A New Year Marriage Proposal (Harlequin Romance) (8 page)

‘Sometimes it’s something I read in the local paper,’ she said. ‘Not necessarily my own—I use a cuttings service to pick out things of potential interest.’

‘So what you do mostly is fund projects?’

She shook her head. ‘Sometimes people need help with organising something or developing a business plan. And there are certain charities I can support on the quiet—music therapy’s one of my favourites because it makes me feel connected to my parents.’

‘Do you ever do things for, say, families in the armed forces where someone’s died or been severely disabled?’ he asked.

‘Yes. Dad rewrote the last chorus of the Santa song one year.’ She sang the lines quietly, ‘“And if my baby can’t be home for Christmas, then Santa keep my baby safe for me.”’

Quinn remembered that. And it had been top of the charts for weeks.

‘All the royalties from that version go to the charity that helps wounded soldiers and their families.’ She bit her lip. ‘Mum and Dad were going to a benefit gig to play that song when their plane crashed.’

‘I’m sorry.’ He reached out and squeezed her hand. ‘I didn’t mean to bring back bad memories for you.’

‘I know,’ she said softly. ‘It’s just at this time of year I miss them more than at any other time. The anniversary of the crash is the day of the year when I normally make myself a bit scarce. But this year I’m going to celebrate the day with the opening of the Wylde Ward—I’m going to celebrate their lives and the difference they made to others. It’ll make the day better.’

He could see tears in her eyes. And he could also see her blink them back. Carissa wasn’t looking for pity, and he wasn’t offering it.

He knew what he wanted to offer her. But he also knew that it wouldn’t be enough for Carissa, so it was pointless even thinking about it. ‘I’d better let you get on with trimming your tree,’ he said. ‘And I need to be back at my desk.’

‘Of course. And thanks for coming with me,’ she said.

He was glad that she didn’t hug him. Because then he might have done something really stupid—like hugging her back or maybe kissing her. He needed space. Time to remember that he was better off on his own.

Wasn’t he?

CHAPTER SEVEN

Magic of Christmas, Proof #3. Up for it or are you too chicken?

S
O
C
ARISSA
WAS
being cheeky now, was she? Quinn smiled, liking this new aspect of her. She was funny as well as smart.
Where and when?
he texted back.

Your house, 7 p.m. tonight. Don’t have dinner.

He was intrigued, but he knew better than to bother asking.

At seven, she turned up at his door wearing jeans, a cashmere sweater, a warm jacket and flat boots.

‘So are we going skating again?’ he asked.

‘Not necessarily,’ she said.

Hmm. So skating
could
be on the agenda.

He thought about the time he’d kissed her on the ice, and he went hot all over.

‘The reason I’m wearing flat boots is because we’re walking there,’ she said.

Local, then. Quinn had no idea what she had in mind. And it turned out to be something he hadn’t even noticed being set up at the far end of Grove End Park: the Winter Fantasia, a temporary Christmas theme park. There were fairy lights everywhere in the trees—just the kind of thing he already knew Carissa loved, and he could hear Christmassy songs being played in the middle of the park.

‘It’s not just proof,’ she said, as they walked through the park towards the Winter Fantasia. ‘I was thinking what you were saying about injured soldiers. Project Sparkle could arrange a trip here for some of the families, with tickets for the rides and what have you.’

‘Not everyone likes Christmas,’ he reminded her.

‘If it works for
you
,’ she said, ‘then it will work for anyone.’

He winced. ‘Ouch. You make me sound like Ebenezer Scrooge.’

She laughed. ‘Well, you have to admit you are a bit. Not in a mean way. Just...’

‘I don’t like Christmas,’ he said softly. ‘And I’m not alone. A lot of people don’t like the holiday season.’

‘And a lot of people do,’ she countered. ‘This place is fabulous. There’s an ice garden with sculptures, a Christmas circus, a fairground and a Christmas market. And a skating rink, though as we’ve already skated I think we can skip the skating here.’

Pity. He would’ve liked another excuse to hold her hand. Just to keep him steady on the ice, of course.

She smiled. ‘And you’ll definitely like the food. Christmas-themed junk food.’

That cheered him up a little bit. ‘And we have to do everything here, except the skating?’

‘Of course, because, actually, we’re multi-tasking. This is a proof of the magic of Christmas, but it’s also a reconnaissance mission for Project Sparkle.’

Only Carissa would manage to make their evening do two things at once.

‘OK,’ he said. ‘On the proof side, what I see is another ker-ching moment. Stalls full of overpriced things that nobody really needs but they buy the stuff anyway because it’s this time of year and they feel they ought to.’

‘You’re telling me you don’t like fairgrounds either?’ she asked, sounding sceptical.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been to a fairground. ‘Convince me,’ he said.

* * *

Carissa was beginning to think that Quinn was impossible.

How could he not see the magic here? Everyone around them was happy and smiling, the whole place felt festive, and the lights and the music were irresistible.

They went on the fairground first—an old-fashioned one with a helter-skelter where you sat on a hessian sack and whizzed round and round. They followed it up with a turn on an old-fashioned carousel with white horses all decked out in tinsel and wearing Santa hats; the fairground organ in the middle of the carousel was playing Christmassy songs. Carissa couldn’t help looking at Quinn and grinning when her father’s Santa song came on halfway through their turn; he pulled the most gruesome face in return, and they didn’t stop laughing until the ride stopped.

She began to relax as he seemed to be enjoying himself. They queued up for the old-fashioned swing boats, where Quinn showed off horrendously, trying to make their boat swing higher than the guy in the swing boat next to them could make his boat go, and Carissa didn’t stop laughing through that one either.

On the hook-a-duck stall they were guaranteed a prize and she insisted that Quinn should keep the tiny plastic duck with an improbable Santa hat.

Next was the giant Ferris wheel; it was rather faster-moving than the sedate pace of the London Eye, and it was also open to the elements rather than having completely enclosed cars, so they could feel the chill of the night air against their faces. ‘Just look at that,’ she said, when they got to the top. ‘It’s so pretty.’ They could see the whole park spread out below them. ‘It looks like a fairy tale.’

He coughed. ‘Isn’t that the whole point of a Winter Fantasia, Carissa? To look like a fairy tale?’

She ignored the Grinchness of his comment. ‘The lights make it look as if there’s a sprinkle of snow on the trees.’ Added to the scents of cinnamon and ginger and vanilla in the air, it was just perfect and she loved it.

Quinn said nothing, and she realised then that he didn’t believe in fairy tales, not even deep down.

Who had crushed his belief in magic? she wondered. He never spoke about his family, and he’d gone very quiet after meeting hers. Maybe like her he’d lost both his parents, but maybe unlike her he hadn’t had any support from the rest of his family.

And then there had been that heartfelt comment that she wasn’t high maintenance. She had the distinct feeling that someone had broken his heart, and that was why Quinn kept people at a distance. He’d seemed to let her close for that moment on the ice when he’d kissed her—but then he’d gone right back into his shell again.

She knew there was no point in asking him, because he wouldn’t tell her. He’d just change the subject or ask her something to distract her. Quinn O’Neill was a very private man.

Although Carissa had sworn never to get involved with anyone after Justin, she found herself drawn to Quinn. He was unlike anyone she’d ever met before. But she had the feeling that he found it as hard to trust as she did. They were both damaged. So they really ought to be sensible about this and stick to being just neighbours and colleagues on Project Sparkle business.

She had to work to suppress the urge to lean over and touch her mouth to his, but she’d managed to get herself back under control by the time their car on the Ferris wheel stopped at the bottom to let them out.

They walked down the avenue together, browsing along more stalls.

Quinn won a coconut on the coconut shy, and presented it to her with a bow.

Then they came to the roller-coaster.

‘We don’t have to do this one,’ Carissa said.

Quinn looked surprised. ‘Why not? Are you scared of heights?’

She shook her head. ‘Not heights exactly—it’s just the bit where you go over the hump at the top and rush downhill. The same as when you go over a hump-backed bridge and your stomach swoops.’

He tsked at her, shaking his head solemnly. ‘Now, who was it who called me chicken and said we had to do everything?’

She knew he was only teasing, but at the same time he did have a point. She forced herself to damp down her fear. ‘OK. Let’s do it.’

‘I was kidding,’ he said, suddenly looking anxious. ‘We can skip it if you’d rather.’

‘No. I can do this.’ And maybe pushing herself a bit further here physically might help her to be braver when it came to more emotional stuff. Maybe she could learn to put the rest of her fears behind her and start to learn to trust.

As the car creaked slowly up the first hill of the roller-coaster, Carissa felt her skin grow clammy. Just before they reached the top, Quinn took her hand. ‘On the count of three, we’re going to raise our arms and shout “Christmas”,’ he told her.

It shocked her into forgetting to be scared.

Was Quinn O’Neill finally seeing the magic?

He still had his fingers laced through hers when he raised his arms, and both of them shouted ‘Christmas’. Carissa could feel the rush of adrenalin and the wind in her hair and the fear just melted away. She was still laughing when they got to the bottom of the dip, and this time she didn’t feel the full extent of the fear as the car climbed the next slope. She actually enjoyed the rush when they started speeding downhill again, with their arms held up and shouting ‘Christmas’.

Somehow Quinn was still holding her hand as they got off the roller-coaster. Carissa didn’t want to say anything to break the spell. Right at that moment she felt safe, happy and warm; and she couldn’t quite remember the last time she’d felt like this.

They wandered through the garden of ice sculptures, still hand in hand. There was a smiling snowman with a top hat, a Santa and Christmas trees, and a clutch of reindeer with beautiful antlers—and one of them even had a red nose. Following the winter theme, there were penguins and polar bears.

But then they came to a peacock.

‘How is a peacock the slightest bit related to Christmas?’ Quinn asked. ‘Or winter, for that matter? I always think of peacocks wandering round the garden of stately homes in the middle of summer.’

‘It’s still fabulous,’ Carissa said. ‘I don’t care if it’s not strictly Christmassy. Look at the detail of the feathers—they’re all fanned out, and there are even eyes carved into the feathers. It’s stunning.’

‘The sculptors are very talented,’ Quinn agreed, ‘and I can see a lot of work’s gone into this.’ He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you wishing you’d ordered an ice sculpture instead of a virtual Santa now?’

‘As well as, not instead of,’ she said, returning his grin. ‘But there isn’t enough time to do it. I guess they need to plan that sort of thing way in advance so they can freeze big enough blocks of ice to sculpt.’ She thought about it. ‘Plus not all the kids would be well enough to come outside to see the sculpture and we couldn’t take it indoors because it’d melt too quickly. And it’d be a nightmare to clean up all that water.’

‘Practical as well as a dreamer,’ he said, sounding approving; it made her feel warm inside.

They headed for the food section next, queuing up for German hot dogs and then sticky Christmas gingerbread.

‘You’ve got sugar on the corner of your mouth,’ he said, and skimmed his index finger across her skin.

It was the lightest contact, but it left every nerve-end tingling. And then he kept the eye contact going and licked his finger. A kind of kiss by proxy.

Oh, help.

Because now Carissa really, really wanted him to kiss her. Just like he had at the skating rink.

Quinn’s eyes went dark and there was a slash of colour across his cheeks.

Was he remembering the same moment that she was? Did he want to repeat it, too?

She could feel herself tipping her head back slightly, practically offering her mouth to him, and it made her cringe. How pathetic was she? The same weak, stupid woman that had let her boyfriend hit her.

But then, before she could start despising herself again, he moved closer.

‘Carissa,’ he said softly, and his voice sounded almost rusty.

‘Yes.’ And she knew he realised she was answering the question he hadn’t asked. The question in his eyes.

He rested his hands on her waist and dipped his head, brushing his mouth lightly against hers. ‘You taste of sugar and spice,’ he said.

‘So do you,’ she whispered.

And then he did it again.

She was conscious of the song blasting out from the middle of the fairground—‘All I Want for Christmas is You’—and she realised at that moment how true the song was. Because all she really wanted for Christmas was Quinn O’Neill.

He kissed her right to the end of the song.

By the time he’d finished she was practically dizzy with need and desire and her knees felt as if they’d turned to mush.

Where did they go from here?

And was she just about to make a really bad mistake, the way she had with Justin? Could she trust her instincts this time?

As if he could see the panic in her eyes, he stroked her cheek. ‘I think we have a circus to attend.’

He was letting her off the hook.

For now.

But at least he didn’t let her hand go. He kept his fingers entwined with hers all the while they browsed through the Christmas stalls, except for the moments when she was picking up decorations and looking at them before making herself resist them.

And he held her hand all the way through the circus performance—amazing gymnasts on springboards jumping higher and higher and doing more and more complicated somersaults; a juggler; clowns who threw buckets of glitter over the audience and water over each other; a tightrope walker; and daring trapeze artists who timed their leaps to milliseconds. They both found themselves oohing and ahhing with the rest of the audience. But most of all Carissa was aware of the fact that Quinn was still holding her hand.

‘So what’s the verdict?’ she asked as they left the circus.

‘Are we talking proof, or are we talking Sparkle business?’ he asked.

There had been moments where she’d seen the magic of Christmas reflected in his eyes. And there had definitely been a moment when she’d experienced the magic of Christmas from his lips; but had it been the same for him? Right now she was too chicken to put it to the test and ask him outright. ‘Sparkle,’ she said.

‘I think kids would love it—the rides and the food. The little ones would love the lights and the ice sculptures. Though some of them might find the clowns scary.’

‘Are you telling me you were scared of clowns when you were little?’ she teased—and she regretted her words the very next second when she saw his barriers come straight back up and he disentangled his hand from hers. She wished she’d kept her mouth shut. ‘Sorry. I wasn’t prying,’ she said softly.

He gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘I know.’

But it was too late. The moment had been destroyed.

They walked back through the park to Grove End Mews. Carissa didn’t quite have the courage to reach for Quinn’s hand, because she didn’t want him to reject her. And the silence between them had become awkward rather than companionable.