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'Only the female variety.'
This evening was not such a good idea. If he carried on like this she was going to spoil all his plans by leaping on him herself! The thought was enough to cause her back to straighten and her smile to have an edge to it as she said, 'Perhaps it might be better to save such little touches until there's an audience to appreciate them?'
His eyebrows raised, and then he gave an amused chuckle as he nodded easily. 'Blame it on that dress,' he drawled lazily. 'Like I said, you look fantastic. Here—' he handed her a little box '—although it can't compete with your beauty,' he added gallantly as she opened the lid to see the exquisite rose-tinted orchid nestling on a bed of silk.
'It's beautiful, Quinn. Thank you,' she murmured softly.
'Here, let me.'
He took the flower from her as she lifted it out of the box, pinning it on her dress with an expertise that told Candy he had done the same thing many times before. To many women. But she knew he had had women, lots of women, she told herself tightly as her heart jumped at the thought. He must be thirty-three, thirty-four maybe, and you didn't get to that age—looking like Quinn—without being sexually experienced. And he'd been married She mustn't forget that, she warned herself shakily as she made every effort to ignore the feel of his warm, firm fingers on the soft flesh of her upper breasts as he fixed the orchid in place.
'Shall we go?' She took a step backwards away from him as she spoke, reaching for her wrap which was hanging over the back of the chair and checking the guard was fixed firmly round the fire. Alfie was too inquisitive by half, and although the little family were fast asleep at the moment she didn't trust the black kitten.
The night was cold and crisp as they stepped out of the warmth of the cottage, but the severe frosts of the last few days had given way to slightly milder weather. Nevertheless, Candy shivered as they walked down the path towards the Aston Martin crouched broodingly next to her sturdy little Fiesta, but it was more to do with Quinn's hand at her elbow and the feel of his thigh next to hers than with the evening air.
Once in the luxurious confines of the car the faint but stomach-clenchingly seductive smell of Quinn's aftershave had her sitting stiff and straight in the leather seat, and it didn't help when Quinn leant over, brushing a wisp of hair from her forehead as he said quietly, 'Don't worry, you'll be fine. They are an easy bunch to get on with on the whole.'
He thought she was nervous about the evening ahead. The relief Candy experienced went some way to relaxing her tense muscles, and by the time the Aston Martin drew into the grounds of a very superior detached house she and Quinn were conversing easily. He had even made her laugh more than once as he related an amusing anecdote from a visit he'd made to one of the farms earlier in the day, when he had lost a battle with a particularly imposing and irate bullock who had taken exception to having a growth removed from its more intimate regions.
Harper had never really made her laugh. The thought came shooting out of the blue as Quinn stopped the car and left his seat to open her door for her, but as she watched the big, tall, dark figure walking round the bonnet of the Aston Martin she knew it was true. Harper had had great charisma—he'd been undeniably handsome and charming and everything a young girl could want—but he would no more have considered telling a story against himself like Quinn had just done than flying to the moon. Image had been everything with Harper; cool, macho man, always smooth and perfectly groomed.
She looked up at Quinn through her eyelashes as he opened the car door. Humour was important She had heard Xavier make Essie laugh until she nearly cried, and she had noticed more than once that her uncle's wry and wicked wit was not unlike Quinn's.
She took the hand Quinn offered and slid gracefully out of the car, but as she straightened at the side of him he bent his dark head, whispering, 'You know that audience you spoke of…?' before he drew her into his arms and kissed her thoroughly. Very thoroughly. So thoroughly that her legs were like jelly and her heart was pounding under the black crepe by the time he released her.
And then, before she could say anything, he had turned, drawing her in to the side of him as he said, his voice reflecting reserved politeness, 'Joanna, how are you? I don't think you have met Candy, have you? Candy Grey, Joanne Embleton-White.' There was a large, floridly handsome man just behind the tall, slim ash-blonde, and as Candy exchanged a flustered 'How do you do?' with the woman who had approached them, Quinn added, 'And this is Monty Hardingstone, the best accountant in the district. Monty, meet Candy.'
In contrast to Joanna Embleton-White, whose voice had held all the warmth of liquid ice, Monty's was hearty and his eyes approving as he said, 'So this is the little lady you've managed to snare, eh, Quinn? I can see why you didn't give the rest of us a chance. Nice to meet you, m'dear. Nice to meet you.'
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'Thank you.' Candy managed to extricate her hand from Monty's vigorous grip after a moment or two and she carefully avoided looking at Joanna's face after one swift glance. The other woman's beautiful cold features had been stiff with annoyance.
The four of them walked across the drive and somehow Quinn managed to tuck her in to his side as though she was—what? Candy asked herself tautly. His girlfriend? His mistress! She tried to wriggle free once, but as his arm tightened round her waist like a band of steel she gave up the struggle, and listened to him making conversation with Monty with something like resignation.
However, there was nothing resigned about her face or voice when, on entering into the hall of the mansion, Candy found herself alone with Quinn for a second or two.
'Don't hold me like that,' she said quietly as her fingers prised at the arm round her waist.
'Like what?' was the calm rejoinder. 'You're supposed to be my loving girlfriend. Remember?'
'I know that, but—'
'No buts, Candy.' A pair of glittering ebony eyes in a dark, handsome face looked down at her, and as her breath caught in her throat Quinn said, 'If we're doing this we do it properly, okay? I'm a…physical man, and if you were my girlfriend I'd hold you like this and make sure that every other male in the vicinity knows you are mine. When I am with someone, I'm with someone. I don't believe in all this baloney about 'open' relationships.'
'Neither do I,' she said indignantly. It had been as if he was accusing her of something.
'So, we both believe in faithfulness for as long as it lasts,' Quinn murmured softly. 'That's good, don't you think?'
'You're avoiding the issue and you know it,' she retorted huffily.
The dark eyes were laughing at her now, and he pulled her close for a moment, nuzzling her forehead with his chin as he said, 'Relax, Candy. It's a game, just a game; we both know that. But if we're playing it we play it for all it's worth. Agreed?'
'You're impossible. You know that, don't you?' She tried to frown at him but he was too handsome, too wicked, too Quinn for her to be really mad. And if she was being really honest, she admitted to herself silently, there was something very nice about being held and protected and loved by Quinn Ellington. Even if it was all just a show for the assembled crowd.
Candy enjoyed the rest of the evening although she hadn't expected to. There were a couple of less than comfortable moments, one of which being when Joanna cornered her in the downstairs cloakroom and managed to make a number of veiled hints as to her relationship with Quinn before Candy had arrived on the scene. Candy smiled sweetly, said little, and was gracious and charming, but it was something of an effort in the face of the other woman's covert hostility.
If nothing else it eliminated the faint sense of guilt she had felt at fooling Joanna and the rest, though. She knew Joanna's insinuations were without foundation—Quinn had been quite straightforward about his dislike of Joanna when she had questioned him about her after the episode on the drive, and very specific that he and the lovely blonde had never had so much as the whisper of an amour—but if she had really been his girlfriend, and the careful poison in Joanna's subtle remarks had done its job, she would have been feeling devastated.
