by Anne Mather
Okay, she thought, he wouldn’t be the first client she’d had whose intentions might be less than honourable, but she assured herself she could handle it.
And she was probably wrong, anyway.
Feeling eyes upon her, she looked up to find Jack watching her. And chided herself for the sudden frisson of excitement that zinged along her nerves at his cool-eyed stare.
She turned away, but the image of his dark, good-looking face and lean muscled frame stayed with her as she gathered her handbag from the drawer and slipped on her olive-green jacket.
‘Mr Connolly has his own car.’
Elizabeth was back at her side, her anxious expression an indication that she wasn’t totally unaware of Grace’s reluctance to deal with this client.
She moistened her lips. ‘Are you all right, Grace?’
‘Good. I’m good.’ Grace forced a smile. ‘Does—does Mr Connolly know the way to Culworth?’
‘He says he’ll follow you,’ said Elizabeth at once. She sighed. ‘You know, I would take him myself if it weren’t for the Lawsons—’
‘I know.’ Grace managed to infuse a little more enthusiasm into her voice. ‘I’m grateful for your confidence in me. Is Mr Connolly ready to go now?’
‘I’m ready.’
Grace had been unaware of Jack’s approach, and his low attractive voice caused another shiver to feather her spine.
Elizabeth turned to him with obvious pleasure. ‘Miss Spencer will take care of you,’ she said, patting Grace’s arm encouragingly. ‘I’ll see you later, right?’
‘Right.’
Jack nodded, and Grace was obliged to pick up her handbag and precede him across the room and out of the door.
She waited until they were out of hearing distance and then turned impatiently towards him.
‘Just what do you think you’re doing?’
Jack’s dark brows rose at the obvious accusation in her voice.
‘I understood we were going to view a row of run-down cottages at some place called Culworth. Isn’t that right?’
Grace sighed. ‘Like you’re interested in seeing a row of derelict cottages.’
Jack pushed his thumbs into the front pockets of his khakis. ‘I am.’
Grace stared at him frustratedly, wishing she didn’t have this almost visceral awareness of his masculinity. She struggled to suppress those totally unwelcome feelings and said, ‘Why would you be interested in the Culworth cottages? You’re not a property developer. It’s kind of you to try to help me deal with Mr Grafton, but he’s not likely to go away just because someone else has shown an interest.’
‘I know that.’
Jack conceded the point, not altogether comfortable with his reasons for getting involved. But when he’d heard Grafton, mouthing off about what he wanted Grace to do, he’d known an immediate urge to thwart the man, any way he could.
‘But I am an architect,’ he went on mildly. ‘With time on my hands.’ He paused. ‘It occurred to me that buying another property and developing it—’
‘There are six cottages,’ broke in Grace helplessly, but Jack only lifted his shoulders in a dismissive gesture.
‘So? It will be a challenge.’
Grace shook her head. ‘You don’t mean that.’
‘Don’t I?’ Jack shrugged. ‘Forgive me if I think I know my own mind better than you do.’
His words were cooler now, reminding her that she was still an employee of the agency. Whatever her personal feelings might be, Mr Hughes wouldn’t be pleased if she inadvertently offended another possible valuable client.
‘All right.’ Grace pursed her lips. ‘I’ll get my car.’
Jack’s dark eyes assessed her. ‘Or we could both go in mine,’ he offered evenly, but she just gave him a speaking look.
‘I don’t think, so,’ she said stiffly, looping the strap of her bag over her shoulder. ‘I’m parked at the back of the agency. Just give me a couple of minutes to bring my car round.’
Jack made a gesture of assent, wondering seriously why he was doing this. And she was right. This wasn’t why he’d come to Alnwick.
Pushing his hands into his jacket pockets, he watched her walk away with a feeling of irritation. He even played with the idea of just getting into his car and driving away, but he knew he wouldn’t do that.
For some reason, the rigid cut of her spine and the provocative sway of her hips assaulted his senses. It was crazy, because she was so obviously not interested in him, either as a client, or a friend. And anything else...
But he arrested his thoughts there before they took him places he really didn’t want to go. Well, not in the middle of Alnwick High Street, he mused drily as a small red Civic turned the corner at the end of the block and drove towards him.
It was Grace, and, grateful for the distraction, Jack strode across the square and climbed behind the wheel of the Lexus. His eyes met Grace’s briefly, and then, with a courteous wave of his hand, he allowed her to lead the way.
They drove north for a couple of miles before turning towards the sea. It appeared at fleeting intervals as the road wound through a series of hidden bends and blind summits to a small hamlet perched on cliffs above a rocky cove.
Culworth.
Jack read the sign without surprise, following the little Civic past a ruined church to where a gravelled area provided a place to park.
Grace pulled in ahead of him and Jack edged the Lexus in behind. Then, switching off the engine, he glanced around.
Their arrival had caused a flurry of black birds to rise out of the crumbling walls of the church and circle excitedly above them.
‘Crows!’ said Grace, thrusting open her door and getting out just as Jack did the same.
Long legs, corded with muscle, attracted her unwilling eyes. And, as he came towards her, she was uneasily aware of how big he was compared to Sean. Of the casual way he pushed back his hair, of the faint humour tugging at his mouth.
Jack glanced up at the birds. ‘Talk about omens,’ he said drily. ‘Almost scared the hell out of me.’
Grace thought it would take something a lot more frightening than a few birds to scare Jack Connolly, but she let it go.
Instead, adopting her most businesslike tone, she said, ‘If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you where the cottages are situated.’
‘Right.’
Jack fell in beside her as she started along a narrow lane that ran beside the church wall. The wind off the sea was funnelled by the wall and the trees facing it.
Meanwhile, for Grace, having Jack Connolly walking beside her was causing a definite rise in her temperature.
Impatient with herself, Grace walked faster than her heels allowed, and almost ricked her ankle in the process.
‘You okay?’
Jack had noticed, and Grace sighed.
‘Fine,’ she said shortly. And then, because she hadn’t spoken since they left the cars, ‘It’s not much further.’
They passed one or two free-standing cottages that obviously still had tenants, and a boarded-up schoolhouse that just as obviously didn’t.
The road forked and Grace turned onto the lane that cut across the cliff. Ahead of them, Jack could see what he assumed were the cottages in question. A row of narrow buildings with peeling paintwork and broken windows forming an uneven terrace.
He guessed that the position of the cottages was their main advantage. They had an uninterrupted view of the coastline and the wild and beautiful sea beyond.
Grace glanced up at him as they reached the first of the cottages and said drily, ‘Not what you imagined, I expect.’
Jack pulled his hands out of his pockets and pushed back his tousled hair. ‘Can we go inside?’ he asked, without answering her, and Grace shrugged.
&n
bsp; ‘It will be very dirty,’ she said, fumbling in her bag for the set of keys. ‘The roofs leak and the rain drives through the broken windows.’
‘Yeah, I had guessed that.’ Jack regarded her with raised brows. ‘Is this your usual way of encouraging a sale?’
Grace had to smile. ‘Not usually,’ she admitted, brushing past him to open the first gate. It stuck—of course!—but by leaning her weight against it, she managed to get it open. Then she walked swiftly up the path to the front door.
She found the key she wanted without difficulty, but as she opened the door she noticed the damp dirty stain on the jacket of her olive-green suit.
It must have happened when she leant on the gate. She pressed her lips together as she pushed open the door. She should have asked Jack to open the gate. It served her right for behaving like a shrew.
Holding her bag in such a way that it hid the stain, she stepped inside. Straight into a pool of icy water.
And she’d thought the day couldn’t get any worse.
Her involuntary shriek of alarm caused Jack to abandon his surveillance of the outside of the cottages. Striding up the path, he stepped into the cottage after her, narrowly avoiding the broken floorboard where the rainwater had gathered.
Of course!
‘It’s okay.’ Grace was already regretting her instinctive outburst. She moved away from the entrance, aware that her black suede pumps were probably ruined. ‘I just got a bit of a shock, that’s all.’
‘What happened?’
Jack was regarding her intently, the concern in his dark eyes clearly visible in the light from the open doorway.
Grace quivered, sure that his sympathy wasn’t genuine. And wished she weren’t wondering how she would feel if it were.
‘Oh—I just stepped in a puddle, that’s all,’ she said, turning to survey the inside of the cottage.
More peeling paint, wallpaper torn and stained with dampness, a staircase that looked as if it wouldn’t take their weight if they tried to use it.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
When she glanced round, Jack was still regarding her with doubtful eyes. And, dear Lord, she felt as if she were drowning in those deep and shadowy depths.
‘I—I’m fine,’ she assured him quickly, forcing herself to concentrate on the job in hand. ‘Um—as you can see, the cottages need a complete renovation.’ She managed a tight smile. ‘It might be easier to knock them down and start over.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that.’
Taking his cue from her, Jack made a preliminary examination of the entrance. The walls seemed sound enough, built years ago when breeze blocks weren’t in common use. They needed pointing, of course, but if the foundations were solid, that wouldn’t be a problem.
‘But you have to admit, it’s a lot of work,’ said Grace, doubtfully. ‘Mr Grafton seemed to think there might be rising damp.’
‘And he would know,’ said Jack wryly, his humour causing Grace to smile again in spite of herself.
‘Well, at least he’s a proper builder,’ she retorted staunchly. ‘Not someone only pretending to be interested for reasons of his own.’
‘Is that what you think I’m doing?’ Jack sucked in a breath. ‘Do you think I’m wasting your time?’
‘Well, aren’t you?’
Grace didn’t back down, even though she wanted to.
In an unexpected move, Jack backed up and closed the door, cutting off the chilling breeze off the sea.
Immediately, the light in the hall was narrowed to the broken fanlight above his head. It made the hall seem dark and claustrophobic, and Grace swallowed apprehensively.
‘Do you imagine I’m only doing this because of some personal interest I have in you, Grace?’
CHAPTER FIVE
‘I— NO!’
Grace realised she was in a corner, both metaphorically and physically, and she searched wildly for something to say.
‘Um—Mr Grafton has already made an offer for the cottages,’ she said valiantly. ‘I’m supposed to be contacting the vendor at this moment to try to negotiate a sale.’
‘Yeah, I heard.’
Jack moved away from the door and, turning, Grace fairly bolted for the kitchen at the end of the hall.
The cottages were simple affairs, with only a front room and kitchen downstairs, and two bedrooms upstairs. But there was another door opening from the kitchen into a backyard, which offered an escape route should she feel she needed one.
‘And do you think Mrs—North, was it?—will eventually accept Mr Grafton’s offer?’ asked Jack, pausing in the doorway from the hall.
His shoulder was propped against the splintered frame and, despite his dingy surroundings, he managed to look both darkly attractive and dangerous.
And in control.
But she wasn’t. And her voice was shriller than it should have been when she said, ‘It’s Mrs Naughton. And I think the rest is privileged information.’
Jack shrugged, remembering what he’d heard in the agency. Hardly privileged.
‘Okay.’ He chose not to argue. ‘I can live with that. Do you mind if I take a look around?’
He straightened and was instantly aware of her stiffening. She was so tense; so uptight, dammit. What did she expect him to do to her?
He knew what he wanted to do, of course, but that was more privileged information. Nevertheless, he refused to back down at the first obstacle.
‘Well, this is the downstairs area?’
It took a minute, but Jack belatedly remembered what he’d asked before his libido took over.
‘Downstairs, upstairs, I’d like to see it all,’ he said, aware of his own frustration. He regarded her with grudging eyes. ‘You do want to sell these properties, don’t you?’
Grace straightened her spine. ‘Of course I do.’
‘You could have fooled me!’
Jack’s accent was suddenly disturbingly acute, but Grace couldn’t allow herself to be persuaded by its unconscious charm. Starting reluctantly towards him, she said, ‘If you’ll let me pass, I’ll lead the way.’
Grace had never been upstairs before.
William Grafton had taken one look around and decided the insides of the cottages would have to be gutted. It was one of his reasons for reducing his offer; the fact that, according to him, all the inner walls were rotten with damp.
However, despite her reservations, Grace was obliged to behave as if the stairs were sound. If the steps were rickety, and they certainly seemed that way, she had to be the one to find out. Mr Hughes would definitely have something to say if she returned with the news that their newest client had broken his leg.
There’d been a smell of mould downstairs, but it was much worse upstairs. Grace was glad to concentrate on that rather than on the possible thoughts of the man following her.
What was he thinking? she wondered, intensely conscious of the shortness of her skirt. And of the heat that emanated from him, enveloping her in an uneasy combination of shaving lotion and man.
In the first bedroom she discovered why the air upstairs was so much more oppressive. Although the windows had been broken here, too, someone had stuffed a sheet of cardboard into the gap. And there were signs of unauthorised occupation in the empty fast-food cartons and chocolate wrappers strewn across the floor.
‘Kids,’ said Jack dismissively, when Grace gave an exclamation of surprise. ‘I doubt it’s squatters. I think they’d choose something a little more salubrious.’
‘You think?’ Grace was doubtful. ‘I didn’t come upstairs with Mr Grafton, so I didn’t know about this until now.’
Jack pulled a wry face. ‘Hey, I believe you,’ he said humorously, moving over to the window. He had to step over an old duvet someone had left o
n the floor to do so. ‘I wouldn’t want to go upstairs with him myself.’
Grace’s lips compressed. ‘You think you’re so amusing, don’t you, Mr Connolly?’
Jack sighed. ‘It’s not usually such an effort,’ he retorted drily. ‘Can we make some progress here?’
Grace’s expression didn’t change. ‘Progress towards what exactly?’
‘Well, you’re not making friends and influencing people,’ remarked Jack, as a piece of the windowsill crumbled in his hand. ‘For pity’s sake, Grace, what have I done to make you treat me like a leper?’
‘I’m not treating you like a leper.’ Grace was defensive. ‘I’m merely trying to do my job.’
‘Yeah, right.’ Patently he didn’t believe her. ‘Well, come here and see how dangerous this is. What’s left of this window is in danger of falling on someone’s head.’
Grace hesitated. ‘No one ever comes here.’
‘Well, someone does.’ Jack indicated the debris on the floor. ‘Perhaps you ought to inform your—what was it you called her?—your vendor? I dare say she’d be held responsible if somebody sustained a nasty cut or something worse.’
Grace caught her lower lip between her teeth. Then, because it was her job after all, she made her way across the uneven floorboards to where Jack was waiting.
Jack showed her where the frame was crumbling. ‘These kids—if it is kids—may be trespassing, but their parents would soon kick up a stink if one of them was badly injured.’
‘Yes, that’s true.’
Grace believed him. As someone with a law degree, she knew that where children were concerned judges tended to look elsewhere for someone to blame.
Like negligent owners, for example, with no warning signs or danger notices on display.
‘I’ll tell Mrs Naughton,’ she said. ‘It’s really her responsibility.’
Jack turned to face her and she was immediately aware of how close he was. The heat emanating from his body enveloped her. She couldn’t help but be sensitive to his maleness, to the raw sensual magnetism of the man.
Dear God!
She stepped back without thinking, her heel catching in the folds of the duvet lying on the floor behind her. She stumbled and would have fallen on her bottom if Jack hadn’t quickly grabbed her flailing arms.
