by Bay, Louise
“We have some new villagers. Well, sort of new. A Mrs. Steele. She used to live in the village when she was young, apparently. She knew Grandfather and Granny. I guess she wasn’t Mrs. Steele back then. She married an earl and moved away …” I paused. Had she told me why she’d left the village? She’d come back after she was married, but why had she left again? “Anyway, she’s back. And her grandson bought the place and he comes down on weekends.”
“Do you recognize her from before?”
I shook my head as I patted the napkin on my lap. “No, she moved away before we were born. Thirty years ago.”
Ryder was trying to act interested, but I could tell he couldn’t care less. “Mrs. Brookely died, right?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes. Anyway, they’ve agreed to keep the gardens open to villagers on first Saturdays, so that’s a good start.”
“They sound very accommodating. I’m not sure I’d like strangers wandering about in my house.”
The helicopter wasn’t so accommodating, but I wasn’t about to mention that in case it gave Ryder ideas. “People won’t be wandering about in the house. It’s just the gardens. And they’re so beautiful—don’t you remember?”
Ryder shook his head. I’d only ever left Woolton for university, but Ryder hadn’t lived there since. Maybe that was why he didn’t have the pull toward the village and the way of life, or even toward Woolton Hall, that I did.
“Do you remember how we used to play in the Badsley woods there?”
“Sure. We were so little. I can’t imagine letting my kids wander off on their own before their twenty-first birthdays. You were barely out of nappies.”
Good memories from that time were few and far between and the ones we had were made together on days in Badsley’s woods or the grounds of Woolton. And eventually the good blotted out the bad.
“I know. I guess Grandfather and Granny felt we were safe. And they were right.”
“Safe once she’d finally left us,” he mumbled, referring to our mother. I learned later that it was that summer when my grandfather put his foot down and told his daughter that her children needed a full-time parent, and that although she was welcome to visit us, we would live at Woolton Hall from then on. Her visits were infrequent and grew more so over time.
At the beginning of that summer, Ryder was the only one I spoke to. He’d been my interpreter. My protector. The only one I trusted. But that first summer at Woolton opened me up, cloaked me in warmth and consistency and eventually over dinner, I began to help Ryder tell our grandparents the stories of our daily adventures. The four-leaf clovers we’d found, the dens we’d built, the trees we’d climbed. Woolton had helped me find my voice that summer.
“I’m glad she left us,” I said.
Ryder sighed. “I just don’t get it. Not then, but especially not now that we’ve got Gwendoline and Toby.”
“I know.” I reached across and squeezed his hand, my heart tugging at his reference to my niece and nephew. Ryder was a workaholic control freak, but he worshipped his children and his wife, and I knew would stand in front of a bus for them. And for me. To him, that’s what family did. That’s what our grandparents did for us when they kept us at Woolton Hall.
He glanced over my shoulder. “Hey,” he mouthed, greeting someone across the room. The reason I liked this restaurant was because Ryder didn’t run into business associates. “I’ll just be a second.” He stood and placed his napkin on the chair.
“I’ve not seen you in forever,” he said, greeting one of the endless number of people Ryder knew.
“Not since that conference in Vegas,” a familiar voice said, and I snapped my head around as realization dawned. Logan grinned back at me. “I’ve seen a lot more of your sister. It’s all starting to fit into place now. Hi, Darcy.” Logan bent and kissed me on the cheek.
“You two know each other?” Ryder asked, sinking back into his chair.
“My grandmother and I just moved into Woolton Village. I’d not realized that Woolton Hall was your family’s place.”
“You bought Badsley House? What a small fucking world, we were just talking about you,” Ryder said.
“No, we weren’t.” I said, shooting Ryder a look.
Ryder pulled up a chair from the empty table next to us. “Well, join us, sit down.”
Wait, what? I didn’t want to make polite conversation with a near-perfect stranger. Especially one I hadn’t figured out yet.
“That would be great,” Logan said. “My meeting just got canceled, so I was about to enjoy the steak alone.”
“Darcy was just getting me caught up on the Woolton gossip.”
“She seems to know everything about what goes on,” Logan said. “I’m learning the ropes. Pub quiz on Thursdays. Open gardens on the first Saturday of the month, right?” He grinned at me.
I couldn’t tell if he was teasing me. But why would he understand what a special place it was? “The village is a lovely place to live and the people are wonderful and kind. We care about each other.”
“So far so good.” He held my gaze as if trying to see beyond my words and into my mind. “The farm shop at the end of the village is fantastic. I took my grandmother there on Sunday.”
“That was all Darcy,” Ryder said.
“It was your idea?” Logan asked.
“Not just her idea. She did the business plan, got the bank loan, planning permission, sourced all the suppliers. Picked a team to run it. My sister is a force of nature.” If I didn’t know better, I would have said my brother was proud of me. “I told her I’d fund it, but she insisted on doing it herself.”
“That’s very impressive,” Logan said.
“I know it’s small fry compared to your billion-dollar deals, but it’s not just about a farm shop,” I said. “It’s about sustaining local producers and supporting village life. It was a passion project.”
“Starting a business, big or small, takes a lot of hard work and courage. And I find approaching something with passion always leads to better results.”
It wasn’t the reaction I expected. I thought his approach to business would be cold hard facts and numbers, given the article I’d read. I couldn’t help but wonder what he approached with passion. “I don’t know how to approach things in any other way but with my heart.”
Ryder’s phone buzzed and he excused himself from the table.
“So here we are again,” Logan said his eyes twinkling, his jaw no less sharp.
“I’m not sure we’ve been here before,” I replied.
“You and me. We keep running into each other.”
“It’s a small world, I guess.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. So what’s next for you now the farm shop is up and running? Any more passion projects?”
“I’m sure I’ll find something. But I have plenty to keep me busy in the meantime.” Logan stretched out his long legs under the table brushing against my thigh. But he didn’t shift. Or apologize, he just kept his gaze steady and focused directly on me. Was he waiting for me to react to his touch, to elaborate on what I’d been saying? He seemed so comfortable with the silence.
My heart tripped in my chest and I stuttered. “There’s always so much to do. There’s the full-time staff, the stables and then a regular cycle of things that go wrong at the house—it’s never-ending.”
The corners of his mouth twitched and his lips spread into a slow, wide smile as if he’d discovered a secret. “I’m sure. But you make time for Ryder.”
“He’s important. My family. Of course I make time for him. But it’s fine. I got caught up on a lot of paperwork this past weekend so I could steal some free time now.”
“And you visited my grandmother. That was very thoughtful.”
I blushed. Not at his compliment, but knowing how close I’d been to not going. “The village is my passion project.”
“Well, she really appreciated it. I did too.”
“I’m surprised you have the time to spend in Woolto
n.”
“Like you said, she’s my family, and that’s what you do.”
I tried to bite back a smile. Maybe Aurora had been right and the person who’d written the article about Logan had some kind of personal vendetta. I prided myself on being an excellent judge of character, but there were so many conflicting sides to Logan, it was difficult to see who he was at his core.
I couldn’t decide what to make of him. The guy was clearly a player. Too good-looking, with his perfect hair, sparkling blue eyes and hard body. I was sure he got his own way personally and professionally because of the subtle flirting. His confidence, the article in the newspaper. It all painted one picture. But then his relationship with his grandmother—the way he’d bought her childhood home for her. And the way he talked about approaching business with a passion? That was something entirely different. It was as if he’d broken my people compass and I couldn’t find north anymore.
“Tell me more about the shop,” he said, and when I glanced back up, I found him looking at me. He was asking me about something I was certain he had no interest in. Was he being polite or condescending?
“Nothing much to tell. I do what I can to preserve village life. It helps local suppliers, but it’s good for the village because it draws people in from the surrounding villages and they spend money in the pub and at the post office.”
“And you went to university, right?”
“Kings, London,” I replied.
He nodded. “Smart girl. But you didn’t want to go somewhere more rural? I had you pegged for someone who might go to a Scottish university.”
“Are you interviewing me for a job I haven’t applied for?” I asked. Where were all his questions coming from?
He chuckled. “You’re funny,” he said. “I don’t normally look for funny in a woman.” He glanced at my mouth and I found myself taking in his perfectly shaped cupid’s bow.
“What do you mean you don’t look for funny?”
He frowned and shifted in his seat and for the first time he seemed like he wasn’t in complete control. “I’m just trying to…Never mind. I’m just trying to get to know you, that’s all.” Was I as confusing to him as he was to me? “It’s interesting that you’re so passionate about Woolton.”
“It’s where I grew up, so of course I’m passionate about it.”
“But that doesn’t always follow, does it? Lots of people move away from where they grew up—Ryder’s based in New York.”
“Why would I move away when I’m happy? It’s a beautiful place—peaceful and calm. I enjoy my life there.”
“You never get bored?”
Irritation prickled at my neck. I couldn’t tell if it was from the fact that he assumed that being in Woolton was boring. But also because the answer wasn’t a flat-out no. I’d never told anyone, but my reasons for getting the farm shop up and running was for all the reasons I said it was, and one more. I’d wanted the challenge. Since university, I’d been slowly taking over running Woolton Estate, but I’d still expected my grandfather’s death to bring more issues. But those had been emotional more than anything else. I’d needed something more. “Do you ever get bored doing what you do?”
His gaze flitted behind me, then back. He grinned. “What, flying all over the world, meeting new people, doing deals, running a multi-billion-pound company?”
“Yeah. Doing the same thing every day, whatever it is, can be boring.” I never understood the appeal of being behind a desk or chained to a telephone all day. I couldn’t think of anything duller.
“Of course, I don’t get bored,” he said, his words a little more clipped than usual. He ran his hand through his hair. “Jeez. You have a spiky side.”
I let out a genuine laugh. I couldn’t doubt that he was saying exactly what was on his mind. “Just trying to figure you out. Maybe I’m pushing your buttons a little, seeing how deep the charm goes. I can’t quite decide about you.”
His mouth curved into a grin and he shook his head. It was as if we’d both revealed a different side to ourselves. He thought I had a spiky side. I didn’t know what to make of him. It was as if we’d been circling each other, trying to work the other out and finally we’d put our cards on the table.
“You’re right. I was being defensive. I’m trying to figure you out too.” He owned his response and I respected that. He’d been honest with me. “But I think I like you. I don’t have enough people in my life who call me on my bullshit.” He shot me a grin and took a sip of his wine. “And, you know, it’s always nice to hear a woman tell me I’m charming.”
“Yeah, I love being told how people think they like me. Let me know when you’ve made up your mind.” I grinned.
His eyes flickered down to my mouth and back up. “I think I just did.”
My pulse began to throb in my neck and my skin tightened. I rarely got flustered, and I couldn’t ever remember having such a physical reaction to a man. I blinked once and took a deep breath. “What I was trying to say was at the end of the day, I have people counting on me. Livelihoods that depend on the estate. That’s a responsibility that I can’t afford to be bored by.” That was the truth. “Every day is different and there’s always some kind of fresh disaster or problem that needs solving. But yeah, I can sometimes yearn for something more. I think the farm shop was part of that.” I’d not told anyone that. Why him?
He pulled in a breath and held my gaze. “I get that. I totally get it. I guess it doesn’t matter if I’m travelling all over the world doing God knows what, you’re right—I can still get bored. No matter the size of my balance sheet, I’ve been feeling lately that something more is exactly what I need.”
If I’d thought I was confused about Logan before, our conversation was just making it worse. Tonight, he wasn’t a corporate bad boy or a charming granny’s boy. He was still charming and a little flirtatious, but he seemed honest, almost vulnerable and far more interesting to me than he had been since I’d first met him. I couldn’t deny it any longer—I liked him. Even if my mind tried to deny it, my body betrayed me. I had a growing crush on the man sitting in front of me.
Chapter Eight
Logan
I’d made up my mind. I liked this girl. More so every time we spoke. That first day when she was covered in mud and she’d taken it all in her stride and smiled so wide I almost couldn’t look away. Then when I saw her, sitting on the terrace with my grandmother—she seemed to embody an English summer, all lightness and sunshine. Everything I discovered about her made me want to know more.
But the pull toward her was all so inexplicable, because it was 180 degrees from my normal M.O.
She’d called me out on being condescending and even though I’d been a little taken off-guard at first, I found I liked her for it. Other than my grandmother, I couldn’t think who else I knew who would do that.
“What?” she asked, and I realized I was staring at her.
“Nothing. Just taking it all in.”
“Taking what in?”
“You.”
She rolled her eyes, which made me want to pull her onto my knee and slide my hand up her skirt.
What was happening to me? She wasn’t any more my type now than she’d been ten days ago when I’d first met her. In fact, she was probably less my type. I liked high-powered female executives who crawled across the room to earn my dick in their mouth. Not women who spent the day in Wellington boots and gave me shit across a restaurant table.
Until now.
She wasn’t impressed with my money, my status or the company I’d built from scratch. She saw all that for what it was.
“I find people interesting. Is there anything wrong in that?”
“You mean you find trying to figure out how to get women to sleep with you interesting.”
I chuckled. “You think I’m trying to figure out how to get you to sleep with me?” She wasn’t wrong, and I admired how confident she was.
“Are you?”
“I like to understa
nd what makes people tick—men and women,” I replied. “But yes, I suppose I am.”
She grinned. “Men too? I didn’t have you down as—”
“I’m not into men.” I looked her right in the eye. There were some things I didn’t joke about. “Not sexually. I’m saying I like to understand how men and women work, what motivates them, irritates them. I see a lot of the same kind of people, and I get used to being able to figure them out really easily. I guess I got a little lazy. I’ve made assumptions about you that I shouldn’t have.”
“Yeah?” She paused and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “Well, maybe I did the same to you.”
I grinned. I liked the thought of her wondering about me. Of her trying to work me out. “Right. Tell me what assumptions you made about me, and I’ll tell you if you’re right.”
She laughed. “As if. You’ll just tell me what you believe I want to hear.”
“That’s not who I am.”
“Never?”
“Right now, I can’t think of a situation when I would need to do that.”
“You’re saying you don’t tell women what they want to hear so they’ll sleep with you?”
I was definitely attracted to her, which I was still trying to figure out. And I definitely wanted her to want me to seduce her. There was nothing more flattering. But if she took the bait, would I close the deal?
“You think I need to tell a woman what she wants to hear in order to sleep with her?” She clearly underestimated how many horny women there were in this city. I was handsome, successful, and kept myself in shape—I didn’t have to work for it.
“I guess it depends on your appetite.” She glanced away, perhaps not ready to see that appetite reflected back at her. She was so bloody cute.
I paused, waiting for her to look back at me. “Is that right?”
She shrugged. “I’m sure it’s easy to find willing women, looking like you do. Up to a point.” She looked right at me and my heart began to thud against my rib cage. “Depends how often you like to…fuck.”
