A Forbidden Temptation

by Anne Mather

  * * *

  Grace heaved a sigh.

  She really didn’t want to work in the pub that evening. She had a thumping headache, and she’d been looking forward to having an early night.

  She refused to accept that her headache had anything to do with the dressing-down she’d received from Mr Hughes that afternoon.

  The agency manager had been at pains to tell her that Mrs Naughton had sold the Culworth cottages to Mr Connolly; the same Mr Connolly she’d escorted round the property over a week ago, without first getting permission from him.

  To begin with, Grace had questioned his information.

  To her knowledge—not to say her relief—Jack hadn’t visited the agency again. She’d actually thought he blamed himself for what had happened and was doing her the courtesy of keeping away.

  But no.

  Mr Hughes had produced paperwork showing that Mr Connolly’s legal representative was handling the sale for him. And what was more, he was furious with Grace for allowing it to happen.

  ‘It won’t do, you know,’ he’d continued, his plump face flushed with irritation.

  They’d been in the comparative privacy of his inner office, but Grace had had no doubt Elizabeth—and anyone else who was in the agency at this moment—could hear every word.

  ‘Mr Grafton is a friend, and a long-time client of the agency. I know nothing about this Mr Connolly. Does he live in the area?’

  Grace had been tempted to point out that if he studied the paperwork in front of him he could probably answer that question for himself.

  ‘I believe he lives in Rothburn,’ she’d told Mr Hughes and seen the way his face had contorted.

  ‘You believe?’ he’d said harshly. ‘Do you deny that you’re the reason Connolly learned about the Culworth cottages in the first place?’

  ‘Yes!’ Grace had been indignant. ‘Yes, I do.’ She’d licked her dry lips. ‘I—I didn’t mention the cottages to him. He just happened to be in the agency, talking to Elizabeth, and he overheard my conversation with Mr Grafton.’

  She would have left it there, but it had been obvious Mr Hughes wasn’t satisfied, so she’d continued. ‘He’s a friend of a friend, as a matter of fact. He and...someone I know were at university together.’

  Mr Hughes had frowned. ‘And now he just happens to live in this area?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The man’s nostrils had flared. Clearly he hadn’t liked that explanation any better, but, short of calling her a liar, there had been nothing he could do.

  ‘Very well,’ he’d said brusquely. ‘But you’ll have to tell Mr Grafton what’s happened. He’s your client. I suggest you have a word with him first thing in the morning.’

  Which was not an interview Grace was looking forward to.

  If she knew William Grafton, he’d not like the fact that he’d been outmanoeuvred over the cottages, and he would enjoy making her feel small.

  ‘Grace! Gracie!’

  Her father’s voice floated up from the bottom of the stairs and Grace knew she couldn’t delay any longer.

  Swallowing a couple of aspirin with a mouthful of water from the bathroom tap, she surveyed her appearance without enthusiasm.

  One of the reasons she was helping out behind the bar was because Rosie Phillips, her father’s regular barmaid, had had to go to Newcastle to visit her ex-husband’s mother, who was in the hospital there.

  Still, she thought ruefully, as her headache began to recede, she might need this job if Mr Hughes decided to get rid of her.

  She’d rifled her wardrobe for something appropriate to wear. But now the flimsy voile shirt worn over a jade-green vest looked rather showy for serving behind a bar.

  Oh, well, she thought as her father shouted again, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Slipping her feet into wedges, she left the room and clattered down the stairs.

  It was only seven o’clock and the bar was still fairly quiet. But there were glasses to dry and cases of soft drinks to stack behind the counter, and she was soon glad she hadn’t worn something warmer. It might be a cool evening outside, but she was sweating.

  She wasn’t used to manual labour, she thought, recalling her life in London without regret. Maybe she could take up running again, now that she was living in Rothburn. For the past few years she’d had to content herself with an occasional trip to the gym.

  The public bar got busier, and food orders started coming in, which meant that Grace had to divide her time between serving alcohol and delivering food, and her arms were soon aching. But at least her headache had virtually disappeared, which was a blessing.

  She was carrying two plates of food through to the lounge bar when the swing doors that separated the outer and inner lobbies were pushed open.

  A man came into the hall, his identity briefly disguised by the daylight streaming in behind him. A big man, tall and broad shouldered, who Grace had no difficulty in recognising as Jack Connolly.

  He said he’d never visited the pub, she reminded herself, remembering Sean’s comment about it being a small world with some annoyance.

  Why had she remembered that? she wondered uneasily. It wasn’t as if their conversation had been particularly memorable.

  Unlike—

  But she would not go there.

  ‘Hi.’

  Jack felt obliged to make the first overture. Though in all honesty, he was wondering if this had been such a bright idea.

  Why had he felt the need to come and see Grace? Okay, the last time they’d been together, he hadn’t exactly behaved honourably. And maybe he did owe her an apology for jumping on her as he had.

  But, dammit, she hadn’t exactly repulsed him. Someone should have told her that opening her mouth and tangling her tongue with his was not the way to turn him off.

  ‘Hi,’ Grace responded now, her voice slightly husky and unknowingly sensual to his ears. She nodded at the plates she was carrying. ‘If you’ll excuse me...’

  ‘Wait!’ Jack didn’t know how else to say it. ‘I’d like to talk to you.’ He glanced about him. ‘And I didn’t know how else to get in touch with you out of office hours.’

  ‘I don’t think we have anything to talk about, Mr Connolly,’ Grace murmured, using her back to push open the lounge bar door. ‘Goodbye.’

  Jack watched her disappear into the adjoining room with a feeling of frustration. He hadn’t expected her to be pleased to see him, but did she have to be so damn offhand?

  He scowled. The trouble was he hadn’t been able to put what had happened out of his mind. He hadn’t been able to think seriously about anything—or anyone—else since that morning at the cottage.

  But that wasn’t the only reason he was here, he reminded himself.

  Getting that visit from Mrs Naughton a few days ago had definitely put him on the spot.

  Of course, if he hadn’t expected any comeback from the impulsive enquiry he’d had his solicitor make for him, he was naïve as well as stupid.

  But he’d convinced himself that he had every right to make a bid for the cottages. The idea of developing them, of using his skill and expertise to create a handful of desirable dwellings, had struck him as eminently sensible.

  He needed something to do. Being a gentleman of leisure didn’t really suit him. Okay, so he had no intention of getting his own hands dirty, but there was no reason why he shouldn’t re-employ the tradesmen who’d made such a success of his house.

  He pushed his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans and considered his options. He could go into the bar and buy a drink and trust she was working there, too.

  Or he could just stay here and trust that there wasn’t another exit from the lounge bar.

  Apparently there wasn’t.

  Only a couple of minutes had elapsed before th
e door opened again and Grace reappeared.

  She didn’t seem surprised to find him still there, but there was no trace of welcome in her expression, either.

  Which was a pity, he reflected, because she looked pretty good otherwise. Apart from that first occasion at his house, he hadn’t seen her in casual clothes. But the loose-fitting top over low-rise jeans really accentuated her shape and her femininity.

  She would have walked past him, probably without saying anything, if Jack hadn’t raised his hand to detain her.

  But her response was predictable.

  ‘Oh, please,’ she said, making sure she remained well out of his reach. ‘Isn’t this getting rather old?’ She sighed. ‘Okay, perhaps I gave you the wrong impression that day at Culworth. But it was only a kiss, for goodness’ sake!’

  ‘I’m glad you see it that way.’ Jack was unaccountably peeved, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. He took a breath. ‘If you must know, I came to apologise.’

  ‘To apologise?’

  Grace’s voice squeaked and she silently berated herself for her inability to hide her feelings.

  But, dammit, it was the last thing she’d expected him to say and she was momentarily robbed of speech.

  ‘Yeah.’ Jack rocked back on the heels of his boots. ‘I know you hoped I’d given up on those cottages—’

  Cottages? Cottages?

  Grace blinked.

  ‘—but I really think I can do some good with them.’

  Grace’s eyes widened.

  How stupid could she be? He wasn’t apologising for kissing her, for pity’s sake. And, God, if she was honest, she’d admit that it had been so much more than a kiss. He was talking about the damn Culworth cottages.

  She didn’t speak and with a rueful little shrug Jack went on.

  ‘I didn’t honestly expect I’d get the opportunity to develop them. Not when Hughes told me Grafton had increased his offer. But Mrs Naughton said—’

  That was too much.

  ‘You contacted Mrs Naughton?’ Grace exclaimed incredulously.

  Oh, this just kept getting better and better. He’d actually gone behind Mr Hughes’s back and spoken to Mrs Naughton personally. No wonder her boss had been so mad.

  ‘No.’ Jack blew out an aggravated breath. He knew exactly what she was thinking. ‘She came to see me.’

  Grace’s jaw dropped. ‘Mrs Naughton went to your house?’ She put an unknowingly protective hand to her throat. ‘I don’t believe you.’

  Yeah, he’d gathered that, and Jack was getting pretty annoyed by her attitude.

  For God’s sake, what was it with this woman? Why did she persist in behaving as if he’d done something wrong?

  Because whatever she says, you took advantage of her, his subconscious reminded him mildly, but he refused to listen.

  ‘Well, whether you believe it or not, it’s the truth,’ he told her in a dangerously bland tone. ‘People do come to my house, you know.’ He paused. ‘You did.’

  Grace’s lips tightened. ‘How did she know where you lived?’

  ‘I’m notorious.’ Jack’s tone was flat. ‘I thought you knew that.’

  Grace’s face suffused with colour.

  Once again, her feelings had betrayed her. And it didn’t help that she knew her overreaction had more to do with her own unwilling awareness of the man than with any legitimate grievance she might have over the cottages.

  ‘I have to go,’ she said, aware that she’d said that before, too.

  But she had spent considerably longer than she should have done arguing with Jack, when her father was working, single-handed, behind the bar.

  ‘Okay.’

  Jack lifted his shoulders in a dismissive gesture, and she wished she weren’t so hung up on the lean male strength of his body.

  But in tight jeans that moulded every muscle and a plum-coloured tee with buttons that were open at his throat, he was undeniably good to look at.

  And she was looking, she realised, hurriedly pulling her eyes away.

  But he’d noticed.

  ‘Don’t beat yourself up,’ he said, his voice low and disturbingly attractive. ‘You can tell Sean it was all my fault, and if he wants to beat me up—’

  Grace gasped. ‘Sean doesn’t beat people up,’ she said tersely.

  Particularly not if he thought he’d get the worst of it.

  ‘Doesn’t he?’ Jack’s reaction was enigmatic. ‘No? Well, perhaps he should.’

  Would that have made you feel better? Grace wondered, annoyed because she knew what had happened had been as much her fault as Jack’s.

  ‘He’s not an animal,’ she said primly, ignoring her conscience. ‘I assume you’re saying that if Lisa had been unfaithful, that’s what you’d have done.’

  ‘Unfaithful!’

  Jack was incensed by her attitude. And by her ability to catch him on the raw. The truth was, he hadn’t even thought of Lisa when he’d been kissing Grace.

  And that was the most infuriating thing of all.

  Whatever he might have said next was baulked, however. The swing doors behind him opened and two men came into the lobby.

  They were strangers to Grace, but she could tell from the glances that passed between them that they thought they were interrupting a private conversation.

  Or a lovers’ meeting, she thought uneasily as the two men shouldered their way into the bar.

  ‘I really have to go,’ she said again, aware that in some subtle way the situation had changed.

  ‘Be my guest.’

  Jack pushed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, making no further attempt to detain her.

  Perhaps because he was tempted to do just that, he thought irritably as she put her hand on the door the two men had just passed through.

  Grace hesitated then. She was prone to do that, he’d noticed.

  ‘You—you’re not staying for a drink?’

  Jack gave her a speaking look. ‘You’re surprised?’

  ‘Well—it’s a public bar,’ she muttered defensively. ‘I can’t stop you.’

  ‘No.’ Jack acknowledged the admission, his eyes dark and impenetrable behind the fringe of his lashes. ‘But you don’t want me here. And I do have some feelings, you know.’

  ‘And if I said I don’t mind what you do?’

  ‘I’d say that was pretty obvious,’ retorted Jack drily. ‘Thanks for the offer, Grace, but no, thanks.’

  ‘Grace!’

  Grace recoiled as the door to the bar was propelled open in spite of her resistance.

  ‘Dad!’ she exclaimed, half in dismay, half in protest. ‘You nearly knocked me over.’

  Mr Spencer didn’t immediately say anything.

  But his eyes moved instinctively towards her companion.

  And Jack, who hadn’t had the chance to make his escape, thought that, judging by the older man’s expression, he and Grace must look as guilty as he felt.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘IS SOMETHING WRONG, GRACE?’

  Mr Spencer’s tone was more curious than unfriendly and Jack watched the way Grace’s tongue moved over her parted lips.

  But for once the provocation that evoked was overwhelmed by his need to explain who he was.

  ‘I’m Jack Connolly, Mr Spencer,’ he said. ‘I was just telling Grace about an offer I’ve made on some property the agency was dealing with.’

  He grinned, and Grace despised herself for thinking how disarming—and disreputable, she reminded herself—he could be.

  ‘I’m sure she was bored silly,’ Jack was going on charmingly. ‘And I should have known better than to expect her to discuss business matters out of office hours.’

  ‘Well, Grace is working for me at
the moment,’ Mr Spencer remarked drily.

  He turned to his daughter. ‘Will’s got at least four meals waiting for you to serve.’

  ‘I’ll get to it.’

  Grace forced a half-rueful smile in Jack’s direction before heading into the bar. She thought her father forgot sometimes that she wasn’t the schoolgirl she’d been before she left for university. But he’d always been keen to vet any boyfriend she’d brought to the pub.

  Not that Jack Connolly was a boyfriend, she reminded herself impatiently. And her father hadn’t shown any more sense than she had where Sean Nesbitt was concerned.

  Left alone, the two men eyed one another with enforced politeness.

  ‘I’m afraid my daughter doesn’t really care for working in the bar,’ Mr Spencer declared pleasantly, more relaxed now that his customers’ needs were being seen to. ‘I’m Tom Spencer, Grace’s father, of course. Have we met?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. I only moved into the village about eighteen months ago,’ explained Jack at once. ‘I’ve been renovating that old property on the coast road.’

  ‘Really?’

  Despite his words, Jack had the feeling Tom Spencer had known who he was all along.

  ‘You know my daughter’s boyfriend, I believe.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Sean.’ Tom Spencer nodded. ‘He’s a good chap, Sean. My wife and I are very fond of him.’

  Just in case you have any doubts about that, thought Jack drily.

  ‘Anyway, how is the renovation going, Mr Connolly?’

  ‘Jack,’ said Jack politely. ‘I finished a couple of months ago. Lindisfarne House has been quite an undertaking.’ He wasn’t quite sure where this was going. ‘But I enjoyed it.’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  Tom Spencer considered for a moment and then he gestured towards the bar.

  ‘You must come in and let me buy you a drink,’ he said after a moment. ‘We always welcome newcomers into the pub.’