He executed a little bow that made her giggle. ‘All your favourites, if I’m not mistaken?’

  More than a little impressed, she gestured at the picnic. ‘You did all this?’

  Surprisingly bashful, he nodded. ‘I wanted this to be your dream date, not some highfalutin generic date that anyone could’ve gone on.’

  That was when the significance of the venue and the picnic hit her. ‘You remembered what I said in that interview?’

  ‘Yeah, I listened. And remembered.’ He rubbed the back of his neck, as if uncomfortable with her scrutiny. ‘I think that was the moment I first fell for you.’

  Lucy liked seeing Cash uncomfortable and a little vulnerable. It meant he was as unsure of his feelings as she was.

  Not that she was getting her hopes up, but his honest declarations in the limo had gone some way to soothing her resentment from last night.

  And organising her dream date meant the week they’d spent together hamming it up for the cameras had actually meant something to him too. That post-disco interview had been about playing it up for an audience, but he’d been intuitive enough to see through the flirty fibs to the one truth she’d uttered.

  Shallow guys didn’t do that kind of thing. They barely remembered how she liked her coffee, let alone something important like how she wanted to be wooed.

  ‘So tell me the other moments you fell for me.’ She patted the picnic blanket next to her and he sat. ‘And don’t skimp on the details.’

  His lips curved into the devastating smile she loved so much. ‘I think the moment I was really smitten was when you took that spectacular tumble at the roller-skating rink.’

  She screwed up her nose. ‘I looked like an idiot.’

  ‘Maybe a little?’ He held up his thumb and forefinger an inch apart and she whacked him on the arm. ‘It was more the way I felt watching you fall.’ He tapped his chest directly over his heart. ‘I got this weird burning feeling right here.’

  ‘Probably from those beef nachos you scoffed before we laced up our skates.’

  ‘You always do that.’ His fingertip traced the contour of her cheek and she unwittingly held her breath. ‘Hide your true feelings behind quips.’

  Damn, there he went again, honing in on the real her. It unnerved her, his ability to switch from confident financier to intuitive boyfriend material.

  ‘You don’t know anything about my true feelings,’ she said, hating how her brusque reply made the teasing sparkle in his eyes fade.

  ‘I’d like to.’ He took hold of her hand and she resisted the urge to yank it away.

  She hated her hands. Hated the perpetual dry skin no matter how many lotions she tried. Hated the ragged cuticles. Hated the short, chipped nails.

  They might be a testament to how hard she worked but, with Cash studying them and skimming a fingertip along the veins on the back of her hand, she felt inadequate.

  ‘Tell me what you’re thinking,’ he said, raising her hand to his lips to gently brush kisses along her knuckles.

  ‘You don’t want to know,’ she muttered, unable to stop a soft, wistful sigh.

  ‘I do.’ He lowered her hand but didn’t release it. ‘Call me corny, but I’ve never felt the way you make me feel and I don’t want to lose you. So whatever it takes for me to make up for last night, or whatever I can do to convince you we have a future, I’ll do it.’

  She shook her head, battling the urge to bawl. ‘It’s not that simple—’

  ‘Yeah, it is.’

  With his tender, unwavering stare boring into her, silently pleading with her to give them a chance, she finally relented.

  ‘I’m scared.’

  Of all the responses she could’ve given, he obviously hadn’t been expecting that one if his widening eyes were any indication.

  ‘Of?’

  ‘Scared our differences will ultimately drive us apart. Scared of us having a real relationship, only to have it fall apart. Scared of...’ She swallowed the rest of her response. There was honesty and there was honesty.

  Articulating how she felt? Would only complicate matters when she inevitably let him down.

  ‘Tell me.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘All of it.’

  Lucy had taken many risks in her life. Leaving a comfortable marriage. Starting afresh in a new job. Taking a loan for her own house.

  But those risks paled in comparison to telling Cash the whole truth.

  ‘Most of all, I’m scared of how much I feel for you,’ she said, so softly he leaned towards her. ‘And it can’t be real, because we’ve only been dating for a week, and that was fake, and it’s ridiculous because I don’t believe in romance or any of that crap—’

  ‘Then I think it’s time you start believing.’ He placed a finger against her lips to silence her. ‘I did.’

  Confused, Lucy said, ‘Believe in me?’

  ‘Believe in me.’ He released her hand to extend his arms behind him and prop. ‘I spent too many years as a kid trying to gain the approval of my old man by accumulating cash. The more I gave him, the happier he seemed to be.’

  Cash shook his head. ‘Though happy is too strong a word for what my dad was back then. Less unhappy is probably more accurate.’

  Lucy heard the underlying sadness in his voice and yearned to put her arms around him. ‘I’m sorry for what you went through.’

  ‘I’m not.’ He shook his head. ‘Because every day I’ve worked my ass off over the years, relying on money as my security blanket, has taught me something.’

  Blown away by his honesty, Lucy waited for him to continue.

  ‘That all the money in the world, no matter how big my business, no matter how many clients I woo and impress, it all means nothing if I don’t have what I want the most.’

  Too afraid to ask, Lucy took a few deep breaths before saying, ‘What’s that?’

  He looked her directly in the eye, his gaze unwavering. ‘You.’

  Lucy’s chest ached with the enormity of his declaration, but she still had no idea what to say.

  He delved in his pocket and pulled out a small pale blue box that made her heart falter. ‘Happy Valentine’s Day, Luce.’

  In the devastating aftermath of last night, she’d forgotten today was Valentine’s Day. Not that she ever noted the date considering what she thought of it, but with the memorable lead-up to this one she should’ve remembered.

  She stared at the box, too scared to touch it. The implications of accepting that box and opening it were too terrifying to contemplate.

  ‘Is that a...?’ She cleared her throat, unable to speak past the giant lump of emotion.

  He smiled as he flipped the lid open, the tenderness in his eyes making her tear up. Until she caught sight of the ring, a three-carat marquise diamond in white gold. Simple. Elegant. Stunning. The type of ring to define all rings.

  ‘In case you were wondering, it’s a ring for that finger.’ He took the third finger on her left hand and wiggled it. ‘And it means exactly what you think it means.’

  He knelt in the dewy grass, slipped the ring out of the box and held her left hand. ‘I’m not very good at this stuff, Luce, but with you by my side I’m willing to give it a shot.’

  He held the ring over the tip of her finger. ‘I love you, Cinders. Will you marry me?’

  Lucy didn’t feel like Cinderella. She felt like the luckiest woman in the world.

  But she’d been here before: the ring, the proposal, the whirlwind romance.

  Last time, she’d made the biggest mistake of her life by accepting a proposal after six months. What disaster would befall her this time after knowing the guy properly for only a week?

  ‘We barely know each other,’ she whispered, her hands shaking the longer he held that ring there. ‘It’s too soon, we’re too different—’

  ‘So you keep saying, but I’m not buying it.’ He held her gaze, beseeching her to listen. ‘The way I feel when I’m with you? Like nothing or no one else matters. I can be myself. And I love that you can be yourself around me. I love the dirt smudges on your nose and your funny boot tan lines on your legs and the way you happily walk around without artifice. But most of all? I love you for you. Every beautiful inch, inside and out.’

  Speechless, and barely able to see through her tears, Lucy watched the man she loved slip the exquisite diamond onto her finger, all the way to the knuckle.

  ‘That settles it,’ he said, standing to bundle her into his arms.

  ‘Technically I didn’t say yes,’ she said, unable to keep her joy from showing with an ear-splitting grin.

  ‘You didn’t have to. I can see your answer here.’ He cupped her chin and stared into her eyes. ‘You love me. Never in doubt.’

  She could’ve taken him down a peg or two for his cockiness or berated him for bullying her into accepting the ring.

  Instead, she looped her arms around her fiancé’s neck, tugged his head down, and kissed him.

  By the time they came up for air, darkness had descended and they could barely see the picnic blanket.

  Didn’t matter. Lucy wasn’t terribly hungry.

  At least, not for food.

  EPILOGUE

  Lucy elbowed her husband in the ribs. ‘Are you seeing this or is it just me?’

  Cash glanced over at the newly installed gazebo in his garden and nodded. ‘Yep. I think my dad and your gram are getting it on.’

  ‘Euw, that’s disgusting,’ Lucy said, smiling regardless. ‘They’re not getting it on, they’re chatting. And maybe flirting a little.’

  Cash slid an arm around her waist and hugged her tight. ‘Guess our wedding day is spreading the love.’

  She snuggled into him. ‘Who would’ve thought that crappy, overcommercialised day could’ve brought us to this point?’

  ‘Nothing wrong with Valentine’s Day.’ He nuzzled her neck. ‘Especially when that little chubby guy with the bow and arrow had a hand in giving me the privilege of doing this every night.’ He groped her butt and she yelped.

  ‘Cupid had nothing to do with it,’ she said, returning the favour and delighting in seeing his eyes twinkle with mischief. ‘It was your stupid PR scheme that got us together.’

  ‘Stupid?’ He playfully tugged on her veil. ‘Got you this far, didn’t it?’

  She released him and held up her left hand, the shiny white-gold wedding band catching the sunlight along with her marquise diamond. ‘I still can’t believe you slipped that ring on my finger after a week.’

  He gestured at himself. ‘Who could resist this? You were putty in my hands from that first date.’

  ‘That eighties disco?’ She scoffed. ‘Took me a while longer to fall for your questionable charms.’

  ‘Liar,’ he murmured, kissing away any further objections she might have.

  ‘Hey, you two, quit canoodling,’ Gram called across the garden. ‘Time to cut the cake.’

  ‘Plenty of time to continue the canoodling later,’ Cash said, snagging her hand and raising it to his lips. ‘Because as beautiful as your dress is, I can’t wait to get it off you.’

  Lucy glanced down at her satin princess dress covered in a smattering of crystals with a metre train, wondering if she should pinch herself for the umpteenth time today.

  Being a second marriage, she could’ve gone for simple and unpretentious.

  But she loved this man with all her heart and wanted to embrace the old her, the girl who secretly loved romance and frivolity and fabulous fashion, so she’d gone all out with her wedding dress.

  Lush ivory satin. Bateau dropped waist. Ruched skirt cascading to the floor. Strapless with a sheer overlay of lace bolero.

  She’d loved it on sight.

  Looked as if Cinderella had finally got her fairy-tale ending after all.

  Along with enough business to keep her busy for the next decade, and a sizable nest egg for Gram, who’d never have another financial worry as long as she lived.

  ‘And I have to say, the job my wife did on this garden?’ He swept his arm wide, encompassing two months’ worth of her hard work. ‘Not too shabby.’

  ‘Wouldn’t want you to be over-effusive with the compliments or anything,’ she muttered, playfully whacking him on the chest.

  He hauled her to him and the air whooshed out of her lungs. ‘I’m saving my compliments for the bedroom tonight. Or this afternoon, if we can get rid of these guests quickly enough.’

  She laughed and kissed him on the mouth. ‘Still the charmer.’

  ‘Still the most beautiful girl in the world.’ He hugged her so tight she could barely breathe.

  Not that Lucy cared.

  As long as she was in Cash’s arms, that was all that mattered.

  She might not believe in the romanticism of Valentine’s Day, but she sure believed in this wonderful man.

  And she would, for the rest of their amazing life together.

  Maybe chalk one up to Cupid after all...

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from TROUBLE ON HER DOORSTEP by Nina Harrington.

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin KISS story.

  You think of flirting as an art form! Harlequin KISS stories are all about the delirium of a potential new romance—where fun-loving heroines and irresistible heroes just can’t get enough of each other.

  Enjoy four new stories from Harlequin Kiss every month!

  Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!

  Other ways to keep in touch:

  Harlequin.com/newsletters

  Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks

  Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks

  HarlequinBlog.com

  ONE

  Tea, glorious tea. A celebration of teas from around the world.

  There is no better way to lift your spirits than a steaming hot cup of builders’ brew. Two sugars, lots of milk. White china beaker. Blend of Kenyan and Indian leaf tea. Brewed in a pot. Because one cup is never enough.

  From Flynn’s Phantasmagoria of Tea

  Tuesday

  ‘Ladies, ladies, ladies. No squabbling, please. Yes, I know that he was totally out of order but those are the rules. What happens in the Bake and Bitch club...?’

  Dee Flynn lifted her right hand and waved it towards the women clustered about the cake display as though she was conducting a concert orchestra.

  The women put down their tea cups, glanced at one another, shrugged their shoulders and raised their right hands.

  ‘Stays in the Bake and Bitch club,’ a chorus of sing-song voices replied, a second before they burst into laughter and sank back into their chairs around the long pine table.

  ‘Okay. I might not be able to snitch, but I still cannot believe that the faker tried to pass that sponge cake off as his own work,’ Gloria sniggered as she poured another cup of Darjeeling and dunked in a homemade hazelnut biscotti. ‘Every woman at the junior school bake sale knew that it was Lottie’s triple-decker angel drool cake and you can hardly mistake that icing. We all know how hard it is to make, after last week’s efforts.’

  ‘Hey! Don’t be so hard on yourself,’ Lottie replied. ‘That was one of my best recipes and chiffon sponge is not the easiest to get right. You never know; I might have become one dad’s inspiration to greater things.’

  A chorus of ‘Boo,’ and ‘Not likely,’ echoed around the table.

  ‘Well, never mind about dads wanting to show off at the school bake sale in front of the other fabulous baked creations you gals create. We have five more minutes before your cakes come out of the oven so there is just enough time for you to taste my latest recipe for a February special. This is the cake I am going to demonstrate next week.’

  With a flourish reserved for the finest award-winning restaurants where she and Dee had trained, Lottie Rosemount waited until every one of the girls had stopped talking and was looking at the cake plate at the centre of the table, before whipping away the central metal dome and revelling in the gasp of appreciation.

  ‘Individual cupcakes. Dark chocolate and raspberry with white-chocolate hearts. And just in time for Valentine’s Day. What do you think?’

  ‘Think?’ Dee coughed and took a long drink of tea. ‘I am thinking that I have a week to come up with the perfect blend of tea to complement chocolate and raspberries.’

  ‘Tea? Are you joking?’ Gloria squealed. ‘Hell no. Those cupcakes are not meant to be washed down with tea around the kitchen table. No chance. Those are after-dinner bedroom dessert cakes. No doubt about it. If I am lucky, I might get to eat half of one before my Valentine’s Day dinner date gets really sweet—if you know what I mean. Girl, I want me some of those. Right now.’

  A roar of laughter rippled like a wave around the room as Gloria snatched up a cupcake and bit into it with deep groans of pleasure, before licking her fingers. ‘Lottie Rosemount, you are a temptation. If I made those cupcakes I know that I would get lucky, and just this once I would not think about the risk of chocolate icing on the bedclothes.’

  Dee sniggered and had just pulled down a tea caddy of a particularly fragrant pomegranate infusion when she heard the distinctive sound of the antique doorbell at the front door of the tea rooms.

  Lottie looked up from serving the cupcakes. ‘Who can that be? We’ve been closed for hours.’

  ‘Not to worry. I’ll get it. But save one of those for me, can you? You never know—my luck might change and a handsome new boyfriend might turn up out of the blue just in time for Valentine’s Day. Miracles can happen.’