His Convenient Affair

by Tricia Jones

  After the luncheon yesterday, she’d called Poseidon Holdings to tell Ryan Richards the good news about her purchase of the new premises and that she’d decided to sell her cottage to his company after all. Ryan had been unavailable but his assistant confirmed she would pass on the message. Later, Chloe received a call confirming a visit on Saturday morning to finalise details.

  The middle of a flank of three nineteenth-century cottages right on the mouth of an enclosed bay, her home offered glorious views of the Solent, with the added advantage of a pretty backdrop of hills. The property to her left was empty, while to her right lived old Mrs. Rawlins, who had been there as long as Chloe could remember. No other properties cluttered the bay, which was separated from the main town by a preservation area.

  Chloe speared the trowel into the damp earth and stood. Inhaling a deep lungful of sea air, she let it out on a sigh. She really had to let go of this inappropriate anxiety. It made perfect sense to sell the cottage. Her business was thriving and it was insanity not to capitalise on the potential the new marina complex promised. She was on her own now. Providing a secure future for herself meant grabbing opportunities when they arose.

  Earlier, she had worked out her finances for the hundredth time and she could just about manage the bank loan for the new premises. Money for the refurbishment would have to come from the sale of the cottage. She had no option but to sell. Her grandparents would understand. “Speculate to accumulate,” her grandfather would say.

  She missed them. They had sacrificed so much for their only daughter’s child—not that they ever admitted as such.

  Guilt pressed on her chest. She was selling their home. Her home. Yet she could almost hear her grandmother’s voice. “Home is where you make it,” she’d say, which of course was true. That wonderful couple would be mortified if they thought she’d missed out on an excellent business opportunity by hanging on to the past. They had always encouraged her to look to the future, to leave her grief behind and move on.

  She would miss her home, she realised, letting her gaze skim the old grey walls with their sash windows. The pretty red roof and slanting chimney. The wooden front door with its lovely stained glass window.

  Chloe tucked her hands into the waistband of her old working jeans and followed the flight of the seagulls as they shot over the roof of the cottage and out to sea.

  The sea sparkled in the midday light. It looked calm, benign. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, and it didn’t fool her, not for a minute. That was something she wouldn’t miss, a constant reminder of what had been taken from her. If she never saw the ocean again it would be fine by her.

  The rumble of tires on the old track road behind the cottages had her glancing at her watch. Early, she thought, whispering a curse. No time now for a quick change to at least make herself look presentable. It was probably just as well. Ryan Richards needed little encouragement.

  She was tying her shoulder-length hair back as the black convertible swept around the corner, sending pieces of bark and gravel and a tiny wild rabbit flying into the hedgerow. If she had to sell the cottage, she prayed it would be to someone appreciative of such an environment. She hoped whoever lived here would respect the flora and fauna sharing it.

  There was little time to give further thought to such matters as her visitor stepped from the car. She didn’t need the sharp stab of fire in her stomach to remind her that the long, powerful body belonged to Nathan Fitzgerald. Neither did she need the removal of his sunglasses to remind her that the eyes behind them were charcoal with that splash of blue.

  “I was expecting Mr. Richards,” Chloe managed, annoyed with herself and her inappropriate reaction. “That is, if you’re from Poseidon Holdings.”

  “I am indeed.” He slid the sunglasses into the breast pocket of a black leather jacket. “Mr. Richards is indisposed, so from now on you’ll be dealing with me.” He swept his gaze along the roof of all three cottages, then back to her. “So, do I get the tour?”

  “Of course. Follow me.” She used her best estate agent voice as she led the way down the front path. “It’s really rather lovely and has a dual aspect. The cottage was built in the nineteenth century and has retained many of its original features.” She jerked as he moved in front of her to hold open the front door. The narrow entrance made it virtually impossible for her to slip past without brushing against him.

  With her head down and her back as close to the doorframe as she could get, she eased her way past him, breath suspended as their bodies brushed. Not until she was in the equally narrow hallway did she swallow hard and breathe again. What was it about the stupid man anyway?

  While Nathan nodded and arched a brow whenever the occasion called for it, he seemed not in the least interested in anything about the cottage. Unlike Ryan Richards, who’d been over-the-top enthusiastic that it would make the perfect employee rental, and had offered Chloe an equally over-the-top price.

  Nathan Fitzgerald seemed unimpressed, and her heart gave a worrying lurch. She really needed this sale if she was to fund the refurbishment of her new premises.

  As she showed him the main bedroom with its stunning view of the sea, Chloe decided she was wasting her time.

  “Look, if your company’s no longer interested in buying, I’d rather you just say so. It isn’t everyone’s cup of tea living in such an isolated area, and it is quite a way from the main marina. There are many other suitable properties for sale that would make good employee lets, and I can show you several on our books that—”

  “We’ll take it.” He turned from where he’d been looking out of the sash window, his hands in his pockets.

  “What?”

  “I believe the price offered was on the proviso you can be out in a month.”

  Chloe’s mouth dropped open. He hadn’t seemed in the least impressed with anything she had shown him. Except the view.

  “Is it a deal?” The question had a snap to it.

  “Err…”

  “Do you want to sell or not? I won’t be messed around.”

  The edge of impatience in his voice jolted her out of her fog. “Yes, of course I want to sell, although I have to say I’m surprised you want to buy. You haven’t seemed in the least impressed with the cottage.”

  He looked at her, his expression somber. “The cottage is fine. I’m only interested in the view and the seclusion. Being close to the sea is a prerequisite.”

  Chloe nodded, refusing to give in to that hollow sinking feeling in her tummy. How could anyone not fall in love with her cottage, and how was she ever going to be able to leave it?

  Because I need to stay financially solvent.

  “It’s close to the sea, all right,” she said, realizing he must be the employee who would be living here. “Do you sail?”

  “I do. I like nothing better than being on the water. Now. How about dinner to discuss the finer details?”

  “Don’t you ever give up?”

  “Rarely.” His delicious mouth curved. “A trait readily acknowledged on my school reports. ‘Nathan shows great tenacity’.”

  Don’t laugh, she warned herself as humor tickled her throat. “I don’t think we need to go as far as dinner. We can discuss those finer details over coffee.”

  As Nathan followed her down to the kitchen, Chloe worked out the details in her head. Leaving in a month had not formed part of the preliminary negotiations with Ryan Richards, and Nathan wouldn’t bully her into agreeing to it now. There was no way the flat above the new premises would be habitable in such a short time, even if she had the money for its refurbishment. Plus, the legal paperwork had to go through. It was rare for a sale to be completed in anything less than six weeks, what with searches and contracts and myriad other details to be settled.

  With the ease of a favoured friend, Nathan settled himself at her small kitchen table, and when he stretched out his long legs, Chloe half expected he might prop his feet up on the edge.

  “Make yourself at home,” she mocked, re
alizing with a big dose of regret that it soon would be his home. Stop it, she chastised herself. This is business.

  He took the coffee she offered him. “As you’re both seller and agent, we should exchange solicitor details and discuss completion dates.”

  “How do you know I’m the agent?”

  “I make it my business to know about the people I’m dealing with.”

  “You seem to have made it your business to find out quite a bit about my business. First the auction and now this. I have to say it doesn’t sit very comfortably with me, having someone delving into my affairs.”

  “My knowing what you do for a living doesn’t actually constitute delving into your affairs.” He sipped his coffee, then set the cup down. “While we’re on the subject, why are you selling?”

  She wasn’t about to tell him she needed the money. There had to be some room to negotiate and extend the moving date, and if he knew she was financially dependent on the sale of the cottage, he’d be merciless. She’d dealt with buyers like him in the past and had seen her clients pushed to the limits to accommodate them. Men like him knew what they wanted and were ruthless in its pursuit.

  “The cottage is too big for me. I need something smaller.” She gave him the same reason she’d been using to try to convince herself. “I probably would have stayed here a while longer, but when Mr. Richards offered me such a good price, I decided now was as good a time as any.”

  “Why did you buy it in the first place?”

  Her eyes widened. “You mean you don’t already know? I’m shocked, and may I say a little disappointed.” She threw him a sickly sweet smile.

  “There are some things I like to discover at a slower pace.” His dark gaze slid to her mouth, stayed there a moment too long, then came back to capture her eyes. “Sometimes I like to take my time, go with my instincts.”

  Chloe lifted her cup to her lips in the vain hope of disguising the inappropriate heat slamming into her cheeks. If they were talking instincts, hers were screaming to get him out of her kitchen, the walls of which seemed to be closing in at an alarming rate.

  “The cottage belonged to my grandparents.” Her attempt to administer the estate agent tone failed miserably. Probably because her heart thumped so badly it actually felt like it would leap out of her throat at any moment. A combination of residual grief for her grandparents, she decided, and anxiety about selling their home. “They died a couple of years back and left it to me. Like I said, it’s too big for me. It needs a family.”

  Chloe tightened her fingers around the cup as a sudden unsettling thought gripped her system. Would Mrs. Fitzgerald and the little Fitzgeralds be moving in?

  She felt the punch of that deep in the centre of her solar plexus. “About the timescale,” she said, putting down her cup and diverting her thoughts from where they had no business going. “I can’t possibly be out in a month. My new place needs some work and it won’t be ready for me to move into. Can we agree eight weeks to completion?”

  He drew in a long breath, as if considering it. “Six,” he decided, “and we drop the price by a couple of thousand.”

  “Okay, six, but the price stays the same.” Remembering his lecture on body language, Chloe lifted her chin, kept her face blank and her hands folded. She held his scrutiny. “Agreed?”

  “Throw in dinner and we have a deal.”

  Her eyebrows disappeared beneath her bangs. “I don’t think your wife would be especially pleased about that.”

  “No, she probably wouldn’t. If I had one.”

  It didn’t matter a jolt he wasn’t married. Like she told herself before, it was none of her business. “The current woman in your life, then.”

  He gave an easy shake of the head. “Not one of those either. Unless you count my mother or sister, each of whom would be delighted I’m asking a beautiful woman to dinner.”

  As pleasure, fierce and certainly unwanted, pulsed through her veins, Chloe warned herself it was just a line. One he probably floated out whenever the occasion demanded. Tell a woman she was beautiful and she’d fall into bed. He was wasting his time with her. He’d find that out soon enough. Most of the men she knew had long given up issuing invitations, her devotion to business almost legendary among the male fraternity of Cleeve Bay. That and her determination never to be hurt again, not if she had anything to do with it.

  With business she had control. And while there was some ridiculous part of her screaming to accept the invite from Nathan Fitzgerald, she wouldn’t. If nothing else, his company was purchasing her cottage, and she could do without any complications to jeopardise that. Plus, didn’t she have enough on her plate to keep her occupied in the coming weeks?

  “Let’s just exchange details so we can get the ball rolling.” She leant across the table and slipped Pam’s card from her purse. “This is my solicitor’s card, so if you’ll just let me have yours.”

  Nathan lifted his cup and settled back, the easy, relaxed action signalling he had no intention of ending the visit until he was good and ready. “When does your neighbour return from her trip?”

  “What?”

  “I believe she’s visiting her sister. When does she get back?”

  “Mrs. Rawlins will be back next week, but you’ve no need to worry about her. She’s a very nice old lady and will give you no trouble.”

  “I sincerely hope she won’t,” Nathan said under his breath, but Chloe heard it.

  “I hope I can give her the same assurances.”

  Nathan leaned back, narrowing his eyes. “You don’t like me much.”

  Something about his directness demanded honesty in return, and instinct cautioned her this was not a man you played games with. Anyway, she decided, there was something rather refreshing about his blunt manner. At least she knew where she stood. She could deal with that. She just needed to keep in mind that his company was purchasing her house, and it was an unwritten, but cardinal, rule never to upset your buyer.

  “I don’t have an opinion one way or the other.” She met his steady gaze, tilting her head to indicate she very much had an opinion—and it wasn’t exactly in his favour.

  Not that it fazed him. He just grinned, shifted in his chair and popped his ankle across the opposite knee. “In which case, maybe I can tempt you to join me for an evening sail, at the end of which you might have formed one.”

  “I don’t sail.” The words came out like bullets, even as a clammy heat spread over her flesh. She had to justify that, she realized as Nathan frowned. “I never have the time, and anyway I already have plans for tonight.”

  She wiped a non-too-steady hand over her mouth and stared at her cup. Silently, she willed the last vestiges of panic away and prayed he wouldn’t press it. She wasn’t comfortable displaying weakness, and quite why her normally unflappable self was beset by all manner of vulnerable feelings so suddenly, was mystifying.

  Expanding her business, selling her home and plunging herself into the unknown was probably enough to rock the emotional boat a little.

  Pushing back her chair, Chloe stood. “Now, if there’s nothing else…”

  Nathan moved around the table to step in front of her. He loomed there, towering over her, making her flesh tingle and chest tighten. “Actually, there is something else.”

  They were inches apart and Chloe could almost feel the heat coming off him. He was the most masculine man she had ever known, and the knowledge of that was doing very weird things to her equilibrium. The throat she faced was solid and tanned, and as her own throat contracted with an involuntary swallow, he stepped closer. Her gaze found his, locked there. For one disconcerting moment, Chloe actually thought he might lean down and…and…

  “What?” She stepped back, surprised she didn’t trip over her own feet, for at that moment her knees had completely lost the plot. “What?”

  “Just this.” His voice, low and deep, made heat surge into Chloe’s pelvis.

  “What?” Her own voice squeaked as she trembled out t
he one word that seemed to constitute the whole of her vocabulary at that moment. Heat spread into her face. “I don’t think…”

  His gaze skimmed over her face, lingered on her mouth. When he lifted his hand, Chloe gave a startled gasp and stepped out of reach.

  With a slow grin, Nathan flicked a business card between his fingers and offered it to her. “My solicitor’s details.” His fingers tightened on the card as she took it from him, so that when she looked at him triumph gleamed in the dark depths of those charcoal eyes. Before she could do anything, think anything, he skimmed one long finger over her chin, making her insides shake. “Enjoy your evening.”

  Then he was gone, leaving Chloe shaky, not a little confused, and if she were honest, bizarrely disappointed.

  Why on earth did she have to overreact like that?

  Because he’d made no secret of the fact he found her attractive. He’d asked her out—twice. No, three times. It was natural for her to think he was about to make a move. He’d intended to embarrass her, or at least make her feel uneasy. He could go to hell. She would not let him intimidate her.

  Despite her efforts, she couldn’t stop thinking about him as she prepared for her evening at Pam’s.

  Nathan Fitzgerald seemed like a man who insisted on the very best of everything. A man who enjoyed the luxurious. Definitely not the wild party type. He wouldn’t let the cottage fall into disrepair or neglect, so at least she didn’t have to worry on that score. Each weekend would probably see it filled with friends down for some sailing and classy dinner parties. She imagined him with some languorous blonde on his arm, complete with perfect coiffure and designer gown. He would take the bedroom at the front of the cottage—her bedroom—so he and the blonde could watch the dawn rise from the lovely sash window.

  Chloe took a steadying breath as her throat tightened. If nothing else, her beloved cottage would be perfectly safe in his hands.