Proposal At The Winter Ball. Jessica GilmoreЧитать онлайн книгу.
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She looked up at him, at his dearly familiar face so close to hers.
The greeny-grey of his changeable eyes, the long lashes, the faded freckles on his nose, the curve of his cheekbones. The curve of his mouth. So close. Kissing distance. Her stomach tensed. The old exquisite pain. And yet all she had to do was stand on her tiptoes, just a little, and move in.
Maybe Alex was waiting for her to step forward, to make the move. Maybe it had always been within her power to change things but she had just never dared.
Maybe …
She knew that whatever happened the consequences would be immense. There would be repercussions. Last time they had pretended it had never happened. It was unlikely that would happen again; their friendship would be altered for ever. Could she live with that?
Could she live without trying? Laugh it off as lack of sleep and too much schnapps? Now she had come so far …?
No—not when he was looking at her like that. Heat and questions and desire mingling in his eyes, just as she had always dreamed. I want you to go for what you want. That was what he'd told her.
She wanted him.
Flora stepped in, put her other hand on his shoulder and, raising herself on her tiptoes, she pressed her mouth to his.
Proposal at the Winter Ball
Jessica Gilmore
A former au pair, bookseller, marketing manager and sea-front trader, JESSICA GILMORE now works for an environmental charity in York. Married with one daughter, one fluffy dog and two dog-loathing cats, she spends her time avoiding housework and can usually be found with her nose in a book. Jessica writes emotional romance with a hint of humour, a splash of sunshine and a great deal of delicious food—and equally delicious heroes.
For Charlotte and Flo
Charlotte for so selflessly allowing me to pillage her commuting woes and for being such a brilliant sounding board, co-plotter, and very patient (and talented) editor.
Flo for making ‘The Call’ that changed everything, for guiding me so patiently through the whole publishing process, and for being a fab co-presenter extraordinaire and late-night wine-drinking companion.
Thank you both x
Contents
‘A GLASS OF white wine and make it a large one.’ Flora sank onto the low leather seat and slumped forward, banging her forehead against the distressed oak table a couple of times. She sat back up and slouched back in her chair. ‘Please,’ she added, catching a quizzical gleam in Alex’s eyes.
‘Bad day?’ He held up a hand and just like that the waiter glided effortlessly through the crowds of office-Christmas-party escapees and Friday-night drinkers towards their table, tucked away in the corner as far from the excited pre-Christmas hubbub as they could manage. Flora could have waved in the waiter’s general direction for an hour and he would have ignored her the whole time but Alex had the knack of procuring service with just a lift of a brow; taxis, waiters, upgrades on flights. It was most unfair.
What was it about Alex that made people—especially women—look twice? His messy curls were more russet than brown, his eyes undecided between green and grey and freckles liberally splattered his slightly crooked nose. And yet the parts added up to a whole that went a long way beyond plain attractive.
But then Alex was charmed—while Flora’s fairy godmother must have been down with the flu on the day her gifts were handed out. Flora waited not too patiently, ready to finish her tale of woe, while Alex ordered their drinks. A humiliation shared was a humiliation halved, right?
Finally the waiter turned away and she could launch back in. ‘Bad day I could cope with but it’s been a bad week. I think I’m actually cursed. Monday was the office manager’s birthday and she brought in doughnuts. I bit into mine and splat. Raspberry jam right down the front of my blouse. Of course it was my nicest white silk,’ she added bitterly.
‘Poor Flora.’ His mouth tilted with amusement and she glared at him. He was still in his work suit and yet looked completely fresh. Yep, unfairly charmed in ways that were completely wasted on a male. Flora’s seasonally green wool dress was stain free today but she still had that slightly sticky, crumpled, straight-from-work feel and was pretty sure it showed...
‘And then yesterday I left work with my skirt tucked into my knickers. No, don’t laugh.’ She reached across the table and prodded him, his chest firm under her fingers. ‘I didn’t realise for at least five minutes and...’ this was the worst part; her voice sank in shame ‘...I wasn’t even wearing nice knickers. Thank goodness for fifteen-denier tights.’
Alex visibly struggled to keep a straight face. ‘Maybe nobody noticed. It’s winter, surely you had a coat on?’
‘I was wearing a jacket. A short jacket. And judging by the sniggering the whole of Holborn noticed. But even that was better...’ Flora stopped short and buried