A Forbidden Temptation

by Anne Mather

  ‘Oh, I don’t think—’

  Jack started to protest but Tom Spencer was adamant.

  ‘It’s the least I can do after interrupting your conversation with Grace.’ He pushed open the door of the bar and stood back invitingly. ‘I’m interested to hear about this new property you’re hoping to buy.’

  Ah! Jack was cynical. He had the feeling Spencer didn’t want to encourage his association with his daughter, but he was not above hearing a little gossip himself.

  But it would have been rude to refuse. So with a slight shrug of his shoulders, he preceded the man into the warm alcohol-laden atmosphere of the bar.

  There was no sign of Grace. She had obviously gone to collect the meals waiting to be delivered. And sure enough, she emerged through a swing door a few moments later carrying a tray on which resided four plates of food.

  The only sign that she was surprised to see Jack was the way her eyes widened before darting curiously towards her father.

  She was probably wondering what they’d been talking about, Jack reflected half irritably. Did she honestly think her father would be making nice with him if he’d told him about their visit to Culworth?

  At Tom Spencer’s suggestion, he took a seat at the bar and ordered a pint of beer. He would have preferred a bottle, but the beer when it came was good; rich and creamy, its head smearing his upper lip with foam.

  However, before her father could start asking him about the property he was interested in and what he planned to do with it, Grace was back.

  She slipped behind the bar, successfully manoeuvring Tom Spencer into a position where he was obliged to serve a waiting customer. Then she snatched up a cloth to wipe the bar in front of Jack.

  ‘You changed your mind,’ she said, and Jack couldn’t tell whether she was glad or sorry. She glanced sideways at her father. ‘I hope Dad’s not been giving you a hard time.’

  ‘I can handle it.’ Jack took another mouthful of his beer and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. ‘How about you?’

  ‘What about me?’

  Grace looked up at him in alarm, and Jack was struck once again by the clear transparency of those green eyes. He wanted to reach out, to cup her anxious face in his hands and smooth the darkness beneath her eyes with his thumbs.

  There was a pulse beating urgently in her temple and he knew he’d find a matching palpitation beneath her ear. Silky strands of red-gold hair had escaped from the knot on top of her head, and he wanted to sweep them aside and taste the slight dampness of her skin with his tongue.

  And knew he couldn’t answer her question.

  Not without betraying feelings he had no desire to put on display. He shouldn’t have come here; he shouldn’t have accepted her father’s invitation.

  But, most of all, he so shouldn’t have sampled something that was proving to be so damned addictive.

  He took another generous swallow of his drink and put his almost-empty glass down on the bar.

  Grace glanced at it and then said impulsively, ‘Let me get you another beer.’

  “No, one’s enough,’ he assured her easily. ‘It was good. Thank your dad for me, won’t you?’

  ‘You’re leaving?’

  ‘Isn’t that what you want?’

  Grace blew out a breath.

  It had been. It should still be, she knew. Because whatever attraction Jack Connolly might have for her, it was just a fleeting thing.

  He must have loved his wife once, and, although it might be too late to regard his behaviour towards her as a rebound, he wasn’t seriously interested in her, either.

  Nor she in him.

  ‘I—I was going to ask you what Mrs Naughton had said,’ she lied, having just thought of that on the spur of the moment. ‘What did you think of her? She’s quite a character, isn’t she?’

  ‘Quite a character,’ agreed Jack drily. ‘Do you know her?’

  ‘Only slightly.’ Grace took a moment to serve another customer and then came back. ‘It was me who handled her initial inquiry about selling the cottages.’

  ‘Yeah, I guessed that. To Grafton.’

  Grace grimaced. ‘I have to tell him the cottages have been sold to someone else tomorrow. He’s not going to be pleased.’

  And wasn’t that an understatement?

  Jack frowned. ‘Would you like me to do it for you?’

  It was certainly a temptation, but Grace shook her head. ‘It’s my job. Mr Hughes was very definite about that.’

  ‘Hughes? Oh, he’s the guy in the agency.’

  ‘My boss, in other words.’

  Grace gave him a mischievous grin. Really, she thought, she enjoyed talking to Jack when there were no sexual undercurrents in his conversation. Although, if she was honest, she would admit she didn’t exactly dislike them, either.

  He was different from Sean. For one thing, his eyes weren’t constantly moving round the bar, checking out the other talent. He actually seemed interested in what she was saying, and she wished desperately that Sean’s problems weren’t still ruling her life.

  She moved to attend another customer and when she came back, Jack slid off his stool. ‘Hey, I can see you’re busy,’ he said, wondering if it was only his imagination that made him think the atmosphere between them had changed. ‘Don’t forget to thank your father for the beer.’ He stepped away, uneasily aware that he had forgotten all about Sean for the past half hour. And that wouldn’t do. ‘Goodnight, Grace.’

  Grace knew that her farewell was less than enthusiastic. Dear God, she hadn’t wanted him to go. But she was obliged to serve a man who’d come to refill an order and by the time that was done, Jack was long gone.

  Almost at once, her father came to join her. ‘Mr Connolly’s left?’ he remarked inquiringly. ‘What was he saying to you?’

  ‘This and that.’ Grace wasn’t in the mood to be tactful. ‘We were talking about the cottages. What else?’

  ‘I’m only curious. You seemed very...friendly.’

  ‘Oh, Dad!’

  ‘Does Sean know him well? I’d have my suspicions about him, if I was your boyfriend.’

  ‘Sean’s not my boyfriend any more, Dad!’ She sighed. Why had she said that?

  ‘I know he still cares about you,’ retorted her father impatiently. ‘All young couples have rows. But they get over them.’

  ‘Maybe.’ If only there was some way she could get her parents’ money back. Then she wouldn’t have to pretend any longer. ‘In any case, Jack Connolly is not interested in me.’

  ‘You don’t think so?’

  ‘He’s a client, Dad. I may be helping you out here, but the agency is my job.’

  Tom Spencer frowned. ‘He’s your client? You’re the one who’s dealing with his offer?’

  ‘Well, no.’ Grace was already regretting saying as much as she had. Any minute now, her father was going to remind her that William Grafton was a friend. ‘But—I did show him the property last week.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Her father didn’t sound too happy. ‘So, you’ll know what he plans to do with the property?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, go on.’

  ‘Dad, I hardly know Jack Connolly. I believe he’s an architect. He probably plans to develop the cottages in much the same way as Mr Grafton.’

  ‘So how come he got the cottages? Wasn’t Will first in line?’

  ‘Will? Oh, you mean Mr Grafton. Well, he was, but Mrs Naughton decided she preferred Mr Connolly’s offer. It’s not my fault. She can sell them to whoever she likes!’

  * * *

  It was getting dark by the time Jack got back to Lindisfarne House. And, when he opened the door and stepped into the hall, he knew instantly he wasn’t alone.

  When he switched on the lights, he saw Lisa sit
ting halfway up the stairs, legs crossed, her single sandal balanced precariously on one swinging foot, her silver cap of hair gleaming ethereally in the glow from the chandelier above her head. ‘I thought you never went into public houses.’

  ‘Never is a long time,’ retorted Jack shortly, and, without waiting for her response, he strode purposefully into the kitchen.

  He’d had no dinner, but he wasn’t hungry. Nevertheless, he filled the coffee filter and switched it on. He felt aggressive and not a little edgy. And it wasn’t Lisa’s appearance that was steering his mood.

  ‘There’s a casserole in the fridge.’ Lisa had come to stand in the open doorway. ‘Mrs Honeyman brought it with her this morning.’

  Mrs Honeyman was the housekeeper. And, because she worried that he wasn’t eating properly on his own, she often left some tasty dish she’d made herself in his fridge.

  Jack grunted, but he merely reached for a mug and slammed it down onto the granite counter.

  He felt like warning Lisa that he wasn’t in the mood for small talk. But he knew from past experience she’d only go when she’d said what she had to say.

  ‘What’s got you in such a foul mood?’ she persisted, and Jack regarded her with baleful eyes.

  ‘Not your business,’ he said tersely. ‘And unless you’re looking for a fight, I suggest you stay out of my way.’

  ‘Ooh!’ Lisa’s thin brows rose in mock alarm. ‘I’m scared.’

  Jack didn’t answer her. He was seriously peeved and talking to a ghost simply wasn’t going to cut it.

  ‘I gather you’ve had another run-in with the delicious Ms Spencer.’

  Lisa had never known when to keep her mouth shut and Jack gave her a weary look.

  ‘Get lost, Lisa.’

  ‘I was afraid she might be trouble,’ she murmured ruefully. ‘And I’m not particularly flattered that you can blow me off without a thought.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘I mean it.’ She was indignant now. ‘I’ve got used to you being on your own.’

  Jack scowled. ‘Hey, don’t look now, but I am on my own,’ he stated flatly. ‘She has a boyfriend. Remember?’

  ‘Sean Nesbitt!” Lisa spoke scathingly. ‘Yeah, well, I shouldn’t let that trouble you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Jack stared at her, but she was already fading. ‘Oh, nothing,’ she said, lifting her shoulders in a dismissive gesture.

  And just like that, she was gone.

  Jack swore his frustration. Pouring himself a mug of strong black coffee, he took a reckless mouthful, almost scalding his mouth in the process.

  He was seriously losing it, he thought bitterly. How much longer was he going to go on talking to a ghost? It was just as well he’d found himself an occupation. At least it would get him out of the house.

  * * *

  Three weeks later, he signed the papers that made the Culworth cottages his.

  Despite a warning from his surveyor that there could be structural problems down the line, Jack had had the solicitor who’d handled his purchase of Lindisfarne House deal with the legal jargon.

  And, in consequence, the sale had gone through without a hitch. Mrs Naughton had been pleased. She’d actually invited Jack to have dinner with her one evening—an invitation he’d not as yet taken her up on.

  The agency had been less enthusiastic.

  Although Mrs Naughton had paid the agency their commission, on the one occasion Jack had had to go in and see Grant Hughes, he’d been less than impressed.

  In his opinion, Grace’s boss was an ignorant oaf, whose resentment stemmed more from the fact that she had actually initiated a sale that he’d earmarked for one of his cronies, than from the fact that Mrs Naughton had chosen to interfere in the process.

  Jack had wondered if he’d see Grace when he went into the agency. But he hadn’t.

  Only Mrs Fleming had occupied one of the two desks in the outer office. And although Jack had been tempted to ask where the other girl was, he’d restrained himself.

  In fact, he’d come to the conclusion that he was unlikely to see her again. Which was just as well, he told himself.

  Then, on Saturday morning, Jack had an unpleasant surprise.

  He’d come home after spending the morning out at Culworth with his builder. And once again, he wasn’t dressed to receive visitors.

  So when he saw the silver Mercedes parked at his gate, his heart sank.

  The car was empty, however, and, thrusting open the door of the Lexus, Jack got out and looked around.

  There was no one about, and he breathed a sigh of relief, wondering if the Mercedes could conceivably belong to someone else.

  Deciding it wasn’t his problem, he hauled his jacket out of the back of the Lexus. Then, stepping up to his door, he juggled his keys until he found the right one and inserted it in the lock.

  He was looking forward to the shower he’d been promising himself since a wall in one of the cottage bedrooms had collapsed. He and his companion had been covered with brick dust and he could feel it still in the gritty scrape of his scalp.

  He couldn’t wait to get his clothes off and he was already pulling his sweatshirt over his head as he stepped over the threshold.

  ‘Hey, Jack! Jack, hold up.’

  The voice was unmistakeable and Jack fisted the offending sweatshirt even as Sean—and Grace—appeared from around the back of the building.

  He was intensely aware that he was sweating. That rivulets of perspiration were moistening the hair between his nipples, and the hair at the nape of his neck.

  ‘We were just admiring your garden,’ Sean exclaimed cheerfully, not at all perturbed at being caught out. ‘Weren’t we, Grace? We guessed—or rather, we hoped—you’d be back for lunch.’

  Grace managed a resigned smile of acknowledgement. But her nerves were jumping at the sight of Jack standing, bare-chested, in the doorway.

  If she’d thought he’d looked good in a tee shirt, he looked infinitely more disturbing without it. A broad chest, liberally spiked with dark hair, tapered down to a flat stomach, ribbed with muscle.

  Faded jeans hung precariously from lean hips and she guessed if they’d been a few minutes later the jeans would have been discarded, as well.

  Did he wear underwear? she wondered, feeling her breathing quicken at the images this thought evoked. Probably not, she decided a little grudgingly.

  ‘Well...’ Jack stepped back from the door, aware that he was obliged to invite them in. ‘Come in.’ He gestured towards the living room. ‘You know the way. Just give me a minute, will you? I need to freshen up.’

  ‘That you do, old buddy,’ said Sean pointedly, touching his nose with a delicate finger, and Grace wanted to slap him.

  The scent of Jack’s skin got to her, too, but she didn’t find it at all offensive. On the contrary, it caused her own skin to prickle with unwanted awareness. And, feeling the sudden dampness between her legs, she was glad she wasn’t wearing jeans.

  ‘Okay.’ Jack’s eyes connected with Grace’s for a moment. But his belated, ‘Hi, Grace. Nice to see you again,’ was in sharp contrast to the heat that was emanating from his body.

  It was as if any personal contact between them had been erased from his memory. And she sucked in a nervous little breath before preceding Sean into the attractive living room they’d seen before.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  TOLD YOU, SEAN MOUTHED as soon as they heard Jack vaulting up the stairs. ‘I knew he’d be about here somewhere.’

  Grace shrugged. ‘He could have been over at Culworth. In fact, I think that’s where he has been,’ Grace averred, eager to keep their conversation impersonal. ‘You must have seen the way his hair was coated with grit. It looked as if he’d been working on the cottage
s himself.’

  Which was so not something she wanted to think about.

  ‘Who cares?’ Sean spoke carelessly. He dropped down onto a squashy leather sofa and patted the seat beside him. ‘Come here. I want to tell you how grateful I am that you agreed to come here with me. It’s been ages since you’ve talked to me. I’m still hoping you might change your mind about staying up here.’

  ‘I’m not just “staying up here”, am I, Sean?’ Grace exclaimed irritably, making quotation marks with her fingers to emphasise her point. ‘And I’m only here because Dad insisted I couldn’t let you come on your own.’

  In fact, her father was still suspicious about Jack Connolly’s visit to the pub to see her. And the last thing she needed was her dad bringing that up in front of Sean.

  Nevertheless, she had been taken aback when Sean had walked into the pub the previous evening. It was seven weeks since he’d returned to London, and she’d half hoped he’d got the message as far as she was concerned. It did cross her mind—hopefully—that he might have some good news as far as finding an investor for his website was concerned. Did he ever intend to pay her father back?

  But nothing with Sean was that easy.

  However, according to what he’d told her father, he had been busy ‘networking’. Grace had no idea how true that was but she’d clutch at any straw in the present situation.

  That there’d been no takers was perfectly obvious. And he hadn’t been too pleased, either, when Mr Spencer had had to tell him he couldn’t stay at the Bay Horse.

  A surfing competition was taking place just along the coast and, because they hadn’t known he was coming, the pub’s two spare rooms had been taken.

  Sean had had the sense not to suggest that he share Grace’s room. The answer would have been no, of course, and he’d known that. Instead, he’d accepted their suggestion that he stay at a local bed and breakfast down the road.

  The trouble was Grace suspected she knew why Sean was here. He’d had no success raising funds in London and she was fairly sure he intended to hit on Jack for a loan.

  And while the idea might make her cringe, she couldn’t deny the slender hope that Jack might be the way out of her difficulties. She despised herself for even thinking it, but was it possible that Jack’s money might save the pub?