‘Oh?’
‘It must be the very best—the finest silks, the purest lace—’
‘The flimsiest?’ he suggested with an ironic smile, as he impudently dangled a cream lace tanga from his index finger.
Holly’s eyes swam as the image of him holding the wisp of lace imprinted itself onto her mind. It looked—and she felt her heart race like fury—looked as if he had just slid that outrageous little garment off. Off her, perhaps? Oh-oh! There was that lethal wishful thinking again! She couldn’t look him in the face, let alone the eye, so instead she bent to pick up an imaginary speck of dust from the softly gleaming floorboards.
‘The house seems very bare without you,’ he said suddenly.
Holly swallowed down the lump of emotion which had risen in her throat and aimed for humour. ‘And very quiet, I imagine?’
Dark eyebrows were elevated. ‘Well, there is that,’ he admitted, with a smile.
He stood looking at her; he could have stood there looking at her all day. ‘You look fantastic, Holly,’ he said.
‘Do I?’ Holly searched helplessly for another speck of dust. She was wearing a daring thigh-high tunic made of thin layers of embroidered cream voile, with sheer floaty sleeves gathered tightly at the wrist. It was one of her own designs, which was what people would expect, and could almost be a wedding dress—if the bride had absolutely no qualms about showing acres of leg! ‘Honestly?’
‘Honestly. I didn’t realise you had legs.’ He let his eyes linger on them. Bad mistake. Luke quelled the heat which was threatening to rise.
‘You, um...you look very... very nice yourself,’ said Holly tamely, because she thought that ‘sensational’ might be a little too strong an adjective! She wasn’t used to seeing him dressed up—in fact, she realised that this was the first time she had seen him in anything other than faded denims.
He usually looked much more like a ranch hand than a man of some means, but today was the closest he had got to that particular image, in a shirt of delphinium silk and dark navy trousers. Yet he didn’t look a bit like a stuffed shirt, which a lot of men did if they weren’t used to wearing smart clothes. Luke just looked sexy. Unbelievably sexy. ‘Very nice,’ she finished.
‘Why, thank you,’ he answered drily, but he found that he was absurdly flattered by her halting compliment.
The darkening of his eyes was immensely flattering, but Holly found that it was making her feel light-headed, and she couldn’t think straight. Her voice sounded faint. ‘I-I’d better go and open some wine.’
‘I’ll do it.’ He followed her out to the small, newly fitted kitchen at the back of the shop and took the corkscrew she handed him. ‘What time are they arriving?’
‘Soon.’ But not soon enough, thought Holly with a swift glance at her watch. Much more time alone with Luke and she would surely do something unforgivable, like hurling herself into his arms and asking him to kiss her. Every bit of her!
She tipped crisps and peanuts into bowls and lined up the glasses she had hired for the day, while Luke extracted corks from wine bottles like an expert. They worked together in companionable silence, and Holly wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or not when she heard the clanging of the doorbell as the first of her invited guests arrived.
It was Michelle McCormack, the florist. She was dressed in apple-green and had brought two girlfriends with her. ‘Candy and Mary are both getting married in the summer,’ she told Holly excitedly. ‘So they’re going to be your first two customers!’
‘Please don’t feel under any pressure,’ Holly told them, with a smile.
‘Now that’s not the right marketing approach!’ scolded Michelle, but Holly shook her head.
‘On the contrary—I’m confident that with one look—they’ll be hooked!’
‘Well, why don’t we put it to the test?’ suggested Candy with a giggle, and she and Mary went off to gaze longingly at the wedding dresses.
‘Who’d like some wine?’ asked a deep voice behind them, and Holly watched as Michelle turned round and was momentarily transfixed by the sight of Luke Goodwin, resplendent in the soft silk shirt, his blue eyes glittering like a sun-kissed sea.
‘Me, too,’ whispered Michelle, goggle-eyed.
‘Me, too—what?’ asked Holly, blinking with confusion.
‘One look and I’m hooked!’
From Luke’s faint smile, Holly guessed that he must have heard, but Michelle didn’t appear to mind—or maybe it had been her intention that he heard!
Holly introduced them. ‘Luke, this is Michelle McCormack, who is responsible for all the beautiful flowers you can see. Michelle, this is Luke Goodwin—he owns the shop.’
‘You own it?’ Michelle’s eyes widened into saucers as she took a glass of white wine from him. ‘Holly didn’t tell me you were rich as well as beautiful!’
‘I don’t remember saying he was beautiful, either!’ said Holly crossly.
‘Didn’t you?’ queried Luke, with a teasing smile. ‘Oh, Holly—now I am disappointed!’
‘Why don’t we find a quiet corner together, Luke?’ suggested Michelle. ‘And then you can tell me your life story.’
Luke smiled. Women like Michelle he could cope with. Charming. Flirtatious. A bit over-the-top, maybe. But ultimately safe. There were no secrets or mysteries lurking behind Michelle McComack’s dark eyes. What you saw was what you got. ‘Love to,’ he replied easily.
Holly tried not to feel indignant or jealous or miffed—not when she knew that she had no right to feel anything other than gratitude towards Luke. Thanks to him, she had a shop which would not have looked out of place in one of London’s most exclusive streets.
The bell rang once more and the place began to fill up. Holly had sent an invitation to the local vicar, and, much to her astonishment, he turned up on a motorbike! He had collar-length blond hair, a face of almost cherubic innocence, and looked far too young to be legally entrusted with the task of performing marriages!
‘Hi, Holly, I’m Charles Cape,’ he told her, and held out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘Thanks for coming,’ smiled Holly, who had thought, he would toss the invitation into the nearest bin.
But he shook his head. ‘No—thanks for inviting me.’ He grinned. ‘Don’t look so surprised that I’m here! Apart from wanting to meet you, since you’re new to the village, we’re both in the business of making marriage more attractive to the general public, aren’t we?’
‘I suppose we are,’ she agreed thoughtfully.
Holly changed the music to an old-fashioned Christmas tape and began to refill everyone’s glasses, and soon the shop took on a party-like atmosphere, particularly when a few people plucked up courage and began to walk in off the street.
‘She doesn’t look like she’s in the market for a wedding dress!’ whispered one of Michelle’s friends to Holly, as a well-padded woman of about eighty plonked herself down on one of the window seats and began to glug contentedly at a glass of wine.
‘No, but she might have granddaughters who will be,’ said Holly, as she moved a bowl of peanuts away from the satin shoes.
Pete Thomas, the reporter from the Winchester Echo, had turned up with a photographer in tow.
‘We want to emphasise the wedding dress competition,’ he told Holly. ‘It’s a good angle—and it’s different.