One Wedding Required! Read online

  Amber winced, glad that her sister couldn’t see her, but thinking all the same that it really wasn’t the most diplomatic of subjects to be bringing up right now. ‘Yes,’ she answered calmly, wondering what this could possibly have to do with anything.

  ‘And you remember me telling you about the woman whose mother designed the dress? The one who owns the wedding shop—Holly Lovelace?’

  Amber tried to clear her mind of the dominating images of Finn, which had spread like tentacles into every conscious thought. ‘Er, yes,’ she said vaguely, trying to recall an evening when life had been normal. A long time ago, it seemed now. ‘I think so. Why?’

  ‘Well, her fiancé, Luke—he’s managed to track down Mother’s dress and Holly is going to wear it when they get married!’

  ‘Er, that’s wonderful,’ said Amber, since some kind of enthusiastic response was clearly expected.

  ‘And that’s not all! She’s invited us—that’s me and you—to her wedding. Isn’t that nice? She’s getting married to Luke, at Easter.’

  Amber blinked. ‘But why me? She doesn’t even know me! I’ve never even met the woman!’

  ‘I know.’ Ursula gave a low laugh. ‘But she’s a real romantic—you’d love her, Amber, I know you would. And she feels that we’re all linked through the wedding dress. Which we are, really! And she wants you to be there.’

  ‘Well, it’s very sweet of her, but I’ll have to write and tell her that I can’t go.’

  ‘Can’t you?’ Ursula’s voice was soft. ‘Really?’ Amber gave a shaky sigh. ‘Of course I can’t. Up until a few weeks ago I was planning my own wedding. It would be too much like rubbing salt into the wound. You do understand that, don’t you, Ursula?’

  ‘You know I do.’

  ‘Just find out where and when I’m to meet Finn—and tell him that I have only one condition.’

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘That he comes alone.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ursula thoughtfully. ‘I’ll tell him that.’

  Spring had come late to England—it was already April and yet the fields were still a spectrum of different yellows painted by the blaze of daffodils. Every single shade was represented, from the palest clotted cream, through delicate primrose—to the deepest and most vibrant saffron. Amber drove along the country lanes and tried not to be distracted by their sunshine beauty.

  The buds on the trees were coyly revealing their shiny green undergarments as the first leaves began to peep through. In a week or two, the lanes would be literally dazzling as the sunlight illuminated the foliage to a limecoloured brilliance, but for the time being the buds merely hinted at the splendours to come.

  Amber changed gear as a hare lolloped like quicksilver across her path. Spring happened in a flash—the world transformed in a matter of weeks—just as her whole world had been transformed.

  And now she was going to say her goodbyes.

  At least, she presumed that was the reason why Finn wanted to see her. It was in his nature to tidy things up, to leave no loose ends. He would want to rationalise their relationship, and the effect it had had on both their lives. Maybe even to celebrate what they had shared together, while never losing sight of the fact that he, at least, had decided it was time to move on.

  In fact, she could see the logic behind such thinking herself, if she was forcing herself to think logically—not easy, given her current mental state of trying not to focus on a whole lifetime without him.

  Finn was good at compartmentalising. When she had first gone to work for him, he had regarded her as strictly off limits. Indeed, when the attraction between them had grown so that it could no longer be denied, or hidden, he had told her that it would probably be better if she found another job. That business and pleasure rarely mixed.

  She had refused.

  Maybe if she had not done so then she would still be with him today. Maybe she had been wrong to want to share all his world.

  She negotiated a mini-crossroads and slowed down along the narrow lane until she found the address which Finn had sent via Ursula. A winding drive eventually led to a beautiful contemporary building which was only visible as Amber came round the bend. It was a long, low construction, composed mainly of glass, from what Amber could make out—since it blended in so well with the surrounding countryside.

  It had been built amid a natural copse of trees, but planned so sympathetically that the building seemed almost to grow out of the trees, and yet there were wide paths leading to it, lined with curving shrubs of contrasting foliage, and beneath the shrubs poked mauve and white crocuses.

  Amber parked and locked her hire car, and made her way towards the front entrance, aware of the sound of tentative birdsong all around her—the surest indication that spring really was on its way. Normally, such a sound would have lifted her spirits to the skies. But not today.

  Automatic glass doors glided open as she stopped in front of the building, and she stepped into the airy atrium of the interior where a receptionist was seated behind a desk. A cut-glass bowl of hyacinth and freesia stood on the desk in front of her, filling the air with a heady scent.

  The receptionist looked up and smiled. ‘Hello,’ she said.

  ‘Hello.’ Amber smiled back. Smiling still did not come naturally, but it was getting easier all the time. ‘I’m looking for Finn Fitzgerald.’

  The receptionist didn’t even need to consult a list, because she smiled even wider and nodded. ‘Yes. He’s expecting you. He asked me to take you into the Garden Room—he’ll be along shortly.’

  Same old Finn, thought Amber wryly, as she followed the woman towards the Garden Room. So memorable that just the mention of his name was enough to cause women’s eyes to light up. Maybe, she thought, with a welcome trace of dark humour—maybe her life would be simpler without him. She could find a man who would love her and cherish and care for her—and she could do all those things back. But a man whom women wouldn’t flutter to be close to. A man who would cause this receptionist to frown, and consult her book and say, ‘I think he’s registered. Let me just check.’

  An ordinary man—who wouldn’t be dealing with the fantasies of pubescent models and their oversexed mothers on a daily basis!

  ‘Here we are.’ The receptionist signalled the room with her hand.

  The Garden Room was appropriately named, since it was almost entirely constructed of glass, and the trees and bushes created a living landscape right outside. Violin music was playing softly in the background, while more glass bowls filled with flowers were dotted around the place—some scented, some colourful—and Amber was aware that whoever had designed this room had done so to appeal exclusively to the senses.

  She shivered. She would have preferred somewhere Spartan, somewhere with tinny music and bright strip lighting. Why on earth had she let Finn choose the venue?

  Because Finn had insisted. The way he always insisted.

  ‘Can I fetch you anything?’ the receptionist was saying. ‘Some tea or coffee, perhaps? Or wine?’

  Amber shook her head. She didn’t want him to find her settled down for the day—all cosy and nesting and pouring cups of tea. ‘No, thanks,’ she said. ‘I’m fine.’

  After the receptionist had gone, she picked up a magazine, dispassionately noting that her hands were shaking. She read an article on mistresses, surprising herself by becoming completely immersed in the paragraph which was subtitled, ‘Is YOUR MAN STRAYING? THE TEN TELL-TALE SIGNS.’ If only she had read this before Christmas! Then she would have realised the danger of tell-tale sign number two: ‘He says he’s working!’

  How naive she had been! Or how stupid?

  All the ‘help’ he had insisted that Karolina and her mother needed. All the times he had told her he was ‘working late’. It was so corny! So predictable! And so unlike the way she’d thought a man like Finn would operate. She had credited him with a little more imagination than that! And a little more honesty, she remembered, with a hurt which still kicked into her
aching heart like a mule.

  She was so deep in her thoughts that the familiar voice which penetrated them made her briefly close her eyes with despair as she accepted that her heart was thundering like a gun salute.

  ‘Amber?’

  She opened her eyes to find that she did not have to look up to stare into that beautiful face of his, because it was almost on a level with hers. But it took a moment or two for it to sink in that Finn was in a wheelchair.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  STUPIDLY, in spite of everything which had happened between them—despite Finn’s obvious determination to replace her in his affections with Birgitta—Amber’s first instinct was to put her arms around him and hug him. And then to lean across and kiss that delectable mouth of his as she had kissed it so often in the past.

  Just seeing him again made her acutely aware of how much she had missed him. His smile. The way he’d made her laugh. Made her mad. Made her think. But how long was it since they’d enjoyed all the simple pleasures of a live-in relationship? Not since Allure had shot into the public consciousness and the money markets had started buzzing with talk about when it might go public... Come to think of it—Allure’s rapid rise in popularity was probably the reason why she had been asked to do the Wow! piece in the first place.

  She wondered if her gaze was hungry as it raked over him, and it took her only seconds to realise that he did not look very different at all. Sometimes a wheelchair seemed to diminish a person—the disability crushing and shrinking the personality. But Finn looked just as glowing and as vibrant as he had ever done. Though perhaps a little paler than was usual, she conceded—and the pallor made his eyes emerald-bright and intense.

  She struggled to find the words which would neither pity nor condemn him. ‘You might have warned me,’ she told him wryly.

  His laughter had not changed, either. That was as deep and as velvety-irresistible as it had ever been. ‘Why?’ he mocked. ‘Would you have brought a bib for me to dribble down?’

  She heard the unaccustomed bitterness in his voice and wondered what prejudice he had had to suffer since the wheelchair had held him its prisoner.

  ‘You don’t look like you’re dribbling to me,’ she observed candidly.

  ‘No? Maybe I just lick it all away?’ he queried huskily, his eyes flashing dark with pure sexual challenge, and Amber was horrified to find her breasts prickling with an urgent desire to have him lick them, until she remembered Birgitta.

  ‘Do you?’ she questioned, forcing her smile to remain noncommittal as she tore her eyes away from him and looked around the room, and at the way she had come in.

  Now she noticed the discreet ramps placed here and there—and it dawned on her that she had seen no stairs anywhere.

  ‘What is this place?’ she asked him suddenly.

  ‘It’s a retreat,’ he answered slowly. ‘Started up about ten years ago by a man with vision—an ex-racing driver whose legs were smashed to pieces. A luxurious retreat, where people can take pleasure in their surroundings and do most of the things which able-bodied people take for granted—only without the damning “Disabled” signs to highlight their differences.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Amber faintly. ‘And what if I’d rung up? And found out first?’

  ‘I asked them not to tell you anything,’ he answered smoothly.

  His calm and confident assurance riled her. ‘Still the control freak, huh, Finn? Still running the world to suit yourself—despite the wheelchair?’

  He let out a low sigh. ‘My God,’ he breathed in admiration. ‘You certainly don’t pull your punches, do you, O‘Neil?’

  It was like those early days come alive all over again—the uncomplicated office banter which had grown into real compatibility. ‘Why? Did you expect me to, Fitzgerald?’ she retorted, finding some solace in the comfort of old nicknames. ‘Because you can’t get out of that thing to fight me back?’

  ‘Want to fight me, do you, baby?’ he taunted softly.

  She felt sexual excitement pooling and moistening her, its unexpectedness almost as intoxicating as the feeling itself, a feeling she had imagined was lost to her for ever. But she ruthlessly swamped it down. He might be in a wheelchair, but he had still cheated on her and rejected her. Still written that bald little note. ‘Not in the way you think,’ she answered coolly.

  ‘And what way is that?’

  She shook her head. ‘Damn you, Finn Fitzgerald!’ she bit out. ‘I’m not going to grant you any concessions just because you happen to be...to be...’

  ‘Paralysed?’ he put in helpfully.

  She didn’t like the word. She didn’t like the hungry kind of way he was looking at her, either... She didn’t like the way he was making her feel... ‘Where’s Birgitta?’ she demanded.

  There wasn’t a flicker of anything resembling regret on his face, merely a bland kind of smile which stayed firmly in place. His eyes looked very green at that moment. ‘I haven’t seen Birgitta.’

  ‘Oh? Because you’re paralysed?’ She forced herself to say the word, and as soon as she did her dislike and fear of it dissolved. It was just a word, after all... ‘Is that it? You’re not the man she thought you were—the man she thought she was getting? The big, hunky stud, Finn Fitzgerald? Well, it’s a good thing you weren’t able to marry her, isn’t it? Or that would have quickly made a mockery of the vows “in sickness and in health”!’

  ‘Have you quite finished?‘ he asked her calmly.

  ‘Finished?’ She looked at him incredulously. She had spent far too long thinking about the way he’d mistreated her to ever stop! ‘I haven’t even crossed the starting line yet, buster! So what did you decide?’ She drew in a deep breath of determination. ‘Huh? What went through that cheating mind of yours, Finn? Oh, Lord—Birgitta has done a runner, so who can I turn to? Who could I always turn to? Who loved me enough to come running whenever I clicked my fingers? Sweet little Amber, that’s who!’

  ‘And do you? Love me enough, sweet little Amber?’

  ‘Oh, you can go to hell, Finn!’ she returned hotly. ‘And don’t try and use any sympathy I might have for your predicament to get you a declaration of my undying love!’

  He pursed his lips into a whistle, in the way he’d used to when she was wearing something very tight. Or wearing nothing at all. ‘If that’s your idea of sympathy, honey,’ he told her drily, ‘I think I’ll pass.’

  Amber looked at him, some of her anger spent, thinking that his physical helplessness made little difference to the way she thought about him as a man. A strong, scheming and gorgeous man! ‘So where is Birgitta?’

  He shrugged with a big, tensing movement of his shoulders. ‘Would you believe it if I told you that I don’t know?’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t! You must have some idea?’

  His smile was curiously devoid of any apparent guilt, thought Amber crossly. In fact, now he was smiling lazily.

  ‘She’s probably having breakfast somewhere,’ he remarked.

  ‘At two in the afternoon?’

  ‘It isn’t two in the afternoon in the States—and that’s where she is.’

  ‘What’s she doing there?’ asked Amber suspiciously.

  ‘Accompanying Karolina on a modelling job, like she usually does.’

  Amber pursed her lips together. ‘And you would be there with her, I suppose—if she hadn’t been put off by your illness?’

  For the first time, his face showed something of his own frustration and anger and fear. ‘Don’t make judgments on how Birgitta would or would not have responded to my illness.’ His voice softened. ‘Actually, whatever the state of my health, I would not be in the States with Birgitta for the simple reason that her husband would not like it. They’re back together, you see.’

  ‘Really?’

  Their eyes met.

  ‘Really.’ He nodded.

  ‘Then how did he feel about you necking on top of the piano with her?’

  Their gazes remained locked, and countless conflicting
emotions flowed across the space between them. Amber felt torn between tears and, impossibly, a sudden desire to laugh.

  ‘That wasn’t a very smart thing for me to do,’ he admitted slowly.

  ‘No?’ Amber affected shocked surprise. ‘Kissing another woman in full view of the world and your fiancée wasn’t smart? What an earth has brought you round to that earth-shattering conclusion?’

  ‘I owe you an explanation,’ he growled.

  ‘Or six.’

  His eyes narrowed as they focussed on her face. ‘You look tired.’

  ‘Well, don’t sound so astonished!’ she snapped. ‘It’s hardly surprising, is it?’ She glanced back at him, deciding there and then that, whatever had happened between them—and no matter what happened tomorrow or the next day—she would never make allowances for him simply because he happened to be in a wheelchair. Never. ‘You, on the other hand,’ she told him candidly, ‘look disgustingly healthy!’

  ‘Why, thank you,’ he answered gravely, and then a wide smile broke out.

  ‘Have I said something funny?’ she wanted to know.

  He shook his head. ‘No. But you’re the only person who has dared tell me I look healthy! Most people seem unable to use the word in conjunction with someone in a wheelchair.’

  He stole another glance at her, and Amber saw him give a fierce frown of concentration, as he had so often done in the past when he was having difficulty keeping his thoughts focussed. Usually when he wanted her...

  ‘Shall we go over by the French windows?’ he asked.

  Amber opened her mouth to ask him if he wasn’t comfortable where he was, then thought better of it. He clearly wanted to move, and it wasn’t for her to question his reasons.

  It was the first time she had seen him manipulate the chair, and she’d expected to be shocked, or saddened. Or both. And maybe, if she was being completely honest with herself, then perhaps she was—just a little. But her overriding emotion was one of admiration. He operated it as though he’d spent his life doing nothing else, and, being Finn, managed to turn the movement into something approaching sheer grace and symmetry.