The Runaway Bride and the Billionaire by Kate Hardy

Author:Kate Hardy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin Romance
Published: 2017-09-05T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

‘GOOD AFTERNOON.’

The moment she heard Matt’s voice, Immi looked up from where she was kneeling on the grass and hacking back more shrubbery. ‘Good afternoon.’ Then she realised what he was carrying. ‘Why the bucket and the toolbox?’ she asked.

‘Cement,’ he said. ‘I’m going to make a start on repairing the crumbling bits of wall.’

She looked at him, alarmed. ‘But is that safe?’

‘I won’t do anything dangerous,’ he said. ‘I promise.’

‘OK.’

He said quietly, ‘And we need to talk about last night.’

‘Uh-huh.’ Was this where he was going to suggest that they be sensible and pretend it had never happened—because they didn’t have any kind of future?

‘Have you had enough time to think about it?’

She really couldn’t tell a thing from his expression. Did he have doubts? She stood up. ‘Have you?’

‘I asked first.’ But there was a tiny quirk at the corner of his mouth. ‘Yes. I’ve thought about it.’

‘Remind me never to play poker with you,’ she said dryly.

He laughed. ‘I wasn’t thinking about poker. I was thinking more of dinner tonight. There’s a nice restaurant in the next village.’

And she didn’t have the excuse that she only had casual clothes with her, because she had access to all Sofia’s beautiful dresses. ‘Are we talking posh or casual?’

‘Would posh be a problem?’ There was a tiny slash of colour across his cheeks. ‘I remember the third time I saw you.’

‘Third?’

‘The first time, you were only interesting in finding out what was going on with Andie,’ he said. ‘The second time, you were busy cutting flowers ready to arrange for the wedding.’

Now she understood. ‘The third time was when I was Andie’s bridesmaid.’ When they’d danced together. When he’d almost kissed her. When she’d felt that incredible pull towards him—something that she shouldn’t have felt.

But things were different now.

She was no longer engaged to Stephen.

She could acknowledge her feelings—and act on them.

‘So you want me to wear that dress?’

‘You wear,’ he said, ‘whatever you like.’ He gave her another of those quirky smiles that made her feel as if her knees had just melted. ‘But I thought you looked amazing in that teal mantua dress.’

He actually remembered what she’d called it? He’d paid that much attention to what she said? It warmed her all the way through. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she said. ‘What time?’

‘I’ll pick you up at seven?’ he suggested.

‘OK.’

He put the bucket and toolbox down, took her hand and drew it up to his mouth, then pressed a kiss into her palm and folded her fingers over it. ‘You’re going back to England at the end of the month and I might be going away, if things work out. So, just to make it clear, there aren’t any strings to dinner.’

That sounded like his strong sense of honour talking. And although part of her appreciated it, part of her wanted something else entirely. ‘What if I want there to be strings?’

He caught his breath. ‘They’d be temporary strings.’

‘A “helping each other over the crossroads” kind of thing,’ she suggested.

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