by Tricia Jones
The dark eyes widened, flashed, then as quickly cooled. “We’re not pulling out of the development.” A simple statement, obviously not open to further investigation. “These new premises of yours, expansion or relocation?”
Chloe recognised the skilled change of subject and acknowledged he was no more interested in telling her his business than she was in telling him hers. “I’m expanding.” And you won’t get any more information out of me, buster, she thought. I’m not giving your company a reason to knock down the price of the cottage because you know I’m financially strapped. “I’m taking advantage of current opportunities, and it’s gratifying to know I’ve nothing to worry about as far as the marina development is concerned.”
She watched him, hoping to dig for more information about those rumors. Not that she had a pig’s ears chance of getting any, especially when his cagey smile indicated he too was aware of the information tug-of-war going on.
When Chloe made no attempt to help herself to breakfast, Nathan loaded a plate and pushed it over. The eggs were delicious and she forked up bite after fluffy bite, giving in to her suddenly ravenous appetite. She popped the fork down and sat back. “That was delicious. What did you put in those eggs?”
He arched a brow, sending the scar above his left eye into a deep and sexy groove. “A Fitzgerald secret, I’m afraid. I’m sworn to secrecy and my mother would disown me if I revealed it. Want some more?”
She reached for the plate he pushed over. “I’m helpless to say I do.”
“Then be my guest. I’m a sucker for helpless women.”
“If I see some around I’ll be sure to let them know.”
A grin slashed that impossibly handsome face, its lines sharpened by the damp, slicked back hair that gave even more power to his eyes and accentuated the scar. He leaned back. “That barrier of yours—a defense against men in general, or just me?”
“There’s no barrier.” She forked up more eggs. “Your company’s buying my property and I just think we should keep things on a strictly professional footing. I’ve seen far too many complications set in when buyers and sellers become friendly.”
“I wasn’t going for complicated.” He clasped his hands behind his head, the movement expanding his ribcage and flattening an already washboard stomach. “Come to that, I wasn’t aiming for friendly either.”
“I know exactly what your aims are, and I’m not interested.” She pushed away the residue of her breakfast, her appetite suddenly dulled by the far more appetising display of such potent masculine strength. An entirely different appetite stormed through her.
This was ridiculous. She had no time for this. She needed to keep focused, keep her mind on business, maintain control. Not get swept away with a not-too-healthy dose of sexual attraction.
Thankfully, the storm had lost its vicious edge, the rain was down to a dull patter, and whatever state of dryness her clothes were in would have to do. “Now, thank you for your hospitality, but I’d like to dress and get home. Can I use your phone to call a taxi?”
“No need. I’m driving you home.”
Chloe might have argued. In fact, she wanted to argue, because she didn’t want to spend any more time in his presence than she had to. What he did to her normally sane and sensible self didn’t bear pondering on, but taxis weren’t plentiful during storms or on Sunday mornings, and the two combined added up to a long wait. All she wanted was to get home.
“Just an observation,” Nathan said, watching her as she headed for the utility room. “Maybe you should think about carrying a mobile phone if you insist on running in lonely spots at the crack of dawn. There are some weird characters out there.”
“Thanks for the advice.” Self-reprimand tinged her sarcasm. She knew it made sense to carry a mobile, but she hated any sort of encumbrances on her solitary runs. She was alone, just her and nature, and wanted no distractions.
Nathan Fitzgerald was certainly a distraction, and as she pulled her still damp clothes from the dryer, she pondered exactly what that distraction could lead to. She wasn’t adverse to male company, and the odd evening spent with an attractive man was not out of the realms of her interest. She usually made sure those men were just passing through Cleeve Bay and therefore only temporary distractions. That way there was no chance of getting involved, no likelihood of starting to care for someone, of developing feelings she had no control over. No chance of having her heart broken. Keeping men at arm’s length meant she would never go through that agonising sense of loss that followed losing someone dear.
As for Nathan? He wasn’t just passing through, was he? He was renting her cottage. There was no way on God’s Earth she would get involved with him. Already he aroused too many troubling sensations in her. He would strip away every single ounce of control she possessed until she couldn’t think straight. He’d make certain of it. Demand it.
“Everything all right in here?”
He leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, his very presence making the roomy utility seem cramped.
“Yes, err, fine.” Strangely disoriented, Chloe started to hurry past him, but he stepped forward and reached out a hand.
“Those still look damp.” His long fingers tested the bundle of clothes she clutched. “You can’t put them back on.”
Dear God, he’d got his hands on her underwear after all. The very thought of which sent heat soaring through her veins, her knees wobbling precariously. Nathan snatched the bundle from her before she could protest, and threw her damp clothes back into the dryer.
“Come on, I’ll get you something dry.”
She followed him upstairs like a lamb, but right then all she wanted was to get something tangible between them. Even if it was only clothes. The situation was making her feel so ridiculously weird. He was making her feel so ridiculously weird.
“Put these on.” Nathan came back to where she waited on the landing and handed her black jogging pants and a matching long-sleeved fleece. He gestured toward the bathroom. “I’ll go grab us some jackets.”
She looked absurd, she decided, turning up the bottoms of the jogging pants at least three times. With a grimace at her reflection in the mirror, she pushed the sleeves up to her elbows. She could probably have filled the top twice over and have room to spare, but she was dry…and warm. Blessedly warm.
With her feet snug in a pair of what she imagined were Nathan’s sailing socks, she padded downstairs, fighting an edgy impatience to get home. Nathan was finishing a phone call in what looked like a study just off the hallway, and her throat went tight at the sound of his lazy rumble of laughter. It was typical, of course. Having missed out with her, he was making the moves on someone else. What did she care anyway? It was his business. If he had the morals of a snake it was of no interest to her.
When Chloe pushed up the sleeves of the fleece, the action sent tiny goose bumps over her flesh as the fibers made contact with her skin. It was her current uneasy mood, nothing to do with the fact she was wearing Nathan’s clothes. Absolutely nothing to do with the fact she imagined she could smell him on those clothes. That particular scent of his, musky and potent.
Through the atrium’s glass ceiling, Chloe saw the dark clouds speed past in a fast and furious race, a flash of lightening streaking through them. Was there to be no end to this? What malign fate had chosen to taunt her, trap her…with him?
Nathan came out of the study. “My mother heard about the storms lashing the south coast and wanted to make sure I was home safe and not out at sea.”
“Oh.” She felt foolish and not a little ashamed. “That’s sweet.”
He picked up his keys from the hall table. “Sweet.” He pursed his lips, considering. “Not a term I’d readily apply to her, although she is a worrier.”
Nathan pulled open the front door. Lightening leapt through the sky, thunder fast on its heels. The storm was right overhead. He turned just as Chloe hunched her shoulders against the noise. “You look like a worrier yourself.”
> “Only where storms are concerned.” She forced back the memories. “I hate them.”
“Then that settles it.” He pushed the door closed. “Let’s wait this out for a while. How about I give you a tour of the house, then if you do get the chance to pitch for the sale, you’ll be prepared. Just relax, okay?”
Relax? With a humdinger of a storm showing no sign of abating? With old memories lashing at her as steadily as the rain outside? Not to mention the most physical embodiment of manhood she had known, towering over her?
When he stepped closer, she shivered. She actually shivered. What was wrong with her?
“Chloe?” His hands were on her shoulders, lines of concern scoring his forehead. “The storm will pass soon.”
Chloe glanced at the phone in the study. Despite the appalling weather, maybe she should just call for a taxi, because the mood she was in she didn’t trust herself to be with anyone, let alone him. She was dangerously close to tears. She felt raw, unsettled, edgy. If only she hadn’t rocked her orderly, safe, controlled existence. Why couldn’t she just be content with her life as it was, without expanding her business and selling her home?
Because she had to rely on herself, a little voice told her. Her future security sat squarely on her shoulders, and never again would she entrust her heart to someone else’s safekeeping. Where life, with its unpredictability, could batter it, break it, crush it—and there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop it.
“You look warmer.” Nathan’s mouth curved as his gaze slipped over her.
“I look ridiculous.” Chloe swallowed and flicked back her slowly drying hair. “I am warmer, though, so thank you.”
He continued to study her. “You’re welcome. I’ll make fresh coffee and then we’ll take that tour.”
In the living room, Chloe settled down into rich brown leather, curling her toes into the carpet. It was a beautiful room, modern and bright. The walls were painted in a thin apricot, decorated with ornate mirrors and colourful abstracts. Not at all shabby, and certainly not as quirky as she had imagined it to be. In fact, the whole house was a modernist surprise.
Her gaze fell on the marble-topped coffee table where two hardback books on sailing sat alongside a silver-framed photograph of two laughing women with a younger man, his face largely obscured by a sailing cap. There was also an opened copy of the “Cleeve Bay Marina Development Agreement” lying face down.
Her head was tilted, staring at the document, when Nathan came in with two large mugs of coffee. His speculative look made her feel as if she had been caught snooping, so she nodded toward the photograph.
“Is that your mother?”
“Yes.” Nathan popped the mugs on the table. “With my sister.”
“They’re both lovely women.” She tilted her head. “Is that you?”
His face darkened. “My cousin,” he said tightly. “My mother’s nephew.”
“Oh, I just assumed. You’re sort of alike.”
“I sincerely hope not. You warm enough?”
Aha. A chink. A little dent in his armour. “Yes, perfectly, thank you.” She wasn’t going to let this subject drop, not when she most definitely glimpsed something that ruffled his oh-so-controlled persona. Since the moment she’d met him, it felt like he’d had the upper hand. Now that she had him on the back foot, she intended to exploit the opportunity.
She gave the photograph another nod. “Don’t you get on?”
“On the contrary.” He settled back in his chair, seemingly all ease and affability again. “We get on extremely well.”
Chloe knew he was referring to his mother and sister, and he wasn’t about to fob her off.
“I meant with your cousin.”
He sipped his coffee, but his gaze stayed on hers. It gave her a funny little pull in her stomach.
“I know what you meant.” And I’m not exactly happy about this line of questioning, his tone warned. “Let’s just say my cousin and I have different values in life. How’s the coffee?”
Instinct told her she’d get no more out of him on the subject of his cousin, but she filed it away for future reference. For the next time he ruffled her feathers. At least then she’d have some ammunition. Not that there was going to be a next time.
“The coffee’s fine. Do you get to see much of your mother and sister?” If she kept him talking about everyday things, maybe her discomfort would evaporate.
“We see each other when we can. Beth recently remarried. She’s currently in Australia combining a honeymoon with a trip to see her husband’s family.”
Chloe watched the easy curve of his mouth, the softness drift into his expression. A little tinge of envy rippled in her chest. How she would have loved siblings. Someone to share the heartache of losing her parents and grandparents.
“You seem very close.”
“I adore her. She’ll accuse me of being too protective, of course.” He shrugged. “That’s just the way it is. She’s had a tough time of it. Just sixteen when we lost our father, married at nineteen. Her first marriage lasted a year. He had a kidney condition and died suddenly a week before their anniversary.”
Oh, that poor girl. Chloe knew firsthand what it was like to lose a beloved father, but to lose a husband so soon after starting their life together must have been devastating.
It only strengthened her own resolve not to have something so awful happen to her. To fall in love with someone only to have them snatched away so cruelly. Just because fate willed it, and absolutely nothing you could do about it.
Chloe’s throat felt tight. “What happened to your father?”
“Heart attack. Ten years ago.”
“It must have been so difficult for Beth, losing your father and then her husband like that.” She spoke it into the air, almost to herself.
Nathan cast her a look. “You lost both your parents when you were younger than Beth. It must have been doubly hard on you.”
“It was a long time ago.” Although every single heartbreaking moment was carved on her psyche.
She didn’t trust herself to continue this conversation. The storm had made her think too deep, for too long.
“Why don’t you sail?”
“I told you, I—”
“Don’t have time.” He drew in a breath. “How about sharing the real reason?”
She straightened as tension moved into her shoulders. “That is the real reason.” She popped the cup onto the coffee table. “So, how many rooms are there in this house?”
His eyes narrowed with that quiet scrutiny she was fast becoming far too painfully aware of. She wished he wouldn’t look at her quite so intensely, but then maybe he looked at everyone like that.
“Can’t say I’ve counted.” He stood when she did. “Where do you want to start the tour?”
Where did she want to start? How was she supposed to know? The only clear thought in her head was “don’t say the bedroom”. Breath backed up in her lungs, and she could feel the colour deepening in her cheeks.
It was this stupid storm. It was mixing her up, stirring her emotions. Making her vulnerable and edgy. Wired and uneasy and…
Did he have to stand quite so close?
She jerked back when he reached out and cupped her chin in his hand. “Why don’t you just let go for a while?” He tilted her chin until she looked at him. Then his gaze skimmed over her face. “I won’t bite.”
She wrapped non-too-steady fingers around his wrist. “I might, and I don’t think you’d appreciate it.” With a little tug, she tried to dislodge his hand. “I told you I’m not interested. I come into contact with men like you most every day.”
He brushed his thumb across her chin. “Men like me?” The tone was steady and controlled, but there was an edge simmering beneath the surface.
Chloe felt a tiny shimmer of alarm. “I don’t have time for your stupid games.”
“My games are far from stupid.” He leaned in closer. “Granted, they’re not always fair—” he brushed
her chin again, “—but I assure you they’re always worth playing.”
“Not to me.” The only reason she focused on his mouth was because it spouted such ridiculous nonsense. “I don’t think I’ll bother with the tour.” Her legs probably wouldn’t carry her anyway.
She sat again, grabbed for her coffee, and prayed she wouldn’t spill the contents.
“Your prerogative.” He strolled over to the French windows at the far end of the room. “Seems to be passing. I’ll take you home when you’re ready.”
She didn’t need another invitation. Discarding her coffee, she hurried to the kitchen, grabbed her clothes from the dryer, then headed for the front door where she waited like a puppy eager for a walk.
Nathan’s mouth twisted wryly as he unhooked two jackets from the hallway stand. “I could be insulted.”
“I can only hope. Then I’ll have some indication you don’t ignore every single thing I say.”
“Oh, I hear what you say, ‘every single thing’. I just don’t like certain parts of it.”
“Dented your massive ego, have I?”
“On the contrary. Nothing I like more than a challenge.” He slipped a jacket over her shoulders, held the edges together under her chin. “We have unfinished business, Chloe.” His fingers brushed lightly against her throat. “We both know it.”
“The only business we have is the cottage, and that will be finished as soon as contracts are signed.” He deepened the pressure beneath her chin, forcing her head back. Heat fired deep in her pelvis, making it difficult to think about anything except how his mouth would feel on hers. “I’ll…err, I’ll have your clothes washed and posted back to you. Any communication from now on can go through our solicitors. They can tie up any loose ends.”
He looked down at her, and a devilish look came into his eyes. He gave her chin another subtle lift until their mouths were on a collision course. “There’s something you should know about me,” he whispered, dangerously close, so that his breath brushed over her ultra-sensitive lips. “I prefer to tie my own loose ends.”
