His Convenient Affair

by Tricia Jones

  He stopped by reception, on his way to his office, to get his messages, wondering why the hell his PA had chosen this week to fly off to Greece for her sister’s wedding. That was just like a woman. Give her fifty-two weeks a year to plan her life and she’d choose the most inconvenient one to saunter off.

  Which was unfair. He knew it. Francine had been with him for four years and had never once given him cause to complain.

  It was the Greenwood woman’s fault. She’d put him in this stinking mood. What was her problem, anyway? He was attracted to her and she was attracted to him, she’d admitted that. So what was the bloody problem?

  In his office, he threw the portfolio of property details on his desk and shucked out of his jacket. He had no time for high maintenance women, especially ones with a chip on their shoulder. In the space of a couple of hours, she’d accused him of swindling old women and having affairs left, right and centre. She could go drown herself. Take some of that precious time she said she didn’t have, take a boat out, and go drown herself.

  Which was another thing—she didn’t have time and he did? What did she think he did all day? Run around seducing women, then take a long leisurely sail?

  Moving toward the window, he pushed his fingers through his hair. Enough, he decided. Enough of Ms. Chloe Greenwood. He had more pressing concerns to deal with.

  He turned toward his desk, but the sea called him back with its siren’s lure. He ached to be out there, feeling the salty lick of air stroking his flesh, the seductive toss and sway of the boat, the ache in his muscles as he pitched his strength against the elements.

  He took a deep breath and rolled his neck, feeling calmer. Instinctively, he ran his tongue over his lower lip—and tasted her. Sweet and deadly.

  At Claybury Manor, when he’d moved in to kiss her, he’d seen real panic in her eyes. Which was probably why he’d jumped her in the car. He’d never once had a woman scared of him. He didn’t care for it now.

  Despite her protestations, she’d responded well enough. She’d leaned in, murmured that erotic little sound, the one that made his libido bounce higher than just about any other sound he’d heard from a woman.

  She was dogmatic and antagonistic, yet for a few heady moments she’d fallen apart in his arms. For those few short moments, he’d lost the ability to think, to reason. All he’d wanted was the feel of her, the scent of her, the taste of her.

  On some deep level, she intrigued him, tugged at some primal instinct that made him want to take care of her. He liked to make her laugh, he liked to confuse her, fluster her. Beneath the bravado, he glimpsed uncertainty and it reeled him in like a fish to bait.

  Strength and vulnerability. It was a tantalizing mixture in a woman. It was a dangerous fascination for a man.

  Chapter Four

  Sometimes it was useful having a solicitor for a friend, Chloe decided as she cleared debris from the flat above her new premises. Although the compulsory completion date was another three weeks away, Pam had arranged for Chloe to start refurbishing.

  Comfortable in old faded jeans and an even older frayed and baggy cable-knit sweater, she hauled battered boxes and clutter from what would be her new living room.

  The tiny parameters of the flat meant that much of her old furniture would be put into storage. She couldn’t face selling or giving the pieces away, as everything held so many memories. Maybe someday she might even buy the cottage back from Poseidon.

  She found herself thinking about Nathan again. He hadn’t come near her since he’d kissed her, not even a phone call, but Pam had told her he was pushing through the paperwork on the cottage with something bordering brute force.

  Dropping the pile of rubbish she had gathered, Chloe sank against the wall and pushed slender fingers through her hair. Why had she sold the cottage? Why hadn’t she just held out for a while? If she’d waited until the contract to sell the marina apartments had come through, she might have been able to secure a temporary loan to refurbish the new property.

  The rational part of her brain took over again. She couldn’t keep the cottage. Period. Acquiring the additional premises had secured her future, and now she needed to focus on the refurbishment work so she would be ready to sign the sole agency contract when it came through.

  After her sensible self had given her emotional one a good talking to, Chloe got back to work. It’s all about attitude, she told herself as she filled black garbage bags. You either brushed yourself off and got on with things, or allowed circumstances to make you miserable. Besides, she was incredibly lucky. Thanks to her grandparents she at least had a property to sell, and expanding her company at a prime time in Cleeve Bay’s economic history meant she would never have to rely on anyone else for her happiness. She was in control of her future, and nothing and nobody could ever pull the rug from under her again.

  Chloe stood, debating whether to remove an old bookcase from a chimney breast alcove. The space was big enough to take her grandmother’s lovely antique pine dresser, and with a fresh coat of paint the room wouldn’t be half bad. She really should start counting her blessings and stop this nostalgic musing.

  It was natural enough, she supposed. Moving house was one of the most stressful things a person could do. Hadn’t she told any number of clients that very thing over the years? But knowing that in theory didn’t change the reality, and at least having experienced the awful melancholy of moving from a loved home, she could now empathise with others forced to do just that.

  Physically and metaphorically, Chloe brushed herself off. She took a deep breath and started to heft the bookcase from where it was jammed between the alcove. It was heavier than it looked, awkward and bulky. When it didn’t budge, she stood back and gave the piece another survey. Perhaps if she wiggled it a bit to loosen the sides away from the wall.

  That didn’t work either, and frustration vied with the gloom settling over her, seemingly as unshakeable as the bookcase. She held her breath, gave the unit an almighty yank, then exhaled on a yelp of horror as the bookcase shuddered forward.

  She froze, bracing herself for the impact. Then an arm shot past her, its muscled strength securing the unit back against the wall.

  “For God’s sake, what do you think you’re doing?” With the piece safely secured, Nathan turned on her. “That thing could have put you in the hospital.”

  Shaken, and not altogether sure if it had everything to do with the toppling bookcase, Chloe stepped back and pushed unsteady fingers through her hair. “I…I didn’t think it would be that heavy, and I wanted…”

  She stared at him, her throat thick and her eyes burning. For heaven’s sake, she warned herself, don’t lose it in front of him. If you’re going to feel sorry for yourself, at least wait until you get home to have a good cry. Home…

  “You look as pale as death.” Nathan took hold of her arm and steered her to the window seat. He glanced around the mostly empty room. “Does this place come with brandy?”

  Chloe dropped onto the wooden seat. “I’m all right, really.” Her legs had stopped trembling, but the concern in his eyes and the way he was looking at her started them up again. “How did you get in here?”

  He frowned, deepening that scar. She had the incongruous urge to run her finger along it, to have him tell her everything would be all right. How stupid was that? “The downstairs door was unlocked, anyone could have come in. But that’s another conversation for another time. Right now you need a drink.”

  He strode out of the room, leaving Chloe decidedly shaken. Nothing to do with potential injury, she realised. No. It was him, and it was ridiculous.

  He was gorgeous—so what? She’d had gorgeous men coming on to her before, had actually enjoyed dating a couple for a while, until she started to care.

  But Nathan Fitzgerald, with his big hands and killer smile… He just wouldn’t go away. He was an entirely different animal from any of the men she had dated, making her instincts jump and spin until she had no idea what she thought about
him.

  That wasn’t exactly true, she did know. He was arrogant, demanding, egotistical and dangerous. He categorically refused to take no for an answer. How dangerous was that, especially when she had spent the best part of the last week trying to get the stupid man out of her head?

  “Maybe we could enjoy each other for a while,” he’d said. Maybe they could. A pleasant interlude for him, a casual affair for her. He’d already wormed his way into her head, demanding attention at the most inappropriate moments. Why not just let go and see what happened?

  If he’d been anyone else, maybe she could have let go. But every instinct she possessed told her he was different. He could break her heart.

  Strengthening her resolve to get rid of him as soon as possible, Chloe joined him in the tiny box kitchen with its battered, yellowing units and ancient cooker. She had promised herself this would be her first priority, and that a bit of paint and heavy duty cleaner would go a long way to making the space less jarring on the nerves.

  “Feeling better?” Nathan handed her tea in one of the mugs she’d brought from the cottage.

  Not especially, she thought. Certainly not with you standing big and magnificent in my dingy little kitchen, drop dead gorgeous in your black jeans and leather jacket. Her pulse raced. Get him out. Get him out, quick. “Much better, thank you.” She forced a smile, losing it when he picked up another mug and took a swig. Okay. He could have his tea and then go.

  “You’ll have your work cut out for you.” He leaned back against one of the dilapidated units. “Who are you using to renovate the flat?”

  She wasn’t using anyone, because her funds wouldn’t stretch to it. Her budget just about covered work on the shop downstairs.

  “I thought I’d do most of the work on the flat myself. I’m in no hurry, so I’ll concentrate on the shop first.”

  He narrowed those charcoal eyes in a way that signalled he didn’t quite believe her. “You’ll need some place to live, a place to relax at the end of the day.”

  “I know, and I’ll make it comfortable enough. Some of us don’t need every luxury money can buy.”

  That gorgeous mouth curved upwards. “Quite why everything you say seems like a barbed accusation, I haven’t figured out yet.” He settled back against the unit, folded his arms, and cupped the mug in the crook of his elbow.

  Decidedly uncomfortable with his big body relaxed and seemingly settled in for the duration, Chloe took a step toward the threshold.

  Nathan gave her a long, steady look. “I also haven’t figured out why you always need to be poised for an easy escape. What about me makes you nervous?”

  “There’s nothing about you that makes me anything. I just find it strange that you persist in annoying me when I’ve made my feelings perfectly clear.”

  “Maybe I enjoy ruffling that poise of yours.” He put his mug down on the worktop, then moved toward her. “Maybe I see a fiercely independent woman who would rather almost kill herself than ask for help. Where do you want the bookcase?”

  “What?”

  He moved closer, looked down. “The bookcase, the one you were about to wrestle.” Already jammed against the doorframe, there was nowhere to go, and she braced as he moved in. “I’ve nothing planned this afternoon, how about I give you a hand clearing this place?”

  “That’s very kind of you, but—”

  “Let’s try this. You say, ‘Thank you, Nathan. I’d like the bookcase moved to…’” He smiled, the amusement reaching his eyes and making them sparkle with devilish charm.

  Chloe fought a battle she already knew was lost, and why cut off her nose to spite her face? She could get the clearing done in half the time with another pair of hands. If only those hands weren’t huge and capable, solid and masculine…

  Fighting back the voice of warning, Chloe gave him a shaky smile. “Thank you, Nathan,” she said, mimicking him. “I’d like the bookcase moved from the alcove so I can bash it up and throw it out.”

  “There. That wasn’t so hard.” He shrugged out of his black leather jacket and tossed it on the worktop. “Got a hammer?”

  He was all lean, hard muscle, Chloe realised, disconcerted by the play of those muscles as he made light work of removing and demolishing the unit. Of course, she didn’t have to watch him do it, she berated herself as he swung the hammer with infinite ease. She had plenty of other chores to be getting on with. But the light sheen of sweat coating those masculine arms, the tempting strands of hair falling onto his forehead, not to mention the rather delicious butt, well, a girl was only human… And what did it hurt to look?

  He stopped, straightened, and ran the back of his hand along his forehead. His eyes met hers before she could even pretend to be shovelling rubbish into a garbage bag. “Something wrong?” The flicker of humour, combined with the physical effects of exertion, made him seem even more dangerous than usual.

  “No.” She tipped her head to one side, suddenly mischievous. “Just thinking I might like to keep that bookcase after all.”

  He pushed a hand through his hair, looked down at the dismantled pieces of wood, then back at her with a lopsided grin. “How are you with a glue gun?”

  She laughed. “I’m better with a kettle and a toaster. Would you like a drink and something to eat?”

  Nathan clamped a hand to his chest. “Wait! Mark this up. Chloe Greenwood has offered me a drink and something to eat entirely of her own free will.” He sighed theatrically. “God’s in His Heaven.”

  Chloe screwed up her mouth as she headed for the door. “Very amusing, but excuse me if I don’t fall about. Tea or coffee?”

  “Coffee.” He placed the hammer on the bare floorboards. “What have we got to eat?”

  She was already in the kitchen and called, “Cheese on toast, okay?”

  He came up behind her while she filled the kettle. “I think we can do better than that. How about I go and get us a pizza.”

  Cheese on toast seemed perfectly innocent, but “pizza” promised something more. It had her antenna buzzing. “Pizza?”

  Leaning around her, Nathan turned on the hot tap. “I’d prefer a good restaurant with an even better wine list—” he ran those big hands under the steady spray of water, “—but I’m sure that would warrant the standard refusal.”

  Trying to edge away from the intoxicating smell of masculine labour and sandalwood, Chloe offered a not quite steady smile. “Pizza would be fine. Something with anchovies, please.”

  He took the hand towel she offered him, wiped slowly as he held her gaze captive. “Anchovies it is. Would it break the rules if I got us a bottle of wine?”

  “No.” She took back the towel and held it protectively against her chest as her heart thumped out a jungle beat. “Wine would be nice, and it’s my treat by way of thanks for your help this afternoon.”

  “You can buy next time.”

  Her smile was quick, brief, and—she hoped—casual. There was no point in stating the obvious, that there wasn’t going to be a next time, because he’d take no notice. Anyway, actions spoke louder than words. Next time she’d remember to lock the downstairs door.

  In the living room, Chloe searched her bag. She dropped the front door key into his outstretched palm, taking care not to touch flesh. If just the thought of that sent heat soaring through her, well…

  When she heard his car start up, she dropped onto the window seat and held trembling hands to her cheeks. Oh, boy. What was she doing? Pizza, for heaven’s sake, and wine. What happened to getting him out as quickly as possible?

  Tea and toast would have worked best, just a simple gesture of thanks for his help. She looked around the empty living room, which seemed bigger now that the rubbish had been removed. She had Nathan to thank for that, too. He’d hauled several huge bags down to the rear courtyard in readiness for collection. No way could she have achieved so much without his help. She was grateful for that. What worried her was how much she’d enjoyed being with him…and how much she was looking for
ward to pizza and wine.

  He came by twice the following week, rapping loudly on the locked door as Chloe fought a fruitless battle with herself. Each time he came with a takeout meal and a bottle of wine, helped strip off old wallpaper, sandpapered the paint surfaces ready for a fresh coat, and generally made himself indispensable. Chloe was surprised a man in his position seemed to enjoy manual labour, and on Thursday night—his second visit of the week—she mentioned it.

  “I like getting my hands dirty.” He grinned at her over his wine glass. They sat on bare floorboards in the living room, Chloe cross-legged and Nathan with his back against the wall and his legs stretched out. “I don’t get time to do manual stuff as much as I’d like. It’s what I miss most about being on the sea. The physicality of it.” The wistfulness in his expression came and went, and then a soft smile played across his mouth. “How about you tell me the real reason you don’t sail?”

  Chloe took a sip of wine, surprised she felt comfortable enough to do just that. “My parents were killed at sea. They were caught in a freak storm and they…” She rolled one shoulder, looked down into her wine. “I just don’t want to go out on the water anymore.”

  “Did you, before they were killed?”

  She thought about it for a moment. “Yes. I enjoyed the times I spent on the water with them. Dad knew things about tides and currents and stuff. He made it interesting.” She smiled now, remembering. “He used to tell me this story about a mermaid who lived under the rocks just off Sharp’s Point, and how she used to feed the seagulls. That when you saw the birds swooping down on the water it was because she’d put food out for them, like we did at home for the garden birds. I sort of knew it was just a story, but it never stopped me from asking him to take me out to those rocks any chance I got. I always thought there was something magical about them.”

  She caught Nathan’s thoughtful look. “I haven’t thought about that in years.” It was nice, somehow, thinking about it now. With Nathan across from her, propped against her wall, his compelling eyes full of understanding.