Bought: One Bride(6)

"You know about Mum's trip?"

"Yes, she … um … told me about it herself last week. And about her new  doctor friend. Melvin, isn't it? It's a pity, really. If she'd still  been looking for a travelling companion, I might have applied for the  job myself."

Richard was taken aback. "Why on earth would a girl like you want to  travel anywhere with a woman old enough to be her grandmother?"

She shrugged. "Just to escape, I guess."

If she'd said to travel the world on the cheap, Richard might have  understood. But to escape screamed something much more emotional. So did  the bleakness that had suddenly filled her big brown eyes.

"Escape from what?" he probed gently. "Are you in some kind of trouble? Man trouble perhaps?"

She wasn't a raving beauty but, the more Richard looked at her, the more  attractive he found her. She had lovely eyes, a sexy mouth and a  fabulous figure.

He fancied her. Other men would, too.

She shook her head. "No, no, nothing like that. Here. Give these to your  mother when she gets home, will you? Tell her they're from Holly. Just  say they're a little thank-you present for all the times she's dropped  in at the shop for a chat. She's a really sweet lady, your mum."

Richard refused to take the flowers. "Why don't you come inside and  arrange them in a vase for her?" he suggested before she could cut and  run. Any girl who wanted to get away that badly sounded like a girl who  wasn't very happy with her life at the moment. If she did have a  boyfriend, he sure as hell wasn't doing the right thing by her.

She blinked, then stared at him.

Richard had no idea what she was thinking, which in itself was as  intriguing and attractive as she was. He'd been able to read those women  he'd taken to dinner like an open book.

"Look," he said with what he hoped wasn't a "big bad wolf" smile. "I  have absolutely no talent with flower arranging, whereas you'd have to  be an expert. So what do you say, Holly? You do the flowers and I'll  make us both some coffee. I'm good at coffee."

She still hesitated, making Richard wonder if he was easier to read than  she was. Maybe she could see his intentions in his eyes. Not that they  were evil intentions. He just wanted the opportunity to learn a bit more  about her. He wasn't planning to seduce her.

Not yet, anyway.

"Who knows?" he said lightly. "Maybe Melvin will prove to be an utter  bore and Mum will come home early, still looking for that travelling  companion."

She laughed. "I don't think there's much chance of that happening, and you know it. You're just being nice, like your mum."

Nice. She thought he was being nice.

Richard's conscience stirred. But he swiftly put aside any qualms.

Faint heart never won fair lady.

"We will adjourn to the kitchen," he said before she had time to think  up some excuse to flee. "This way." And taking her arm, he ushered her  inside.





CHAPTER THREE





"I'LL JUST get you some scissors from Dad's study first," Richard said as he closed the door behind them.

When he abandoned Holly's elbow to walk up the hallway into a room on the right, a small shudder of relief rippled through her.

Having Richard Crawford answer the doorbell had been a real shock. She'd been expecting his mother.                       
       
           



       

But there he'd been, as large as life, and more handsome than ever, even  more so than eighteen months earlier, when she'd first seen him. Gone  were the dark rings under his eyes and that pale, haunted expression.

How wicked Holly had felt, finding him so attractive at his wife's  funeral. The man had been in deep mourning, for pity's sake, shattered  by the tragic death of the beautiful woman he'd married two years  before. She knew from Mrs Crawford how much her son had adored his  beautiful Joanna.

But all Holly had been able to think of whenever she'd snuck a peek at  Richard Crawford that day was how impressive he looked in black. Her  eyes had returned repeatedly to him during the service. She'd even  envied his dead wife for at least having known the love of a man like  that. Holly had been feeling extra lonely and vulnerable at the time,  her father having passed away only a few months earlier.

For several weeks afterwards, she'd dreamt up all sorts of romantic  scenarios where the handsome widower and herself would meet. But,  strangely, not one had involved his being home, alone, when she  delivered flowers to his mother's house. Neither did any scenario  anticipate how intimidating she might actually find him in the flesh.

Intimidating. But still disturbingly sexy.

When he'd taken her arm just now, she'd felt almost paralysed by his touch, and his commanding physical presence.

Richard Crawford was a big man. Very tall and broad-shouldered, with large hands and firm fingers, and a manner to match.

She was grateful not to be in his presence at the moment. It gave her time to regather her composure.

But he'd be back any moment.

When he didn't return after a couple of excruciatingly long minutes, an  agitated Holly tiptoed along the floral carpet runner till she could see  into the room he'd entered.

His father's study, he'd said it was.

The room resembled more of an English gentleman's club than a study,  with wood panelled walls, rich maroon velvet curtains and large leather  armchairs. The desk Richard Crawford was rummaging through was a huge  mahogany antique, which looked at odds with the very modern laptop  sitting down one end.

Which was plugged in and on, she noted.

That explained the engaged signal when she'd telephoned. He'd been working. His mother said he'd become a workaholic.

But what was he doing here when Mrs Crawford was out? And why was he  dressed the way he was, in smart grey trousers and a crisp blue business  shirt? Add a tie and jacket, he'd be ready for the office.

Not many Australian men would be dressed as he was on a summer Saturday  afternoon. Most would be lounging around in shorts and thongs.

Dave would have.

"Shouldn't be much longer," he said with a quick, upwards glance at her  from under his darkly beetled brows. "I know they're here somewhere."

"That's all right," she replied. "Take your time."

He smiled at her. Not a wide, warm, infectious grin that had been Dave's trademark. A rather restrained smile.

Richard Crawford was different from Dave all round.

Of course, he came from a different world from Dave. A more cultured,  educated world. And he was a lot older. In his late thirties at least.

Holly frowned at this last thought. Normally, she wouldn't look twice at  any man his age. She was only twenty-six. All her boyfriends to date  had always been around her own age, give or take a year.

Dave, the rat, had been exactly the same age.

Holly's thoughts turned bitter as they always did when she thought of  Dave. Her only comfort was her recent realisation that she hadn't been  truly in love with the creep. She'd just been fooled by his flattering  ways. He was a charmer, was Dave.

A sales rep for a company that made cheap cards, he'd talked her into  stocking his entire range within five minutes of walking into the shop.  Talked himself into her life and her bed a week later.

Not that he was all that good in bed. But then, neither was she.

Dave had insisted she was, of course. He'd never stopped paying her  compliments. Holly had come to the somewhat depressing conclusion since  the demise of their relationship that he'd probably lied to her about  everything, but especially that.

The man was a liar and a louse. Lots of men were these days.

But not this man, she thought as Richard Crawford looked up from the  final desk drawer in triumph, a pair of scissors in his left hand. He  was a man of honour. And depth. According to his mother, he hadn't even  looked at another woman since his wife's death. What Holly wouldn't give  to be loved the way he'd loved his wife.

"Thought I'd never find the darned things," he said as he rejoined her  in the hallway. "The kitchen's down here," he added, then took her elbow  again.                       
       
           



       

Holly shivered when another jolt of electricity shot up her arm, the same as the first time.

"It's cool inside these old houses, isn't it?" he said, thankfully  misinterpreting her reaction as he ushered her down the hallway.

"Very," she agreed. But she didn't feel cool. Suddenly, she felt very warm indeed.

"Your mother didn't say you were staying with her," she began babbling  again. "That's why I was so surprised when you answered the door."

"Just popped in to visit for the weekend," he explained, steering her  into a large, homey kitchen with a dark slate floor and lots of pale  wooden benchtops. "Didn't know Mum would be going out. Mmm, I wonder  where she keeps the vases?" he said, stopping in the middle of the room  to survey the U-shaped array of cupboards. "You wouldn't happen to know,  would you?"