Читать книгу Holiday with a Stranger - Christy McKellen - Страница 8

ONE

Connor Preston couldn’t believe his eyes. She was sitting on his bed in the moonlight, brazen as you like, with her slender back curved towards him. One arm propped her up, taking her weight, and her head was dipped, as if she were posing for one of those romance book covers he’d seen in the airport newsagents.

He guessed she’d just got out of the shower, because her long blonde hair hung in wet clumps around her shoulders. He watched in irritation as a water droplet ran down the shadowed line of her spine before dripping onto his bedspread.

Through his travel-weary eyes she seemed to cast a glow in front of her, as if all the cloying positivity she used to force on him day after day radiated from her.

Katherine Meers.

He’d thought he’d finally convinced her it was over between them, but here she was, waiting naked in his bed again, in his holiday home. A holiday home that he couldn’t remember ever telling her about. Was nowhere a safe haven from her needy optimism?

‘What the hell are you doing in my bed, Katherine?’ He knew his voice was gruff and unfriendly—nothing like the laid-back drawl he’d cultivated over the years—but he was tired and grumpy and not in the mood for another showdown with his stalker ex-girlfriend.

But even that didn’t explain the way she reacted.

Her scream was so loud he thought he felt his eardrums perforating. Her whole body jerked in fright and something gleamed momentarily in a wide arc in front of her, before raining down onto the bed with a worryingly loud splat.

Hair flying, she twisted round towards him and he caught a tantalising flash of her pert breasts—which were rather larger than he remembered—before she grabbed the towel that pooled around her waist and whipped it up around her.

Gazing at her shocked face in the pale glow of the moonlight, he realised he’d made a mistake.

This wasn’t Katherine.

This was an altogether different problem.

* * *

Josie’s heart slammed against her chest as adrenaline ricocheted through her body. After staring at her laptop in the dark for the past ten minutes she had to work hard to get her eyes to focus on the looming shape in front of her. She could barely make out the features of the enormous man standing at the foot of the bed, but she’d swear she could feel his anger.

‘What do you want?’ It was a reflex question—one she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer to—and it came out as a shaky whisper.

‘I want my bed.’ His voice was quieter this time, not exactly friendly, but there was a hint of bemusement mixed in with the exasperation.

Confusion engulfed her. Perhaps she was dreaming? The situation was certainly bizarre enough to be one of her dreams.

‘What do you mean your bed? Who the hell are you? You scared the crap out of me.’

The man took a pace backwards in response to her rankled tone and raised his hands, palms forward. Surrender.

‘Look, I’m sorry for scaring you.’ His voice softened. ‘I thought you were...’ He paused. ‘Someone else.’

Josie’s eyes were slowly becoming accustomed to the dark as her night vision improved. She watched as the tension left his body. Perhaps he wasn’t going to attack her, but she inched closer to her bedside lamp just in case, her muscles tight with anxiety.

She was distracted for a moment by the tinny sound of her music, playing through the earphones that had prevented her hearing his approach—which were now lying discarded on the bed.

Wrenching her attention back, she asked, ‘So who are you?’ forcing more authority into her voice this time, in an attempt to take control of the situation.

Perhaps if she could convince him she was in charge he might leave her alone. She’d heard somewhere that when cornered the best type of defence was attack. Although her only actual experience of being attacked was fighting for funding for the business—facing down aggressively assertive venture capitalists—which was not the same thing as a midnight stand-off with a strange man.

‘Connor Preston. I own this place,’ he said.

Josie blew out a small sigh, her heart-rate slowing a fraction. Preston. Okay. He must be Abigail’s brother—the wanderer—returning home from a life living off his trust fund. He wasn’t what she’d expected at all. Abigail was the total opposite of her brother: petite and willowy. This man was anything but petite. It was hard to gauge from her position in the bed, but she’d guess he was at least six foot four and built like an ox. Not the sort of vision you wanted to encounter alone in the middle of the night.

‘Who are you?’ The gruff timbre of his voice coming at her through the gloom was unnerving.

She leant across and switched on the bedside light. Yup, he was big, all right, and rugged and unshaven. His dark blond hair looked as if it could do with a cut and his clothes were creased and unkempt. He looked exhausted; his eyes dull with fatigue. Based on what Abigail had told her, she guessed he must be in his early thirties—only a few years older than her—but he looked as though he’d lived through every second of them. He had a strong face—not classically handsome, but definitely arresting. The type of man who would always be noticed, no matter where he was or who he was with.

Her skin prickled as he scrutinised her in return and a hot flush travelled through her body, leaving a sizzling pulse in the most unnerving places.

‘I’m Abigail’s business partner. Josie Marchpane,’ she said, aware her voice was somewhat squeakier than normal. She waited for a sign of recognition on his face. It didn’t come; he just stared back, assessing her. ‘Abi said I could stay here for a while....’ She tailed off as his expression grew darker.

‘Is that right?’ His tone was abrupt now, and unfriendly.

There was a heavy silence in the room as they looked at each other.

Silence?

Something was wrong.

The music had stopped playing. With horror, Josie suddenly realised that, in the shock of Connor’s appearance she’d forgotten about the drink she’d thrown all over the bed...and her laptop.

Twisting round, she looked down to see the screen had gone black. When she tapped the space bar, then jabbed all the other buttons in panic, nothing happened.

It looked as if her laptop hadn’t agreed with being showered with juice, and had died in disgust.

‘No, no, no, no, no!’ All the work she’d done since she’d got here was on that machine. She’d stupidly assumed there would be an internet connection, so she could back her work up, but that had been another surprise that Abi hadn’t warned her about. Deliberately. She was sure of it.

‘What’s wrong?’

Connor’s deep drawl broke into her consciousness. She’d almost forgotten him in her panic.

‘I just killed my computer with orange juice.’ It would have been funny if it wasn’t so absolutely devastating. Losing her laptop was tantamount to losing her right hand.

‘Orange juice?’ He nodded slowly. ‘So that’s what you’ve christened my bed with.’

Irritation got the better of her. How could he be concerned about the state of the bed when her laptop had kicked the bucket?

‘I’ve just lost three days’ worth of work.’

He appeared unfazed by her snippy tone. ‘Do you always work naked?’ Crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow, he gave her a look that bordered on seductive.

The hairs on her arms stood up in response and heat burned in her belly. Acutely aware of her nakedness under the towel, she broke eye contact and looked around for her clothes. She’d have to walk past him to get to them. That meant skirting the end of the bed and passing within a foot of him. The thought made her uneasy and a little tick throbbed in her eye.

Rubbing a hand over her face, she tried to wipe away the befuddling mix of sensations. ‘I was in the shower and I had a thought.’ Her voice trembled and she cleared her throat to relieve the tightness.

He tilted his head in an approximation of bewildered understanding.

She sighed. ‘I’m writing a tender document for work and I was hit with inspiration. I didn’t want to forget it before I had a chance to write it down.’

‘I get it,’ he said, giving a bemused shake of his head.

Good God, he knew how to get under her skin.

‘Look, do you mind?’ She forced her shoulders back and tipped up her chin. ‘I’m not exactly prepared for socialising right now. Can we talk about this in the morning?’

Connor dragged his gaze up from where her fingers grasped the towel and frowned. ‘Where am I supposed to sleep? You’ve taken the only bed.’

‘Try the sofa.’

The look on his face almost made her laugh.

‘I’ve been travelling for three months. I was looking forward to finally sleeping in my own bed.’

‘If I’d known you were coming we could have worked something out,’ she retorted.

‘Worked something out, huh?’ He dropped his gaze down her body, taking in the swell of her figure that the towel barely concealed.

The disturbing throb began again, deep inside her. She pulled the towel tighter, unnerved by his attention. It was disconcerting being half-naked in front of a total stranger. Especially one as unsettling as Connor Preston.

‘You know what I mean,’ she said, nerves making her tone snappy again. The heavy unease she’d been wrestling with for the past week stretched its tentacles. She blew out a steadying breath, counted to three. ‘Look, can we sleep on it tonight and work it out in the morning? I doubt you want to sleep in a damp, orange-soaked bed anyway, right?’ She cocked what she hoped would come across as an affable smile.

He continued to size her up for a moment. ‘Okay,’ he said slowly, then ran a hand over his tired eyes. ‘I’ve been travelling all day and I haven’t got the energy to deal with this now. I’ll sleep on the sofa tonight. We’ll talk in the morning.’

He turned abruptly and left the room, slamming the door behind him and leaving her shaky and bewildered.

* * *

Josie woke late the next morning.

After failing to resuscitate her laptop she’d scribbled down as much as she could remember from the tender document, trying not to let panic sink its teeth into her, before falling into a fitful sleep. Her senses had been on high alert following the run-in with Connor, and every creak and groan in the old property had made her jump. She’d finally dropped off just as the birds started their dawn chorus, exhaustion winning the battle over her adrenalised body.

She lay staring at the ceiling, cursing her bad luck. It hadn’t been the best few weeks ever and it didn’t look as though things were about to improve any time soon. Hopefully her computer would dry out and boot up again in a few hours, so she wouldn’t have to spend the next week reconstructing the whole document. If not—well, she’d have to find a repair shop somewhere and see if it was salvageable. More delays. Just what she didn’t need. Just what the business didn’t need.

And she had another problem now. Abigail’s brother was obviously annoyed to find someone else using his house—which was understandable; if she’d come home to find someone in her bed she’d have been totally thrown too—but she’d promised Abi that she’d have a proper break away after the whole humiliating debacle at work.

If only she hadn’t lost her cool and flipped out like that in front of everyone perhaps Abi would have taken her worries about the state of the business more seriously. She’d ended up looking like a total loon.

No wonder her business partner had been so firm about her staying here for a couple of weeks—in her words ‘to give everyone a chance to calm down and work things through’—and she hadn’t wanted to argue and strain their precarious relationship further. Agreeing to a couple of weeks here had seemed like a sensible compromise, but Connor wanting this place too had thrown a spanner in the works. She really didn’t need the hassle of finding some faceless hotel to stay in during peak season. Anyway, this place was just as much Abi’s as Connor’s, and she’d arrived here first.

With newfound determination she tossed back the covers and slipped out of bed, pausing for a moment to luxuriate in the feel of her toes digging into the soft Persian rug before going to the antique wardrobe to find some clothes. Grabbing a pair of jeans and a loose T-shirt, she pulled them on, then stripped the king-sized brass bed, bundling up the sheets ready to stick in the washing machine.

When she’d arrived a few days ago she’d been blown away by the beauty of the place. She’d expected a rundown holiday home in the middle of nowhere. Instead she’d found a characterful farmhouse a twenty-minute drive from Aix-en-Provence.

It had a large kitchen diner and a cosy, snug downstairs, complete with battered leather sofas and an old wood-burning stove. The air smelt delicious—like herbs and woodsmoke and sunshine. Nothing like the sanitised holiday lets her mother had used to scour with foul-smelling disinfectant when they first arrived on their interminable family vacations. Upstairs there was a large bathroom with an enormous claw-footed bath and a separate shower cubicle, along with a beautiful antique vanity unit. Worryingly, she remembered, of the three bedrooms only one was furnished: the one she was currently sleeping in. The others looked as though they were being used to store various strangely shaped equipment and large crates of goodness only knew what.

So only one bed.

She needed to talk to Abigail’s brother and find out his plans. Then, if he meant to stay, gently persuade him to change them. Or maybe not so gently, if it came to that. The last thing she needed was someone asking questions and spoiling her fragile peace. She was going to do her time here, prove to Abi that she was fit and rested enough to come back to work, then get on with advancing the business.

She was used to hard bargaining at work; compared to that, this ought to be a relatively easy battle to win.

Glancing at herself in the mirror, she was confronted with a scary sight. Her normally immaculate sweep of blonde hair was mussed and sticking out at odd angles after she’d slept on it wet and she had dark circles under her eyes.

Once she’d pulled a brush through her hair and tied it back in a tight bun she splashed her face with cold, reviving water from the white porcelain sink in the room. That would have to do for now. First breakfast, then a shower, then a confrontation with Connor Preston.

Descending the stairs, she was hit by the tantalising aromas of fresh coffee and bacon.

He was up already.

There was a mound of mud-splattered bags at the door and a pair of large hiking boots leant haphazardly against the wall in the hallway.

What big feet you have, Mr Preston.

Her memory of him was blurry this morning, as if she’d dreamed him.

No such luck.

He was standing at the stove with his back to her, but as she moved quietly into the kitchen he turned around. Her insides lurched as they made eye contact.

‘Good morning. I trust you found my bed comfortable?’

His voice was a low rumble, but a little friendlier than the previous night. And, yup, he was just as impressive as she remembered. An unwelcome tingle tickled the base of her spine.

Think of it as a business negotiation, Josie. Do not let him charm you. You are a strong, capable woman. Take control.

‘Yes, thanks,’ she replied lightly. She would not apologise for not budging last night. She didn’t want him to get the impression she was some sort of sappy push-over and lose any advantage she might have.

He gestured towards a seat at the table with a lazy flick of his hand. ‘Sit. I’ll get us some breakfast and we’ll talk.’

His commanding tone rankled, but she ignored it and took the seat opposite him, straightening her spine and leaning into the table, ready to fight her corner. She needed to choose her battles wisely here.

He had quite a presence. A big man, with a natural strength and a broad build, he certainly looked powerful, but not pumped up like a boxer or a body-builder. Intimidating.

She wasn’t used to feeling dwarfed. Her six-foot frame usually afforded her a sense of authority, but she wasn’t feeling the power of it with him around.

He took a break from stirring the eggs to run a hand through his shaggy blond hair, swiping the fringe out of his eyes. Something about this simple action sent a frisson of excitement through her. What the hell was wrong with her? Clearly she hadn’t had enough sleep. She laced her fingers together under the table to stop them twitching in her lap.

In a daze, she watched him pour coffee into large earthenware mugs and pile bacon and scrambled eggs onto plates. After sliding them onto the table he sat opposite her and began to shovel food into his mouth without even glancing her way.

It took him less than two minutes to clear his plate, and afterwards he leant back in his chair and waited patiently for her to finish. Josie could feel his gaze burning into her skin, but forced her eyes to look down at her plate, willing her hand to stay steady as she forked eggs into her mouth.

Finally, pushing her plate away, she picked up her coffee and looked at him. He continued to observe her without breaking his gaze. She could sense the force of his will, digging away at her defences. He clearly didn’t want her company any more than she wanted his.

Her heart played in quick time against her chest, but she didn’t look away.

This must be the way he wins his battles, Josie thought. By silent intimidation. He’d just wait for her to break and say she’d leave. She’d come across this strategy before at work. Being a woman in a high-powered position meant she had to deal with this kind of resistance a lot, and she’d become pretty good at fielding it, so instead of looking away she stared right back.

His eyes were an attention-grabbing ice-blue, ringed with graphite-grey, and the intensity in his gaze almost broke her.

Not today, matey.

After what felt like an age Connor placed his mug back on the table and allowed a slow smile to spread across his face. At once his rugged features came alive: his eyes lit with warmth and the sharp angles of his face softened, making him seem younger, more playful and somehow more human. It was a deliciously sexy sight.

Her whole body trembled as a surge of lust blindsided her and hot coffee slopped over the rim of the mug onto her lap.

Damn it.

Gritting her teeth, she ignored the burning sensation as the liquid soaked into her jeans, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

His smile morphed into a quizzical frown. ‘You okay? That must have stung.’

‘I’m fine,’ she muttered, putting her mug carefully onto the table before she did any more damage to herself.

He took advantage of her weakened state to launch his attack. ‘So, Josie, when are you leaving?’

His tone was even, as if he were making polite conversation, but she felt the power behind the words. Oh, he was good, all right.

Drawing her shoulders back, she gave him her fully-in-control face before answering, noting with satisfaction that he’d leant further back in his chair and broken eye contact, dipping his gaze to somewhere below her neck.

‘In a week or two. Abigail offered this place to me and I accepted in good faith.’ She looked at him hard, determined to keep it together. ‘I haven’t had a holiday for three years and she thought I could do with the break.’

That was understating the facts a little, but there was no way she was admitting the whole truth to him. She was too proud. Plus, it was none of his damn business.

He rubbed his hand over his eyes, obviously still tired after travelling and then sleeping on the less than man-sized sofa.

She actually felt her insides softening. ‘Look, I know this is your place, and you probably want to relax in peace, but you can’t just kick me out.’ She jabbed a finger at him. ‘This house is just as much Abigail’s as yours, and you weren’t supposed to be coming back any time soon. Why didn’t you let her know?’

He leant in towards her and she couldn’t help but move away from the overwhelming force of his sudden proximity. ‘I don’t answer to anyone—especially not my damn sister.’ He tapped his finger hard on the table. ‘She knows this is where I base myself when I’m not travelling, she never comes here, and I don’t see why I should put up with her waifs and strays when the whim takes her.’

His voice was low and steady, all cool control and understated power, but she refused to be scared off.

‘I’m not a waif or a stray, and I’m not going anywhere.’ She crossed her arms and bit down hard on her lip. His eyes dropped to her mouth and she shifted self-consciously in her seat. Blood pulsed through her veins as his eyes slowly returned to hers, his pupils large and dark against his irises.

She released her lip and rubbed her tongue over it in response. What had made her do that? She needed to argue her case convincingly here and keep focused on her goal. Instead her body seemed intent on deliberately provoking a physical reaction out of him. This was really unlike her. She rarely flirted. She didn’t have time for it.

‘What do you propose I do? Sleep on the couch until you decide to leave?’ he said, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

She spread out her hands on the tabletop and took a steadying breath before spearing him with her sternest stare. ‘As far as I understand it, Abi has as much right to this place as you do. This is supposed to be my holiday—a chance to get some peace and quiet. It’s not my fault you two can’t communicate properly.’

His smile faltered. ‘You expect me to leave?’

That awful softening thing was happening again. Ignore it, Josie. Stand firm. ‘Yes.’ She waited for his response, her fingers now drumming a soft beat on the table.

‘Why would I do that?’ His expression was impassive.

‘Because I was here first.’

He barked out a laugh. ‘You’re calling dibs on my house?’

‘It’s a perfectly valid negotiating technique.’

He considered her for a moment and she shifted in her chair, straightening her back in readiness for his next move.

‘Do you cook?’

What the hell?

‘Not unless you count microwaving ready meals or sloshing milk over cereal.’

Connor raised his eyebrows. ‘I don’t.’

She crossed her arms. ‘Then, no, I don’t cook.’

Connor gave her a questioning look and she flushed under his scrutiny.

She shrugged, fighting the heat of her discomfort. ‘My job’s demanding. The last thing I want to do when I get in is cook.’

‘Really? I find it relaxing.’

His eyes searched her face and her skin heated in response.

‘What do you do to relax?’

There was a hint of reproach in his expression as his gaze locked with hers. She shifted in her chair, looking away from him. Why was he making her feel so uncomfortable? She had nothing to be ashamed about.

‘I go to the gym sometimes.’ She racked her brain, trying to find something to impress him with, but nothing came to mind.

Connor shook his head slowly, radiating disapproval, but his expression softened as he leant in closer to her. The hairs on the back of her neck lifted in response and her heart pummelled her chest as his gaze roved her face before dropping to her lips.

‘I’m sure we can think of some way to work this out.’

His voice was low and the double meaning was not lost on her. He stood suddenly, pushing his chair away from the table and grabbing their plates, turning to dump them next to the sink. He stilled, staring down at the counter, before turning back. There was a challenge in his expression now.

‘You can cut my hair.’

Josie blinked at him in surprise, her body a tangle of confusion and lust. What was he doing to her? The mixture of forceful self-confidence and provocative teasing was disorientating her, turning her insides to mulch and her brain to jelly.

‘Did you say you want me to cut your hair?’

‘Yes.’

She gave him a stunned smile. ‘What’s wrong with going to a hairdresser?’

‘A waste of money. Anyway, I’m not losing a morning driving to Aix just to get a haircut. I’m sick of it hanging in my face—you just need to chop a couple of inches off all round. Then I’ll be ready to face the world.’

Relaxing her arms, she dropped her hands into her lap and tapped her fingers together. ‘If I do it will you let me have the house?’

He shrugged. ‘Depends on how good a job you do.’

She snorted. ‘What if I make a mess of it?’

‘I’m trusting you not to. Come on, Josie, it’s not rocket science. You know the general principle, right? Look, I can’t get my fingers in those piddly little nail scissors, and the only other sharp things I have in this house are the kitchen knives and the garden shears.’

‘I may end up needing those. It looks like you’ve been washing your hair with engine oil.’

That tantalising smile played about his lips again and her stomach flipped over.

‘Yeah, well, it’s tough finding a power shower in the middle of a rainforest.’

He flicked his hair out of his eyes with those long, strong-looking fingers and her hands did a nervous sort of skitter in her lap. What would it feel like to be in such close proximity to that powerful frame and all that hard muscle? Blood rushed straight between her legs, causing a hard ache there, and before she could stop herself she rocked forward in the chair to try and relieve the pressure.

Clearing her throat to dislodge the strangling tension, she tore her gaze away from him to scan the kitchen cupboards, the dresser, the patio doors—anywhere but his irresistible body—while her heart thumped against her chest. She needed to stand up and move around before she started rutting the chair. What the hell was going on with her crazy body?

‘So where are these scissors, then?’

He was smiling when she looked back at him and the victory on his face made her frown. How had he managed to talk her into this? But then what the hell? If that was what it took to get rid of him, so be it. She’d never been one to walk away from a challenge. She’d also never cut hair in her life. Still, it wasn’t her problem if he ended up looking as if a child had got busy with the scissors while he was asleep. Maybe she should make a mess of it just to pay him back for that supercilious expression.

Despite being rather taken with the idea, she knew she wouldn’t. She was too much of a good girl, and she wanted him gone.

‘They’re in the middle drawer of the dresser,’ he said, nodding towards the grand piece of furniture at the back of the kitchen.

‘Okay. You get them and I’ll grab a towel.’

He gave her a quizzical look, but there was a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. ‘You want me in just a towel for this?’

From his expression she guessed he was quite taken with the idea, and her insides twisted in a strange, excited sort of way.

‘That won’t be necessary. It’s to keep the hair off your clothes,’ she said through oddly numb lips.

‘You’re the boss,’ he said, getting up and striding over to the dresser.

She legged it out of the kitchen and up the stairs, taking her time to find the oldest-looking towel out of the linen cupboard and sucking in deep breaths until she felt composed enough to be in the same room with him again. At least he’d be leaving after this, she told herself, ignoring a niggle of disappointment that came out of nowhere. She needed alone time right now.

Right?

Returning to the kitchen, she found he’d dragged a chair into the middle of the floor and was seated, waiting patiently for her to get back.

‘Not too much off the top,’ he said as she approached him and laid the towel gently over his wide shoulders.

It wasn’t long enough to meet across his chest and after a moment of fussing with it she left it to hang there.

God, the size of him.

She wasn’t going to have to bend down far to get on a level with his head. Nerves jumping, she picked up the scissors and tentatively ran her hands through his mop of hair, gauging the best place to start.

He groaned gently in response and she almost jumped away in fright.

‘I can already tell you’ve got magic hands,’ he said.

From the tone of his voice he was clearly enjoying winding her up, and she kicked herself for allowing him to make her so jittery. Putting her fingers back into his hair, she pulled it harder this time, in an attempt to show him who was in charge.

He chuckled: a low, seductive sound that made her mouth water.

Flipping heck, Josie, pull it together.

After taking a first tentative snip—and finding it actually seemed to look okay—she worked her way around his head, cutting the top first, to reveal the smooth, darker underside of his hair.

Heat rose from his scalp as she worked and her stiff fingers warmed up, allowing her to cut faster. She pictured her own hairdresser, Lenny, and focused on what he did when cutting her hair, working her way carefully.

It felt odd not to talk while she worked, and the silence lay thick and heavy in the large kitchen. What the hell was she supposed to talk about? What would Lenny do?

Make small talk. You can do that, right? Just say something, Josie. Anything.

‘You know, you look nothing like I expected,’ she said.

‘No?’ His voice was infused with amusement.

‘You’re so...’ She willed her addled brain to come up with any word except the one fighting to get out.

She lost.

‘Big.’

He turned to catch her eye and she looked away quickly, so as not to get sucked into flirty banter with him—not when she was so close she could inhale the minty aroma of his toothpaste and the dark undertones of whatever product he used on his body that made him smell so—what was the word? Appetising...

Thank God for the soothing action of lifting and snipping at his hair. Mercifully, it helped her maintain focus, although her cool was shot to pieces.

‘Judging by your complexion and the size of your frame I’m guessing there’s some Scandinavian blood in there somewhere?’ she barrelled on.

‘Icelandic.’

‘I’d never have guessed that from your sister—she’s so dark. Hair and complexion.’ Okay, this was good. Well, better. Sort of...

‘She got the French blood.’

‘On your mother’s side?’ Lift, pull, snip.

‘Yeah, my paternal grandmother was French. This was her home. She left it to me and Abi when she died.’

There was a change in his posture and a new tension in his jaw that made her wonder what he’d omitted from that statement. A memory of Abi telling her their grandmother was the only person Connor had ever cared about swam into her mind.

She paused, not quite sure how to frame her next question. ‘Abi says she hasn’t seen you in a long time?’

His head moved up a notch as his shoulders stiffened. ‘No.’

She waited for him to elucidate but the silence stretched on.

‘I think she’d like to see you sometime.’

‘Hmm...’

She’d hit a conversational roadblock. Another approach, maybe? ‘So what keeps you so busy?’

‘I travel a lot.’ His tone was dismissive, as if he were closing down this conversation too.

Don’t give up, Josie.

‘You’ve just got back from somewhere?’

‘South America. I’m leaving for India in a few days.’

Abi hadn’t told her much about Connor—only that he was always on the move and never came to England to see her. They’d been on a rare night out and three cocktails down when she’d talked about him. There had been a heavy sadness to her tone, and an unhappy resignation to his snubbing of her. His name hadn’t been mentioned since and Josie had tactfully avoided mentioning him again.

From Abi’s description of him she’d expected a self-aggrandising playboy with power issues—not this challenging, provocative giant of a man.

Moving round to the front of him, she made sure to keep looking only at the long fringe of hair left to cut. The heat of his gaze burned her skin as she shuffled between his spread thighs to get close enough to reach in. With shaking hands she took hold of the front of it, the backs of her fingers gently brushing the warm skin of his forehead. His heat invaded her and she experienced a whole body flush which concentrated into a core of molten lava in the depths of her pelvis. She wished her hair wasn’t pulled back so severely so she could hide her fiery face in the safety of its protective curtain.

After snipping at the length of hair until she was satisfied, she took a step back away from his weird vortexlike pull and dropped the scissors onto the kitchen table.

‘You’re done.’

He was looking at her with a curious expression. ‘You know, there’s something very familiar about you.’

Dammit. Just when she’d thought she’d got away with it. She really didn’t want to talk about her sister right now.

She shrugged. ‘I have one of those faces. You’ve never met me before.’ He seemed satisfied with this answer, thank goodness, and threw her a quick nod.

Pulling off the towel, he dropped it onto the floor. ‘How does it look?’

Meeting his gaze, she willed her cheeks to deflame. ‘Actually, it looks pretty good.’ She was oddly pleased with how successful a cut it was, considering she’d never done it before in her life.

He nodded, releasing his slow grin, then turned abruptly and walked out of the room and up the stairs—she guessed to check his new haircut for himself.

Grateful for this small reprieve, she grabbed a dustpan and brush from under the sink and swept up the hair that had landed on the floor, her body humming with alien sensations. She hoped to goodness her face would return to some kind of normal colour by the time he got back.

She’d cleared up every bit of hair and made herself another drink by the time he returned, his face now scrupulously clean-shaven.

What a transformation. All her blood dashed south to pulse wildly between her thighs as she took in his new, clean-cut appearance. He’d pulled his shorn hair into messy spikes, and now his bristles weren’t obscuring it his bone structure seemed ridiculously and beautifully chiselled. He was the picture of pure, healthy, brute strength.

‘Okay. So we’re good here,’ he said, apparently unaware of the catastrophic effect he was having on her. ‘You’ve earned your right to stay.’

Sucking in a deep breath, she attempted to jump-start her brain into functioning. ‘So that’s it? Negotiation over? You’re leaving?’

He laughed and stepped closer to her. She took half a step back before checking herself.

Hold steady there, Josie.

‘You’re not getting rid of me that easily. You seem to be a useful sort of person to have around. I’m only going to be here for a few days, but I’ll take the sofa since you won dibs.’

Before she had a chance to protest he spun round, pulling open the patio doors and exiting onto the terrace, shouting, ‘Dinner at eight!’ over his shoulder as he strode away.