A BED OF BROKEN PROMISES
Clare Connelly
All the characters in this book are fictitious and have no existence outside the author’s imagination. They have no relation to anyone bearing the same or names and are pure invention.
All rights reserved. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reprinted by any means without permission of the Author.
First published 2014
(c) Clare Connelly
Photo Credit: istock photos by Getty Images /AleksandarNakic
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Website: http://clarewriteslove.wordpress.com/
Email: [email protected]
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CHAPTER ONE
“Would you relax, Andy? I’m not as messed up as everyone seems to think.”
“Bro, no one thinks you’re messed up. It’s just… what you went through was pretty rough. You have to give yourself time to get over it. Time to heal.”
Marcus’s grip on the steering wheel tightened imperceptibly. “Let’s not sugar coat it. What I went through was a nightmare. But I’m dealing with it in my own way. What do you want me to do? Go sit in a shrink’s office every day for the next year?”
“You lost your best friend, in the most harrowing of circumstances. ” Andy’s voice was soft, uncharacteristically gentle. “You and Bryan have been business partners since college. You were as close to him as you are to me. And the way you lost him ---.”
“No need to remind me. I was there.” His tone was heavy with warning.
“Marcus… what the hell is that bloody noise? I can hardly hear you.”
“Rain,” he responded grimly. “It’s sheeting down over here.”
“Where are you?” Andrew Harris wouldn’t usually dream of interrogating his brother, but this was different. He was different, now.
“England.” Marcus flicked the headlights on and peered out at the dimly lit road ahead. “It’s been a nightmare journey. The private jet was being serviced and my commercial flight got re-scheduled, twice. I had to sit next to a teenager who played iPad games at maximum volume the whole way. The idiot valet at my apartment lost the key to my Range Rover so I’m in some crappy little hybrid that has almost as much power as a three year old girl. Don’t laugh,” he snapped in response to his brother’s outburst. “It was the only car left at Gatwick on a Saturday afternoon.”
“What are you even doing in England?” Andrew asked, once he was able to speak again.
“Therapy.” Marcus answered with steely determination and, as his car crested over a steep hill and careened down the other side, his eyes landed on perhaps the most beautiful piece of property he’d ever seen. “Do you remember that golf course we played at for my bucks’ weekend?”
“Hell, yeah. That was some five star course. Why?”
“I’ve bought it.”
“You’ve what?” Andrew let out a low sigh. “Look, Marcus, don’t you think that’s a bit sudden?”
Marcus grinned. “Not at all, bro. The whole time I was in that hell hole, not knowing if I’d live or die, I was trying to remember the last time I’d been happy. Really happy. And it was here. Playing golf with you and the guys. Now Bryan’s gone, and I just want to hold onto the memory.”
Although Andrew didn’t say anything, Marcus had known him all his thirty four years, and he could hear the disapproval through his silence. “Look. I can afford it a thousand times over. Even if it is a waste of cash, what’s the harm? What’s the point in having bags of money if not to spend it?”
Andrew spoke slowly, as if to a child. “It’s in Cornwall, England. You live in Manhattan. What do you hope to achieve by buying a golf course a million miles away?”
“I spend several months of the year in the UK. Besides, I just need to do it. I told you. It’s about being happy.”
“You sound like you’ve gone hippy on me, Marcus. You care about profit and loss and investment potential. Not being happy. I’m worried about you.”
“But what is it that worries you? Even before the divorce, and that whole mess in Baghdad, I was always pretty nomadic. I would have thought you’d be glad to see me getting back to normal.” His words were hollow. He was nowhere near normal. Bryan had been his best friend and business partner for as long as he’d been an adult, and re-discovering his compass was a daunting task.
“You’re my little brother, but you’ve always been the strong one. The fearless one. I just want you to be okay.”
“I will be. Getting this deal stitched up is important to me right now. I don’t know why, it’s just a hunch, but I know it’s an important part of the process of getting my head back in the game.”
Andrew’s laugh was without humor. “You sound like Bryan. Next thing you’ll be telling me this is ‘fate’.”
Marcus smiled into the empty car. Bryan was always the ‘hunch man’, playing out the feeling in his gut. And his gut was always right. Except for that one last time. “Nah. You know I don’t believe in that kind of thing. Fate just takes credit away from hard work.” He narrowed his eyes as he turned the car at a fork in the road. “Anyway, it’s all pretty straight forward. There’s one sticking point but I’m confident I can get it sorted and be on the red-eye tomorrow. You can tell mum and dad I’ll be over for dinner as planned.”
“What’s the sticking point?”
Marcus’s lips tightened impatiently. “There’s a house that borders the golf course. It’s on a small piece of land, but it stands directly between the southern boundary and the ocean. I want it.”
Andrew’s voice was hesitant. “Why?”
“The golf course deserves to be ocean front. This place is some crappy bed and breakfast.” He flicked a glance in his rear vision mirror, noticing he was being tailgated for about the tenth time since leaving London. It would never have happened in his own car, but this tiny little sardine tin wasn’t capable of getting anywhere near the speed limit. “I’ve made the lady a more than generous offer but she won’t even negotiate. She just keeps coming back with one word. No.”
“So what? You’re going to turn up and charm her into signing on the dotted line?” Marcus Harris had been a renowned bachelor before his ill-conceived marriage, and after returning from Iraq, he’d seemed determined to make up for lost time. As if he could sleep himself out of a case of probable post-traumatic stress disorder.
“If that’s what it takes,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Look, Andrew. I want that piece of land. And you know I always, always, get what I set my mind on.”
* * *
“Oh, heck,” Katie said with a yelp. The knock at the door had startled her and she’d dropped Maxie’s bowl in the middle of the kitchen floor. She dashed a hand against her brow as the vibrant red tomato pasta sauce stained into the grout of the floor tiles. “Damn and blast!” She cursed again, this time with more feeling. Then, angling her head towards the front door of her home, and raising her voice to almost a shout, “Hang on a second!”
She looked up at the clock on the wall, biting down on her lip as she wondered who would be calling at this time of night. Then, she remembered. The biology teacher that was booked in two days ago. He’d never shown up, but he had said in an email that he might be a few days late. This was bound to be him. What was his name? She wracked her mind for the details of the booking, simultaneously trying to think exactly how she could get red sauce out of the bright white floor, and, at the same time, wondering what she’d feed her son for dinner now that his was sprawled all across the kitchen.
The door wrenched open with a small squeak – the wood always swelled in the wet and it had been raining for days. “Good ev
ening, Mr.…,” she closed her eyes and there it was, the name in black and white. “Mr. Trent?” She wiped her hands on the bottom of the black and white butchers’ apron she wore, removing most of the tomato sauce from her fingertips before extending her hand to the man in front of her.
He didn’t look like any school teacher she’d ever seen. He was big. Tall, and muscled, with a deep tan and eyes the color of chocolate. “Oh.” She said as her pale blue eyes clashed with his and she felt her stomach do an unusual flip flop, which she chose to interpret as hunger. His fingers – long and with a firm grip – wrapped around hers, and she felt instantly small compared to this very virile specimen. “You’re dripping wet,” she mumbled, her brain only just catching up to her eyes. “Come in, don’t just stand there, you’ll get pneumonia if you don’t get out of those clothes at once.” Her cheeks flamed at her words which could have seemed laced with invitation.
“I’ve got your paperwork inside. You’re a few days late, but I’ve had your bed made up since Tuesday, so you’re fine to head straight up.” She said, stepping into the cozy lounge room of Wadeford House, and looking around, seeing it through his eyes.
It was much as it had been left to her. Over the years she’d tried to update the look by buying new sofa cushions and lamps, but her budget for redecorating was painfully thin, so most of the improvements had been her own hard work. The walls she’d re-papered in a Laura Ashley print she’d been able to get on sale whilst visiting her mum in London one time; the curtains she’d somehow managed to sew herself using a friend’s machine and a selection of YouTube clips; and the floor which she’d stained herself, so that the timber boards glowed with a lustrous sheen. They had the added advantage of being very forgiving of a child’s slops and spills, and Maxie was rather prone to mess.
Which reminded her of the colossal disaster in the kitchen. “Oh!” She threw him an apologetic glance. “I’m just in the middle of something in the kitchen. Here.” She thrust a piece of A4 paper into his hand and a blue ballpoint pen. “This is your paperwork. For you to complete. Can you fix yourself a drink while I sort out the kitchen and then I’ll show you upstairs? Or you’re welcome to head up yourself if you’d like to get out of those clothes.” Again, her cheeks blushed. She knew she was babbling, but the direct stare of this incredibly handsome man had tied her in knots. “You’re just up the stairs and two doors along, on the left.” She bit down on her lip, furrowing her brow. “You did say you were planning to stay for two weeks, so I upgraded you to the biggest suite. I thought you would be more comfortable there. Do you still think you will?” And at his look of blank confusion, “Do you still think you’ll stay for the full two weeks? Or do you have to get back to school?”
“School?” His lips quirked up at the corners into the smallest smile and Katie felt her heart kerthud against her rib cage. She realized it was the first word she had spoken, and his voice was deep and dangerous, smooth and rounded with an American accent.
“I think you said you were a biology teacher?”
There was a long pause that seemed to stretch and crackle forever, and Katie’s breath was strangely shallow in her chest. Then, when she thought her nerves might snap from the strange sense of awareness bubbling between them, there came a high pitched squeal from the kitchen. Katie froze, then leapt into action, remembering the kettle she’d left on the back burner. “Sorry,” she said with a wave of her hand, relieved for the excuse to get away for a moment. “I’ll be with you in a second.” She pushed through the cream doors and into the kitchen. Only, Katie was so distracted by his hauntingly beautiful eyes that she placed her foot right in the middle of the pasta sauce and promptly collapsed straight onto her bottom, letting out an indignant shriek as she hit the floor.
“Oh, no!” She wailed, splayed on the tiles in the middle of Maxie’s dinner, pasta sauce slowly soaking through her jeans, making her legs wet and her heart sink. The only thing that could make this worse, she thought with a small laugh, would be…
“Are you okay?”
Oh, yes. That’s just perfect, she winced. Someone, somewhere, was having a good laugh at her expense.
“Do I look okay?” She said through gritted teeth, not meeting his eyes. She puffed out a long breath, pushing her dark brown hair away from her face.
His smile was her undoing. It completely transformed his face. His eyes crinkled at the corners and she found herself just staring up at him, like some mute fool. “I…” she ignored his outstretched hand. “I’ll get marinara sauce all over you.”
He shrugged. “I already need a shower.”
She tilted her head in assent but pushed up from the floor without his assistance, carefully tiptoeing over to the kitchen bench, hating the feel of her wet bottom and thighs.
Marcus had to concentrate to avoid staring at her figure. Dressed in a threadbare pair of dark denim jeans and a jumper that looked to lovingly caress every curve of her torso, he was finding her undeniably sexy, even with the addition of passata all the way down her backside. She turned her ice-blue eyes on him and fixed him with a stare that was part embarrassment, part impatient annoyance.
“Mr. Trent, I insist, head upstairs and let me sort this out.”
He’d been intending to correct her error. She’d assumed he was a guest, and it was the most natural thing for her to think.
Except, he wasn’t.
He was the man whose company had been trying to buy this old house from her for the past month. The man whose company she’d refused to bargain with, each and every time. The man whose company she’d politely told to get stuffed. Marcus Harris was nothing if not scrupulous, and he loathed the idea of lying to this beautiful, harried woman. Which is why he was completely floored to hear himself say, smoothly, “Please, call me David.”
He’d had the chance to scan his eyes over the full registration details of the would-be guest, Mr. David Trent of London, when she’d handed him the paperwork only minutes earlier. The lie sprang easily to his lips, but instead of feeling remorse for his uncharacteristic dishonesty, he felt only relief.
For some strange reason he couldn’t fathom, he didn’t want this woman to switch off her charming, frazzled welcome just yet. And she most certainly would when she realized he’d come to present his apparently unpalatable offer in person.
“David,” she smiled. “Nice to meet you. I’m Katie Collins.”
“Well, Katie Collins, why don’t you hand me some paper towels and I’ll help get this under control.”
“Oh, no.” She blushed again, and he marveled at how rare it was to find such a beautiful woman so quick to embarrass. “I couldn’t possibly.”
“Come on. It’s no problem. I’m here, why not let me help?”
“No!” She shook her head and then, to underscore how serious she was in her refusal, brought a hand up and pressed it lightly against his upper arm. It was the quickest of touches, just a light tap, but she felt a spark of electricity flow through her body. “You’re soaked. You really should go and change into something dry.” Katie operated a small bed and breakfast, and she normally sent her guests into the local pub for tea. It was just a mile down the road, and their kitchen made a point of staying open if she had guests coming in. And yet, one look at this man and she seemed to forget her standard operation procedure. “I’m just making a simple pasta for dinner,” she cast a rueful glance at the disaster on the floor. “Another one, that is. You’re welcome to join us.”
His grateful smile made her heart race. “If you’re sure it’s no trouble, I’d like that. Thanks.”
When he returned to the kitchen, a short time later, dressed in the only spare set of clothes he had available owing to his lost luggage, he saw that it hardly resembled the disaster zone it had been earlier. The floor was clean, with a lingering smell of bleach and lemon juice, and a fresh pot was bubbling away on the stove. He leaned closer for a better look and appreciatively inhaled the aroma of tomatoes, garlic and basil.
His h
ost was nowhere to be seen so he gazed around the small kitchen with renewed interest. She had asked if he would like join ‘them’. Us. Was she married? It was more than likely, though there was no wedding picture on the fridge. Nor was there any sign of a man in the house. No wallet on the kitchen bench, no shoes by the back door. Still, that didn’t mean she wasn’t in a relationship... He guessed she would have been in her mid-twenties, and she was obviously attractive. The kind of woman men couldn’t help but notice. Out of nowhere, an image of the old Disney movie Snow White came to him. He’d seen it as a child, so it was strange to be reminded so strongly now of that film. But she was very like the cartoon princess, with her pale English skin, and darker than dark hair. Her lips were bow shaped with a rich cherry color. And then there were her cheeks, which had flushed prettily whenever she felt the slightest discomfort.
“Oh!” A small noise from behind caught his attention and he spun on his heel. She’d changed into a simple black dress that clung to her curves and fell to just above the knees. The dress showed off her figure stunningly, but he guessed that had not been her aim. Though he’d only known her for a very short time, he knew instinctively that she wasn’t keen on attention. If anything, she seemed a little uncomfortable around him.
“Dinner smells good,” he said honestly.
“Thank you.” She flashed him a tight smile before crossing to the stove and slipping her apron back on over her head. Why, when he could tell that he made her uncomfortable, did he still follow behind her and take the waist straps of the apron, so that he could loop the ribbons into a bow around her middle for her? He fumbled with the knot a little and as his hands brushed against the small of her back, he felt her startle.
Damn it. Hadn’t he just decided she was probably taken? The way he was going, he deserved to get a thorough ass-kicking from her husband. “Sorry,” he said quietly. He was so close he could smell something sweet that she wore. Not perfume, more like her shampoo or body wash. It was like strawberries and coconut, a delicious hint of summer on a wintry night like this.
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