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‘Well, I sure as hell didn’t steal it,’ he teased.
‘You guessed my size?’
He shook his head. ‘I borrowed that tiny moonstone thing you wear. I took it from the dressing table weeks ago.’
‘And I thought I’d lost it!’
And their eyes met in a long moment.
‘I love you,’ he said simply.
‘Snap,’ she told him shakily.
‘Amber? Amber?’
Lost in her reverie, Amber looked up to find the journalist staring at her.
His eyes were hard, but his words were casual—casual enough to lull her into a false sense of security. ‘So where exactly did he propose?’
His question seeped insidiously into the mists of her consciousness, and Amber heard herself saying automatically, ‘In the bathroom—of all places!’
‘The bathroom?’
‘Yes, but I don’t really want to answer any more questions, certainly not on that—would you mind?’
The journalist gave a contented smirk as he shook his head. He had a pretty good idea of what must have happened in the bathroom—she had one of those beautifully transparent faces that were a huge boon to his job! ‘Of course I don’t mind.’ He twirled his pencil in between his thumb and forefinger and drew in a deep breath as he psyched himself up to ask what he always termed his face-slapping question. Though, come to think of it, Amber O’Neil—despite her fiery golden hair—looked far too much of a lady ever to slap him round the face—no matter what the provocation!
‘You’re a good-looking woman, Amber—’
‘Why, thank you,’ she put in drily. ‘Very nice of you to say so!’
‘But you work in an industry peopled with beautiful women, some who—dare I say it?—are far more beautiful than you.’
Amber’s voice was wry. ‘Oh, you can say it, Mr Millington—’
‘Paul.’
‘Paul,’ Amber echoed obediently, and smiled. ‘Other people have said it before, time and again.’
‘So will you share with our readers the secret of your mystery weapon?’
‘The weapon with which I entrapped Finn, you mean?’
‘Exactly!’
His eyes glinted rather insultingly and Amber knew exactly what he was not-so-subtly implying. What did the man expect, for heaven’s sake? That she was going to suddenly announce that she was pure dynamite in bed? That, surely, was a testimony which only Finn could give...
‘I have no secret weapon,’ she told him quietly. ‘The very word suggests conflict, and—so far—there has been remarkably little of that in our relationship. Touch wood,’ she added superstitiously. ‘Whatever works between us I think is down to one thing, pure and simple. Love,’ she explained, in answer to his puzzled expression.
‘Oh.’ He looked positively crestfallen, and Amber almost felt sorry for him until she caught a glimpse of the time.
‘I really ought to wind this up now,’ she told him apologetically. ‘If there are no more questions...?’
He smiled. ‘Just one.’
Amber blinked at him, the curving sweep of her dark lashes beautifully framing the deep blue of her eyes. ‘Oh?’
‘It’s the obvious one, really—when’s the wedding going to be?’
If only she knew! ‘Well, Finn mentioned Valentine’s Day in passing, but I’m not sure whether we’ll get it organised for then. It’s only a couple of months away.’
The journalist’s eyes gleamed like twin beacons. ‘A Valentine’s Day wedding!’ he breathed. ‘It would make a wonderful piece. Front-page spread,’ he added, a sly light gleaming in his eyes. ‘I can promise you that!’
Amber rose to her feet. Not with Finn co-operating, she would wager!
She felt vaguely uneasy as she showed Paul Millington out, but reasoned that he couldn’t write anything too racy. Apart from those last few comments, she hadn’t said anything that people didn’t already know. And there wasn’t much of a story about someone having been proposed to in a bathroom, was there? Not much of a scoop there!
She was humming gently to herself as she began to chop onions in preparation for making Finn’s dinner.
CHAPTER TWO (#ua9ef7235-ad6d-50b1-a9b0-1993072cc8d4)
FINN was delayed.
After the journalist had left, Amber kept glancing up at the clock as she chopped garlic and fresh coriander, wondering where her busy man had got to. He was often held up, but he usually let her know when he was going to be late.
Eventually he rang her on his mobile phone from the car, his voice faint and indistinct.
‘Amber?’
‘Where are you?’
‘I’ve been tied up with New York,’ he told her tiredly. ‘Karolina Lindberg has been throwing tantrums and they’ve—’ There was a loud crackling on the line and then a long squeak. Amber could hear the impatience in Finn’s voice as he said, ‘Listen, I’ll tell you all about it when I get home, sweetheart, but I’m snarled up in traffic right now—’
‘Okay,’ murmured Amber, holding her hand up in the air, and watching while the hall light glittered and sparkled on the facets of her diamond ring. ‘Drive carefully.’
‘Don’t I always?’
‘No, you drive too fast!’
‘Nag, nag, nag!’ he laughed, and cut the connection.
She put the phone down, turned the chicken off and made herself a cup of tea, then settled down to read a magazine whilst trying not to look as though she was waiting—though of course she was waiting. Waiting for Finn, just as she always waited for Finn. But what choice did she have? He was a busy man, his business interests were diverse, and, although she worked for Allure as well, she couldn’t stay beside him all the time.
It was a side of herself that she had grown to dislike and fear—the side that didn’t feel complete unless Finn was somewhere around, as though a major part of her was missing. Though that much, she supposed, was true. Finn was a major part of her life.
It just went against everything she believed in—that a woman simply couldn’t function properly when she was on her own. That, although she was living, she simply didn’t feel alive unless the tall, ruffle-haired man with the hard, lean body and the bright green eyes was somewhere in the vicinity.
She must have dozed off, something she never normally did, and awoke with a muzzy head to find Finn standing over her, his face pale and unsmiling.
She sat up immediately. ‘Hello, darling,’ she mumbled, and blinked at him rapidly while her eyes tried to accustom themselves to the overhead light he must have snapped on.
‘Hard day?’ he murmured sardonically.
‘No.’ Amber found herself frowning defensively. ‘You knew I was taking the afternoon off—’
‘I wasn’t criticising you,’ he said tetchily. ‘Just that you couldn’t have picked a worse day for it if you’d tried. The office has been going crazy—and it’s never easy when Jackson is away.’
It wasn’t like Finn to be this grouchy, and it contrasted so markedly with the cute version of their romance which she had given to the journalist that Amber felt a bit of a fool. ‘Well, I wasn’t to know that, was I?’ she questioned sweetly. ‘Not when I booked it last month, after your accountant specifically told me to take some of the holiday which was owing to me.’
‘No, I guess not.’ He tipped his head back and wearily rubbed the back of his neck.
‘Hard day?’ she asked him sympathetically.
‘Tiring.’ He pulled a face. ‘I’ve had Birgitta on the phone from New York for most of the afternoon.’
‘And just who is Birgitta?’
‘She’s Karolina Lindberg’s mother. You met her—don’t you remember? She’s rather beautiful.’
Amber frowned. She met so many beautiful women every day of her life that she had sort of grown immune to them. But Finn, it would seem, had not. Not judging by the remark he had just made. It was his job to assess women on how they looked, but Amber found it oddly hurtful to hear the mother of one of his models described as ‘rather beautiful’. She forced herself to put on an expression of interest. ‘Tall? White-blonde hair? Used to be a model herself before she had Karolina?’
‘That’s the one!’
Amber forced herself to be generous. ‘It’s easy to see where Karolina got her beauty from.’
‘She’s a good-looking woman,’ conceded Finn. ‘They both are.’
Karolina was Finn’s latest signing and one of Allure’s biggest potential earners, a star in the making—the kind of woman who came around once every couple of years. If you were lucky.
It was difficult to pinpoint exactly what star quality was, but whatever it was Karolina had more than enough to go round. Six feet of exquisite white-blonde beauty, at sweet sixteen, she was a male fantasy come to life. Like her mother...
Amber narrowed her navy eyes, unaccustomed antennae alerted. ‘And isn’t there a Mr Lindberg on the scene?’ she enquired casually.
Finn shook his head. ‘Unfortunately, she’s just separated from Karolina’s father, and things are a little strained in the Lindberg family just now. Birgitta and Karolina are showing a distinct aversion to going back to Sweden. They’ve decided they want to be based in London.’
Amber felt unfamiliar fingers of fear whisper over her skin. ‘And what’s that got to do with you?’
‘Well, they want to use the company flat, for starters.’
‘Oh. I see.’
Like other leading model agencies, Allure owned a property solely for the use of its models—especially young and up-and-coming models, who needed a safe and cheap place to stay in the big city. For a nominal rent, the company flat could provide them with the security they needed. ‘Karolina and her mother want to live there?’ queried Amber. ‘Isn’t Birgitta a little old to be staying somewhere as basic as that?’
Finn shot her a narrow-eyed look and Amber thought how pale his face looked when contrasted against the dark hair. ‘She’s Karolina’s chaperon.’ He frowned. ‘Where else are they going to stay? It’s only Karolina’s second job—she hasn’t earned enough yet to put herself up in any of the London hotels. Not long-term. And you know how much they need reassurance and guidance at this stage, sweetheart’
‘And you give it them,’ she observed.
‘Well, that’s all part of my job.’
‘Sure.’ Amber gave an automatic smile, but her heart felt unaccustomedly heavy. ‘Just that sometimes I wish that we could have a little more time together, that’s all.’
‘You’re wishing away our success?’ he queried, a half-smile hovering around his lips. But it was a rueful smile.
Amber played with her engagement ring. ‘I just wish there was something in between having no work and having so much work you can’t think straight.’
‘But that’s life, business.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s all or nothing.’
He had struggled so hard to get to where he was today that Amber sometimes wondered whether he would be able to function normally without that struggle. Because Finn had had to fight every inch of the way to become the man he was today.
The youngest of seven children, Finn had come as a complete surprise to his brothers and sisters. And as a total shock to his mother—who had been in her late forties at the time of his birth and had thought her childrearing days were over. She’d been too tired to cope with the dark-haired infant’s vitality, so the afterthought had been brought up mainly by his eldest sister, Philomena—who had allowed him a lot more freedom than a strict mother might have done. As a consequence, Finn had grown used to quietly going about and getting what he wanted.
And what he’d wanted was success.
His good looks and natural grace had taken him out of the small Irish village of his birth and propelled him onto the international modelling scene like a rocket, at the age of eighteen—but he had soon tired of earning a living from his good looks. With a determination which was characteristic of the man, he had modelled when he could and laboured on the roads when he couldn’t, and by the time he was twenty-five had saved enough money to start his own model agency.
He stifled a yawn. ‘God, I need a drink.’
Normally Amber would have taken herself off and poured him one, but then normally he would have already taken her into his arms and kissed her very thoroughly indeed.
Which, so far, he hadn’t. So far all he had talked about was Birgitta and Karolina.
‘I wouldn’t mind a drink myself,’ she told him.
He blinked in surprise. ‘Okay. Wine do you?’
The champagne had made her thirsty for a soft drink, but she wanted to go through the whole togetherness thing of sharing a bottle with Finn. Tonight she needed some reassurance of their closeness. ‘Why not?’ She smiled.
She followed him out into the kitchen and put some heat beneath the chicken and rice while Finn opened a bottle. He was just about to throw the cork away when he noticed the empty golden-foiled bottle of very expensive champagne which was lying in the bin.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Been celebrating?’
For some extraordinary reason Amber felt both defensive and indignant, though when she thought about it afterwards it was a question she might have asked herself, had the situation been reversed.
Though perhaps not with as much accusation in her voice.
‘Not really,’ she hedged, knowing his dislike of journalists and wondering what mad blip had possessed her to give an interview.
The dark eyebrows rose even higher. ‘Just consuming costly bottles of champagne on your own?’ he queried mildly.
‘Well, of course I wasn’t alone!’ she retorted, guilt making her sound much snappier than usual. ‘You must know by now that I’d never be able to drink that much on my own! Especially in the middle of the day!’
‘I don’t know anything, Amber,’ he contradicted stubbornly. ‘Since you seem determined to clothe your actions in secrecy.’
Amber’s blue eyes widened into sapphire circles. If it hadn’t been so preposterous, it might almost have been funny, but she had never felt less like laughing. ‘Clothe my actions in secrecy?’ she repeated incredulously. ‘Did you mean to sound like the lead role in a poor spy movie, Finn, or was it unintentional?’
‘Damn you, Amber O’Neil’ he said softly. ‘What the hell has been going on here today?’
This time she stared at him in utter confusion. What was happening? Why were they arguing? Why on earth was he talking to her like this? Suddenly Amber felt the shiver of misgivings as they trickled their way down her spine.
