The Independent Bride Page 3

  ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. ‘Goodbye, Ed.’

  It was a night when Pepper despaired. She had never felt more lonely in her life.

  It was also the night that she decided. She had to go somewhere nobody would care that she was Mary Ellen Calhoun’s granddaughter. And if that looked like running away, tough.

  She put her life in order faster than she would have believed possible. She got rid of furniture. Gave away her books and CDs. Said goodbye to the two or three people who would care and was out of the apartment before Mary Ellen could send in someone in uniform to evict her.

  So this was where she found out whether she deserved her prize for problem solving, Pepper thought wryly now, as one by one even the partying entrepreneurs in the row behind fell asleep.

  If she did, she would survive in London. She would set up Out of the Attic in England instead of the States.

  And find Prince Charming?

  Pepper closed her eyes. No need to get over-ambitious, she told herself. I think you can say goodbye to that one. There, at least, Mary Ellen had proved to be right.

  And I never want another mercy date if I live to be a hundred.

  In the first-class section, Steven Konig came awake the moment the smell of coffee began to waft through the cabin. Everyone else was still slumbering under doused lights. But the flight attendant saw him stir. She came over.

  ‘Professor?’

  He sat up, rubbing his eyes.

  ‘It starts with my alarm call now, does it?’

  She was bewildered. ‘I’m sorry, Professor?’

  Steven said wearily, ‘Could you just lay off Professoring me until I’ve had my orange juice?’

  She did not understand. ‘No need to move just yet if you don’t want to, sir,’ she said softly. ‘We’ve got more than an hour until we land.’

  He smiled at her, shaking himself free of the airline blankets and pillows. ‘No, that’s fine. I’ve got work to do. And I always like to see the sunrise.’

  She nodded and went back to her galley. No one else in the business class cabin stirred. The smell of coffee intensified.

  When did I last wake up to the smell of coffee? Steven thought. That holiday in Tuscany with the Cooper family when I’d just got the Chair of Business Innovation? Five years ago? Six? Become a success—give up someone making you coffee in the morning!

  He gave a dry smile and ran his hand over his chin. He had a heavy beard. Years ago, Courtney had told him that she went to bed with Don Juan and woke up with the Pirate King. That was when she’d still been in his life and they were laughing about their secret love affair. Before she’d decided that rich kid Tom Underwood was a better bet than a man who had to put himself through his PhD as a petrol pump attendant. It hadn’t mattered to Courtney that Tom was his best friend. But then it hadn’t mattered to Courtney that Steven loved her, either.

  Well, all that was a long time ago. These days he tried to look like a smooth businessman at all times. He went to the softly lit first-class bathroom to freshen up.

  But on the point of shaving off the morning’s beard he stopped. He’d been on duty at that damned conference for over a week. All that time he had been shaving twice a day, listening to boring papers, making small talk with elliptical officials and never, ever exchanging a word with anyone that wasn’t about business. He was tired of behaving.

  Arrested, Steven considered his mirrored image. He ran a thoughtful hand over the dark stubble. He looked like a gunslinger in an old movie, he thought, amused. Not a chairman. Never a master of an Oxford college. Above all not a professor. No one who met him for the first time today would think of calling him Professor.

  ‘Go for it,’ he told himself.

  He put on a clean shirt but left it hanging defiantly outside his trousers. The piratical look would give the perfect flight attendant a shock, he thought. Excellent!

  He was grinning as he came out of the small washroom. In fact, he was so distracted that he walked straight into another body.

  ‘Oh, excuse me,’ said the body, flustered, and dropped a washbag.

  Steven dived for it chivalrously. The body was a tall woman with an untidy bush of hair and a tired face. As he handed the bag back to her he thought that she looked as if she had not closed her eyes since they left New York.

  ‘My fault,’ he said compassionately. ‘Sorry about that.’

  She shook her head, hugging the bag to her breast. ‘Don’t be. I shouldn’t be up here anyway.’

  The aroma of coffee had been joined by the smell of hot rolls. Passengers in the first-class cabin were still resting peacefully, but presumably other people were being shaken awake. A continental breakfast was clearly imminent somewhere. He made the obvious deduction.

  ‘Do I take it you’re an invader from economy class?’

  ‘Yes.’ She eyed him warily.

  Steven was impatient. Did she think he would call an attendant and complain? So much for his piratical appearance! It obviously took more than a missed shave to make him look like a free spirit.

  He said ruefully, ‘Good luck.’

  He realised that he was blocking her path. He began to move aside with a word of apology—and the plane banked.

  Two things happened simultaneously. The jet-enhanced sunrise lit the cabin with gold. And the woman staggered. Her eyes flared, as if she had suddenly been recalled to herself, but it was too late. There was nothing to hold on to. She tipped forward, dangerously off balance, and began to tumble.

  Steven caught her. Well, of course he caught her. He was a gentleman. And anyway, that was what he was good at, thought Steven wryly. It was what he was designed for, with his rugby player’s build and his judo-honed muscles. Strong and stable. He was not charming, and he had never been handsome, but by golly he had always been good at stopping women falling on the floor.

  So good that he almost managed to repress the leap of the senses that hit him fair and square.

  For in the blazing dawn she was suddenly amazing—no longer a tired woman with tangled hair. She was a golden-skinned goddess with a wild red mane. More than red—flame and scarlet and crimson and bronze, flickering like living fire. As it brushed his mouth it smelled of leaves. In his bracing arms her body felt unbelievably soft…Steven swallowed.

  Ouch! One rejection of the morning razor, one lurch of a plane, and he was into seriously politically incorrect territory.

  Hold on, there, Steven Konig. You’re not Captain Blood and never have been.

  He restored her to her feet fast.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said the goddess, flustered.

  She did not seem to have noticed his reaction.

  ‘My pleasure,’ said Steven. He could have kicked himself the moment he said it. It sounded as if he had been hanging around just waiting to get his hands on her.

  But the goddess did not seem to be on political correctness patrol just now, thank God. In fact the goddess was looking adorably remorseful.

  ‘Did I hurt you?’ The soft voice had an accent he did not recognise, and Steven was good at accents.

  ‘Of course not.’

  Steven was charmed that she should ask, though. It was a long time since anyone had asked if they’d hurt him. The brilliant and influential Steven Konig was not supposed to have any vulnerabilities at all.

  But his golden Venus was still worried about him.

  ‘That was so clumsy of me. I just wasn’t concentrating.’

  ‘I was standing in your way. Don’t worry about it.’

  She gave him a shy, grateful smile. His flame-haired Venus was shy?

  ‘No, it was my fault. I had stuff on my mind. Sorry.’

  ‘I know the feeling.’ And for some reason he found himself telling her a truth, suddenly. ‘I end up taking stock of my life when I’m on a plane. Coming down can be a shock. Brace yourself for landing; here comes your life again!’

  She laughed. She had exactly the right sort of laugh for a goddess. It was a warm gurgle
, as warm as that amazing hair and full of delighted surprise. Steven felt as if he had been given a prize.

  ‘You are so right,’ she said with feeling.

  He beamed at her. Flustered and rumpled and honest, she was the sweetest thing he had seen in a long time. He had a sudden urge not to let her go.

  ‘Is this your first time in England?’

  And at once thought, How stupid; that accent could even be English.

  She was shaking her head but she did not crunch him. ‘No. But I haven’t been here for years. I’m going to have to do the Tower of London and St Paul’s Cathedral all over again. If I have time.’

  ‘Time? It’s really a business trip, then?’

  ‘You could say that.’ She had a dimple at the corner of her mouth when she wanted to smile and was trying to repress it. Steven stared, fascinated. All goddesses should have dimples, he decided. Made them more human. More approachable.

  He said on impulse, ‘If you’re doing the sights, you should certainly take a trip out to Oxford. The old colleges are pure fairytale.’

  She let herself laugh aloud then, and the dimple disappeared. He would have objected but her dancing eyes made up for it.

  ‘That’s a great marketing job you’re doing. Has the town got you on a retainer?’

  ‘City,’ he said automatically. ‘No, but I live there.’ He smiled into those warm brown eyes. It was a heady feeling. ‘The place is a jewel. You ought to see it if you haven’t.’

  She shook her head. ‘No. Well, not that I remember.’

  He was intrigued. ‘Amnesia?’

  ‘I wish.’ This time the dimple flickered only for a moment. She gave a sharp sigh. ‘I was born in England, but my mother died when I was five and my father took me to Peru.’

  He was fascinated. ‘And you’ve never been back?’

  ‘Well, not seriously. Once with the school for a few days, a long time ago. But it wasn’t easy—’ She stopped. Then said explosively, ‘Hell, why cover it up any more? There was a family feud. The Other Side lived in England.’

  He pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. ‘Big stuff. I didn’t know people still had family feuds. Not having a family myself, I suppose I wouldn’t.’

  The dimple reappeared. ‘Congratulations.’

  He laughed aloud, enchanted. ‘So, this trip is of the nature of a peace summit?’

  She jumped. ‘Not really. Though I’ve thought about it,’ she admitted cautiously. ‘But I’d have to do a lot of tracking down. I don’t know where to start.’

  The goddess had a chin that Napoleon would have been wary of—and a voluptuous, vulnerable mouth.

  Distracted, Steven said, ‘I bet you’ll find a way. I bet you could do just about anything you set your mind to.’

  She gave him a smile like sudden sunshine. ‘That’s what I’ve always been told.’

  ‘Well, then—?’

  She laughed. ‘They may not want to see me,’ she pointed out. ‘People have been brooding on this feud for a long time.’

  He found his mouth widening into his wickedest grin. ‘Montagues and Capulets,’ he said. ‘They’ll be fascinated. Trust me.’

  She was doubtful. ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘Positive. What’s more, it makes you much more than a tourist. So you must definitely come to Oxford.’ He felt in his pocket for a business card. ‘It’s your heritage. You’re coming home.’

  ‘Home!’ She flinched as if he had kicked her. The wonderful smile died as abruptly as if someone had flung a switch. ‘I don’t think so.’

  A man, thought Steven at once. It had to be. In his experience, a woman only flinched like that at the word ‘home’ if there was a man involved. Was she fleeing an unhappy relationship? Or was there a man she wanted who wouldn’t make a home with her? For some reason Steven hated the idea of that.

  He stuffed his business card back and took his hand out of his pocket.

  Or maybe the man wanted her to move in with him. Anyway, her reaction to the word ‘home’ had nothing to do with a load of long-lost relatives. Oh, yes, it was a man all right.

  He stopped his thoughts right there. Either way, it made no difference to him, did it? He was not the sort of man to pick up women in mid-air. And his shy golden goddess did not look like the sort of woman to let herself be picked up anywhere.

  Nice idea, Steven. Not practical. You’re not Captain Blood and you haven’t got a pirate ship to carry her off to. Get yourself a shave and a tie and get back to normal!

  He stepped back and gave her one of his public smiles—courteous, regretful, remote as the moon. He was invulnerable Steven Konig again.

  ‘Well, have a good one, whatever you decide to do. Safe landing!’

  ‘Th-thank you.’

  Or he thought that was what she said. He did not wait to hear her reply.

  See that fantasy; let it go. He said it to himself savagely as he made his way back to his seat. He was thirty-nine years old and far too many people depended on him to keep his head. Fantasising about goddesses was for teenagers.

  CHAPTER TWO

  PEPPER brushed her teeth and did what she could to get her tangled hair back into order. She must have looked like a complete zombie. The man had stared at her so hard. Then again, poor guy, she had nearly knocked him over. It wasn’t surprising he’d stared. He would have the bruises to show for the impact tomorrow, she thought, wincing.

  Oh, well done, Pepper! Your first encounter with someone who won’t connect you with the Calhoun millions and you do your best to cripple him!

  At least he had not looked at her as if she was a potato.

  But he hadn’t asked her for a date either.

  Pepper shook her head at her image in the tiny restroom mirror. So what? Who ever heard of someone asking a woman for a date in the middle of a plane? Especially when she had literally bumped into him only two minutes before. But there was a moment when she had almost thought he might. There had been something—

  Her eyes flared, remembering that moment when his hands had closed round her. Surely it wasn’t just her imagination? She had hardly been able to see his face, the dawn light had been so strong in her eyes. But she’d sensed that his expression had become intent, as if he had suddenly touched live power. She had noticed because it was the exact same thing she had felt herself. Raw energy. Magnetic attraction. Sex.

  Her mouth dried, thinking about it. She was not used to feeling uncontrollable sexual attraction to complete strangers. She gave herself a brisk mental shake.

  Okay, you may have had an adolescent moment, Pepper. But, let’s face it, you’re not at your best right now. That’s no reason for him to start lusting back at you.

  Concentrate on the evidence. You walked into him and he was nice about it. He didn’t yell and he didn’t threaten to sue. Isn’t that enough to start with?

  It was. It had to be. Anyway, it was the first hopeful thing that had happened for weeks. Give thanks for a civilised Englishman’s good manners and don’t ask for the moon, Pepper told herself practically.

  Still, she made her way back to her seat with a smile on her face. And when the chatty passenger in the next seat started a conversation again, she even replied.

  The woman was a grandmother from Montana who had never been to London before. In fact, she confided, she had never flown long distance before. She refused Pepper’s invitation to change seats, but she did crane across her to look out at the landscape below as the plane came in to land.

  ‘It’s big, isn’t it?’ She sounded awed.

  The flight was early. Very early. The sun was barely up as they came in to land at London Heathrow. It glittered on buildings and planes. To Pepper, leaning her forehead against the bulkhead, even the runway looked as if it was studded with diamonds. On the ground nothing moved.

  In the cabin, there was that air of suppressed excitement that came from being woken too early, fed croissants and orange juice you didn’t want, and throttling down from five hundred miles a
n hour. And being about to step out into a new country.

  Or, in Pepper’s case, a new universe.

  Maybe the Englishman was right. Maybe she should try looking for her cousins. How hard could it be? And she was going to have plenty of time.

  Grandma Montana swallowed. Suddenly, after all the hours of chat, she blurted out the cause. She was going to meet her unknown English son-in-law and her two English grandchildren for the first time. She was real nervous, she confessed.

  Pepper did not know what to say. ‘That’s a new concept for me. My grandmother has never been nervous in her life.’

  ‘She must be very brave.’

  Pepper was crisp. ‘If people never cross you, there isn’t that much to get nervous about,’ she said tartly.

  It felt good to say it. She sat straighter in her seat.

  The airbus hit the runway and there was a loud rushing noise of giant brakes. Grandma Montana gave a little gasp. She was very pale.

  To her own surprise—well, she was Mary Ellen Calhoun’s granddaughter, and, until a week ago, designated heir to Calhoun Carter; she didn’t do emotion—Pepper took the older woman’s hand.

  ‘Everything’s fine. It always makes a noise like that.’

  Grandma Montana’s smile wavered. ‘Thank you. I was sure it was really. But—’ She gave Pepper’s hand a squeeze, as if Pepper were her own family and entitled to that intimate little gesture. ‘I’m being silly. You’re very kind.’

  It hit Pepper like a ten-ton truck. Kindness! Outside Calhoun Carter, people were kind to each other without expecting a return. The man she’d knocked into had been kind about it. Now this woman was thanking her for a gesture that her grandmother would have laughed at.

  She nearly said, No, I’m not. I’ve never been kind in my life. There’s no room for kindness in business. And I’m a business woman to my toenails. I’ve got three degrees and my own biography at Fortune to prove it.

  Nearly.

  Only somehow she didn’t. Somehow she thought—But I don’t have to stay like that. I can change. The unshaven man with the sexual force field around him had said she could do anything she set her mind to. And she could. She could.