‘You really love Ashbrooke, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I do. I suppose I have a lot of emotional attachment to it because of Lord Balfe. His family owned the estate for generations and it was a huge honour that he was happy to sell it to me. There were several other interested parties, but he chose me. He spends most of his time in the Caribbean now—growing old disgracefully, by all accounts.’
‘Do you see him often?’
‘Unfortunately, no. Maybe I should buy a business in the Caribbean so I’d have an excuse to go there.’
‘Or...an easier solution...you just take a holiday and go and visit him.’
She smiled cheekily at him and he couldn’t help but laugh.
For a while they just looked at each other, the warmth and understanding in her eyes causing his heart to thump in his chest. A deep connection reverberated between them.
A slow blush formed on her cheeks and she leant into the table, her fingers drawing down over the grain of the wooden tabletop. ‘What else is on your list?’ she asked quietly.
His blood thundered in his ears at the strength of the connection he felt with her. He wanted to tell her about Orla and his dreams of them being close once again. But where would he even start to explain the jumbled up, contradictory one hundred and one emotions he felt for his sister?
Instead he said, ‘I want to take part in the Isklar Norseman Xtreme Triathlon in Norway.’
‘Now, that sounds impressive.’ Her eyes sparkled with admiration, but the sparkle slowly faded. ‘And relationships?’
What would she say if he told her he could never be in a permanent relationship? That he wasn’t interested in being in one? That he was no good in relationships? That he had lost everyone he had ever loved and never wanted to expose himself to that again?
It was easier to be non-committal rather than get into a debate about it. ‘Some day, perhaps.’
She moved forward in her chair, a familiar look of determination growing. ‘You won’t meet anyone if you’re stuck in your office twenty-four-seven.’ When he didn’t respond, she asked bluntly, ‘Are you going to sacrifice the rest of your life to work for ever? Are you so determined not to let other people in?’
He gave a disbelieving laugh. ‘I spend my days speaking to people on the phone. I travel. I speak to my staff.’
‘Okay, let’s call a spade a spade, here. Work conversations and travel don’t count. You don’t really have people in your life—meaningful relationships. And you want it that way. Plus, you’ve stopped knowing how to have fun.’
Thrown by the uncomfortable truth of her words, he chose to answer only her latter accusations. ‘No, I haven’t.’
‘Prove it.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘I’ll cook dinner for you tonight.’
‘Am I supposed to be scared of that prospect?’
‘Just imagine the mess I’d make of your kitchen.’
Despite his best efforts he winced. ‘Fine. If you want fun, we’ll go out tonight. I’ll take you to dinner at one of my favourite restaurants.’
‘You’re on. But I’m paying.’
‘No. It’s my idea. I’ll pay.’
She threw him a stern look. ‘I’m sure you appreciate why I would want to pay.’
He breathed out in exasperation. ‘I wish you would just accept my help.’
She looked at him with quiet dignity. ‘I don’t want to feel like a freeloader.’
Something pulled in his chest and he said in a conciliatory voice, ‘Let’s just go out and enjoy ourselves. By all means you can pay.’
* * *
Though she had insisted she would be paying for the meal, the moment she got back to her bedroom, fretting at the likelihood of jaw-dropping décor with matching prices at his favourite restaurant, she checked her online bank account’s balance. Thankfully she wasn’t yet in the red.
But it turned out that the restaurant was a traditional bistro, located in the back streets of St Germain. The menu proudly announced that it had been established in 1912. She guessed that the décor—Bakelite lights, simple wooden tables and chairs, tiled floors—hadn’t changed a whole lot in all that time. It was utterly charming.
After they’d been shown to their seats by the maître d’ she continued to look around. ‘It’s really lovely here.’
‘This is one of my favourite restaurants in Paris. The cooking is excellent and the service friendly.’
Yes, and it was also very romantic, with its low lighting and small, intimate tables with a single candle on each. In fact they were surrounded by fellow diners who were totally engrossed in one another.
This was awkward.
She shuffled in her seat and looked away from the amused glance he threw in her direction.
She was saved from further embarrassment by the arrival of their waiter, who brought them a glass of champagne along with their menus.
Holding his glass up towards her, Patrick said, ‘Here’s to the success of Little Fire.’
Taken aback by the sincerity in his voice, and his support of her cherished dreams, she felt unexpected tears form at the backs of her eyes. She blinked them away rapidly and took a sip of her champagne.
She read the menu with both relief—she could afford the prices—and growing excitement. Every item on the menu was a mouthwatering classic of French cuisine.
‘They have Grand Marnier soufflé for dessert—I’m going to have to order that.’
‘Why don’t you order dinner for both of us?’
She looked from him back to the menu and then back at him, taken aback and slightly horrified. ‘But I have no idea what you like.’
He shrugged with amusement. ‘I don’t care.’
Ed would have walked over hot coals rather than allow her to order for him.
‘Are you sure?’
He watched her with an assuredness and yet an intimacy that had her looking back down at the menu with a ricocheting heart.
‘Absolutely.’
As she ordered she couldn’t stop fretting that he wouldn’t like her choices. She exhaled in relief when he proclaimed the Pinot Noir she had chosen perfect. But when his starter of rillettes and her warm artichoke salad arrived she pushed the food around her plate nervously.
‘Aideen.’
She looked up at the command in his voice and her breath stalled when she looked into his formidable serious eyes.
‘My food is delicious... Why are you so nervous?’
Giddy relief mixed with her trepidation, causing nervous energy to flow through her veins. She inhaled a shaky breath. ‘I guess I’m waiting for an argument.’
‘Is that what would have happened with your ex?’
‘Yes.’
A tense silence settled between them. A quick glance told her that he was still studying her.
‘How about we leave him in the past and you assume that I’m an okay guy?’
He said it with such quiet forcefulness that her stomach and heart did a simultaneous flip. God, he was right.
She lifted her head and met his gaze. ‘You’re right. And you’re more than an okay guy.’
He gave a wry smile. ‘I guess I don’t have to worry about getting a big ego around you.’
With a cheeky grin she said, ‘I compliment where it’s deserved.’
‘Are you telling me I have to work harder to earn your compliments?’
‘Possibly.’
His eyebrow rose slowly and sexily and at the same time his eyes darkened. In a low, suggestive voice he said, ‘I’ll have to remember that.’
No! That wasn’t what she’d meant! And why was she blushing? And why was her heart hammering in her chest? And did the couple next to them have to look so in love?
They spent the rest of the meal chatting about the countries they had visited, the movies they loved, the books they adored, but beneath all that civility a spiralling web of deep attraction was growing between them all the time. In every look, in every smile.<
br />
And the intimacy was only added to by her excitement at the amount of new books and places she had to try, based on his enthusiastic descriptions. It was as though a whole new and exciting world was opening up to her because of him.
‘Mademoiselle, would you care to follow me to the kitchen?’
Confused, Aideen looked at their waiter. She’d only just noticed he was standing there, and said, ‘Sorry...?’
‘The chef is waiting for you.’
Perplexed, she looked towards Patrick, in the hope that he might understand what was going on.
With a sexy grin, his eyes alight with mischief, he said, ‘Remember how you said you wanted to learn how to make a soufflé? Well, this restaurant is world-famous for them. You’ll find no better place to learn.’
Dumbstruck, she stared at him. She leant towards him and whispered, ‘What if I mess up? You’ve seen the way I work in the kitchen. This is a professional kitchen, for crying out loud. I might set off the fire alarm or something like that.’
‘Maybe the chef will teach you how to work tidily as a bonus?’
She gave the waiter a quick smile and whispered impatiently, ‘Patrick, I’m serious.’
He shook his head, amused. ‘Go and have some fun. You’re the one saying all the time that we both need to be spontaneous. Well, now’s your chance.’
She sat back and took a deep breath. ‘You’re right.’
The waiter held her chair as she stood. She moved to the side of the table and leant over and kissed Patrick’s cheek. ‘This is the best surprise ever. Thank you.’
* * *
A while later Aideen returned to their table, triumphantly holding the biggest soufflé Patrick had ever seen, and smiling so brightly that the people at the tables around them burst into spontaneous applause. She took a playful bow, then sat and looked at the dessert, enraptured. The woman at the next table leant across and admired the creation, and Aideen enthusiastically described her experience in the kitchen.
He could not stop watching the delight dancing in her eyes, the warmth and humour with which she spoke to the other woman.
Two things hit him at once. First, the realisation that tonight wasn’t just about helping Aideen and giving her support. He genuinely wanted to be in her company. He wanted to get to know her better. For the first time in years he had met someone he could talk to—a woman he deeply admired for her optimistic and determined take on life. And secondly the realisation came that he wanted her in his life as he’d never wanted a woman before.
Both things left him absolutely confounded.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ALL THE WAY home in the car they had chatted, and Patrick had teased her when she’d got Bernard to switch on the radio and then sang along to the old-time hits playing. He had declined her dare to join in, but Bernard had been a more willing singing partner, and by the end even Patrick had been humming along.
But now they were home that ease had vanished, and tension filled the air as they stood in the chateau’s marble-floored entrance hall.
Silence wrapped around them and her stomach did a frenzy of flips when she looked up into the bright blue of his penetrating gaze. Dressed in a slim charcoal-grey suit and white shirt, he looked impossibly big and imposing.
Her insides went into freefall when his hand reached out and a finger trailed lightly against her forearm.
‘I enjoyed tonight.’
Her body ached to fall against the hard muscle of his. To feel the crush of his mouth. But she didn’t want to ruin what they had. Their blossoming...dared she say it?...relationship felt so fragile she was worried that taking it any further, complicating it, might pull it down like a house of cards.
So instead she gave him a big smile and said, ‘It was fun. I don’t think I’ve laughed so much in a long time.’
‘Would you like a nightcap?’
She should just go to bed. They were on dangerous territory. She could see it in his blistering stare. This need for one another was a two-way street. Much as it pained her to do so, she needed to create a diversion—to call a halt to the chemistry fizzling between them.
‘A nightcap sounds good. And I have a surprise I want to show you. I’ll go and fetch it from my studio.’
‘Now I’m intrigued. I’ll fix us some drinks in the lounge.’
Walking towards the orangery, Aideen marvelled once again at the sheer scale of the chateau. What Patrick casually called ‘the lounge’ was a room at least five hundred feet square, with priceless parquet on the floor, littered with modern designer sofas and rugs, and with work from world-famous artists on the light grey walls.
As she reached for the surprise she had made for him on the trestle table, she hesitated and looked at it warily. Would he even like it? He could afford something encrusted in priceless jewels. Would he think this was laughable? Would he hate it? Her ex would have made some barbed comment that would have made her feel small and insignificant.
What was she thinking? She knew Patrick wasn’t like that. He never intentionally hurt people. He was a kind man, with integrity. She had to stop letting her ex colour her judgement.
* * *
He watched her over the rim of his glass, desire flooding his veins, as she walked across the lounge floor to where he was sitting on a sofa; she looked incredibly beautiful. Over cream wide-legged trousers she wore a vibrant lilac blouse, tucked into a thick band that displayed the narrow width of her waist.
Her hair was pulled back and twisted into a low coil at the back of her head, and he had spent the entire meal wondering what it would be like to press his lips to the pale column of her throat.
It was only as she drew nearer that he realised she was carrying something.
She stopped before him and gave him an uncertain smile before holding out a rectangular box. Then with a nervous frown she changed her mind and placed it on the beaten bronze coffee table in front of him before sitting opposite.
Covered in a pale blue and dark green silk fabric, in which the two colours ran into one another in layers, and the size of a shoe box, the box was too tempting not to open.
He sat forward and placed it on his lap. What could possibly be inside? He opened it up, fascinated. Inside it was lined in a rich dark navy velvet. And it was empty.
Confused he asked, ‘What is it?’
‘A memory chest for Orla’s baby.’
He pulled the chest closer and made a pretence of inspecting it, his heart twisting at the reminder that he wouldn’t be part of their lives.
In the periphery of his vision he could see Aideen’s hands clasp her knees, her knuckles growing whiter and whiter.
‘I was down in the village today and I saw the box in the little antique shop. It was originally lacquered on the outside, but I reckon too much handling and love over the years had damaged it beyond repair. When I saw it I thought it would be the perfect size for a memory chest for a baby. And it felt fitting to use a box that had been loved by someone before. The material I used to cover it was inspired by the sea and the land around Mooncoyne. I thought you might like to give it to Orla’s baby...as a reminder of Mooncoyne, but also to keep up the tradition your dad started.’
He winced at her words, and she must have seen it, because at once she said with dismay, ‘You don’t like it.’
Seeing the chest had brought home just how much he hated the prospect of not being a part of his nephew’s or niece’s life. Anger towards Orla, and anger that they had lost their parents so young, had him saying crossly, ‘It’s not that. You shouldn’t have bothered. It was a waste of your time. Orla will never accept it.’
‘Why not?’
He put the chest back on the coffee table and reached for his brandy. ‘It’s too complicated to explain.’
She shuffled in her seat and he glanced at her. He looked away from the disappointment in her face.
She cleared her throat before she spoke. ‘I know we’re still getting to know one another...but I do want to
help.’
He picked up the chest again and twisted it in his hands. Beneath the silk there was a thick layer of padding. No sharp corners that might hurt a baby.
‘I’m guessing you spent hours making this?’
She tried to shrug it off. ‘Not too long—just this afternoon. It was fun to do. But if you don’t like it...’
His gaze shot up at the despondency in her voice. A wounded look clouded her eyes, but she gave him a resigned shrug. As though to say, never mind.
She had gone to a lot of effort. He wished she hadn’t. But she deserved an explanation.
His throat felt peculiarly dry, and he wanted nothing but to get up and pace. But he forced himself to sit and talk to her, face to face.
‘When my dad died Orla went from being outgoing and happy to an angry, rebellious teenager overnight. I was in my final year of university. I had already started a few companies on campus, and when I graduated—a few months after my dad died—I took them off campus and into my own headquarters. Orla moved to Dublin to live with me. We had no other family. From day one she fought me. She didn’t like the school I selected for her. Some days I couldn’t even get her to go. When she went out with friends she was constantly home late. Just to rile me, she started to date a series of unsuitable guys. Her school reports were appalling. When I tackled her about them she said she didn’t care.’
Even remembering those days caused his pulse to quicken. He gritted his teeth and tried to inhale a calming breath.
‘She had just lost her dad. School reports were probably way down on her agenda.’
His pulse spiked again. ‘Do you think I didn’t know that?’
She visibly jumped at his curt tone and he closed his eyes in exasperation.
‘I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.’
She nodded her acceptance of his apology and waited for him to continue.
‘I could see that she was hurting, but I knew her behaviour was going to hurt her even more in the long run. I had to stop her. I was, in effect, her parent. It was my duty to protect her, and I couldn’t even get her out of bed in the morning.’
Harlequin Romance February 2016 Box Set Page 62
