by Anne Mather
Grace shook her head disbelievingly, but Sean’s expression didn’t change.
‘Well, I could,’ he insisted annoyingly. ‘I might enjoy a change of scene.’
‘I don’t think so.’
Grace knew he was being deliberately provocative. Was it all for Jack Connolly’s benefit? The last thing she wanted was for Sean to move up here.
But as if sensing what she was feeling, Sean reached out and took her hand.
‘You know how I feel about you, don’t you, baby?’ he crooned, bestowing a lingering kiss on her knuckles. ‘I know we’re having a few problems right now, but once you’re back in London...’
Grace gritted her teeth. ‘I’m not going back to London, Sean.’ She’d told him she wanted to stay near her parents, but he refused to believe it. She’d also made it clear that they could remain in touch—in the hope of recovering her parents’ money, although he didn’t need to know that—but any relationship between them was over. Did he think that by talking like this in front of Connolly he’d convince her to change her mind?
Meanwhile, Jack stifled a groan. If Sean and his girlfriend were having problems, he didn’t want to hear about it.
And despite Sean’s mournful expression, he didn’t think Grace was too thrilled about it, either.
Or was that only wishful thinking?
And, if so, where had that come from?
Grace had succeeded in pulling her hand away now. For want of something else to do, she wrapped both hands round her glass and concentrated on the cola fizzing away inside.
She’d known Sean was selfish, but his behaviour was unforgivable. He was supposed to be sympathising with Jack, but he hadn’t even mentioned his wife’s death.
Taking a sip of her drink, she put her glass down and got to her feet.
‘We should be going, Sean,’ she said firmly.
Sean swallowed another mouthful of his beer and stood up also, leaving the bottle teetering on the edge of one of the sailing magazines.
Aware of the obvious dangers, Grace had to steel herself not to lean down and rescue it before it fell over and sprayed sticky liquid over the table and the rug below.
Instead, she moved towards the door, avoiding Connolly’s narrow-eyed appraisal, desperate to get out of there before Sean could embarrass her again.
But unfortunately he wasn’t quite finished.
Looking at Jack, he said, ‘We’re going to have a proper catch-up, old buddy.’ He tried to catch Grace’s arm, but she’d already moved out of his reach. ‘How about next weekend?’ he added. ‘I’ve got to go back to London tomorrow, but I’ll try to get up again on Friday evening. What do you say?’
‘Well...’
Jack was non-committal. The last thing he wanted was another awkward interlude like this.
‘I’d like to tell you my ideas about developing the website,’ Sean continued. ‘It might be something you’d be interested in. I’d be glad to give you all the details.’
Grace wanted to groan.
She’d been half afraid Sean had been about to bring that up earlier on. As soon as he’d heard that Jack was living in the village, Sean’s intentions had been clear.
Jack straightened away from the bureau. He was watching them both through those narrowed eyes, his absurdly thick lashes veiling their expression.
She thought she could guess what he was thinking. He knew exactly what was going on here. She just hoped he didn’t think she had any part in it.
‘Yeah,’ he said at last, without enthusiasm, and, in spite of being innocent of any wrongdoing, Grace could feel the colour pouring into her face. ‘I’ll think about it.’
Grace crossed the hall, wondering how she could have been foolish enough to believe Sean thought of anyone but himself. All she’d succeeded in doing was making herself look equally avaricious, to a man who probably regarded both of them with contempt.
Jack’s eyes were drawn to the unconsciously sensuous sway of Grace’s hips as she headed towards the exit. The low-rise waistband of her jeans exposed a tempting glimpse of very fair skin. And, although he couldn’t be absolutely certain, he thought she had a small tattoo etched in the hollow of her spine.
She glanced back once and their eyes met, and Jack felt a momentary twinge of guilt. He had no right to be staring at the girl, no right to be thinking thoughts about her he’d believed he’d never have again.
But, no matter what restrictions he might put upon his conscience, he couldn’t deny she was a very sexy lady...
* * *
Grace left the Bay Horse with a feeling of relief.
It was good to be home; good to be staying with her parents again. But it had been an extremely frustrating day.
In her room at the pub, the noise from the bar had been penetrating. She wasn’t used to the social atmosphere of the Bay Horse these days. And even with the television playing, she could still hear the rumble of men’s voices, the shouts of laughter, the sound of car doors slamming in the parking area outside.
And because of this, she intended to find herself other lodgings. Her parents would be disappointed, no doubt, but she was used to living on her own.
Besides, getting herself a small apartment would prove to her parents that she was serious about leaving London. It might also help to get Sean Nesbitt off her back.
It was a pleasant evening, and she’d decided to take a walk. Her mother was resting. Since her bout with breast cancer and the subsequent course of chemotherapy, Mrs Spencer was easily tired and rested often. Evidently the sounds of the pub didn’t trouble her.
Grace chose to walk down to the harbour. She hadn’t visited the quayside since her return and it used to be a favourite haunt of hers. She was hoping it might help to put the problems of the day into perspective.
She’d wasted the morning at an old vicarage not far from Rothburn, waiting for a client who hadn’t shown.
Then, in the afternoon, she’d had to fend off the advances of a property developer.
William Grafton, who was in his late forties, had expressed an interest in some dilapidated cottages that were for sale on the coast. It was an isolated spot, but he’d said he thought they might be suitable for conversion to holiday lets. The area was a Mecca for birdwatchers and other naturalists, and accommodation was limited.
Now, however, Grace wondered if that had only been a ploy. He’d come into the agency to see her boss, but as soon as he’d recognised Grace he’d switched his attention to her.
She shook her head. Had he really thought she might be interested in him? A married man, moreover, who was old enough to be her father?
Grace had found herself wondering if she was cut out to be an estate agent, after all. Maybe she should try to find a job in a library or doing research. Something that tested her academic rather than her people skills.
Pulling the hairband out of her hair, she tipped back her head to allow the mass of red-gold curls to tumble about her shoulders.
Gosh, that felt good. Even the headache that had been probing at her temples for the past hour was eased by the removal of the confining band.
She hadn’t realised it before, but she was still tense from having to deal with William Grafton. The man was a menace, she thought, irritably. Mr Hughes could speak to him next time he came into the agency.
The trouble was he was also a friend of her father’s. And a patron of the Bay Horse. And as he was a client of the agency, she had to avoid offending him on three counts.
Leaving the forecourt of the pub, she started down the hill towards the seafront. Rothburn now had a thriving marina, catering to all kinds of leisure craft.
Was this where Jack Connolly kept his boat?
The thought came out of nowhere and she hurriedly flicked it away. She’d reached the quayside now, an
d she refused to let thoughts of Jack Connolly spoil the evening for her.
The area wasn’t busy. The fishing quay was littered with lobster pots and wooden boxes, evidence of the sale that had been held there earlier in the day. But there were few people about.
The marina itself was separated from the working side of the operation by a stone pier. It ran out to a small lighthouse that marked the entrance to the harbour. Rows of slips provided mooring for a surprising number of vessels; small yachts and sailing dinghies rubbing shoulders with larger, ocean-going, craft.
Grace had always liked the idea of sailing. When she was younger, she used to tell her father she was going to be a fisherman herself when she grew up.
Until he’d taken her out on one of the small trawlers and the swell had made her sick.
She half smiled at the memory and exchanged a greeting with an old man sitting on one of the capstans, smoking his pipe. She’d known the man since she was a toddler, she realised. That was the thing about Rothburn: everybody knew who you were.
Resting her arms on the railings that ran along one side of the pier, she scanned the boats moored in the slips with more than a casual eye.
She refused to acknowledge she was curious about the kind of boat a man like Jack Connolly might own. Probably the most expensive, she thought ruefully. Like that gleaming cruiser, with at least three decks.
‘Looking for something?’
CHAPTER THREE
GRACE STARTED ALMOST GUILTILY.
Despite the quietness of her surroundings, she hadn’t heard anyone’s approach and, glancing down, she could see why. He was wearing canvas boots, their rubber soles almost silent on the stone jetty.
Taking a deep breath, she turned.
‘Mr Connolly,’ she said politely. ‘How nice to see you again.’
‘Is it?’
Jack regarded her from between narrowed lids, wondering why he’d chosen to speak to her at all. Not ten days ago, he’d been hoping he’d never have to see her or her boyfriend again.
Grace lifted slim shoulders. She was still wearing the cream shell and navy suit she’d worn for work and, compared to his short-sleeved tee and black jeans, she felt ridiculously overdressed.
‘I...was just on my way home,’ she lied and saw the way his mobile mouth turned down.
Clearly, he didn’t believe her, but she couldn’t help that. She had no reason to care what he thought of her. But she couldn’t deny that she was powerfully aware of him as a man.
Still, for the present, she had to pretend that she and Sean were still together. She’d been in danger of denying that fact when she was at Jack’s house.
‘A pity,’ he remarked now, taking up a position similar to the one she had adopted. Lean muscled arms rested on the rail only inches from the hand she’d been using to support herself. ‘I thought maybe you were looking for the Osprey.’
‘The Osprey?’
Trying to ignore the fact that his soft Irish accent stroked like velvet over her skin, Grace managed to sound amazingly bewildered. So much so that Jack turned his head sideways to look at her.
‘Yeah, the Osprey,’ he said. ‘My boat.’
‘Oh—’ Grace moistened her lips. For some reason she was feeling a little breathless and tried to hide it. ‘Of—of course.’ Did she sound convincing? ‘I’d forgotten you had a boat.’
Jack made a sound that was half groan, half laugh. ‘Yeah, right,’ he said, and suddenly she resented his mockery.
‘Yes,’ she declared tightly. ‘Or do you imagine I came here looking for your boat? Perhaps you even think I was hoping to see you.’
‘Hey...’ He sounded almost amused now. ‘What did I say? I just thought—’
‘Yes, I know what you thought, Mr Connolly,’ retorted Grace hotly. ‘I’ve met men like you before.’
‘I’ll bet.’ Jack straightened, his own expression sobering. ‘I was being polite, that’s all. Forget it.’ He straightened. ‘See you around.’
He turned to stride away along the pier and instantly Grace felt ashamed.
It was evidently her day for annoying people, she thought resignedly, and Jack had every right to be annoyed with her.
For heaven’s sake, what had he said? It wasn’t his fault that the man had a talent for getting under her skin.
‘Mr Conn—I mean, Jack!’
Cursing her high-heeled pumps, Grace hurried after him. The stonework was uneven in places and she’d ricked her ankle at least twice before he stopped and looked back.
Immediately, Grace slowed to a walk, supremely self-conscious as she approached him. He didn’t say anything. His lean dark face was closed; enigmatic. And so incredibly sensual, she half regretted giving him a second chance.
‘Um—I just wanted to say I’m sorry,’ she said, trying to sound cool and confident. ‘It’s been a long day. I’m afraid you took the brunt.’
Jack surveyed her silently. Like her, he was conscious of the fact that there was more going on here than a simple apology. He guessed she felt obliged to be civil to him because of Sean Nesbitt. If only she knew.
For his part, he was far too aware of the full breasts rising and falling rapidly beneath her silk top. The top was less revealing than the tee shirt had been, but no less sexy.
She was wearing a short-skirted suit, too, that exposed more of those long, spectacular legs. Were her legs bare? He thought so. And the notion of running his hands up them and under her skirt was as unwelcome as his reaction.
As she drew nearer the fragrance of her perfume drifted to him. It was light, flowery, with just an underlying trace of musk. No doubt her sudden exertion was responsible for the wave of heat that was rising up her throat and into her cheeks.
‘It’s okay,’ he said, when she stopped beside him, managing to sound relaxed even though he was far from it. ‘I’ve had days like that.’ He paused, and then, because something more was required, ‘How’s the job?’
‘All right.’ Grace shrugged. ‘I guess.’
The pause was significant.
‘You only guess?’
His dark brows ascended and Grace pulled a wry face. ‘Working in Alnwick is great, but I’m not sure if I’m cut out to be an estate agent,’ she admitted. ‘I’m not a saleswoman.’
Jack pushed his thumbs into the back waistband of his jeans and regarded her sympathetically. ‘You haven’t been doing it for very long,’ he said. ‘How do you know?’
Grace sighed. ‘This is my second week.’
‘So give it more time.’
‘I suppose I’ll have to.’
Jack thought he sounded amazingly reasonable in the circumstances. But, since Lisa had died, he’d considered himself immune from the opposite sex. And he had been until this girl came into his orbit. He didn’t like feeling unsure of himself, but he was.
The urge to tuck a strand of silky red-gold hair behind her ear was almost irresistible. He wanted to touch her, to feel the satin-smooth skin beneath his fingers.
His muscles tightened automatically in anticipation, but somehow he reined his feelings in.
She was waiting for him to go on, so he said deliberately, ‘What does Sean think?’
‘Oh, Sean...’
If Jack hadn’t been so sure he was attributing her with feelings she didn’t have, he’d have said she sounded fed up.
‘Sean doesn’t know,’ she said at last. ‘I haven’t discussed it with him.’ And nor would she. She took a breath. ‘Yet.’
Jack nodded, and she wondered what he was thinking. Despite this conversation, she didn’t think he had a lot of respect for her or for Sean.
Well, that was okay, she decided. She’d had it with attractive Irishmen. With any man, for that matter. And just because Connolly was being sympathetic didn�
��t mean she should trust him, either.
‘So what do you plan to do?’ he asked now, rocking back on his heels. ‘If you left the estate agency, what sort of job would you like?’
‘I haven’t thought about it.’ Which was true. And despite her determination not to get involved with this man, it would be so easy to confide in him.
Her shoulders stiffening, she continued, ‘I suppose I’ll think about it.’ She paused. ‘I intend to stay in Rothburn. My mother likes me being nearer at hand. We’ve always been a close family.’
‘You have brothers and sisters?’
‘No. I’m an only child.’
‘And that’s the real reason you want to stay? Because of your mother?’
‘What is this? An interrogation?’ She moved towards the railings, her fingers curling over the cold metal. Then she sighed. ‘I suppose I want to stay here, too.’
O—kay.
Jack gave in to the impulse to go and join her. Where was the harm? he thought, leaning on the rail beside her. The fact that Grace was evidently conscious of his bare arm only inches from her sleeve was a bonus.
Dear God, he was in lust, and that was so not good.
‘How is your mother, anyway?’
Jack’s voice was a little strained, but he couldn’t help it. He’d chosen the words purposely to get his mind off the delights of the slender body almost brushing his sleeve.
It wasn’t working, so he added tersely, ‘I’m sorry. I should have asked you before.’
‘Why?’ Wide green eyes turned to look at him. ‘You don’t know my mother, do you? I asked Dad, and he said that as far as he knew—’
Her voice trailed off in confusion. Oh, God, why had she admitted she’d been asking her father about him? But she had to finish her sentence. ‘He—um—he said you’d never been into the pub.’
‘I haven’t.’
Jack didn’t sound perturbed, but Grace was mortified.
‘I suppose my enquiry stems from the fact that she’s your mother,’ he went on reasonably. ‘I hope you didn’t think I was prying.’
