by Jane Linfoot
‘What are you playing at?’
Was that what she was saying?
He couldn’t be sure. He tried to disentangle himself, but felt her lean into him. What the hell? She was pointing to her feet now, twisting, gesticulating, shouting words he still failed to grasp.
He looked down.
Lots of mud, all over her shoes. And those surely had to be eff-me shoes, if ever he’d seen them. And right this moment, his blood was all heading one place, making damn sure he was ready to oblige. Yes Siree!
He needed to get a grip here. A grip of the situation, rather than the woman would be useful. It took a moment to disengage his brain from his libido, then it hit him.
‘You’re stuck?’
She grimaced at him, stuck fast and unable to move with both hooker-high heels firmly impaled in his lawn.
Through the huge lenses of her glasses, her panicky eyes were smoky purple. And she smelled of summer. That was it. Summer.
Summer and sex.
‘Hang on to me!’
He dipped down, shivered as her hands closed around his head to steady herself, then he prised one foot at a time out of her shoes.
And not just any sex, hot sex.
His libido thrust into overdrive, and once more he made a valiant attempt to disengage it, as he wrenched her shoes out of the ground, stood up fast, and rammed them into her hand.
‘I’m just leaving … ’ He was yelling, but she shrugged back at him.
Jeez, he’d come here to get in the chopper, get the hell out of here, or better still, to wave the woman back to wherever she’d flown in from. So why wasn’t he pressing ahead and doing just that? He blinked away the miniscule twitch in his left eye. That tiny giveaway. His unfailing, gut-fuelled instinct kicked in.
‘Looks like this is the only way … ’
As he bent his knees, braced himself, and grasped hold of his air hostess, he saw her eyes go bright with surprise.
When the hell had she become his air hostess?
Up close now, he clocked the strawberry curve of her lips as they parted in astonished protest, and knew he was on the right track. He swung her easily into his arms, and turned, and strode towards the house, with his jaw set. Whatever was happening to him, he was determined to shake it off fast.
* * *
Feet dangling.
Cheek rammed unceremoniously against the rocky shoulder of a man who smelled delectable, and seemed in no hurry to put her down.
Not quite how Shea had planned her entrance to Edgerton Manor.
Her heart was still pounding from the shock of being literally swept off her feet, but at least that had solved the immediate problem of how to cross the sea of mud and reach the house without damaging her shoes further.
‘You can put me down now, thanks.’
For a fleeting moment she was dizzied by the whole male proximity thing. She’d almost forgotten how it felt. Come to think of it, she’d never been man-handled like this. There was something appalling about the raw thrill vibrating through her. She didn’t have herself down as a sucker for caveman tactics.
‘I said you can put me down!’
She forced her eyes beyond the line of the sensuously stubbled jaw inches above her face, and caught a view of a ceiling as high as the sky, and the twinkliest chandelier she’d ever seen. When she looked back again, he was motionless, staring down at her, and her gaze locked onto slate-hard grey eyes and a quizzical smirk that made her stomach flip.
‘If you insist on putting your head in the wolf’s mouth, you can expect to get bitten!’ His growl was rough as bitter chocolate. ‘Your choice. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!’
Before she had time to work out what he meant by that, the world swung, and he lowered her legs, setting her down gently. Then backed away.
So much for keeping a professional distance.
Shea wriggled, took a minute to wrestle her crumpled jacket into approximately the right places, smooth her box-pleats into order. Muddy feet, or muddy shoes? She went with the stilettos, and gained the immediate five inch boost she needed.
‘That’s more like it!’
She flicked a tentative smile at the guy who had retreated a pace or two, but was still watching her with chilling determination, a large dose of disdain and an even larger dose of mental undressing. And the way his eyes locked onto her boobs brought her nipples out to graze the inside of her bra cups. She gave a shudder, as she looked back at him. Her eyes took in a broken-down t-shirt which she already knew covered the hardest of bodies, jeans ripped through in places, and low-slung, pretty much to the point of indecency. She pulled herself up sharply for letting her gaze linger a second too long on the most indecent bit, chided herself for the shiver rush that zinged down her spine when she took in the size of things in that area, becoming more defined by the moment. She shuddered again when she remembered she might be slightly responsible for that.
Crikey! Shea didn’t know where this lusty inner woman had appeared from, but she needed to be slapped back into line, and fast.
‘And what an amazing chandelier!’
She flipped a random space-filler comment, and a sparkly smile in his direction, hoping to nudge a response, as she assessed him. Way too good looking for his own good, and everyone else’s, not that his threadbare appearance fooled her. Not only was there the flagrant mental undressing thing going on, but there was a super-arrogance to his swagger, the kind of major, understated confidence, that was only ever claimed by hugely successful men. Whatever promises had been made to her about his absence, the vagabond who studied her now, with that mix of veiled animosity and contempt, not to mention the double dose of white heat, had to be Brando Marshall.
So. Now she had the measure of him – to be handled with extreme care, keeping boobs and bottom out of his sightline if at all possible – she could afford to introduce herself. Let’s face it, someone had to make the first move here, and it didn’t look as if it was going to be him.
‘Hi, I’m Shea. Shea Summers.’
She checked the brightness of her smile, extended a slim hand towards him, giving it a little rub in passing to make sure she’d got the mud off.
He tilted his head slightly, slid those dark-lashed, lingering eyes off her chest, and up to her face. And dammit for the way that made her stomach lurch. But otherwise he didn’t move.
A strange confidence, founded on familiarity, was seeping through her, filling her with warmth and strength.
Wealthy, and reluctant?
Brilliant. Something she encountered on a daily basis, apart from the flagrant sexuality obviously, which frankly she couldn’t remember meeting anything like, ever. Dealing with that disarming and alarming trait was something she’s have to think about hard. Later. A lot later. But she’d cut her teeth on stroppy Manchester footballers, regularly won over billionaires who had more attitude than sense, loved nothing more than the challenge of a recalcitrant businessman. Here was someone she could handle without a problem. In theory. So long as she got his out of control libido into line. She noted the sullen curl of his far too sensuous lip, and couldn’t help smiling more. Stamping on the tiny part of her brain that asked what it would feel like to be snogged by a guy with a mouth like that, she wondered where the hell her professionalism had gone. Probably left beside the helicopter, along with her self-respect, when she got dragged off by a caveman.
‘I’m Shea,’ she carried on, infusing her voice with a cheery ring of confidence, ‘that’s S-H-E-A, as in day. And I’m here to help!’
She could hardly keep the laughter out of her voice now, as she noted his left eyebrow arch in surprise above his deepening scowl. She readjusted her expression to hide her delight. Boy, was she going to have fun here. She gave her mouth-obsessed brain another sharp kick. It was all too much to keep in line here; this guy, his illegal body, not to mention her own totally out of character reactions.
He leaned nonchalantly on the elegantly turned newel post at the bottom of
the expansive staircase now, rubbing a thumb absently across his chin. Quite why that made her think of stubble rubbing across the tender skin of her inner thigh was beyond her. At least he couldn’t see her thought bubbles, although from the way he was scrutinising her, she couldn’t be one hundred percent sure of that. When he made no move to greet her, she forced herself to push on, airily.
‘You’re Brando, I presume? I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other in the next few days.’
She waited, watching to see his reaction, and saw a wicked grin spread across his face, obliterating all traces of bad temper, simultaneously doubling up on the lust. ‘Whatever you say, Miss S-H-E-A-rhymes-with-day! I’ll look forward to that, very much, especially bearing in mind that some of us have seen quite a lot already, by way of a preview!’
His left eyebrow shot up, and he gave her a meaningful nod, and another blast of undiluted lust. Men who were this hot shouldn’t be allowed out in public. She was usually impervious, but this was something else.
Shea felt the flush burn across her cheeks as she mentally rewound, flashed back to see her skirt flapping around her elbows. Damn. She’d walked into that one.
She whipped her brain into gear, searching desperately for a snappy reply, but before she’d found one, he’d sprung forward, and seized her hand, his strong, broad fingers wrapping around her own for a second.
‘No worries!’ His hand landed on her arm for a fleeting, searing moment. ‘What’s a stocking top between friends, after all?’ His grin had spread, and he was laughing now, showing beautiful, not-quite-perfect teeth, but along with the laughter there was something else brooding in those dark, sooty eyes.
Shea reeled, as she took in the smoulder. Pure unadulterated desire, if ever she’d seen it, oozing, from each and every delectably rugged pore. Then she reeled again, as an electric aftershock zigzagged up her arm where he’d touched her hand.
‘So, I’m here to … ’ Before she could claw herself out of the cavernous hole she was in, he interjected.
‘We all know why you’re here.’ He sounded almost belligerent now. ‘I wasn’t sure you were going to be needed, but given what I’ve seen thus far, I’ll make an exception. That’s if you’re up for a couple of days of play before you leave?’
The way he growled the word play sent a shower of anticipation down her spine. Anticipation? She wasn’t an anticipator, dammit, because she didn’t participate. Full stop. In fact the merest thought of participating sent an undertow of guilt to tug at her stomach. So what the heck was going on? Something in the way he narrowed his eyes as he waited for her reaction, told her he was pushing her. She blocked out the messages in her brain that were urging her, or rather commanding her, to hurl her body straight into his arms. Instead she watched him carefully, sizing up the opponent, knowing he’d already twisted this into some sort of game. One she wasn’t completely sure she was winning right now.
‘So, let’s get this straight. I’m here to tidy – tidy and organise. That’s all. And from what I hear there’s a lot to go at. As I understand it, that’s what I’ve been engaged to do … ’ She noted the tiniest flinch of his cheek as he heard the word ‘engaged.’
Perhaps it was that flinch, that miniscule indication of weakness that made her do what she did next. That, combined with her instinct for reading difficult men, and her ability to bring them, whimpering, to heel, in record time. Mr Intense Hunk here was so far outside her experience she didn’t feel confident to lump him in that manageable category, but whatever, there was no other explanation for what happened next. She heard her voice, loud, confident, and resonant, echoing around the hallway before she even knew she was going to speak.
‘And of course, I’m also here to try out to be your wife!’
Where that lie had come from, she had no idea.
Wham!
She watched in triumph as his face jack-knifed as he heard the word ‘wife.’
And she’d got him! That was the body blow. Manageable after all, perhaps. Phew! She’d located his Achilles heel in record time, though it hadn’t been difficult, given it was one shared by most of the other thirty-something males she’d come across in his socio-economic bracket.
So, the man was entirely allergic to the idea of a wife, was he?
This suited her perfectly, given that the last thing she was looking for was a husband. She relished the power this scrap of insight gave her. It was useful ammunition, should she need to defend herself. But best of all, goading him gently was going to be very enjoyable.
Bring on the fun!
She rubbed her cheek, adjusted her glasses, and tried to hide her smile, as she waited for his reaction.
‘Mrs McCaul! Come and meet Shea.’
Shea jumped at his unexpectedly hearty shout. Beyond him a straight woman with a softening smile was coming towards her, pulling a briefcase on wheels.
‘Mrs McCaul is our housekeeper here at Edgerton.’ The curl of his lip suggested that he would have happily added ‘and resident pain in the behind,’ as he extended his arm in a half-hearted presentation.
‘Shea rhymes-with-roll-in-the-hay Summers, meet Mrs McCaul. Shea, by the way, is hell-bent on finding herself a husband, and has apparently set her heart on a spot of gold-digging here at Edgerton.’ He flashed a mocking look at Shea, who inwardly shrank at this blistering introduction, but held her head high.
Mrs McCaul whisked past Brando, shaking her head, and handed Shea the case with a solid smile.
‘Don’t listen to him, Shea, we know what you’re here for, and everything’s ready for you in the annex, as Bryony asked. So if you’d like to follow me … ’
Mrs McCaul’s lilting Scottish tones lapped over Shea, as she rifled through her handbag, shed her stilettos, pulled out a pair of brown suede pumps, and slipped them on.
‘Not so fast!’ Brando’s voice was biting now. ‘Shea will be staying in the Snowfield Wing with me. No arguments.’
‘But … ’ The women’s protests chimed together, but Brando chopped them short.
‘Didn’t you hear, I said ‘No arguments!’ If you want to stay at all, Shea, this is how it’s going to be. It’s non-negotiable. There’s plenty of space up there.’ He shot her a smirking that’ll teach you look. ‘No point coming to hook a husband, then hiding away from him, is there?’
Shea blanked the shiver his look sent down her back, and opened her mouth to reply – not that she had decided what to say – but found there was no chance of chipping into the battle hotting up before her.
‘Very well, Brando. Luckily for us, you’re not here often, with manners like that!’ Mrs McCaul jutted her chin at him. ‘You should take lessons from your sister. Bryony may be younger, but she’s the perfect lady!’
Wow! Shea clocked Brando’s silent grimace. One big revelation there! Bryony was more than just the TV girl. That explained a lot.
Mrs McCaul dismissed Brando with a snort, though as she turned, Shea caught a long-suffering twinkle of affection in her eyes. ‘Don’t worry Shea, he won’t be bothering you for long. He rarely graces us with his presence for more than one night at a time, so he’s already well overdue to leave.’
‘Thanks for sharing that, Mrs McCaul.’ His tone was caustic. ‘I’ll show Shea up to her room myself now. By the way, we’ll be having supper in the west wing dining room later, if that’s okay with you. I take it you’ll have time to remove the dust sheets.’
Mrs McCaul looked perturbed. ‘Perhaps not the best choice Brando. You’d be much more comfortable eating in the kitchen, as you usually do. That dining room is very … ’
He cut in abruptly. ‘Very whatever! It’s my choice, and that’s where we’ll be eating, thank you!’
Shea heard the polished oak boards creak gently as Brando turned and sauntered casually towards the staircase.
Wow! Rear of the year, or what? She let out a silent gasp of appreciation. Not that she was in the least bit interested, but a view like that could hardly go un-appla
uded.
‘Shoes, Brando!’
Mrs McCaul’s curt instruction flew after them, and Shea stood open mouthed and watched as Brando kicked off first one then the other sneaker, flipped them, and nonchalantly caught them as he walked.
‘Are you coming or am I going to have to wait all day?’ He was calling to her impatiently over his shoulder now, already halfway up the stairs, mounting them three at a time.
Shea wavered, chewing her thumbnail and not entirely sure what she was doing. She’d come in feet first, feeling thoroughly shaken, and even more thoroughly stirred. And she didn’t do stirred. Never. Brando was the rudest guy she’d met, and he wasn’t even supposed to be here. And now she was following this commitment-phobe up to his ‘wing,’ when he obviously saw her as some money-grubbing opportunist, who he was determined to wipe the floor with.
And just five minutes ago she’d thought this was a walkover.
‘If you don’t come now I can guarantee you’ll get lost, and I won’t be responsible if the wolf gets you!’
His gravelly words spiralled down from the landing, and sent goosebumps down her spine …
And what the heck was all this about wolves anyway?
All a million miles away from what she’d been expecting. But then …
‘I can always come back and carry you.’
Glancing up, she saw him watching her coolly over the balustrade, eyes narrowed and calculating, poised for action.
Cripes, he wasn’t joking either.
Grabbing her muddy shoes in one hand, and her bag in the other, she bolted towards the stairs.
Chapter Two
‘It’s eight thirty pm, I hope you’re ready!’
Brando’s shout outside Shea’s door was loud enough to make the handle rattle, and it matched his mood.
Ready? Who was he kidding? When had a woman ever been ready?
He’d spent the remainder of the afternoon fuming. Fuming with Bryony for landing him in this situation, and fuming with this damned woman who’d helicoptered her way into his private domain. After years in the music business, he reckoned he was unshockable. But what kind of woman would be pushy enough to pull a stunt like this to grab a husband? And what the hell had he been thinking to go along with it? He must have had some kind of consciousness blackout.
