them had met him, yet he was comfortable with them and they treated him as if they’d known him for years. The complete opposite of that excruciating house party with Tabitha’s family that Christmas. Here he felt accepted as part of a bigger group, and he’d never really had that before. It was a bit odd, but it was a good feeling.

‘We need a toast to Pete and Isobel. We still miss you and we always will,’ Tom Wylde said, lifting his glass.

Next was a toast to Carissa from William Burton. ‘The best granddaughter I could ever have, and we’re all so proud of you.’

And then Quinn was shocked when Carissa toasted him. ‘Quinn O’Neill, who made my virtual Santa happen and wouldn’t accept a single penny even though he put all the work in.’

‘It wasn’t rocket science. It would’ve been fraud to charge you anything,’ Quinn protested, and everyone just laughed and clapped him on the back and drank to him anyway.

He was enjoying himself so much that he didn’t realise how late it was until he glanced at his watch. He also glanced at Carissa and noticed that she looked pale and utterly exhausted.

He turned to Jennifer. ‘I think I ought to drive Carissa home. She’s been up since the crack of dawn, and she’s been working crazy hours to get everything sorted for today.’

‘Good idea,’ Jennifer said. ‘The poor lamb looks as if she’s about to crash. She said you live very near her.’

‘Three doors down,’ Quinn said. ‘I’ll take care of her.’

Jennifer held his gaze for a moment, and it felt as if she was looking into his soul. Judging him. Checking that he really would take care of Carissa. And then she smiled. ‘Good.’

So he had Carissa’s grandmother’s approval, at least. That was a start.

It took a while to say goodbye to everyone, but finally Quinn drove Carissa back across London to Grove End Mews.

‘It was a really good day,’ he said. ‘I bet your parents are looking down, as proud as anything. You were brilliant.’

‘It was teamwork,’ she said. ‘It wouldn’t have happened without my team.’

‘But the team couldn’t have done it without you organising it.’ He parked outside his house. ‘Come and sit down for a few minutes. I’ll make you a hot drink.’

She followed him into his house, took off her jacket and shoes and curled up on his sofa.

‘Hot milk?’ he asked.

She smiled at him, so sweetly that it made his heart ache. ‘That’d be lovely, thanks.’

He poured milk into a mug and put it into the microwave for a couple of minutes to heat through. But by the time he walked back into the living room Carissa had fallen asleep on the sofa.

She looked so cute.

It was a shame to wake her, but Quinn knew he had to. He stroked her cheek. ‘Carissa?’

‘Mmm,’ she said, and snuggled into the cushions.

Waking her up and making her go out into the cold would be mean, he decided—and he’d changed his sheets that morning anyway. So, instead of waking her, he took her glasses off and put them safely on the mantelpiece, then picked her up.

Funny, when he’d thought of carrying her to his bed, it hadn’t been like this. In his mind she’d been wide awake and kissing him all the way.

But right now she was just snuggled against him, her arms wrapped round his neck, all warm and sweet and soft. And what he felt most was protective of her.

He pushed the duvet to one side and gently laid her on the mattress.

Should he undress her? No, that felt a bit sleazy. He just about resisted the temptation to climb in beside her and hold her close, and instead tucked her in.

She shifted onto her side; he watched her for a moment, amused that she slept like the dead. Then again, it had been a long and emotional day for her. Right now she really needed some sleep.

‘Sweet dreams, Carissa,’ he whispered, then quietly took a spare blanket and pillow from the shelf in his wardrobe and took them through to the living room. Then he made himself comfortable on the sofa. Tomorrow, he thought, maybe they’d talk. And their ‘magic of Christmas’ dates could maybe change from being a wager to being real.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

C
ARISSA
WOKE
,
WARM
and comfortable...and yet the light felt wrong. Trying to work out why, she shifted position and opened her eyes—and realised immediately that this wasn’t her bedroom. And it most definitely wasn’t her bed.

The room was stark, functional and very masculine: it had to be Quinn’s bedroom, because she couldn’t remember a thing after curling up on his sofa last night while he’d gone into the kitchen to make her some hot milk.

But did this mean that Quinn had carried her to his bed?

Had he shared the bed with her?

Embarrassed and feeling hot all over, she sat up. There was no dent in the pillow next to hers, but then again if he had a latex or memory foam pillow there wouldn’t be a dent. She slid her hand across the sheet on the other side of the bed; it was stone cold, so if he
had
slept with her he’d got up quite a long time ago.

And she was fully clothed—which meant he’d been careful with her privacy and her dignity. Though she had no idea how she’d got here. Had he carried her? Because that was totally undignified. And if she’d been snoring or drooling...

She glanced at her watch. Oh, help. It was already half past seven. No way would she be at her desk by eight-thirty.

She slid out of bed and went in search of Quinn. The first thing she needed to do was apologise. And then she needed to find out what had happened.

He wasn’t in the living room or his kitchen. Feeling as if she was prying, she went down the corridor and rapped on the open door at the end.

‘Yes?’

She leaned round the door. Quinn was working at his desk—looking totally edible in another of his faded T-shirts and a little too much stubble.

‘I—um— Good morning.’

He smiled at her, and she went weak at the knees. Not good.

‘Morning,’ he said. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘I... Yes.’ And she needed to deal with the big issue right now. ‘Quinn, I’m so sorry about last night. I don’t remember a thing.’

His eyes crinkled at the corners, but she knew he was laughing with her rather than at her. ‘It’s fine. Nothing to worry about at all. You’d had a long day, and after all that adrenalin it was obvious you were going to crash out and sleep like the dead.’

‘But I put you out.’

‘It’s fine. I just carried you into my room so you’d be more comfortable. And it was laundry day yesterday, so the sheets were clean.’

She felt her face heat. ‘Thank you. But I would’ve been fine if you’d just woken me up and sent me home.’

His smile broadened. ‘I don’t think a hurricane could’ve woken you last night. And you didn’t put me out. My sofa’s comfortable enough.’

So he hadn’t shared the bed with her. She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. But she was grateful that he’d cleared it up without embarrassing her. ‘Thank you.’

‘Any time.’ He saved his file and stood up. ‘I could do with some coffee. Stay and have some breakfast with me?’

This was her excuse to leave—but then again, if she was going to be late for work anyway, she might as well take another few minutes now and have breakfast with him. It would at least give her another chance to apologise.

‘Yes, I’d like that. Thank you.’

‘Come through.’

He wouldn’t let her help make breakfast, which made her feel a bit like a spoiled brat; but his coffee was good and went a long way to restoring her.

‘Is a bacon sandwich OK with you?’

‘Very OK, thank you,’ she said.

And within a minute of him putting bacon under the grill, her mouth was watering at the scent.

‘I’m afraid you have to slum it a bit today,’ he said. ‘I guess normally you’d have kedgeree or devilled kidneys, all served on silver platters with domed lids.’

She knew he was teasing her, and pulled a face. ‘I hate kidneys and kedgeree. Though I do like smoked salmon and scrambled eggs. And,’ she confessed, ‘Granny and Gramps do have silver flatware with domed lids.’

‘Well, I have much less washing-up,’ he said with a grin.

‘You could have made porridge,’ she said.

He rolled his eyes. ‘Because it’s healthy?’

She indicated her hair, and he laughed, clearly following her train of thought. ‘Ah, right. And the test would be whether I got it too hot, too cold or just right.’ He paused. ‘Or was it salt and sweet?’

‘For the record, I like my porridge with fresh blueberries, a teaspoon of flaxseed, a teaspoon of pumpkin seeds and a sprinkle of cinnamon,’ she said.

‘You
would
.’ He buttered some bread. ‘So, Goldilocks, was the bed too hard or too soft?’

‘Just right.’ Or it would have been had Quinn been in it with her. But he’d been a perfect gentleman. Or did that mean he wasn’t interested and she was about to make a fool of herself? Right now, he was incredibly hard to read. And she took refuge in silence, not wanting to get things wrong.

‘Glad to hear it,’ he said lightly. He finished making her sandwich and handed it to her on a plate. ‘Help yourself to ketchup.’

‘Thanks.’ She ate a bite as he finished making his own sandwich and sat opposite her. ‘This is fabulous.’

‘Pleasure.’

Carissa had eaten with Quinn a few times now, but breakfast this morning seemed somehow much more intimate. Especially as she’d spent last night sleeping in his bed—despite the fact that he’d slept on his sofa.

She felt oddly shy with him and didn’t have a clue what to say. Finally, she glanced at her watch. ‘I really have to be going. Thanks for last night. And breakfast.’ Taking a risk, she pushed her chair back, walked over to him and hugged him. ‘Thanks for everything.’

* * *

Quinn knew that this was the moment when he should ask Carissa if he could see her again. But without the virtual Santa, the proof of Christmas magic and the surveillance stuff at the refuge, he had no reason to see her other than as a neighbour. Suggesting more would mean making this thing between them real. They’d be dating officially.

Panic seeped through him. What if he asked her, and she said no?

Or, even more scarily, what if she said yes?

Then the moment passed.

‘I’m going to be late for the office this morning,’ Carissa said. ‘I need a shower and to change. Just as well I wear my hair back at work or it’d be a right mess. I, um, I’d better go. Thanks again for everything.’

‘Pleasure.’ He went downstairs with her to the front door. ‘See you around.’

‘Yeah.’

When the door closed behind her, Quinn could have kicked himself for not arranging to see her again. Preferably tonight. But he couldn’t think of a way to ask her now.

And Carissa had been all bright and breezy as she’d left. Had that been bravado, or was it the way she really felt? He had no idea. And asking her was out of the question.

He went back to the kitchen, washed up and left the dishes to drain while he cleared everything away, then headed for his desk. At least he had new toys to play with, or rather develop. He spent the day trying to play it cool, and tried not to be to disappointed when she didn’t call or text him.

He lasted one more day before he called her.

‘Hey—how’s it going?’ he asked.

‘Fine. You?’

‘Yes.’ He paused. ‘Are you busy at work?’

‘Pretty much,’ she said. ‘And you?’

‘Uh-huh.’ Oh, for pity’s sake, why was he pussyfooting around? Why was he being so inarticulate? Why didn’t he just ask her out? It didn’t matter where they went. It was being with her that mattered most.

He was just about to open his mouth and suggest they went skating again when she said, ‘Quinn, it’s Christmas in a couple of days.’

‘Ye-es.’

‘I know you hate the day, so I’m guessing you haven’t arranged anything better than heated-up pizza.’

‘A toasted sandwich, actually,’ he said, and she laughed.

‘I can offer you something a bit better than that. Come and have Christmas dinner with me.’

Did she mean just the two of them?

‘Aren’t you joining your family?’ he asked.

‘No. I’m going to Nan and Poppy’s for Boxing Day. Granny and Gramps will be there too.’

It seemed a bit odd that a woman who loved Christmas as much as Carissa did would spend the day on her own. Or maybe she did a stint in a soup kitchen or something. That would be just like her. Quiet, practical, and sorting things out without making a big fuss about it.

‘What time do you want me to come over?’ he asked.

‘About two?’ she suggested.

It definitely sounded as if she was doing a soup-kitchen stint first. ‘Anything I can do or bring?’

‘No, and just yourself,’ she said.

Neither of them had spoken about exchanging presents. But he could hardly go to Christmas dinner at her place empty-handed.

What did you buy a woman who had pretty much everything?

He rang the local florist and sweet-talked them into doing him a hand-tied bouquet for Christmas Eve. A bottle of champagne and a box of good chocolates would work, too. And he just hoped that Carissa would like them all.

* * *

Christmas Day.

It was the first time Quinn had looked forward to it ever since he could remember.

He’d sent the obligatory formal cards to his aunt, uncle and cousins and received equally stiff and formal greetings in return. Not that he’d bothered putting his cards up on the mantelpiece. It was way too much clutter for his liking. Just as he hadn’t bothered with a tree or any kind of Christmas decorations.

Bah, humbug.

At two o’clock he walked round to Carissa’s house and rang the bell.

She answered the door, wearing a crimson velvet dress. She looked absolutely stunning. He wanted to kiss her—really kiss her—but maybe this wasn’t the place. In her doorway, in front of the whole mews, was maybe a little too public.

He handed her the flowers and her smile made his heart skip a beat.

‘Oh, Quinn, they’re gorgeous! Thank you. It wasn’t necessary, but they’re very much appreciated.’

‘And my contribution to dinner.’ He gave her the champagne and the chocolates.

She kissed him on the cheek, and his skin tingled.

‘How lovely. Thank you, Quinn. Come up.’

He had been expecting it to be just the two of them, but then she shepherded him into the dining room. The table was set with a white damask tablecloth, polished silver cutlery and orange-and-spice scented candles. Several elderly people were already sitting there, chatting to each to each other. There was a place at the head of the table that was clearly reserved for Carissa and an empty place at the other end that he assumed was going to be his. Everyone’s faces were a little familiar, though he couldn’t quite place them.

Carissa introduced him to everyone and then he realised: they were all from Grove End Mews. She’d clearly invited the people who didn’t have family nearby and would be spending Christmas Day on their own if she hadn’t offered them somewhere to go. Given her fairy-godmother habit, he wasn’t too surprised. And he couldn’t be mean-spirited enough to be disappointed that it wasn’t going to be the quiet, romantic Christmas he’d been fantasising about.

‘Can I help with anything?’ he asked.

‘You can take the serving dishes in, if you like,’ she said. ‘And can you carve?’

‘Not brilliantly,’ he admitted. On the rare occasions that he entertained, it was usually in a restaurant.

‘OK. I’ll handle that bit.’

He took in the dishes of vegetables and trimmings, and then the platter containing an enormous turkey, which he set in front of Carissa’s seat. Then he opened the champagne and poured a glass for everyone while she carved.

Being Carissa, she insisted that everyone pull Christmas crackers, share the terrible jokes and wear party hats at the table. But the gifts weren’t like the usual contents of crackers, tape measures and thimbles and pens that stopped working within half a sentence: she’d swapped them for little boxes of very nice truffles.

Quinn had expected to be on the edges of the conversation, but was pleasantly surprised at being included. And hearing septuagenarians’ stories of Christmases past turned out to be fascinating.

After lunch, there were several rounds of board games and card games where Quinn felt a little more out of place, so he slipped out quietly to the kitchen and dealt with the washing-up.

Carissa walked in and caught him. ‘You really shouldn’t have,’ she scolded, ‘but thank you.’

Everyone was too full to eat anything more than a small slice of Christmas cake in the early evening. Quinn saw some of the more elderly guests back safely to their own homes, as it was frosty and slippery outside. And then he was back in his own house.

Alone.

The way he’d always used to like it, but now it felt like an anti-climax. And his house felt so stark and impersonal after the warmth of Carissa’s house. Funny how she’d changed his life so much in a few short weeks.

His phone beeped.

He glanced at the screen and saw there was a text from her.

Come and have a glass of champagne with me.

This time, he knew, it would be just the two of them.