Dark Nights with a Billionaire Bundle

by Carole Mortimer, Kate Walker, Janette Kenny

  Anything he had once felt for her had long since died, and when the divorce had been finalized, mingled with the pain and bitter disillusionment had been relief.

  Unconsciously, he sighed, and with a determined effort he brought his mind back to the present.

  His companion was sitting quietly staring into the fire. Watching the pure line of her profile, he noted that though she appeared to be at ease, she wasn’t nearly as composed as she looked.

  He was still studying her surreptitiously when their food arrived, and he suggested, ‘Tuck in.’

  It looked and smelled so appetizing that, in spite of her previous misgivings, when a generous plateful was put in front of her Jenny obeyed.

  It was every bit as good as the landlord had boasted, the tender meat served with small, fluffy dumplings, a selection of root vegetables, and rich, tasty gravy.

  Michael noted that she ate neatly and daintily, but with a healthy appetite. After getting used to seeing Claire toy with a salad and then leave half of it, he found it a pleasure to lunch with a woman who obviously enjoyed her food.

  The pie that followed was just as good, with light, crisp pastry, tangy apples cooked to perfection, and lashings of thick country cream.

  When Jenny had finished the last spoonful, she sat back with a satisfied, ‘Mmmm…’

  Watching her use the tip of a pink tongue to catch an errant speck of cream, he felt a sudden fierce kick of desire low down in his belly, and was forced to glance hastily away.

  Since his divorce he hadn’t so much as looked at another woman, and that sudden, unbidden reaction threw him off balance.

  Seeing she was looking at him, and hoping his tension didn’t show, he asked unnecessarily, ‘I take it you enjoyed the meal?’

  ‘It was absolutely delicious. I can quite see why you like to stop here—’

  All at once she broke off, flustered, wondering if he’d thought her greedy.

  She was trying to find some way to change what had become an uncomfortable subject when the landlord appeared to clear away the dishes and bring the coffee, sparing her the need.

  ‘A grand meal, Amos,’ Michael said heartily.

  He sounded sincere, and, realizing that he too had enjoyed it, Jenny relaxed. Perhaps, because of what she saw as the newness and possible fragility of the relationship, she was simply being over-sensitive.

  ‘I haven’t tasted anything as good as that since I was here last.’

  ‘I’ll tell Sarah,’ the landlord promised. ‘She’ll be pleased.’

  For a little while they sipped their coffee without speaking, and, a quick glance at her silent companion confirming that he was once again in a brown study, she seized the opportunity to watch him.

  His dark hair was thick and glossy, still trying to curl a little in spite of its short cut, and, though he lacked either charm or charisma, his face was interesting, lean and strong-boned, with a straight nose and a cleft chin.

  It was the kind of face that wouldn’t change or grow soft and flabby with age. At sixty or seventy he would look pretty much as he looked now.

  His eyes were handsome, she conceded, long and heavy-lidded, tilted up a little at the outer edge, with thick curly lashes. His teeth too were excellent, gleaming white and healthy, while his mouth had a masculine beauty that made her feel strange inside.

  Dragging her gaze away with something of an effort, she studied his ears, which were smallish and set neatly against his well-shaped head. A far cry from the large, sticky-out ears Laura had predicted.

  Jenny was smiling at the remembered picture when he glanced up unexpectedly.

  As he watched the hot colour rise in her cheeks, pointing to her guilt, she saw his eyes narrow.

  He obviously thought she had been laughing at him, and, knowing how fragile a man’s ego could be, she braced herself for an angry outburst.

  But, his face showing only mild interest, he suggested blandly, ‘Perhaps you’d allow me to share the joke?’

  Seeing nothing else for it, she drew a deep breath and admitted, ‘I was smiling at the mental picture my flatmate had painted of what you, as a successful author, ought to look like.’

  ‘Oh? So what should a successful author look like?’

  She repeated as near as she could remember word for word what had been said that morning.

  His face straight, but his green eyes alight with amusement, he said quizzically, ‘Hmm…Large, pointed, sticky-out ears…So how do I compare? Favourably, I hope?’

  She smiled, and, relieved that he’d taken it so well, dared to joke. ‘Not altogether. After seeing some old reruns of Star Trek, I’ve developed a passion for Mr Spock.’

  Her lovely, luminous smile, the hint of mischief, beguiling and fascinating, hit him right over the heart, and for a moment that vital organ seemed to miss a beat.

  Striving to hide the effect her teasing had had on him, he pulled himself together, and complained, ‘Being compared to Mr Spock and found wanting could seriously damage my ego.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, with mock contrition. ‘I wouldn’t want to do that.’

  ‘So you weren’t suggesting that my ears aren’t as exciting as a Vulcan’s?’

  ‘I wouldn’t dare.’

  ‘I should hope not.’

  His sudden white smile took her breath away and totally overturned her earlier assessment that he lacked either charm or charisma. Obviously he had lashings of both, hidden beneath that cool veneer.

  All at once, for no reason at all, her heart lifted, and she found herself looking forward to the days and weeks ahead.

  CHAPTER THREE

  WATCHING her big brown eyes sparkle, Michael thought afresh how lovely she was.

  He had been in Jenny’s company now for several hours, and ought to be getting used to her beauty, almost taking it for granted.

  But he wasn’t.

  In fact, just the opposite.

  The fascination the first sight of her had aroused was still there, and growing stronger.

  Which was bad news.

  The last thing he wanted or needed was to be attracted to his new PA. That would be the ultimate irony, as Paul would be quick to point out.

  That morning, when Paul had phoned to find out the result of the interview and Michael had admitted that Jennifer Mansell was on a month’s trial, Paul had been quietly jubilant.

  ‘I’m sure that in spite of all your doubts she’ll prove to be just what you need.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ Michael said cautiously. ‘It depends on what kind of woman she turns out to be, and how I get on working with someone else.’

  Paul grunted. ‘Well, of course I can’t answer for the latter, but, so far as Miss Mansell’s concerned, I’ve heard nothing but good about her.

  ‘Though I’ll keep my ear to the ground, just in case, and if I do hear anything further I’ll let you know. In the meantime stop being such a misogynist and give the poor girl a chance.

  ‘She’s known to be good at her job, and, as I said before, I don’t think she’s the kind to throw herself at you. If by any chance she does, for heaven’s sake take her to bed. It might be just what you need to turn you back into a human being.’

  ‘Thanks for the advice,’ Michael said dryly, ‘but I’ve had my fill of women.’

  Now he found himself wondering how he would react if Jenny Mansell did throw herself at him.

  So far she’d given not the slightest sign of wanting to do any such thing. Rather, she had trodden warily, as though negotiating a minefield, looking anything but comfortable whenever the conversation showed signs of straying into the more personal…

  Becoming aware that time was passing, he swallowed the remains of his coffee and remarked, ‘If you’re ready, we really ought to be on our way.’

  Jenny, who had been sitting quietly watching his face, wondering what he was thinking, said, ‘Yes, I’m quite ready.’

  ‘There would be no hurry if we didn’t need to be over the causeway before the tide
turns.’

  His words reminded her of her earlier doubts about the advisability of being so isolated, and perhaps some of that uncertainty showed on her face because, frowning, he queried, ‘Is there something wrong?’

  She hesitated. If she did still have doubts, common sense told her she should voice them now, before it was too late…

  He was watching her face, concerned that for some reason she was going to back out at the last minute, and his voice was tense as he demanded, ‘Well, is there?’

  She lifted her chin, and, knowing that she was going anyway, regardless of doubts, answered, ‘No, there’s nothing wrong.’

  ‘Then perhaps you’d like to freshen up while I pay the bill? I’ll see you back at the car.’

  As Jenny washed her hands and tucked a stray hair or two into the silky coil she rationalized her decision by telling herself that, having come this far, had she confessed to doubts he would have had every right to be angry.

  She had a feeling that, in spite of his offer of a month’s trial period, he hadn’t been particularly keen to engage her in the first place, so he might have been glad of the opportunity to send her packing back to London.

  Then not only would she have missed her chance to stay on Mirren, but it would have meant losing a job she’d really wanted without even starting it, and never seeing Michael Denver again.

  The latter shouldn’t really matter.

  But somehow it did.

  Though she was too aware of him to be altogether at ease in his company, she wanted the chance to get to know him better, to find out for herself just what kind of man he was, what made him tick.

  When she made her way outside, he was waiting to settle her into the passenger seat.

  The sun, though low in the sky, was still shining, but already the air seemed chillier, less clear, promising the onset of an early dusk.

  ‘How long before we get to Mirren?’ she asked as they left the Grouse and Claret behind them and headed for the coast.

  ‘Half an hour or so.’

  Unwilling to ask direct questions, she suggested innocently, ‘Perhaps you could tell me something about the island?’

  ‘What do you know already?’

  ‘Apart from what I saw on that one short visit, and what you’ve already told me, nothing, really. I only know that it’s always fascinated me.’

  ‘Well, it’s roughly nine miles long by three wide. The higher ground is interspersed with pasture land, and, apart from some stands of pines, the only trees are the ones around Slinterwood.

  ‘Because the island has fresh water springs, it’s been inhabited for centuries, and for most of that time it’s been home to a rare breed of sheep similar to merinos, prized the world over for their fine, soft wool.

  ‘These days a lot of the farmland has been turned into market gardens, which produce organic fruit and vegetables for the top London hotels.’

  With a slight grin, he went on, ‘At the risk of sounding like a guidebook, I’ll just add that on the seaward side there are some pleasant sandy coves, ideal for summer picnics and swimming.’

  ‘It sounds lovely.’

  ‘It’s certainly picturesque.’

  She waited, hoping he’d tell her more about his connection with the island, and about the family who owned it.

  But he changed the subject by remarking, ‘One good thing about travelling at this time of the year is that there’s not too much traffic.’

  There proved to be less as they approached their destination. Even in high summer this part of the coast was relatively quiet, and now the coastal road was deserted in both directions as they joined the rough track that led down to the causeway.

  Glancing at the water, Michael remarked, ‘The tide must have turned some time ago.’

  ‘How can you tell?’ she asked.

  ‘At low tide there are sand flats on either side of the causeway. Now they’re almost covered, which means we’re only just in time to get across.’

  She felt another little shiver of pure pleasure at the thought of staying on the island she had always considered to be a special, enchanted place.

  In the meantime, the here and now was magical. The early evening air was quite still, the water flat calm, the raised causeway, a shining ribbon edged by black and white marker poles, curled into the distance, where Mirren seemed to float, serene and enchanted, on a sea of beaten silver.

  Dusk was already creeping in, veiling a sky of icy pearl with delicate wisps of grey and pink and the palest of greens.

  Jenny found herself holding her breath as they started across the causeway, almost expecting the island to retreat before them like some mirage.

  They were nearly halfway across when a slight change in the lie of the land brought into view the twelfth-century castle. Its towers and battlements silhouetted against the sky, it seemed to be part of the craggy outcrop of rock on which it stood.

  As it had on her first visit, the sight brought a strange surge of emotion, and, feeling as if her heart were being squeezed by a giant fist, she sighed. It must have been wonderful to have lived there.

  As though reading her thoughts, Michael remarked, ‘It seems a shame that the castle is no longer inhabited.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s unsafe?’ she hazarded.

  He shook his head. ‘Though the stone is crumbling a little in parts, it’s still structurally sound.’

  So why wasn’t it still lived in? she wondered.

  The question trembling on her lips, she glanced at him, but something about his hard, clear-cut profile, the set of his jaw, convinced her that she had asked enough questions for one day, and, biting it back, she returned her attention to the view.

  Leaving the causeway, where the impatient tide was already lapping at the marker poles, Michael took the road that she had driven up all those years ago.

  Having reached the castle and passed the spot where she had parked previously, they carried on up the winding road, skirting a high bank on the right.

  Growing on the rocky bank amongst the dried bracken were a straggle of gorse bushes, some of which were in full bloom.

  As they drove up the hill, in the nearside mirror Jenny caught a glimpse of Mirren Castle from a new and intriguing angle, and asked impulsively, ‘Would you mind very much if we stopped for a moment? I’d like to take a closer look at the castle.’

  ‘Of course not.’ He brought the car to a halt and climbed out to open her door. Then together they walked back a few yards to a natural vantage point.

  The air was bitingly cold, and even in so short a time the sky was starting to lose its colour and get hazy, while a bank of cloud had appeared on the horizon behind the castle.

  ‘It looks so different from here,’ she exclaimed, after she’d studied it for a moment or two. ‘I hadn’t appreciated that the rear walls were built on a cliff that drops straight into the sea. It must have made it much easier to defend.’

  ‘It was a virtually impregnable fortress in its day. The enemy got through its outer defences only once and that was due to an act of betrayal…’

  Eager to hear more, she turned to look at him, her face expectant.

  ‘One of the defenders, who had been bribed by the besieging army, crept down at night and raised the portcullis. But he didn’t live to benefit from his treachery. It seems he was one of the first to be killed before the enemy were driven out.’

  Seeing her shiver in the thin air, he broke off and said briskly, ‘You’re cold. We’d better get moving.’

  As they walked back to the car, noticing the yellow gorse flowers glowing eerily now in the gathering dusk, she remarked wonderingly, ‘Isn’t it amazing how anything can bloom in such bitter weather?’

  Reaching to open the car door, he said, ‘Luckily, gorse blooms all the year round.’

  She glanced up at him. ‘Luckily?’

  ‘Surely you’ve heard the old saying, “When gorse is in bloom, kissing’s in season”?’

  She smiled, and, glancing up to
make some light remark, saw the sudden lick of flame in his eyes and read his intention.

  But trapped between the car door and his tall, broad-shouldered frame all she could do was stand gazing up at him, her big brown eyes wide, her lips slightly parted, her wits totally scattered.

  As he bent his dark head and kissed her mouth her eyes closed helplessly, shutting out the world and leaving only sensation.

  Just at first his lips felt cold, then the coldness turned to heat as his mouth moved lightly against hers, making every nerve-ending in her body sing into life and sending her head spinning.

  Though Jenny had been kissed many times, and though most of those kisses had been long and ardent, somehow they had failed to move her, leaving her feeling untouched, aloof, uninvolved.

  Andy’s kisses had been pleasurably different and exciting, yet even they had left some small part of her vaguely dissatisfied.

  But while Michael’s thistledown kiss couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds, by the time he lifted his head her legs would no longer hold her and her very soul seemed to have lost its way.

  Opening dazed eyes, she became aware that he was half supporting her, and made an effort to find her feet and stand unaided.

  Though he too had been knocked sideways, partly by her response, and partly by a torrent of feeling that had almost swept him away, his recovery was light years ahead of hers.

  Cursing himself for a fool, he stepped back.

  He hadn’t meant it to happen. Kissing her had been a sudden impulse that he knew he ought to regret.

  But somehow he couldn’t.

  Though if her office reputation was anything to go by, she should be angry at the liberty he’d taken, more than ready to slap him down.

  But a quick glance at her face showed that she looked neither. She still appeared dazed, as if that kiss had shaken her as much as it had shaken him.

  Seeing that she was starting to shiver, he opened the car door and, a hand beneath her elbow, helped her in.

  Without a word, she sat down and fumbled for her seat belt. She still hadn’t fastened it by the time he slid behind the wheel, and he leaned over to fasten it for her.

  As his muscular thigh accidentally pressed against hers, though she said nothing, he felt her instinctive withdrawal.