A virgin’s passionate awakening

Ruthless playboy Blake McClelland dominates in the boardroom and commands in the bedroom. So when he’s required to produce a fiancée in order to clinch the most important deal of his life, his solution is as coldhearted as Blake himself—he’ll choose a woman innocent enough to convince the world he’s a reformed man!

After being jilted at the altar, shy bakery owner Matilda Toppington is in no hurry to wear another man’s ring. Blake’s cynical proposition is scandalously, shockingly outrageous—of course she should refuse! Unless Tillie dares surrender to the unknown pleasures his sinful gaze promises...

‘I’m not leaving until I get what I want.’

Something about the set of Blake’s jaw made Tillie realise he had the steely will and determination to achieve whatever he put his mind to. And the ruthlessness.

She kept her gaze on his. ‘Haven’t you heard the wise old adage that you can’t always get what you want?’

Blake glanced at her mouth, then at the swell of her breasts behind her conservatively buttoned cotton shirt, lingered there for a nanosecond before returning his gaze to hers in a lock that ignited something deep inside her body. It was as if their eyes were communicating on an entirely different level—a primal, instinctive level that was as thrilling to her as it was foreign.

No one had ever looked at her like...that.

As if he were wondering what her mouth would feel like against his. As if he were wondering what she looked like without her practical, no-nonsense clothing. As if he were wondering how she would taste and feel when he put his mouth and tongue to her naked flesh...

MELANIE MILBURNE read her first Mills & Boon novel at the age of seventeen, in between studying for her final exams. After completing a Master’s degree in education she decided to write a novel, and thus her career as a romance author was born. Melanie is an ambassador for the Australian Childhood Foundation and a keen dog-lover and trainer. She enjoys long walks in the Tasmanian bush. In 2015 Melanie won the HOLT Medallion—a prestigious award honouring outstanding literary talent.

Books by Melanie Milburne

Mills & Boon Modern Romance

The Temporary Mrs Marchetti

Unwrapping His Convenient Fiancée

His Mistress for a Week

At No Man’s Command

One Night With Consequences

A Ring for the Greek’s Baby

Wedlocked!

Wedding Night with Her Enemy

The Ravensdale Scandals

Ravensdale’s Defiant Captive

Awakening the Ravensdale Heiress

Engaged to Her Ravensdale Enemy

The Most Scandalous Ravensdale

The Playboys of Argentina

The Valquez Bride

The Valquez Seduction

Those Scandalous Caffarellis

Never Say No to a Caffarelli

Never Underestimate a Caffarelli

Never Gamble with a Caffarelli

Visit the Author Profile page

at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

The Tycoon’s Marriage Deal

Melanie Milburne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To the Dangerous Liaisons Divas, Margie Lawson Advanced Immersion Class, Melbourne 2016—Lauren James, Kristin Meachem, Natasha Daraio, Michelle Somers and of course the marvellous Margie! A special thank-you to Kristin’s parents, Bill and Anna McKay, who hosted our class in their gorgeous home.

And another special thank-you

to my dentist, Dr Jim Rushton,

for the use of his cute labradoodle’s name!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS THE best wedding cake Tillie had ever decorated but now there wasn’t going to be a wedding. Her dream wedding. The wedding she had planned and looked forward to for more years than she wanted to count. She looked at the triple-tier wedding cake with the intricate orange blossom petals she’d taken hours and hours to craft. They were so darn realistic you could almost smell them. The finely detailed lacework around the sides of the cake had all but made her cross-eyed. She had even given the marzipan bride on the top of the cake her chestnut hair and pale complexion and brown eyes, and used a tiny scrap of fabric from her own wedding dress and veil to make a replica outfit.

Although...she’d taken a little licence with the bride’s figure and made her look as if she spent her life in the gym rather than hours in a kitchen surrounded by yummy cakes that had to be tasted to get the balance of flavours just right.

The groom was exactly like Simon—blond and blue-eyed—although the tuxedo she’d painted on him was now pock-marked with pinholes.

Tillie picked up another dressmaking pin and aimed it at the groom’s groin. ‘Take that, you cheat.’ Who knew marzipan figurines could make such great voodoo dolls? Maybe she could do a side line business for jilted brides, making break-up cakes with an effigy of their ex.

There’s a thought...

‘Uh-oh.’ Joanne, her assistant, came into the kitchen. ‘Your favourite male customer is waiting for you. Maybe I should warn him you’re in your all-men-are-evil mood.’

Tillie turned from the cake to look at Joanne. ‘Which male customer?’

Joanne’s eyes sparkled so much they looked as if they belonged on a tiara. ‘Mr Chocolate Éclair.’

Tillie could feel her cheeks heating up faster than her fan-forced oven. For the last two weeks, every time that man came into her cake shop he always insisted on being served by her. He always made her blush. And he always wanted the same thing—one of her Belgian chocolate éclairs. She didn’t know whether to dislike him for making sport out of her overactive capillaries or for him being able to eat a chocolate éclair a day and not put on a single gram of fat. ‘Can’t you serve him just this once?’

Joanne shook her head. ‘Nope. He wants to speak to you and informs me he won’t leave until he does.’

Tillie frowned. ‘But I told you I don’t want to be interrupted this afternoon. I have three kids’ birthday cakes to decorate and I have to squeeze in a visit to Mr Pendleton at the respite centre. I made his favourite marshmallow slice.’

‘This guy is not the sort to take no for an answer,’ Joanne said. ‘Anyway, you should see how clock-stopping gorgeous he looks today. Where on earth does he put all the calories you sell him?’

Tillie turned back to the wedding cake and aimed a pin at the groom’s right eye. ‘Tell him I’m busy.’

Joanne blew out an I’m-so-over-this breath. ‘Look, Tillie, I know Simon jilting you was rough on you, but it’s been three months. You have to move on. I think Mr Chocolate Éclair fancies you. He’s certainly paying you heaps of attention. Who knows? This might be your chance to get out and party like you’ve never partied before.’

‘Move on? Why should I move on?’ Tillie said. ‘I’m fine right where I am, thank you very much. I’m over men.’ Three more pins went into marzipan man’s manhood. ‘Over. Over. Over.’

‘But not all men are like—’

‘Apart from my dad and Mr Pendleton, men are a waste of time and money and emotion,’ Tillie said. When she thought of all the money she’d spent on Simon, helping him with yet another start-up business that ended going belly up. When she thought of all the effort she’d put into their relationship, her patience over his commitment to not have sex before marriage because of his faith, only for him to have an affair with a girl he’d met online.

On a hook-up app.

Grr.

Years Tillie had spent being by his side, putting her own stuff on hold in order to be a good little girlfriend and then good little fiancée. Faithful. Loyal. Devoted.

No. Moving on would mean she would have to trust a man again and that she was never going to do. Not in this lifetime. Not in this century. Not in this geological era.

‘So...do you want me to tell Mr Chocolate Éclair to come back some other time?’ Joanne said, wincing when she saw all the pins sticking out of Simon.

‘No. I’ll see him.’ Tillie untied her apron, tossed it to one side and stalked into her small shop front. Mr Chocolate Éclair was standing looking at the cakes and biscuits and slices in the glass cabinet underneath the shop counter. When he turned and made eye contact something zapped her in the chest like a Taser beam. Zzzztt. She double-blinked just as she did every time he looked at her. Was it actually possible to have eyes that unusual shade of blue? A light greyish-blue with a dark outline around the iris, as if someone had drawn a fine circle with a felt-tip marker. His hair was a rich dark brown with natural highlights as if he had recently spent time in the sun. Clearly not in England, given the summer so far had been dismal even though it was June. His skin was olive toned and tanned and the wrong side of clean-shaven, as if he had been too lazy to pick up a razor that morning. It gave him a rakish air that made her toes curl in her ballet flats.

And he was tall.

So tall he had to stoop when he came in the shop, and even now the top of his head was dangerously close to the light fitting.

But it was his mouth that drew her eyes like a dieter to her cake counter. No matter how hard she tried, Tillie couldn’t stop staring at it. The top lip was sculpted and only a shade thinner than the lower one, suggesting his was a mouth that knew all there was to know about sensuality. Even the way it was curved upwards in a smile hinted at a man who was confident and assured of getting his own way in the boardroom and the bedroom or even on a park bench. If there were a blueprint for an international playboy he would be a perfect fit. He was so rampantly masculine he made the models in sexy aftershave ads look like altar boys.

‘The usual?’ Tillie said, reaching for a set of tongs and a white paper bag.

‘Not today.’ His voice was so deep it was clear he hadn’t been at the back of the queue when the testosterone was handed out. Rich and dark, honey and gravel with a side order of smooth Devonshire cream. His eyes twinkled. ‘I’m abstaining from temptation just this once.’

Tillie’s cheeks were flaming hot enough to make toffee. ‘Can I tempt you with anything else?’

Bad choice of words.

His smile came up a little higher on one side. ‘I thought it was time I introduced myself. I’m Blake McClelland.’

The name rang a bell. Not a drawing-room bell. A Big Ben type of bell. Blake McClelland—international playboy, super-successful businessman and renowned financial whizz. McClelland Park was the name of the country estate Tillie was housesitting for the elderly owner, Mr Pendleton. The estate had been reluctantly sold by Andrew McClelland when his young wife Gwen tragically died, leaving behind a ten-year-old son. The son had certainly done a heck of a lot of growing up. He would be thirty-four now, exactly ten years older than her. ‘How can I...erm...help you, Mr McClelland?’

He held out his hand, and, after a brief hesitation, she slipped hers into its slightly calloused cage. The brush of warm male flesh closing around hers was as electrifying as a high-voltage current. The air suddenly became tighter, denser.

‘Is there somewhere private we can talk?’ he said.

Tillie was rapidly going beyond being able to think, much less talk. Even breathing was proving to be a challenge. Even though she pulled her hand out of his, the sensation of his touch was still travelling through her body like hot tentacles. One of them coiling deep and low in her belly. ‘I’m really busy right now so—’

‘I won’t take up too much of your time.’

She wanted to refuse but she was a businesswoman. Being polite to customers was important to her—even the most annoying ones. What if he wanted to order a speciality cake? Not that she made cakes that big-breasted bunny girls jumped out of, but still. Maybe he wanted her to cater for an event or something. It would be churlish to refuse to speak to him just because he made her feel a little...undone.

‘My office is through here,’ Tillie said and led the way back to the workroom, every cell of her flesh conscious of him only a few steps behind her.

Joanne looked up from the child’s birthday cake she was pretending to decorate with the handmade marzipan toys Tillie had worked on every night for the past week. ‘I’ll watch over the shop, will I?’ she said with a smile so bright it looked as if she were advertising toothpaste.

‘Thanks,’ Tillie said, opening the office door that led off the workroom. ‘We won’t be long.’

Well, she’d used to think of it as an office.

Now with Blake McClelland occupying a ridiculous amount of space inside it she rapidly downgraded it to the size of a cake box. A cupcake box.

Tillie waved her hand at the chair in front of her desk. ‘Would you like to sit down?’

So I don’t have to dislocate my neck to maintain eye contact?

‘Ladies first.’ Something about the sparkle in his eyes made her think of another context entirely.

She gritted her teeth behind her polite closed-lip smile, and instead of sitting on her own chair, held onto the back of it like a lion tamer about to take on a rogue lion. ‘What can I do for you, Mr McClelland?’

‘Actually, it’s more what I can do for you.’ There was an enigmatic quality to his voice and his expression that made the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand up and pirouette.

‘Meaning?’ Tillie injected enough cool hostility into her tone to have sent a pride of lions scampering for cover, chair or no chair.

Blake glanced at the stack of bills lying on her desk. Three of them were stained with a red stamp marking them as final notices. He would have to be colour blind not to have noticed.

‘Local gossip has it you’re undergoing a difficult financial period,’ he said.

Tillie kept her spine straighter than the ruler on her desk. ‘Pardon me if this sounds rude, but I fail to see how my current financial circumstances have anything to do with you.’

His eyes didn’t waver from hers. Not even to blink. He reminded her of a marksman who had taken aim, his finger poised on the trigger. ‘I noticed the wedding cake on my way in here.’

‘Hardly surprising since this is a cake shop,’ Tillie said, sounding as tart as the lemon meringue pies she’d made that morning. ‘Weddings, parties, anything—it’s what I do.’

‘I heard about your fiancé getting cold feet on the morning of the wedding,’ he said, still holding her gaze with that unnerving target-practice intensity.

‘Yes, well, it’s hard to keep something like that quiet in a village this size,’ she said. ‘But again—pardon me for being impolite—what exactly do you want to speak to me about? Because if it’s to talk about my ex and his tarty little girlfriend who is barely out of preschool, then you’d better leave right now.’

His smile tilted his mouth in a way that made the base of Tillie’s spine tingle and her hand want to rise up and slap him. She curled her fingers into her palms just in case. She was annoyed with herself for allowing him to see how humiliated she was by her ex’s choice of partner.

‘So here’s your chance to get even,’ Blake said. ‘Pretend to be my fiancée for the next month and I’ll take care of those debts for you.’

‘Pretend to be your...what?’

He picked up the sheaf of papers off her desk and proceeded to read out the amounts owing, whistling through his teeth when he got to the biggest one. He tapped the bills against his other hand and looked at her again with that startlingly direct grey-blue gaze. ‘I will pay off your debts and the only payment I want in return is for you to tell your old buddy Jim Pendleton we’re engaged.’

Tillie widened her eyes until she thought her eyeballs would pop right out of her head and bounce along the floor like ping-pong balls. ‘Are you out of your mind? Pretend to be engaged to you? I don’t even know you.’

He gave a mock bow. ‘Blake Richard Alexander McClelland at your service. Formerly of McClelland Park estate and now on a mission to buy back my ancestral home, which, up until twenty-four years ago, had been in the McClelland family since the mid-seventeen-hundreds.’

Tillie frowned. ‘But why don’t you make an offer to Mr Pendleton? He’s been talking about selling since he had a stroke two months ago.’

‘He won’t sell it to me.’

‘Why not?’

His eyes continued to hold hers but this time there was a devilish glint. ‘Apparently my reputation as a love-them-and-leave-them playboy has annoyed him.’

Tillie could well imagine Blake McClelland had done some serious damage to a few hearts in his time. Now she realised why he’d seemed familiar the first time he’d come into her shop. She recalled reading something recently about him at a wild party in Vegas involving three burlesque dancers. He had a fast-living lifestyle that would certainly be at odds with someone as old and conservative as Jim Pendleton, whose only misdemeanours in eighty-five years were a couple of parking fines. ‘But Mr Pendleton would never believe you and I were a couple. We’re total opposites.’

His smile was crooked. ‘But that’s the point—you’re exactly the type of girl Jim would want me to fall in love with and settle down.’

As if that would ever happen.

Tillie knew she wasn’t responsible for any shattered mirrors about the place, but neither would she be asked to model a bikini on a catwalk. Her girl-next-door looks wouldn’t stop a clock or even a wristwatch. Not even an egg timer. The likelihood of attracting someone as heart-stoppingly handsome and suave and sophisticated as Blake McClelland was as likely as her becoming a size zero. But she didn’t know whether to be insulted or grateful. Right now, the thought of paying off her debts was more tempting than a whole tray of Belgian chocolate éclairs. Two trays. And even better, it would send a middle finger in the air to her ex. ‘But won’t Mr Pendleton suspect something if we suddenly come out as a couple? He might be elderly and suffering from a stroke, but he’s not stupid.’

‘The old man’s a romance tragic,’ Blake said. ‘He was married fifty-nine years before his wife died. He fell in love with her within ten minutes of meeting her. He’ll be thrilled to see you move on from your ex. He talked about you non-stop—called you his little guardian angel. He said you were minding his house and his dog and visiting him every day. That’s how I came up with the plan. I can see the headlines now.’ He put his fingers up in air quotes. ‘“Bad boy tamed by squeaky clean girl next door.”’ His grin was straight off a cosmetic orthodontist’s website. ‘It’s win-win.’

Tillie gave him a look that would have soured her shop’s week’s supply of milk. ‘I hate to put a dent in that massive ego of yours, but my answer is an emphatic, irreversible no.’

‘I don’t expect you to sleep with me.’

Tillie didn’t care for the way he said it as if she was being a gauche fool for thinking otherwise. Why didn’t he expect her to sleep with him? Was she that hideous? ‘Good, because I wouldn’t do it even if you paid those debts fifty gazillion times over.’

Something about the spark of light in his eyes sent a shuddering tremor over the floor of her belly. His slanted smile was star student of charm school. ‘Although, if you ever change your mind I’ll be happy to get down to business.’

Business? Tillie dug her fingers into the back of her office chair so hard she thought her knuckles would explode. She wanted to slap that I-can-have-you-any-time-I-want-you smile off his face. But another part—a secret, private part—wanted him. Wanted. Wanted. Wanted him. ‘I’m not going to change my mind.’

He picked up a pen off her desk, tossed it in the air and deftly caught it in one hand. ‘And when the time comes to end it, I will allow you the privilege of dumping me.’

‘Big of you.’

‘I’m not being magnanimous,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to be run out of town by a bunch of villagers wielding baseball bats.’

Tillie wished she had a baseball bat handy right now to beat her resolve back into shape. But the chance to let her ex know she could land a guy was proving a little hard to resist.

And not just any old guy.

Someone rich and gorgeous and sexy as sin on a sugar-coated stick. It was only for a month. How hard could it be? Her thoughts were seesawing in her head. Do it. Don’t. Do it. Don’t.

‘Think about it overnight,’ Blake said, apparently undaunted because his smile didn’t falter. ‘I want a walk around the Park some time. For old times’ sake.’

‘I’d have to ask Mr Pendleton if that’s okay with him.’

‘Fine.’ He took a business card from his wallet and handed it to her. ‘My contact details. I’ve checked in at the bed and breakfast down the road.’

Tillie took the card from him, desperately trying not to touch his fingers. Those long tanned fingers. Those long tanned masculine fingers. She couldn’t stop thinking about how those fingers would feel on her skin...on her body. On her breasts. Between her legs.

She gave herself a concussion-inducing mental slap. Why was she thinking about intimate stuff like that? The only person who’d ever touched her between the legs—apart from herself—was her gynaecologist.

‘I wouldn’t have thought cottage flowers and cosy fireplaces and fancy china teacups would be to your taste,’ Tillie said.

Blake’s eyes glinted again. ‘I don’t plan to stay there long.’

What was he hinting? That he would be staying with her? Tillie inched up her chin, trying to ignore the way the backs of her knees were fizzing in reaction to the satirical light in his gaze. ‘I’m sure you’ll find much more suitable accommodation for your...erm...needs in the next town.’

The less you think about his ‘needs’, the better.

‘Perhaps, but I’m not leaving this village until I get what I want.’ Something about the set of his jaw made her realise he had the steely will and determination to achieve whatever he put his mind to. And the ruthlessness.

She kept her gaze on his. ‘Haven’t you heard that wise old adage you can’t always get what you want?’

Blake glanced at her mouth, then to the swell of her breasts behind her conservatively buttoned cotton shirt, lingering there for a nanosecond before returning his gaze to hers in a lock that ignited something deep inside her body. It was as if his eyes were communicating on an entirely different level—a primal, instinctive level that was as thrilling to her as it was foreign.

No one ever looked at her like...that.

As if he were wondering what her mouth would feel like against his. As if he were wondering what she looked like without her practical, no-nonsense clothing. As if he were wondering how she would taste and feel when he put his mouth and tongue to her naked flesh.

Even Simon had never given her The Look. The I-want-to-have-bed-wrecking-sex-with-you-right-now look. She’d always put it down to the fact he’d staunchly committed to celibacy, but now she wondered if the chemistry had ever been there. Their kisses and cuddles seemed somehow...vanilla. Unlike her, Simon had had sex previously as a young teenager, but he’d felt so guilty he’d made a pledge not to do it again until he was married. They’d occasionally petted but never without clothes. The only pleasure she’d had during the last eight years had been with herself.

But nothing about Blake McClelland was vanilla. He was dark chocolate fudge and tantalising, willpower-destroying temptation. She couldn’t imagine him being celibate for eight minutes, let alone eight years. Which made it all the more laughable he wanted her to pretend to be his fiancée.

Who would ever believe it?

‘Just for the record,’ Blake said in a voice so deep it made Simon’s baritone sound like a boy soprano, ‘I always get what I want.’

Tillie suppressed an involuntary shiver at the streak of ruthless determination in his tone. But she kept her expression in starchy schoolmistress mode. ‘Here’s the thing, Mr McClelland. I’m not the sort of girl to be toyed with for a man’s entertainment. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You’re a bored playboy who’s looking for the next challenge. You thought you could waltz in here and brandish your big fat bank account and get me to fall on my knees with gratitude, didn’t you?’

His eyes did that twinkling, glinting thing. ‘Not on our first date. I like to have something to look forward to.’

Tillie could feel her blush shoot to the roots of her hair. She almost expected it to be singed right off her scalp. She could barely speak for the anger vibrating through her body.

Or maybe it wasn’t anger...

Maybe it was a far more primitive emotion rushing through her in blazing, electrifying streaks. Desire. A pulse-throbbing sexual energy that left no part of her untouched. It was as if her blood were injected with its bubbling hot urgency. She shot him a glare as deadly as one of her metal cake skewers. ‘Get out of my shop.’

Blake tapped his index finger on the stack of bills on her desk. ‘It won’t be your shop for much longer if these aren’t seen to soon. Give me a call when you’ve changed your mind.’

Tillie lifted one of her brows as if she were channelling a heroine in a period drama. ‘When? Don’t you mean if?’

His eyes held hers in an iron will against iron will tug of war, making her heart skip a beat. Two beats. Possibly three. If she’d been on a cardiac ward they would have called a Code Blue.

‘You know you want to.’

Tillie wasn’t sure they were still talking about the money. There was a dangerous undercurrent rippling in the air. Air she couldn’t quite get into her lungs. But then he picked up his business card, which she’d placed on her desk earlier, and, reaching across the small space the desk offered, slid it into the right breast pocket of her shirt. At no point did he touch her, but it felt as if he had stroked her breast with one of those long, clever fingers. Her breast fizzed as if a firework were trapped inside the cup of her bra.

‘Call me,’ he said.

‘You’ll be waiting a long time.’

His smile was confident. Brazenly confident. I’ve-got-this-in-the-bag confident. ‘You think?’

That was the whole darn trouble. Tillie couldn’t think. Not while he was standing there dangling temptation in front of her. She’d always prided herself on her resolve, but right now it felt as if her resolve had rolled over and was playing dead.

She owed a lot of money. More money than she earned in a year. Way more. She had to pay her father and stepmother back the small loan they’d given her because as missionaries living abroad they were living on gifts and tithes as it was. Mr Pendleton had offered to help her but it didn’t sit well with her to take money off him when he had already been incredibly generous by allowing her to stay at McClelland Park rent-free and to use his kitchen for baking when she ran out of time at the shop. Besides, he would need all his money and more if he didn’t sell McClelland Park, because an old Georgian property that size needed constant and frighteningly expensive maintenance.

But to take money off Blake McClelland in exchange for a month pretending to be his fiancée was a step into territory so dangerous she would need to be immediately measured for a straitjacket. Even if he didn’t expect her to sleep with him she would have to act as if she were. She would have to touch him, hold hands or have him—gulp—kiss her for the sake of appearances.

‘Good day, McClelland,’ Tillie said, as sternly as if she were dismissing an impertinent boy from the staffroom.

Blake was almost out of her office when he turned around at the door to look back at her. ‘Oh, one other thing.’ He fished in his trouser pocket and took out a velvet ring box and tossed it to her desk to land on top of her stack of bills with unnerving accuracy. ‘You’ll be needing this.’

And without stopping to see her open the box, he turned and left.

CHAPTER TWO

JOANNE CAME INTO the office before Tillie had time to pick her dropped jaw up off the desk, much less the ring box. ‘Oh. My. God. Is that what I think it is?’ she said.

Tillie stared at the box as if it were a detonator device. ‘I’m not going to open it.’

I’m not. I’m not. I’m not.

Even though her finger still felt horribly empty after three years of wearing an engagement ring. Three years and another five before that wearing a friendship/commitment ring. But she had a feeling Blake’s ring wouldn’t look anything like the humble little quarter-carat diamond Simon had purchased. Actually, Simon hadn’t purchased it. She’d put it on her credit card and he was meant to repay her but somehow never did. Another clue he hadn’t truly loved her.

Why hadn’t she realised that until now?

‘Well, if you don’t want it, give it to me,’ Joanne said. ‘I’m not against gorgeous men buying me expensive jewellery. What did he want to speak to you about?’

‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’

‘Try me.’

Tillie let out a gust of a breath. ‘He wants to settle all of my debts in exchange for me pretending to be his fiancée for a month.’

‘You’re right. I don’t believe you.’

‘He’s the most arrogant man I’ve ever met,’ Tillie said. ‘The hide of him marching in here expecting me to say yes to such a ridiculous farce. Who would believe it anyway? Me engaged to someone like him?’

Joanne’s smooth brow crinkled in thought. ‘I don’t know... I think you’re a little hard on yourself. I mean, I know you’re not big on fashion but if you wore a bit more colour and a bit of make-up you’d look awesome. And you’ve got great boobs but you never show any cleavage.’

Tillie sat down with a thump on her desk chair. ‘Yes, well, Simon didn’t like it when women paraded their assets.’

And how could I have spent money on clothes and make-up while saving for the wedding?

‘Simon was born in the wrong century,’ Joanne said with a roll of her eyes. ‘I reckon you’re better off without him. He never even took you out dancing, for pity’s sake. You deserve someone much more dynamic than him. He’s too bland. Blake McClelland, on the other hand, is capital D dynamite.’

Blake McClelland was too darn everything.

Tillie eyed the ring box again, curling her fingers into her palms like hooks to stop herself reaching for it. ‘I’m going to take it to Mrs Fisher’s second-hand shop.’

Joanne couldn’t have look more shocked than if she’d said she was going to flush it down the toilet. ‘Surely you’re not serious?’

Tillie left the ring box where it was and pushed back from her desk. ‘I’m deadly serious.’

* * *

Blake drove the few kilometres out from the village to his family’s estate in rural Wiltshire. He had driven past a few times over the years after leaving flowers at his mother’s grave at the cemetery in the village, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to stop and survey the estate in any detail. To stare at the home that used to belong in his family had always been too painful, like jabbing at a wound that had never properly healed.

The bank had repossessed the estate after his father’s breakdown. As a ten-year-old child it had been devastating enough to lose his mother, but to see his father crumple emotionally, to cease to function other than on a level not much higher than breathing, was terrifying. His mother’s death from a brain aneurysm had shattered him and his father. The cruel unexpectedness of it. The blunt shock of having her laughing and smiling one minute and then slurring her speech and then stumbling and falling the next. Ten days in hospital on life support until the doctors had given them the devastating news there was no longer any hope.

The mother he’d adored and who had made his and his father’s life so perfect and happy had gone.

Irretrievably gone.

But somehow some measure of childhood resilience had kicked in and he’d become the parent during the long years of his father’s slow climb out of the abyss of despair. His dad had never remarried or re-partnered. Hadn’t even dated.

But after his dad’s recent health scare, Blake was determined to put this one wrong thing right; no matter what the cost or the effort. McClelland Park was the key to his father’s full recovery.

He knew it in his blood. He knew it in his bones. He knew it at a cellular level.

His dad felt enormous guilt and shame about losing the property that had been passed down through the generations. Blake suspected his dad’s inability to move on with his life was tied up in the loss of the estate. His dad would literally die a slow and painful death without it being returned to him.

It was up to Blake to get McClelland Park back and get it back he would.

He smiled when he thought of Matilda Toppington. Colour him every shade of confident but he knew he had this in the bag with a big satin ribbon tied around it. She was exactly the woman for the job. Old man Pendleton wouldn’t stop gushing about her—how kind and considerate she was, all the charitable work she did in the local community, the way she took care of everyone. He’d seen it himself each time he’d been in the shop. Freebies for the kids, special treats for the elderly, home deliveries for the infirm. Tillie was such a do-gooder; he was surprised she hadn’t sprouted a pair of wings and didn’t carry a harp under her arm. When pressed on the aborted wedding, the old man had more or less hinted he was relieved it hadn’t gone ahead. Apparently so was everyone else in the village, although, according to Maude Rosethorne at the bed and breakfast, most weren’t game enough to say it to Tillie’s face.

But Blake was certain Tillie would say yes to him about the pretend engagement, if not yes to sleeping with him. When had a woman ever said no? He was the package most women wanted: wealth, status, looks and skill in bed. Besides, he was giving her the perfect tool to get back at her ex by showing off a new lover.

And becoming Tillie Toppington’s lover was something he was seriously tempted to do. From the first moment he’d met her gaze he’d been intrigued by her. She wasn’t his usual type but he was up for a change. The way she’d blushed when he’d first spoken to her made him do it all the more. She pretended to dislike him but he knew she was interested. All the signs were there. She was responding to him the way he responded to her—with good old-fashioned, clothes-ripping lust.

Okay, so call him vain, but no woman had ever complained about not having a good time in his bed. Not that he let them spend much time in it. He had a policy of no longer than a month. After that things got tricky. Women started measuring him for a morning suit. They started dropping hints about engagement rings or started dragging their heels while going past jewellery shop windows.

The estate came into view and a boulder landed in Blake’s gut. The silver-birch-lined driveway leading to the house brought back a rush of memories. The screaming siren of the ambulance as his mother was rushed to hospital. The drive home with his father, the night his mother died. The empty front passenger seat where his mother should have been sitting. How he had stared at that seat with his eyes burning and his stomach churning and his head pounding with a silent scream.

The horrible silence.

The silence that gouged a hole in his chest that had never properly closed. If he closed his eyes he could still hear the crunch of the car tyres on the gravel on that last drive out twenty-four years ago, that and the sound of his father’s quiet but no less heart-bludgeoning sobbing.

Blake braked but didn’t turn into the driveway. After a slow drive past his memories, he put his foot down and drove on with a roar of the engine.

He would wait until he heard from Tillie before he finally came home.

* * *

Tillie walked into her office to put another bill on the pile. She had kept out of there for most of the day, determined to resist peeking at the ring. And to avoid looking at the stack of bills on her desk. She put the overdue florist notice on top of the others and eyed the ring box as if it were a cockroach in cake batter. ‘You think I’m going to look at you, don’t you? You’ve been sitting there all day just waiting for me to break.’

Taking money from Mrs Fisher’s pawnshop for Blake’s ring was proving a little tricky for Tillie’s conscience. He had given it to her but it was hardly a no-strings gift. There were conditions attached. Conditions that involved what exactly? He’d said pretend to be his fiancée. What would that involve? Hanging out with him? Would hanging out include kissing him? Touching him?

Him touching her?

He’d said sleeping with him wasn’t mandatory but she’d seen the way his eyes darkened every time they met hers. Darkened and smouldered and made her body feel as if she were sitting too close to a fire. Naked.

Maybe she should have discussed the terms with him. Sussed out some of the details before she flatly refused. The bills weren’t going away—they were mounting up like a croquembouche cake.

Tillie sat down, and after a moment, began tapping her fingers on the desk. ‘It’s no good looking at me like that. You could be the identical twin of the Hope Diamond and I still wouldn’t look at you.’

After another long moment, she gently nudged the box, moving it a millimetre away as if she were pushing away a crumb. The box was plush velvet. Rich velvet. Luxury jeweller’s velvet.

Hours had passed since Blake had given the ring to her, but she couldn’t help thinking about how that box had been in his trouser pocket right next to his...

Tillie snatched her hand back and tucked it in her lap, eyeballing the ring box as if it were a poisonous viper sitting on her desk. ‘Thought you had me there, didn’t you?’

Joanne came into the office. ‘Who on earth are you talking to?’ she said and then glanced at the ring on the desk, a smile breaking over her face. ‘Ah.’

‘What do you mean “ah”?’ Tillie said, scowling.

Joanne’s eyes were doing the tiara thing again. ‘You want to so bad.’

‘No, I don’t.’ Tillie folded her arms.

‘Not even a little peek?’ Joanne’s hand reached for the box.

‘Don’t touch it!’

Joanne’s eyebrows went up and her smile widened so far it nearly fell off her face. ‘I thought you were going to take it to Mrs Fisher’s?’

‘Changed my mind.’

‘Because Mrs Fisher is the village’s version of Facebook?’

‘Exactly.’

Joanne perched on the edge of the desk, her eyes on the ring. ‘I wonder if he paid a lot for it?’

‘I. Do. Not. Care.’

‘Maybe it’s not a real diamond,’ Joanne said in a musing tone. ‘Some of those zircon ones look pretty amazing. You’d never know it wasn’t the real thing.’

‘I hardly think Blake McClelland is the type of man to buy a girl a zircon instead of a diamond,’ Tillie said.

Joanne’s twinkling eyes met Tillie’s. ‘True.’

Tillie frowned. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

‘How am I looking at you?’ Joanne’s tone was so innocent it would have made an angel’s sound evil.

‘Don’t you have work to do?’ Tillie said with an I’m-your-boss arch of her brow.

Joanne’s cheeky smile didn’t back down. ‘Best not look at it, then. You might want to keep it.’ And giving a little finger wave, she left.

Tillie rolled her chair closer to the desk and picked up the ring box. She turned it over and over as if she were about to solve a Rubik’s Cube. What harm would one little peek do? No one would know she’d taken a look. She cautiously lifted the lid and then gasped. Inside was a stunning handcrafted ring that was set in a Gatsby era style. It wasn’t look-at-me huge but its finely crafted setting gave it an air of priceless beauty. There were a central diamond and two smaller ones either side of it, and a collection of tiny diamonds surrounding them. The sides of the ring were inset with more glittering tiny diamonds.

Tillie had seen some engagement rings in her time but none as beautiful as this. Hopelessly impractical, of course. She couldn’t imagine thrusting her hands into pastry while wearing it but, oh, how gorgeous was it?

You can’t keep it.

Right now Tillie didn’t want to listen to her conscience. She wanted to slip that ring over her finger and step out and parade it in the village to make sure everyone saw it winking there.

Take that, you cheating low-life ex. See what sort of calibre of man I can hook?

No one would be casting her pitying looks then. No one would be whispering behind their hands when she walked past them or into their shops, or asking each other sotto voce, ‘How do you think she’s holding up?’ and, ‘Doesn’t she look a little peaky to you?’ or, ‘I never thought Simon was right for her anyway.’

She took the ring out of the velvet-lined box and held it in the palm of her hand.

Go on. Put it on. See if it fits.

Tillie picked up the ring and, taking a deep breath, slipped it over her ring finger. It was a little snug but it fitted her finger better than the one Simon had ‘given’ her. She kept staring at the ring’s dazzling beauty, wondering how much it was worth. Wondering if she should take it off right this second before she got too attached to it. She had never worn anything so gorgeous. Her late mother hadn’t had much jewellery to speak of because she and Tillie’s dad were always so frugal over money in order to help others less fortunate. They hadn’t even bought an engagement ring but instead donated what they would have spent to their church’s missionary fund. Some of that social ethic had rubbed off on Tillie even though she didn’t even remember her mother because she’d died just hours after Tillie was born. But this was the sort of ring to be passed down generations from mothers to daughter to granddaughters and great-granddaughters.

Although Tillie had grown up in a loving home, largely due to her kind stepmother who was the antithesis of the wicked stepmother stereotype, she had still longed to belong to someone, to build a life together and raise a family. To have that special someone to be there for her, as her stepmother was there for her father, and Tillie’s mother before her. Prior to being jilted, she’d been a fully signed up member to the Love Makes the World Go Around Club.

Breaking up with Simon after so long together shattered her dream of happy ever after. She had been cast adrift like a tiny dinghy left bobbing alone in the ocean without a rudder or even an anchor. Three months on, it still felt a little odd to go out to dinner or visit the cinema on her own but she was determined to learn how to do it without feeling like a loser. It felt a little weird to be cooking a meal for one person but she was working on that, too—besides, she could do with a little less eating.

Now she was a fully paid up member of the Single and Loving It Club.

Well...maybe the Single and Still Getting Used to It Club was more appropriate.

But she would learn to love it even if it damn near killed her.

Tillie was about to take off the ring when her phone rang. She picked it up to see the number on the screen was the respite facility Mr Pendleton was staying in. ‘Hello?’

‘Tillie, it’s Claire Reed, one of the senior nurses on staff,’ a woman’s voice said. ‘I’m afraid Mr Pendleton’s had a nasty fall coming out of the bathroom earlier today. He’s okay now but he’s asking to see you. Can you come in when you get a chance?’

Tillie’s stomach pitched. Mr Pendleton was already so frail; another fall would set him back even further. ‘Oh, the poor darling. Of course, I’ll come in straight away—I was on my way in any case.’

She hung up from the call and went to snatch up her bag and cardigan off the back of the chair, but then she noticed the ring still on her finger. She went to pull it off but it refused to come back over her knuckle. Panic started beating in her chest as frantically as her food mixer whipping up egg whites for meringues.

She had to get it off!

She tugged it again, almost bruising her knuckle in the process. But the more she tugged, the more her knuckle swelled until the joint was almost as big as a Californian walnut. And throbbing painfully as if she had full-blown rheumatoid arthritis.

Tillie dashed into the workroom and shoved her hand under the cold-water tap, liberally soaping up the joint to see if it would help. It didn’t. The ring had apparently decided it quite liked its new home on her finger and was staying put, thank you very much. She let out a rarely used swear word and grabbed some hand lotion. She greased up her finger but the more she pushed against her knuckle, the more it throbbed.

She gave up. She would have to leave it and get it off later when the swelling of her knuckle went down.

When Tillie got to the respite centre, the geriatrician on duty informed her that, along with some cuts and bruises and a black eye, Mr Pendleton was also suffering some slight memory confusion as a result of the fall and that he might well have had another mini stroke, which might have caused the loss of balance. She told Tillie not to be unduly concerned about the fact he was acting a little irritable and grumpy but to go along with whatever the old man said so as to not stress him too much.

When Tillie entered his room, Mr Pendleton was sitting propped up in bed looking sorry for himself with an aubergine-coloured bruise on his left cheek and a black eye. He had a white plaster bandage over a cut on his forehead where his head—according to the doctor—had bumped against the toilet bowl.

‘Oh, Mr Pendleton.’ Tillie rushed to his bedside and carefully took his crêpe-paper-thin hand in hers. ‘Are you all right? The doctor said you’d had a bad fall. What have you been doing to yourself? You look like you’ve gone a couple of rounds with a boxer and a sumo wrestler.’

The old man glowered at her instead of his usual smile of welcome. ‘I don’t know why you bother visiting an old goat like me. I’m ready for the scrap heap. If I were a dog they would’ve put me down long ago like the vet did with poor old Humphrey.’

‘I come because I care about you,’ Tillie said. ‘Everyone in the village cares about you. Now tell me what happened.’

He plucked at the hem of the light cotton blanket covering him as if it were annoying him. ‘I don’t remember what happened. One minute I was upright and the next I was on the floor... I’m all right apart from a bit of a headache.’

‘Well, as long as you’re okay now, that’s the main thing,’ Tillie said. ‘I would’ve brought Truffles in to see you but I haven’t been home yet. I came straight from work.’

Truffles was Mr Pendleton’s chocolate-coloured labradoodle who had not yet progressed from puppyhood even though she was now two years old. Tillie had helped name her when Mr Pendleton had bought the puppy to keep him company after his old golden retriever Humphrey had to be euthanised. But Truffles was nothing like the sedate and portly Humphrey, who had lain in front of the fireplace and snored for hours, only waking for meals and a slow mooch outside for calls of nature. Truffles moved like a dervish on crack and had a penchant for chewing things such as shoes and handbags and sunglasses—all of them Tillie’s. Truffles dug so many holes in the garden it looked as if she were drilling for oil. She brought in sticks and leaves as playthings and hid them under the sofa cushions, along with—on one memorable occasion—a dead bird. Not recently dead. Maggot-stage dead.

Tillie often brought Truffles in to see Mr Pendleton, but not unless she’d exhausted the dog with a long walk and some ball play first. A bull in a china shop would look like a butterfly compared to that crazy mutt.

Mr Pendleton’s gaze went to Tillie’s hands where they were holding his and spied the diamond ring glittering brighter than a lighthouse beacon. His faded blue eyes suddenly narrowed. ‘Don’t tell me what’s his name—Scott? Shaun?—has come crawling back?’ he said.

Tillie’s heart was giving a rather credible impression of having a serious medical event. She glanced at the resuscitation gear above Mr Pendleton’s bed for reassurance. Why hadn’t she thought to put on a pair of gloves? Although, given it was summer it might have looked a little odd. No more odd than wearing an engagement ring that looked as though it cost more than it would to feed a small nation. ‘Erm... Simon? No. Someone...else gave it to me.’

Mr Pendleton’s frown deepened and he leaned forward like a detective staring down a prevaricating suspect. ‘Who?’

‘Erm...’

‘Speak up, girl,’ he said. ‘You know I’m a little hard of hearing. Who gave you that ring? It looks like a good one.’

Tillie swallowed. ‘B-Blake McClelland.’

Mr Pendleton’s bushy eyebrows shot up like caterpillars zapped with an electrode. Then he started laughing. Not chuckling laughing, but the sort of laughing you heard at an Irish comedy festival. He rocked back and forth against his banked-up pillows, eyes squinted, and guffawed for so long she began to worry he would do himself an injury, like rupture his voice box or something. ‘Now that’s just what I needed to lift my spirits out of the doldrums,’ he said. ‘Did the doctor put you up to it? They always say laughter’s the best medicine. You’ve done me a power of good, Tillie. You, engaged to Blake McClelland? Funniest thing I’ve heard in years.’

Tillie shifted her lips from side to side, annoyed that he found it so amusing and unlikely someone like Blake would ever propose to her. Why didn’t he think she was good enough for Blake? Was it because she wasn’t exciting enough? Not attractive enough? She might not be classically beautiful, but so far no travelling circus had ever asked her to sit in a tent and charged an entry fee for people to gawp at her.

‘No, this has nothing to do with the doctor. It’s not a joke. It’s true. Blake did give it to me. He asked me to—’

‘You’re a bit late for April Fool’s day.’ Mr Pendleton was still laughing. ‘I might be a bit muddled in my head but I know it’s June.’

The stubborn streak Tillie had worked for years to suppress while she was with Simon came back with a vengeance. Gone was the submissive anything-you-say-dear girl. In her place was Tenacious Tillie. She would make Mr Pendleton believe she was engaged to Blake. She would make everyone believe it. No one would think her not up to the task of hooking a hot man after she was done.

‘We met a couple of weeks ago when he came into the shop. It was love at first sight. On both sides. It was instant, just like in the movies. He’s the love of my life. I know it as sure as I’m sitting here telling you. He asked me to marry him and I said yes.’

Mr Pendleton stopped laughing and began to frown instead. ‘Look, I might be nearly ninety but I’m no old fool in his dotage. You’re not the sort of girl who falls for men like him. You’re too conservative to have your head turned by such a handsome devil. And he’s not the sort to fall for someone like you.’

Pride made Tillie sit stiffly in her chair while her ego slunk away to hide weeping in the corner. Too conservative? She had only been conservative for all these years because Simon had insisted on it. Sure, she might not be going to rush off to steal cars or snatch purses off old ladies any time soon, but neither was she planning to sit at home every night in front of a PG movie with forty-seven cats for company. ‘What do you mean Blake wouldn’t fall for someone like me? He’s in love with me and wants to marry me.’ What’s wrong with me?

‘Tillie...’ Mr Pendleton gave her hand a little pat. ‘You’re a good girl. You always colour between the lines. Blake McClelland on the other hand is too much for an old-fashioned girl like you to handle. You’d never be able to tame him. And you’re too sensible to even try.’

Old-fashioned. Sensible. She would show everyone just how ‘old-fashioned and sensible’ she was—including Blake McClelland. ‘Maybe I have already tamed him,’ Tillie said, pulling her hand away. ‘Maybe he’s sick of being a playboy and wants to settle down and have babies. That’s why he wants to buy McClelland Park because—’

‘He wants to buy McClelland Park because he’s filthy rich and thinks he can open his wallet and get anything he likes,’ Mr Pendleton said. ‘It’s time that man learned a lesson. And you, my dear, are not the one to teach him. Stay away from him. You’ve already had your heart broken once.’

‘But I love him,’ Tillie said, mentally crossing her fingers for all the lies spouting out of her mouth. ‘I really do. He’s so much more exciting and interesting than Simon. I can’t believe I ever fancied myself in love with Simon now. Blake is romantic and attentive in a way Simon never was nor ever could be. He makes me feel things I’ve never felt before. I—’

‘Have you slept with him?’ The old man’s gaze was as direct as a laser pointer at a scientific meeting.

Tillie opened and closed her mouth, her cheeks feeling so hot she was sure they were going to scald the skin right off her face. ‘That’s a rather personal question to—’

‘Has he moved in with you?’

‘Erm...would that be okay if he did?’

Yikes! What are you doing?

Mr Pendleton was still looking at her as a cop did a sneaky suspect. ‘He’s not the marrying sort, you know, and good girls like you always want marriage. I’m not saying he isn’t charming. He is. Just about every nurse in this place goes into a swoon when he comes in here. He’s only put that ring on your finger to sleep with you. As soon as he’s done that he’ll be off in search of the next conquest, you mark my words.’

The nurse popped her head around the door. ‘Everything all right, Mr Pendleton?’

‘Tillie fancies herself in love with Blake McClelland,’ he said with a snort. ‘Says she’s engaged to him. And you think I’m the one who’s confused.’

The nurse glanced at Tillie with wide did-I-just-hear-that-correctly? eyes. ‘Blake McClelland and...you?’

Tillie’s ego had had just about enough bludgeoning for one day. ‘Yes. He asked me yesterday. He’s been coming into the shop every day for the last couple of weeks and we hit it off. I know it’s a bit of a whirlwind, but when you’ve met the right one you just know.’

‘Oh, Tillie, I’m so thrilled for you. Everyone will be when they hear the news,’ the nurse said. ‘When are you getting married?’

‘Erm...we haven’t set a date yet but—’

‘It’s fabulous you’ve found someone. Really fabulous. We’ve all been so worried about you.’

The nurse led Tillie out of the room and softly closed the door. ‘Don’t listen to Mr Pendleton. He’s still a little out of sorts from his fall. He’ll be delighted for you in a few days. Give me a look at that ring. Gosh, isn’t it gorgeous? Much nicer than he-whose-name-is-not-to-be-mentioned.’

‘Yes. I’m very happy.’

Who knew how easy it was to lie?

‘I have a theory about playboys,’ the nurse said. ‘They make the best husbands in the end. They get all that running around out of their system and then they settle down.’

Tillie was pretty sure Blake McClelland had no intention of settling down and certainly not with someone like her. What was she going to do now? Mr Pendleton might doubt her engagement but the nurse clearly didn’t. It would be all over the village within hours. Tillie was effectively engaged to Blake even though she’d adamantly told him no. She could almost see his sardonic I’ve-got-you-where-I-want-you smile.

She slipped out of the respite facility and back to her car. The ring was still stuck on her finger as if some mischievous supernatural forces had conspired against her.

How was she going to face Blake now?

* * *

Blake came back to the bed and breakfast after tidying his mother’s grave at the cemetery. He hadn’t stayed in a B&B since he was a kid on one of the rare holidays his father took him on. But the cottage had a nice vibe—an old-world charm about it that made his business mind spark with ideas.

However, he didn’t get a chance to discuss a business proposal when he entered the cottage’s rose-framed front door because Maude Rosethorne was standing there with a broad smile on her face.

‘Congratulations, Mr McClelland,’ she said. ‘We’re all so excited with the news of Tillie and you getting engaged. It’s the most romantic thing ever. It’s all over the village. We didn’t even know you two knew each other and now you’re getting married!’

Blake had counted on that ring changing Tillie’s mind. What girl could resist a rock like that? It was worth a minor fortune, but he wasn’t quibbling over the expense—no expense was too much in his quest to get back his family property. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘What’s that old saying? When you’ve met the right one you just know?’

‘She’s a wonderful girl—but you don’t need me to tell you that,’ Mrs Rosethorne said. ‘Everyone loves Tillie. We’ve all been so worried about her after Simon jilted her. I suppose she’s told you all about that? Terrible, just terrible to leave her to face all the guests like that. He sent a text message. A text message! Didn’t have the backbone to see her face to face. He’s no longer welcome around these parts, let me tell you. No one gets to break our Tillie’s heart without all of us in the village having something to say about it.’

Blake went to his room feeling relieved he’d offered Tillie the chance to end their relationship once his goal of securing McClelland Park was achieved. He didn’t want his father to feel unwelcome when he finally moved back home. Blake wasn’t interested in breaking any hearts. Tillie hadn’t bothered to disguise her instant dislike of him—a novel experience for him, as he usually had no trouble winning women over within seconds of meeting them.

Her reaction to him amused him. He liked nothing more than a challenge, and cute little Matilda Toppington was nothing if not an Olympic-standard challenge. She was feisty and quick-witted and sharp-tongued with a body as delectable as the cakes and slices in her shop cabinet. Not beautiful in the traditional sense, but with the sort of understated looks that held a compelling fascination for him. For years he’d been surrounded by stunning-looking women, so much so they were starting to look the same. Even their personalities seemed similar—or maybe that was his fault for only ever dating a certain type.

But when Tillie hitched her chin and glared down her uptilted nose at him with those flashing nutmeg-brown eyes, he couldn’t help thinking how unique she was, how refreshing and unaffected. Her mouth was on the fuller side with an adorable little Cupid’s bow. For the last couple of weeks he’d been fantasising about kissing those soft and pliable-looking lips. She might not like him but he knew raw physical attraction when he saw it. Such crackling chemistry would make their ‘engagement’ all the more entertaining. That was probably why she’d decided to run with the engagement in spite of telling him to take his offer and get out of Dodge before dawn. And why not? A fling between them wouldn’t be hurting anyone.

He allowed himself a congratulatory smile.

The ring had been the bait and she’d snapped it up just as he’d planned.

* * *

Tillie was walking Truffles around the lake in front of McClelland Park still wondering how on earth she was going to face Blake. Her phone had been running hot ever since she’d left the respite centre. When she went back to her shop, she’d explained to Joanne what had happened, but, instead of being upset on her behalf, Joanne had seemed inordinately thrilled, spouting such idiotic statements as ‘it’s meant to be’ and something about ‘fate’s meddling hand’. Joanne had even gone on to say how she thought Tillie was secretly in love with Blake but hadn’t yet admitted it to herself.

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