He would give her fifteen minutes. Get her to see the sense of his plan. And then he would get back to wrapping up this acquisition.
‘How about all your personal belongings? Are they okay?’
‘All of my clothes survived, but not my shoes—unfortunately.’ A sad, crooked smile broke on her mouth before she added in bewilderment, with a catch in her voice, ‘I mean, shoes! They are the least of my worries...but I loved them so much.’
‘Where are you going to live?’
‘I’m not sure... I called the Harbour View Hotel but they’re completely booked out tonight, and apparently all the bed and breakfasts in a ten-mile radius are the same because of people having to evacuate. I’ll probably have to stay in one of the hotels in Ballymore.’
There was no way she was going to manage the renovations from twenty miles away and work on her commissions at the same time.
‘It’s going to be difficult for you to manage the repairs from Ballymore. I’ll get William, my estate manager, to project-manage the renovations for you.’
She stared at him in disbelief. ‘Why on earth would you do that?’
‘Because you need to concentrate on your business—not spend your days driving all over the countryside and chasing builders.’
‘I appreciate the offer, but I need to manage the renovations by myself.’
‘Why?’
Tiredly, she rubbed her palms over her face and looked at him imploringly. ‘Let me ask you the same question. Why? Why are you doing this?’
Taking a step closer, he stared down at her. Boy, was she obstinate. ‘Maybe I just want to help you. Nothing more.’
‘I can’t accept your help.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because...’
This woman was impossible. Why wouldn’t she accept his help? She was as bad as Orla.
He gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Aideen, will you stop being a pain and just agree to letting William sort out the renovations...? It’s not a big deal. And I don’t know about you, but I have better things to be doing than standing here arguing about my motives.’
* * *
Not a big deal to him, perhaps, but it was to her. She needed to rebuild her life by herself, on her own terms.
Bewildered, she said, ‘You don’t even know me.’
‘So? You’re my neighbour. That’s a good enough reason for me to want to help.’
He made it all sound so simple. And for a moment she wanted to believe him. But then a siren of warning sounded in her brain. She needed to be in control of her own life. ‘I don’t want to sound ungrateful, and I do appreciate your offer, but I have to manage the renovations by myself.’
‘And what if your business suffers as a result?’
She flinched at the truth of his words. Ballymore was twenty miles away, on twisting roads. Trying to manage the renovations and run her business from a hotel room was going to be a nightmare.
Frustration at the whole situation had her arguing back. ‘I’ll manage.’
His mouth tensed at the anger in her voice and he considered her through narrowed eyes. ‘You are stubborn, aren’t you?’
‘So it has been said in the past,’ she muttered.
On an exasperated exhalation he folded his arms. ‘Your business has to be your number one priority. William will sort out the renovations. You will move in here until the cottage is ready, and on Sunday you will come to Paris with me.’
A bolt of pain radiated through his jawline as he clamped his teeth together. Hard. For a few seconds he wondered at the words he had so casually tossed out. Disquiet rumbled in his stomach. Was he about to walk into a minefield of complications by inviting this woman into his life? But in an instant he killed that doubt. This was the right thing to do. She needed his help. Even if the horror in her eyes told him that she wasn’t ready to accept it yet.
Stupefied, Aideen stared at him for the longest while, waiting for him to give the tiniest indication that he was joking. But his mouth didn’t twitch...his eyes didn’t soften.
She gave a laugh of disbelief. ‘Are you being serious?’
‘Yes. I have meetings in Paris all of next week. You said yourself that you should be out meeting clients. Well, now is your opportunity. I have a chateau close to Paris we can use.’
‘But I would be intruding.’
‘Look, you’ve seen the size of Ashbrooke. My chateau outside Paris is large, too. You can set up a temporary studio there for the week. We can keep out of each other’s way.’
Shaking her head, she folded her arms across her chest. ‘You said last night you like living on your own...and so do I. It won’t work.’
‘We’ll lead our own lives. I’m simply offering you a bed and a place to work—both here and in Paris. You come and go as you please. My chauffeur will be available to you whenever you need him. It doesn’t have to be more complicated than that.’
‘But why?’
‘What is it with you and your questions? Why don’t you believe that I’m just trying to be a good neighbour? That it’s the right thing to do? I admire your tenacity and I want to support you in rebuilding your business. I think you need help even if you are too stubborn to admit it yourself.’
Taken aback by the powerful intensity of his words, she wavered a little. ‘I’d pay you back.’
Taking a deep breath, he said with exasperation, ‘I don’t want your money. Can’t you just accept it as a neighbourly gesture?’
‘I’ll be paying rent.’
He held up his hands. ‘Fine. You can pay me once your insurance money comes through. Now I need to get back to work. I’ll show you to the library, where you can work today. Use the same bedroom as last night to sleep in.’ Out in the corridor, he added, ‘You met my housekeeper, Maureen, earlier. Speak to her if you need anything. I’ll get William to call in to see you and together you can discuss the renovation plans.’
She followed him to the library. Was she crazy to agree to this? But it was the only sensible option open to her. Wasn’t it she who had said she would do anything to make her business a success? Just how hard would it be to move into his house for a month? She would have the space she needed and she would be close by the cottage to keep an eye on the renovations. And she did need to go to Paris.
It was a no-brainer, really. But could she really cope with living under the same roof as him? When there was this strange push-and-pull thing going on between them...attraction vying with wariness?
But it wasn’t as if he was welcoming her with open arms anyway. He was a busy man who travelled the world. She mightn’t see him for most of the time she was his guest.
A little while later, she was about to go about unpacking her car when she glanced around to see him watching her with a dark intensity.
How long would it take for him to regret asking her to stay? If he wasn’t already doing so...?
CHAPTER FOUR
MONDAY MORNING. THEY HAD flown to Paris the day before, and today he had a number of client and in-house meetings before him. The acquisition had gone through on Friday evening.
He had set Aideen up with a temporary studio space in the library of the chateau, and she planned on spending the day organising meetings with clients.
He jogged past the walled garden in the grounds of the chateau and then broke into a sprint. He had dined out last night with his French management team. Glad to have an excuse to leave the chateau and her offer to cook them dinner.
They had both worked on the plane over yesterday afternoon, but he had found his gaze repeatedly wandering towards her, intrigued by how absorbed she had been in her work. With her hair swept up into a messy bun she had stared at her laptop screen, her long fingers tapping the delicate column of her neck in thought. And he had wondered what it would be like to have those fingers run against his skin.
After that, the thought of sharing dinner alone with her had set alarm bells off in his brain. He had to keep his distance.
Taking the
steps of the garden two at a time, he ran across the stone terrace that traversed the entire length of the back of the sixteenth-century chateau. He entered the house and walked towards the kitchen. Was that baking he smelt?
An explosion of household goods were scattered across the surface of the island. The shells of juiced oranges, an upturned egg carton, an open milk bottle teetering precariously on the edge of the unit. Behind them, a trail of baking tins and bowls was scattered along the kitchen counter.
He turned to the sound of footsteps out in the corridor. Aideen walked towards him, a huge bunch of multi-coloured tulips in her arms, a carton of eggs in her hand, rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed, a wide smile on her face. Her hair, thick glossy waves of soft chestnut curls, fell down her back.
‘Oh, you’re back.’ She flashed him a quick smile before her gaze darted guiltily to the chaos behind him. ‘I thought you would be out for a while yet.’
‘What’s happened to the kitchen?’
‘I’m making breakfast. I hope you don’t mind.’
Actually, he did. He wanted his kitchen clean and tidy, as it usually was. Not this mess.
She sidestepped him and began to search through the kitchen cupboards.
He gritted his teeth and tried to resist the urge to start clearing up the mess himself. His stomach, however, had very different thoughts as it rumbled at the delicious sweet smells of baking.
She plopped the tulips in a vase she had found in a cupboard and placed it on the kitchen table. ‘I met your gardener earlier, and he gave me the use of his bike to cycle down to the village so that I could go to the boulangerie. But then I ran out of eggs, so I had to go again. The cycle down is easy but, boy, the hill back up is tricky. The countryside here is beautiful, and the village is so pretty. When I came back he gave me these flowers from the garden—aren’t they stunning?’
The tulips did look good, but something about their cheery presence in the kitchen niggled him...they were just too homely.
For a few seconds she looked at him expectantly. When he didn’t respond she smiled at him uncertainly, before rolling up the sleeves of her pink and white striped shirt.
‘I’ll tidy up here and then put some breakfast on. In honour of being in France, I’m going to make us oeufs en cocotte.’
He looked at her, bewildered. And slowly it dawned on him that she was expecting them to have breakfast together.
For a few brief seconds he was tempted to give in to the tantalising aroma of fresh baking filling the room. But a glimpse of her white lace bra as she bent over to swoop up the errant milk cap from the floor had him coming back to reality with a bang.
This wasn’t what her stay was supposed to be about. A bed and an office... Not seeing too much of her. That was what he had signed up for. Not this cosy domesticity. Not some breakfast routine that could quickly become a habit. Not feeling desire for a woman first thing in the morning.
‘I don’t eat breakfast.’
It was almost the truth. He usually just grabbed some toast and coffee and took it to his office, eager to start work.
She was going about gathering up all the empty packaging on the island unit and paused briefly to give him a quick look. ‘But that’s crazy. After exercising you should eat.’
His spine stiffened and his jaw muscles tightened. Irritated, he grabbed a mug from the cupboard and went about making himself a coffee. ‘I’m not hungry.’
At the sink, she rinsed out a cloth before she turned and caught his gaze. ‘Have something. I wanted to thank you for having me here. For the flight over...the accommodation. I have some croissants and a baguette I bought in the boulangerie earlier warming in the oven.’ She stopped and grimaced before admitting, ‘My first attempt at oeufs en cocotte didn’t quite work out, so I had to pop out for more eggs, but I’ll have them ready in ten minutes.’
For a moment he almost wavered. ‘I appreciate the gesture, but I’ll stick to my usual coffee.’
With a disappointed sigh she added, ‘If you won’t eat, at least let me make the coffee for you.’
He threw his hands up in surrender. ‘If you insist—two shots of espresso.’
‘I’ve set the table out in the courtyard. If you would like to go out and sit there I’ll bring you out the coffee.’
His head darted to the outdoor dining table in the courtyard. His fine china and cut glass sat on top of a white linen tablecloth. A jug of freshly squeezed orange juice sat next to silver salt and pepper pots. The courtyard was filled with an abundance of springtime flowers and the whole setting looked like a magazine feature on the ultimate romantic breakfast.
‘Thanks, but I’ll stay in here. I have to leave for work soon.’
At the kitchen table he clicked on to his usual newsfeed, using his tablet. He tried to concentrate on the various market analysts’ commentary on his acquisition but she’d switched on the kitchen music system to an upbeat radio breakfast show. The DJs spoke in rapid French, sounding like children who had overdosed on a breakfast of sugary cereal.
And as if that wasn’t bad enough she then proceeded to chat away herself, over their manic laughter. ‘What a beautiful morning! Going to the boulangerie this morning reminded me of the summer I spent here as a student. I had an internship in a design house and I was penniless. I ate baguettes for the entire summer. I used to stare longingly at the patisserie stands, wishing I could afford to buy an éclair or, my favourite, a millefeuille.’
She continued this monologue while fiddling with the coffee machine’s controls.
‘Do you want some help?’
‘No, I’m fine. I’ll work it out.’
As she fiddled and twisted Patrick stared at the financial reports, very little detail actually registering. What was registering was the round swell of her bottom, the long length of her legs in skinny faded denim. Which only added to his growing annoyance.
Was it because he hadn’t been with a woman for more than two years that he sometimes caught himself thinking that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever met? It wasn’t just her prettiness, the seductive curves of her long-limbed body. Something shone through in her personality—a happiness, a strength of will that was beguiling.
He almost sighed in relief when she eventually popped a mug of coffee before him.
‘Milk or sugar?’
‘Neither, thanks.’
Sweet Lord, it was the strongest coffee he had ever tasted.
‘I’ve messed up the coffee, haven’t I?’
A crestfallen expression on her face, she waited for his answer.
He leant back in his chair and raised an eyebrow. ‘I could probably stand on it.’
She moved to take the mug. ‘I’ll try again.’
‘No!’ That poor machine couldn’t take it.
She planted her hands firmly on her hips. ‘I take it you’re not a morning person?’
‘Correct in one. I like good coffee, silence, and preferably a tidy kitchen—not Armageddon.’
For a brief second a mixture of hurt and anger sparked in her eyes before she turned away.
She switched off the radio and then quickly cleared the countertops. She wiped them down and then filled the sink with a gush of steaming water in readiness to wash the used pots and pans piled high next to it.
A small part of him wanted to relent, to give in to his hungry stomach and her chatter. To start off the day in something other than the usual silence. A silence he now realised was somewhat lonely.
But if this was to work he needed to stand firm. Start as they meant to go along. Better to upset her than to give her any unrealistic expectations of what their time together would be like.
‘I’m going for a shower.’
She didn’t turn around at his call, just nodded her head in acknowledgement. But when he reached the door she said, ‘I was only trying to show my thanks, you know.’
She turned from the kitchen counter and stared at him defiantly.
When he didn’t speak she
reddened a little and crossed her arms. ‘I went to a lot of effort.’
He retraced his steps back across the room to where she stood. Her gaze rose up to meet his. ‘Firstly, I don’t eat breakfast. Secondly, I think we need to have some clear boundaries if this is going to work.’
She gave a tight laugh. ‘What on earth do you mean by “boundaries”?’
Her laugh rightly mocked his stuffiness, and although he knew he deserved it he was in no mood to defend himself. ‘Aideen, I want to help you in re-establishing your business. Nothing else.’
Her blush deepened, but her hands clenched tight at her sides. ‘I was making you breakfast. That’s all. What’s the big deal?’
‘I don’t want you getting any ideas.’
She drew herself up to her full height and plopped a hand on her hip. ‘Trust me—I won’t. A workaholic, taciturn, controlling man is the last thing I’m looking for in my life.’
Workaholic, he would admit. But taciturn and controlling? What on earth was she talking about?
‘Right—explain to me how I’m taciturn and controlling?’
‘You had the next month of my life all planned out before you even spoke to me the morning after the storm.’
‘So? It was the most logical plan. Even you agreed with it.’
‘Yes, I agreed with it. But not once did you stop to understand just how difficult it was for me to accept it.’
Baffled, he asked, ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean I lost not only my business last year. I also lost my pride and self-respect. Having to accept help from you made me feel like I was failing again.’
‘That wasn’t my intention.’
‘I know. But maybe if you’d stopped and thought about how I might possibly feel—if you’d asked me my opinion—then you might have understood.’
She had a point, but he wasn’t going to admit it. So instead he challenged her. ‘And taciturn?’
‘Do you really need to ask? You have barely spoken to me in the past two days.’ Biting her lip, she studied him before she added, ‘If you don’t want me around why did you invite me to stay with you?’
Harlequin Romance February 2016 Box Set Page 57
