by Tricia Jones
Dedication
For Dad—my very first hero.
Chapter One
If she looked up once more and he was still staring at her, she was going to march right over there and ask if he’d like a photograph.
Of course, she wouldn’t know he was looking if she weren’t doing the same thing. Which was beside the point. He might be the best specimen of manhood she’d seen in a long time, and certainly at Cleeve Bay’s monthly business luncheons, but the man watching her from the opposite table was far too blatant for her liking. It was unnerving.
Except she was unnerved anyway. Signing your life—well, stability—away with a nod and the flourish of a ballpoint would have that effect on most people. The fact that her stomach was tumbling around like a gymnast, making her wonder quite how she would manage to get down any of what appeared to be a most excellent lunch, had more to do with the prospect of potential financial ruin than the piercing dark gaze and strong warrior face of Mr. Subtle over there.
Didn’t she have enough to worry about right now without engaging in some seriously disturbing eye contact? Apparently not, because their gazes locked again.
She shot him what she hoped was a disparaging look, but amusement sparked in the dark depths of his rather magnificent eyes, and his mouth curved ever so slightly and… Oh Lord, heat was creeping up her throat, over her jaw and…
Stop it, stop it, stop it!
Chloe smoothed a shaky hand over her neat little chignon. She couldn’t remember the last time she had blushed. It was mortifying. She was a grown woman, for heaven’s sake, with the ability to summon enough control so that men, gorgeous or otherwise, did not make her insides do weird and wonderful things.
Usually.
“Will you stop worrying?” The soft voice of reprimand brought her out of her reverie, and Chloe turned to face the woman who was both her solicitor and dearest friend. Pam Harris was possibly the only person in the world who understood how the morning’s events had unsettled her.
“I should have stopped bidding.” Chloe worried her bottom lip. “I know I should have stopped bidding.” Especially when every vulnerable little part of her had screamed at her to stop.
She stared at the smoked salmon the waiter slipped in front of her. “I’m in over my head, Pam. I really wish I could put the clock back a few hours.” The palm she stroked over hair the colour of chestnuts was decidedly clammy now, but she managed to tuck a few wayward shoulder-length strands back in place.
Staring at the salmon was not helping to allay the queasiness, but instead of diverting her attention to something less dangerous for her jittery stomach, her treacherous eyes found his again.
Chloe had no idea who he was, which wasn’t unusual. Since plans for the new marina complex had been given the go-ahead, the small town on the English Rivera had enjoyed an influx of prospective businessmen and women, each of them sussing out the possibility of expanding or relocating their business to the area. Many used these luncheons to network, and even rumors of scandal and embezzlement within Poseidon Holdings had little effect when weighed against the latent opportunities for business growth.
She wasn’t exactly immune herself, which was why, since its acquisition at auction a couple of hours ago, she was now the proud owner of additional premises. According to the executive director of Poseidon Holdings, the retail shop positioned at the edge of the marina development virtually guaranteed her sole agency to sell the new waterside apartments.
Acquisition of the new premises doubled her estate agency empire—and stole her appetite.
“Everything will be fine.” Gently, Pam nudged Chloe’s elbow with her own, then nodded in the direction of Chloe’s untouched plate. “Now eat your lunch.”
Chloe pushed at the salmon on her plate before turning to Pam. “As my solicitor, you’re supposed to caution me against making risky business decisions.” She swallowed, then shook her head. “I went far too high with my bid. Now I’ve no choice but to sell the cottage, unless I want to be saddled with a huge bank loan and no money to refurbish the new premises.”
Pam’s teeth flashed brilliantly against a copper tan. “It makes sound business sense to sell the cottage, and Poseidon has offered you a really good price for it.” She gave Chloe’s hand a reassuring pat. “The sole agency contract to sell the new housing development will really set you up.”
“I’ve nothing in writing from them yet.” Chloe nibbled at her lip. “Perhaps I should just hold off selling them the cottage. It will be tight, but if I really pull my belt in I could maybe keep my home for a while longer.” She wasn’t normally so negative, but then she’d never before put her future security in the lap of the gods, had she?
The thought of having to sell her cottage made her stomach roll with apprehension, guilt and regret. She had grown up there, as had her mother. It was home. It was refuge after her beloved parents were killed, when she had been taken in by devoted grandparents and embraced into a life of warmth and love. It was there she grieved for them, too. Now she had put herself in a position which made it difficult, or rather impossible, to keep her cottage. Suddenly she was that vulnerable, frightened eleven-year-old again, whose world was shattered one harsh, storm-ridden night fourteen years ago.
“You need to sell the cottage.” Pam tucked into her own salmon. “You might have bid higher than you’d planned for your new premises, but it’s a sound business proposition. Trust me, I’m your solicitor.”
“So why does it feel like the rug’s been pulled out from under me?”
“Because change is always scary.” Pam put down her fork. “It’s time to move on. Your grandparents would understand. They’d want you to sell the cottage to expand your business. There’s a good, roomy flat above the place you’ve just bought, which will do nicely for you.”
Unconvinced, Chloe shrugged. “If the price hadn’t gone so high, I could have handled the bank loan and been able to keep the cottage.” She knew she was whining, yet she had so much to be grateful for. “You’re right, though—my grandparents would understand.” Hadn’t they left her that small financial legacy with the proviso that she use it to set up her own business? Chloe suspected they’d been saving for years with just that in mind. They knew it was her dream. They understood her need to build a secure future for herself.
“There’s no reason to feel insecure,” Pam said in that uncanny way she had of reading Chloe’s mind. “Expanding your business is the best way to stay in control of your own destiny, and people always need homes to live in.”
Chloe returned Pam’s smile. It was true, of course. This insecurity was unwarranted. That frightened little girl had no reason to feel vulnerable anymore, because now a twenty-five-year-old woman kept guard over her heart and had very solid plans to protect her future. She’d wanted to sell houses for as long as she could remember. Appreciating the value of “home” herself, she revelled in helping people find theirs. Her reputation for personal service was well known, and her success ensured her ability to expand.
“As usual, you’re right.” Chloe sat back as the waiter whisked away her uneaten starter. “It will be financially tight until I sell the cottage, but I’ve got some savings to tide me over.” Her new property was in a bad state of repair and needed a major overhaul. She knew a couple of local builders she could trust, one of whom was at the luncheon today, and she made a mental note to grab a word with him.
“That’s the spirit.” Pam picked up her knife and fork. “That cottage needs a growing family to care for it, not an independent businesswoman with little time to do anything but give it the odd tidy and vacuum.”
Chloe laughed. “Don’t you ever tire of being right?”
“Nope,” Pam said around
a mouthful of chicken. “Especially not when my best friend’s happiness is at stake.”
Feeling better, Chloe managed a couple of sautéed potatoes and a few slivers of chicken, but was relieved when coffee arrived and the obligatory speeches began. She wanted to get back to her office. There were phone calls to make before the weekend, checks on contracts and completion dates, and a couple of assisted viewings.
As the speeches continued, she sipped her coffee and, steadier after Pam’s pep talk, let her gaze drift to the table opposite. He was no longer watching her, her appeal obviously usurped by the more interesting, and no doubt more profitable, rhetoric of the speaker. That little shift inside her was merely relief. She couldn’t care less that he’d lost interest in her.
With his attention diverted, she could indulge in some staring of her own. She took in the strong profile and chiselled features, the dark hair cut short to emphasize a solid neck and big shoulders. His healthy, outdoors tan highlighted a strong jaw and emphasized the magnetic quality of his eyes. An immaculate dark grey suit covered a body undoubtedly as tough and firm as the aura of power and command surrounding him. There was no hierarchical structure at these business luncheons, and the circular tables ensured no designated head. If there were such a nomination, he would be it—with “leader of the pack” invisibly stamped on his forehead.
Her stomach gave one long, unsteady roll.
Stupid, she chastised herself. She had no time for this, and even less inclination.
Before she could return her own attention to the podium, he turned, his gaze locking onto hers with the force of a scud missile. It held there, steady and unrelenting, as her stomach hitched and danced and her skin heated. The force of that look hit right down to her toes and made the room tilt a little.
Mortified he had caught her staring, Chloe dragged her gaze away and refocused on the speaker, who was reassuring the business community that the rumors about the imminent collapse of the marina project were just that—rumors. She should be listening intently to the speeches and making sure her business was protected in light of those rumors, not concerning herself with the chiselled features of some dark stranger.
Apparently some malevolent force had other plans, because their gazes locked once more.
“Hmm.” Pam’s purposeful murmur brought Chloe’s attention snapping back.
She turned, aiming a mock-innocent look at her friend. “‘Hmm’, what?”
“Very nice.” Pam aimed a nudge at Chloe’s ribcage. “Can’t seem to keep his eyes off you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Very nice, indeed. You’ve just returned from honeymoon. Which reminds me, how come you managed to get such a fabulous tan?”
It was Pam’s turn to bat off the teasing. “We didn’t spend all our time in bed. We managed to sample some of the delights of Spain. Though I must say I wouldn’t blame you if you thought of sampling some of his delights.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Chloe gathered up her bag. “I’ve just signed for a dilapidated property that’s going to take every penny I own, and almost all of my time, to get into any sort of shape, and here you are trying to get me off with someone who thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”
“I, for one, wouldn’t argue with him.” Pam gave an appreciative hum. “But if you’re sure.”
“I am. Now, I’m going to find me a builder and then get back to my office.”
“I need to get back, too. Don’t forget supper tomorrow, and bring a friend—” Pam tipped a nod in her subject’s direction, “—if and when you decide to admit he’s the yummiest specimen you’ve seen in a long time. Might be just your type, too. You know, just here temporarily, so there’s no chance of getting involved and, heaven forbid, enjoying a relationship.”
Chloe ignored the reproach in Pam’s voice. She knew her friend had her best interests in mind, except Chloe knew those interests were best served by keeping men at a nice, safe distance. No shocks, no surprises, no broken hearts.
They exchanged a hug, and Chloe smiled as her friend bounced toward the exit. Pam had her fair share of man troubles over the years, and Chloe had picked up the pieces of her bruised heart, just as Pam did for her all those years ago when the sea had shattered hers.
Chloe fastened her navy suit jacket, shouldered her bag and, unaware the file clip had popped open, hitched the portfolio containing the details of her new premises under her arm. In a theatrical flurry, the papers floated to the floor.
“Allow me.”
Even as she bent to retrieve the papers, Chloe knew it was him. “It’s all right, thank you. I’ve got them.”
He dropped down beside her anyway and picked up the photograph of the shop’s shabby exterior. “Interesting building.” He handed her the document as their knees bumped. “Looks like it’ll need a lot of work.”
Forcing her attention from his solid thighs, Chloe straightened and shoved the papers back into the file. “That doesn’t bother me. I’m not afraid of hard work.” She looked at him, tried to act like he didn’t make her knees weak. He did, of course, for some ridiculous reason, but she wasn’t about to broadcast the fact. Especially not to him.
Lord, the man was tall, towering over her, even in her heels. Six-two, three even—and those shoulders…
“I didn’t mean to imply that you were.” His dark eyes, charcoal with hypnotic shards of blue, glinted. “Look, let’s start this again. Nathan Fitzgerald.”
Chloe slipped her hand into his. He had big hands and a solid grip. She trusted a man with a solid grip. What she didn’t trust was his sheer physicality and the way he exuded power from every pore.
“Chloe Greenwood.” She tugged her hand from his.
“Ah. Cleeve Bay’s ‘Business Person of the Year’. I’m impressed.”
Arrogant too, she decided as the strength returned to her legs.
“Impressed?” She tilted her head. “I have to wonder if you’d say that if I were a man.”
“I doubt I would, but let me clarify that before you have me up on charges.” His gaze whisked down the length of her and back again. “Let’s just say I wasn’t only referring to your business acumen.”
“Well, let’s just say I was. This is a business lunch and I’m a businesswoman. I’m not on the menu.”
His mouth curved. “I probably deserved that.”
Heat stirred her blood. That was one killer mouth he had. “You probably did.” She tested a polite smile. “Now if you’ll excuse me. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Fitzgerald.”
“Nathan, and have dinner with me.”
The polite smile had obviously been a bad idea. “I don’t think so.”
“We can discuss that property you bought this morning.”
“No.” About to turn away, she swiveled back to face him. “How do you know I bought it this morning?”
“I was at the auction, watched you in action.” His smile was easy and slick. “You’re one cool operator. Not a hint of panic showed on your face when the competition kept knocking the price up, but you could work on your body language. It’s not a good idea to let the competition sense any kind of desperation.”
“I beg your pardon.” Ripe indignation pumped in her chest. Who on earth did he think he was? “What do you mean, my ‘body language’?”
“Started to flick back the corner of the auction details.” He nodded toward the file she clutched like a lifeline. “Subtle, almost nonexistent, but it was there. A real tension giveaway. Then when you started bidding beyond your ceiling figure, you kept swallowing.”
“I did not.” Her throat convulsed before she could stop it. “You don’t miss much, do you?” Neither did she, she realised, noticing the small scar just above his left eyebrow. “What are you, anyway, an expert on human mannerisms?”
He shook his head. “Just an interested onlooker. Now about that dinner?”
She gave him her very best “for the man who won’t take no for an answer” look. “Let me afford you another opportunity to int
erpret my body language.” She thrust out her hand. “Goodbye, Mr. Fitzgerald.”
He grinned as she walked away, enjoying the haughty sway of hips beneath that business suit. The cool Ms. Greenwood wouldn’t prove much of a problem. She’d pushed her limits at the auction, which meant all he had to do was a little pushing of his own, if required. She was obviously ambitious, and part of him wondered why she hadn’t put in a tender for the sole agency contract to sell the new marina apartments, especially given the waterside location of her new premises. Not that she’d stand much of a chance against the big boys, but still.
His business with her should be over with soon enough.
Nathan swallowed back the metallic taste in his mouth. He didn’t enjoy doing business this way, and he’d never once had to sink to blackmail. He didn’t intend to start now, but if he was to salvage the mess his wretched cousin had left him, he might need to offer a few incentives. Not that she’d lose out on the deal; he’d see to that.
He watched her chat with a couple of people, with more affability than she’d granted him, and wondered when she’d notice the second button of her blouse had popped undone. It afforded him a nice glimpse of white lace, and some rather inappropriate physical discomfort.
Oh, yes. The delectable Ms. Greenwood would be a piece of proverbial cake and, if circumstances were otherwise, he’d take the time to enjoy every mouthful. He was due some R & R, and could think of no better way of indulging himself than with a challenging brunette with eyes like warm cognac, but this time around he had other priorities. Not the least of which involved protecting the hitherto exemplary reputation of Poseidon Holdings, reassuring jumpy investors and sharpening up timescales.
His only business with Chloe Greenwood involved getting her to sign on the dotted line, and with a bit of luck that would be accomplished in the time it took to slip a mooring. Then he’d sort out the rest of this damn mess and get the hell back to the Cote d’Azur where he belonged.
The sun did its best to herald the coming of spring, but the March air still had a vicious bite to it. Chloe tugged a couple of weeds from the small patch of garden at the front of the cottage, dropped them into the recycler bin and pulled the front edges of her old denim jacket together.
