Mistletoe Marriage (Harlequin Romance) Page 8

  ‘Oh, I must get my camera,’ said Harriet, putting down her glass. ‘Don’t move!’

  The kiss could only have lasted a few seconds. Bram and her father were chatting while Harriet went in search of her camera. How could they all sound so normal? Didn’t they realise how odd everything felt? Sophie had the strangest sensation of having slipped into a parallel universe, where everything seemed familiar yet subtly different at the same time.

  Especially Bram. Look at him, sitting there talking to her father about fencing contractors as if nothing whatsoever had happened! How could he do that? Hadn’t he felt that sudden thrill, that unaccountable flicker of something that mere friends shouldn’t feel at all?

  ‘Here we are!’ Harriet came back into the room carrying her trusty camera with which she had recorded family events for as long as Sophie could remember. ‘Now, I need a picture of you two to mark your engagement.’

  Harriet rather fancied herself as a photographer. In full Cecil Beaton mode, she made Sophie and Bram stand in front of the fireplace with their glasses of champagne. ‘I’ll just do a head shot,’ she decided, tutting at Sophie’s scruffy jeans. ‘We don’t want those in the picture!’

  Fussing around Sophie, she made her take off her jumper, only to sigh at the crumpled state of the shirt she was wearing underneath. ‘Don’t you ever iron your clothes, Sophie?’ she demanded, exasperated. ‘Well, it’ll have to do. It’s better than that awful jumper, anyway.’

  At last she was satisfied. ‘Now, stand there next to Bram—and don’t forget your champagne. Bram, if you could put your arm around Sophie…that’s perfect.’ Backing away, she picked up her camera and framed the picture. ‘OK, smile!’

  Sophie had rarely felt less like smiling. She was acutely aware of Bram’s arm around her waist, of its hard muscle and the warmth of his hand through the fine cotton of her shirt.

  ‘Sophie!’ Harriet had lowered the camera, exasperated. ‘Why are you standing awkwardly like that? Move a bit closer to Bram and do try and look relaxed. I know you hate having your picture taken, but this is your special day.’

  Sighing inwardly, Sophie fixed a smile to her face and put her arm tentatively around Bram’s back. It was comfortingly broad and solid—the kind of body you could lean against and feel safe.

  She knew that already, of course, from the countless times she had hugged him, but for some reason it felt different to touch him now, like this. That kiss had made her feel funny, and she was aware of him in a way she had never been before.

  ‘That’s better,’ said Harriet approvingly, and clicked. ‘Now, I’ll just do one more with a kiss.’

  ‘Mu-um…’

  ‘Don’t make a fuss, Sophie, these are your engagement photos. You’ll never have this day again, and you’ll be sorry later if you don’t have a proper record.’ Bossily, she took away their glasses. ‘Now…OK!’ she called from behind the camera.

  Bram’s eyes met Sophie’s, and his mouth quivered very slightly. ‘It’s easiest just to do as you’re told sometimes,’ he murmured as he bent his head.

  At least this time she would be prepared, Sophie thought. But, even though she braced herself against it, there was nothing she could do to prevent that odd frisson of excitement—and this time it was even more disturbing, for it went hand in hand with an inexplicable feeling of not wanting the kiss to end.

  Sophie felt peculiarly weightless, as if she had found herself between universes now, in a strange space where the kiss was the only thing that was real. She forgot her mother and the camera. She forgot who she was, where she was, forgot that this was her old friend Bram, and gave herself up instead to the tantalising warmth and sureness of the kiss. With a tiny sigh of pleasure, she parted her lips, and Bram’s arm tightened possessively around her.

  ‘Your mother only wants a snap, not a three-hour video.’

  Joe Beckwith’s dry voice jerked them apart. Brought abruptly back to his senses, Bram let Sophie go. It had felt so right to be kissing her that he had forgotten their pretence, forgotten everything except her warmth and softness and the sweetness of her kiss. Sophie herself was looking shocked again, and he hoped that she didn’t think that he was taking advantage of the situation.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, a slight flush deepening the weathered brown of his face.

  ‘No need to apologise.’ Joe sounded amused. ‘If you’d been happy with a little peck on the cheek I might have been worried.’ His shrewd eyes flickered between Sophie and Bram. ‘Mind you, you both look a bit shell-shocked. Anyone would think you’d never kissed before!’

  There was a tiny silence. Sophie couldn’t look at Bram. ‘Don’t be silly, Dad,’ she said, mustering a laugh from somewhere.

  Harriet put her camera down and retrieved her champagne as they all sat down at last. ‘We must have a proper dinner for you,’ she said, turning to Sophie, who had been feeling peculiarly boneless, especially around her knees, and was very glad to drop onto the sofa before she simply fell down.

  ‘Melissa and Nick will want to come and celebrate your engagement too,’ her mother was saying. ‘What about next week?’

  Sophie made a desperate effort to pull herself together. She had to forget about kissing Bram, and the strange state of her legs, and concentrate on what her mother was saying instead.

  An engagement party. She should have expected something like this, Sophie thought, resigned. She was going to have to face Nick some time, of course, but next week…

  ‘Can I let you know, Mum?’ she temporised. ‘I’ve got to go down to London to pick up all my stuff, and I don’t really know when I’ll be back.’

  ‘Well, don’t leave it too long. There’s lots to do before a wedding, and there’s not that much time before Christmas.’

  Sophie stared at her mother with foreboding. ‘What’s it got to do with Christmas?’

  Harriet didn’t quite meet her eyes. ‘I just happened to bump into the vicar this afternoon, and it turns out that he can fit in the ceremony on the morning of Christmas Eve,’ she said. ‘Of course you’ll want to go and see him yourselves, but I’ve asked him to keep that date free for you. Perhaps you could pop along tomorrow morning just to confirm it?’

  ‘Pop along? Pop along?’ Sophie spluttered, so angry she could hardly get her words out. At least fury was a welcome distraction from Bram’s kiss and the prospect of seeing Nick again, and a small part of her brain was busy fanning the flames deliberately. Her mother had really outdone herself this time.

  ‘I will do no such thing! You had no business talking to the vicar, Mum. We hadn’t even told you until five minutes ago, and for all you know we might not want to get married in a church.’

  ‘Nonsense, dear. Of course you’ll want to get married in church,’ said Harriet, completely unfazed by Sophie’s fury. ‘I’m sure Molly would have wanted that for you—wouldn’t she, Bram?’

  Seeing Sophie about to erupt, Bram put his hand on her knee and squeezed it repressively. ‘Mum always enjoyed a church wedding,’ he agreed tactfully, before Sophie could speak, ‘but it’s not that long since she died, and in the circumstances we’d both prefer a quiet wedding.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Sophie, with grateful glance at him. Really, Bram was much better at managing her mother than she was. ‘We want to make our own arrangements.’

  ‘Well, dear, if you insist…’ Harriet assumed a hurt expression. ‘But you know you’re not the most organised person in the world, and it is normal for the bride’s mother to get involved. But if you don’t want me to have anything to do with the wedding, of course that’s up to you. I know better than to push in where I’m not wanted.’

  Sophie was practically grinding her teeth with frustration by this stage. Her mother in martyr mode was even more infuriating than when she was being bossy and overbearing.

  ‘All I’ll say—if I’m allowed to give you just a little bit of advice, that is—’ Harriet went on with a touch of sarcasm ‘—is not to leave it all to the last minute,
the way you’re inclined to, Sophie. It does take a long time to plan a wedding.’

  ‘I know that, Mum.’ Sophie forced herself to stay calm. ‘But we’ve only just got engaged. There’s no reason to hurry.’

  ‘No reason to wait either,’ her father put in unexpectedly. ‘It’s not as if you don’t know each other properly. I wasn’t so happy about Melissa and Nick getting married after just a few weeks, but it would be different with you two.’

  ‘And a Christmas wedding would be so lovely,’ Harriet put in, quick to capitalise on Sophie and Bram’s momentary hesitation. ‘Think how romantic it would be! The church looks so pretty then, with candles, and you know how clever Maggie is with the Christmas flowers. And, of course, it would be marvellous to combine the celebrations with your father’s special birthday. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Joe?’

  ‘If that’s what Sophie wants,’ said her father, an old hand at not committing himself.

  Feeling herself being outmanoeuvred, Sophie threw a glance of appeal at Bram. ‘It all sounds very nice,’ he said calmly. ‘Can we have a think about it, Harriet?’

  ‘Don’t think too long. It’s only six weeks until Christmas, you know, and you’ll need to think about invitations, and the service you want, and the food and the flowers…oh, and a dress, of course. It can take ages to find exactly what you want. It’s no use pretending that you can do it all at the last minute.’ Glancing at her watch, Harriet got to her feet. ‘I must just go and check my potatoes. You’ll stay to supper, won’t you? We can talk about it more then.’

  ‘That’s kind of you, Harriet,’ said Bram quickly, standing as well. Sophie shot up beside him, terrified that he was going to leave her behind. She tugged discreetly at his hand. ‘But we’ve got to get back, I’m afraid,’ he added, obedient to the mute appeal in her eyes.

  ‘Oh, dear…Well, if you must.’

  Fortunately her parents seemed to take it for granted that Sophie would be leaving with Bram.

  ‘You two have a talk about what you want,’ Harriet was saying as she led the way to the door, ‘and I’ll give you a ring tomorrow. I’ll talk to Melissa tonight, and we’ll arrange a date for an engagement dinner with them. You can let me know what you’ve decided about the wedding too,’ she went on as Sophie wrapped herself up in her scarf and shrugged on her jacket.

  ‘If you want to keep things small we could always do the food here, but I know the most marvellous florist in York…’

  Still talking, she accompanied them out to the Land Rover, where Bess was sitting behind the steering wheel, alert for Bram’s return, and snatches of advice about finger buffets and getting invitations printed interspersed her farewell kiss to them both.

  Sophie dropped her head back and sighed as Bram headed down the track. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ she said. ‘My mother…!’

  ‘It could have been worse,’ said Bram comfortingly, and she turned to stare at him.

  ‘How?’

  ‘She could have whipped out a special licence and had us married off tomorrow.’

  Sophie rolled her eyes. ‘God, I bet she wishes she’d thought of that one!’

  ‘She’d have prepared a finger buffet on the sly and got Maggie Jackson to do the flowers.’

  ‘Oh, but what would she have done about a dress?’ asked Sophie, getting into the spirit of it. ‘I can’t imagine Mum ever agreeing to me getting married in anything from my own wardrobe.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Bram pretended to think about it. ‘Would she put you in Melissa’s wedding dress?’

  ‘She might if I wasn’t three sizes too big for it!’

  ‘Maybe Maggie would have let it out. “You know how clever she is.”’

  He mimicked her mother’s voice so accurately that Sophie had to laugh. ‘I defy even Maggie to get me into any dress of Melissa’s!’

  It was amazing how much better a laugh could make you feel. Some of the tension that had wound Sophie tight as her mother calmly disposed of her affairs began to seep away, and as she glanced at Bram she was conscious of a rush of affection.

  ‘Seriously, Bram, I’m sorry about all this,’ she said. ‘I hope you don’t mind me coming back with you, but I couldn’t face a whole evening of Mum and wedding plans on my own—and now you’re lumbered with me permanently, since they seem to think it’s quite natural for me to move in with you.’

  ‘At least your parents were convinced by our supposed engagement,’ said Bram, turning up the track to Haw Gill. ‘I thought they might be more suspicious.’

  ‘Yes, I did too. I guess people see what they want to see.’

  Her parents had looked at her kissing Bram and seen a girl in love with her fiancé because that was what they’d expected to see.

  The thought of Bram’s lips on hers sent a shiver of memory down Sophie’s spine. How strange that feeling had been! So warm and comfortable, and yet so unexpectedly thrilling at the same time. Would it feel the same if she kissed him again?

  She was suddenly desperately aware of him beside her. What would it be like to be able to reach over and put a hand on his thigh? To kiss his throat, just below his jaw? To press into his warm, solid bulk and feel safe and reassured?

  Sophie could picture it all so vividly that something clenched inside her, and her involuntary sharp intake of breath in response was so loud that Bess pricked up her ears and Bram looked at her curiously as he parked the Land Rover.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Sophie, but her voice sounded high and foolish.

  Bram left it until they were in the kitchen. He had poured Sophie a glass of wine and was rummaging around in the fridge for something to eat. ‘You know, you look a bit odd,’ he said carefully. ‘Is something the matter?’

  ‘No,’ she said again, wishing she could shake the memory of that kiss and go back to thinking about him with the simple affection she had felt when he had made her laugh. Instead she kept noticing the line of his back as he leant down to the fridge, the strength of his hands as he had opened the bottle of wine, the easy, unhurried way he moved around the kitchen. It made her feel jittery and uneasy, as if all the certainties that held her world together were being loosened.

  Her denial sounded hollow even to herself. She took a nervous sip of wine. ‘I suppose I was just thinking that we may have been too convincing,’ she said. ‘The pretence was fine, but now it’s a bit like thinking it would be a good idea to drive and see what’s on the other side of the hill, but now we’re at the top and heading down the other side and our brakes have just failed…our vague talk of getting married one day has turned into a nightmare of engagement dinners and wedding dresses and finger buffets, and now that’s all out of control too!

  ‘You know what Mum’s like,’ she continued, twisting the glass between her fingers. ‘We won’t be able to fob her off for ever. She’ll start making arrangements tomorrow, whether I ask her to or not, and then it will get harder and harder to cancel everything. If we’re not careful we won’t be able to stop it at all!’

  CHAPTER SIX

  BRAM set some cheese on the table before sitting down opposite Sophie and looking straight into her eyes, his own very blue and very direct. ‘Then let’s not stop it,’ he said. ‘Let’s think about getting married.’

  ‘We talked about this last weekend,’ said Sophie, looking away from the blue gaze that was so familiar and suddenly so unsettling.

  ‘Let’s talk about it again,’ said Bram. ‘I’m ready to move on, forget about the past and start afresh. I think we could have a good life together. We could live here and work the farm together. You could set up a pottery in one of the old barns if you liked. At least we know we’d get on. We’d be friends, like we are now.’

  ‘But being married is about more than being friends, isn’t it, Bram?’ said Sophie, choosing her words carefully. It was about sharing everything.

  Including a bed.

  She had always felt she could talk to Bram about absolutely anything—although
now she came to think of it they had never discussed sex before. Relationships, yes. Feelings, yes. But not sex itself. It just hadn’t come up between them. But there was no reason why it should be any different from talking about anything else.

  Except that he had kissed her now, and everything felt different.

  She was being ridiculous, Sophie told herself. Bram was an old friend, and even if he hadn’t been they were both grown ups. She was over thirty, for heaven’s sake. So why was she dithering around like a shy schoolgirl? It wasn’t as if she had ever been one of those anyway.

  Sex was an issue like any other, and they needed to talk about it. It would just have been easier if they hadn’t kissed. If she hadn’t fantasised about crawling over him in the Land Rover. If she could stop looking at him as a man and go back to thinking of him as dear old Bram.

  She cleared her throat. ‘Exactly what kind of marriage are you thinking of?’ she started awkwardly. ‘I mean, we haven’t talked about the practicalities yet.’

  ‘What sort of practicalities?’

  ‘Well, you know—like whether we sleep together or not,’ said Sophie in a rush.

  ‘No, we haven’t talked about that yet,’ Bram agreed. ‘Do you want to talk about it now?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she said truthfully, ‘but I suppose we’d better.’ She hesitated, glancing at him a little shyly in spite of herself. ‘What do you think? Honestly?’

  Bram poured himself a glass of wine while he thought about his answer, disturbed to find how vividly he could imagine making love to Sophie.

  All those years of never really seeing her at all under the shapeless clothes she wore, and now, suddenly, he was aware of her in a new and disquieting way. Suddenly he was thinking about how soft and warm she had felt when he’d held her, how her lips had felt when he’d kissed her, and what it would be like to roll over in bed and find her there.