Читать книгу Reform Of The Playboy - Mary Lyons - Страница 6

‘SO, TELL me more about this party tonight?’

‘What’s to tell?’ Finn Maclean spun the wheel of his large Mercedes to avoid a taxi, doing an illegal U-turn in the middle of Notting Hill Gate. ‘It’s just going to be the usual media shindig. Lots of champagne; loud music; not enough food—and everyone yelling at the top of their voices.’

‘Any gorgeous-looking girls?’ Tim asked hopefully.

‘No problem—there’ll be plenty of them!’ Finn turned to grin at his old friend. ‘But whether they’ll have anything inside their beautiful heads—apart from an interest in the size of your wallet, of course—is highly unlikely.’

‘That’s OK by me. I’m not fussy!’ Tim laughed as Finn deftly slotted the vehicle into a parking space and switched off the engine.

‘Well, good hunting! But you may have to find your own way home—because I’m not intending to stay very long,’ Finn warned him. ‘In fact, I wouldn’t have bothered to turn up if I hadn’t arranged to meet someone who knows of an apartment I can rent.’

‘But I thought you’d just bought that amazing penthouse in Holland Park?’

‘Yes, so I have. But unfortunately it needs a total refit,’ Finn said as he opened his car door. ‘And with carpenters, plumbers, and goodness knows who else crawling all over the place, it makes sense to clear out and leave them to it.’

‘How long is it going to take?’

‘About six months. And that’s the problem,’ Finn explained. ‘Because I need to live in this area—if only to keep an eye on the builders. Unfortunately, it’s proving extremely difficult to find anyone willing to rent me a flat for just a few months. Which is why,’ he added, ‘I’m dragging you along to what is likely to be a dead boring party—instead of us having a quiet dinner and a good bottle of wine at the Halcyon.’

‘That’s OK by me,’ Tim assured him. ‘But how come someone who’s had more girls than I’ve had hot dinners should be sounding so unenthusiastic about the prospect of wine, women and song? Which reminds me,’ he added with a grin. ‘What’s happened to the lovely Linda?’

‘I imagine that she’s still as lovely as ever,’ Finn drawled coolly. ‘However, I can’t give you an up-to-date report, since Linda and I split up well over six months ago.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Tim murmured. ‘What happened?’

‘Nothing very dramatic.’ Finn shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘She wanted to get married—and I didn’t. End of story.’

Climbing out of the car, Tim found himself wondering why his old friend—who was not only amazingly good-looking, but also a very wealthy and highly successful man—hadn’t yet found the right woman. Maybe it was something to do with the guy being almost too attractive?

Such an idea would never have occurred to him if his older married sister, Susie, after comforting one of Finn’s tearful ex-girlfriends, hadn’t bluntly stated, ‘That man is far too attractive and sexy for his own good. As far as I can see, he only has to turn those amazing blue eyes on a girl—and she’s a goner!’

However, when Tim had said that he wouldn’t mind having the same problem, his sister had merely given a caustic laugh before telling him to count his blessings.

‘You may be a boring old stick, Tim, but at least when a girl comes on to you it’s because she really likes you, and finds you interesting. Can you imagine the sheer boredom of having women throwing themselves at you—morning, noon and night?’

‘I reckon I could hack it,’ he’d retorted with a grin, before changing the subject. But it had since occurred to him that there might well be something in what his sister had said, after all.

While there was no doubt that his old friend was a genuinely nice, upright sort of guy—good with children, kind to old ladies and all that jazz—he was definitely spoilt as far as the female sex were concerned. Why, even now, as they entered the bar and restaurant which had been taken over by the film company for the evening, Finn’s appearance was instantly greeted with cries of delight by practically every woman in the place.

Way to go! he told himself, shaking his head ruefully as his friend was immediately surrounded by a crowd of nubile blonde nymphets, leaving Tim to make his own solitary way to the bar.

‘I can’t think why I let you drag me here…’ Harriet muttered, casting an apprehensive eye at the long line of expensive limousines double-parked outside the large white building. ‘This type of ultra-glamorous function really isn’t my kind of thing.’

‘Don’t be so stuffy! Besides, this is definitely one of the “in” places, at the moment,’ Sophie retorted as the large plate glass doors flew open at their approach.

‘But I’m not a sort of “in” person,’ Harriet protested weakly. ‘In fact, most of the time these days I’m feeling decidedly “out.”’

‘That’s only because you insist on going out with that boring banker of yours,’ Sophie told her, before giving their names to the doorman.

‘He’s not boring!’

‘Oh, yes, he is,’ her friend retorted bluntly. ‘For heaven’s sake, Harriet—can’t you see that he’s cast a complete blight over your love life? If you’re not sleeping with the guy—and I don’t blame you, since I reckon he’s about as attractive as a bowl of sheep’s eyes for breakfast—why waste your time with him?’

‘Kindly leave my private life out of this discussion!’ Harriet hissed, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Not for the first time, she found herself bitterly regretting the fact that, having drunk too much wine one evening, she’d found herself telling Sophie the truth about her current relationship with George Harding.

‘While you’re stuck with boring George, how on earth can you hope to meet “Mr Wonderful”?’ her old friend continued, clearly determined not to leave the subject alone. ‘Which is why it’s definitely time you traded him in, for a much more attractive, sexy sort of guy.’

‘George is a very nice man,’ Harriet retorted as they waited for their names to be checked off the list of guests. ‘And besides, I’ve known him for ever.’

Sophie gave a snort of grim laughter. ‘Which is precisely why it’s time you had a new boyfriend. Someone with a bit of life in them; someone reasonably good-looking and with a sense of humour. In fact, all the qualities that George totally lacks!

‘Yes, I know,’ she continued quickly as Harriet opened her mouth to protest. ‘I know your parents think he’s great. And that you regard him as a nice, safe escort—who’s not going to give you any hassle. Believe me,’ Sophie added with a laugh, ‘I’ve absolutely nothing against rich bankers. The more the merrier, as far as I’m concerned! But George really is heavy. And a lovely girl like you could do a whole lot better.’

Harriet glared down at her old schoolfriend. ‘Have you been drinking? I’m only asking,’ she drawled sarcastically, ‘because I’ve noticed that you always start having a go about poor old George when you’ve been lunching at one of those expensive local restaurants—supposedly chatting up your clients.’

Sophie giggled. ‘Yes, as it happens, I did have a very good lunch at 192,’ she agreed cheerfully.

But, while she probably had drunk far too much wine at lunch, she was still totally convinced that her oldest and dearest friend badly needed rescuing from George Harding. Unfortunately, despite explaining until she was blue in the face that if Harriet had decided she was frigid it was definitely George’s fault, not hers, she couldn’t seem to get her friend to listen to the message.

I know that I’m right, Sophie told herself, gazing up at the girl who towered over her own diminutive figure. With that luminous, pale alabaster skin, surrounded by a thick mane of deep red hair, Harriet could have stepped straight out of one of those Pre-Raphaelite paintings by Burne-Jones or William Morris. It was a crying shame that such unusual, startling beauty should be thrown away on her current, extremely dull boyfriend.

‘Well, I don’t think either of us are likely to meet “Mr Wonderful” at this sort of party,’ Harriet muttered as they entered the large room.

‘You never know who’s going to turn up—especially at a function which is being hosted by a film company,’ Sophie told her impatiently. ‘I gather they’re throwing a post-production party for everyone who’s been helping them on the movie. So relax—OK?’

It’s very far from being ‘OK,’ Harriet told herself, grimly eyeing the interior of the large space as Sophie began steering an unsteady course towards the bar.

She had no problem with the restaurant’s avant-garde decor—which had clearly been designed on the theme of a modern chemist’s shop: its windows outside lined with rows of pharmaceutical products, and the white-topped tables and stools in the shape of aspirins. But, after having to deal with builders all day, Harriet had been looking forward to a quiet evening, chatting over a bottle of wine with her old friend. Not mixing with a crowd of highly fashionable and glamorous strangers, all dressed up to the nines—and shouting at one another at the top of their voices.

Well over an hour later, Harriet had been given little cause to change her mind. Pinned in a corner of the room by a highly unattractive man, she found herself looking desperately around for an avenue of escape.

There was, of course, no sign of Sophie, who was probably busy chatting up some exciting film star, Harriet told herself glumly, bitterly aware that both her own height and colouring placed her at a distinctive disadvantage.

This bar and restaurant might be absolutely the ‘in’ thing at the moment—but so also, it seemed, were petite, stick-thin blondes. Which meant that no one was likely to be interested in a girl who stood six foot in her stockinged feet, possessed a reasonably slim figure but with curves in all the right places, and whose head was crowned by a mass of thick fiery-red hair.

Ignoring the drink in her hand—an evil-looking blue cocktail, which was probably highly toxic—Harriet stared over the shoulder of the man, who was still droning on about ‘camera angles’ and ‘light meters,’ towards a group in the far corner.

Well, at least they seemed to be having fun, she thought glumly, viewing the clutch of amazingly beautiful girls, all gaily laughing their heads off and flicking their long blonde hair—clearly trying to catch the notice of a man in their midst.

The lighting was far too dim to make out his features, but if he was attracting that amount of attention there was a good chance that he was likely to be drop-dead gorgeous. Which was definitely not the case with the man who’d now got her pinned her in the corner—and who seemed determined to bore for Britain.

‘Ah, there you are!’ Sophie cried, suddenly materialising from the thick crowd around the bar. ‘Come along—there’s someone I want you to meet.’

‘That’s the best news I heard all evening,’ Harriet muttered, thankfully allowing herself to be dragged away from the corner where she’d been trapped. ‘I’d just about given up all hope of rescue, and was getting ready to go home.’

‘Oh, come on—loosen up! That man you were with didn’t look all that bad,’ Sophie said, charging up to the bar and ordering two glasses of champagne.

‘Are you kidding? He had all the attraction of a dead fish!’

Sophie giggled. ‘Well, I’ve managed to chat up one or two quite handsome guys.’

‘Good for you,’ Harriet muttered, taking a sip of champagne. ‘As far as I can see, most of the men here seem to be either fat, rich and boring—or slim, gay and unavailable.’

‘I know what you mean, but I guess that’s show business,’ her friend agreed with a sigh. ‘Still, the man I want you to meet is definitely into women. In fact, not only is he absolutely gorgeous and as rich as Croesus—but he’s not married! How about that?’

‘Oh, yeah? So, what’s the catch?’

‘There isn’t one,’ Sophie assured her earnestly. ‘He’s just about perfect.’

‘Do me a favour!’ Harriet retorted with a grim laugh. ‘No one is that perfect! There must be something wrong with him. So what is it? Has he got the Mother from Hell? Is his current girlfriend the Fiend from Outer Space? Is he a transvestite, or…?’

‘Absolutely not!’

‘Well…?’

‘No, honestly—I’m not kidding,’ Sophie protested. ‘He’s really great.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ Harriet snorted with derision. ‘If this guy is so “great”—why haven’t you snapped him up? It’s not like you to be backward in coming forward, is it?’

‘Thanks!’

Harriet laughed. ‘Come on—spill the beans.’

‘I am telling the truth,’ Sophie assured her earnestly. ‘And he really is currently available. Which is why I think I might be in with a chance. Well, I probably will be…just as soon as he moves into that second-floor flat of yours.’

‘What…?’ Harriet gazed at her in disbelief. ‘You must be joking.’

‘No, really—it’s a great idea.’

‘For heaven’s sake, Sophie—are you out of your mind? You know the builders only moved out today. I mean…’ She gave a helpless shrug. ‘Quite apart from anything else, the paint hasn’t even had time to dry.’

‘But I’ve worked it all out, and— Oh, my goodness! There’s Declan Malone, the famous TV reporter, and his new wife Olivia,’ Sophie exclaimed excitedly. ‘I must just try and have a quick word with him,’ she added, slipping off her high bar stool. ‘If I can maybe persuade them to sell their house, I’ve got at least two clients who’d be willing to snap it up straight away.’

Harriet sighed and shook her head. She was having difficulty getting used to her old schoolfriend’s metamorphosis into ‘Little Miss Fix-It.’ In fact, when introducing Sophie to the estate agent who’d been handling the sale of her aunt’s house in Lansdowne Gardens, Harriet had no idea that the other girl’s new career would prove to be such a success.

After living a butterfly existence, flitting from job to job and never staying in any position for more than a few months, it now seemed as though Sophie had at last discovered her true vocation.

As her friend had explained, only the other day, ‘It’s just the same as introducing friends at a party. Only instead of hoping that they’ll like one another—I’m hoping that they’ll fall in love with a house, instead.’ And, since Sophie possessed an address book practically bulging at the seams, it seemed very likely that she would be ‘introducing’ her friends and acquaintances to various properties in the area for some time to come.

Although Harriet had doubts about the wisdom of renting the lower ground flat in her own house to Sophie, that too had proved to be a great success. With its own private entrance out on to the street, it meant that the two girls, while remaining close friends, had no problem in living their own separate lives.

But, now that Sophie seemed intent on introducing a strange man into her house, Harriet couldn’t help thinking that things were going to change—and not necessarily for the better.

‘No, Declan and Olivia aren’t interested in selling their house,’ Sophie said, forcing her way through the crowd as she joined Harriet at the bar. ‘Still, it’s always fun to meet new people, and you never know—they might just change their minds and give me a call.’

‘Do you ever stop networking?’ Harriet enquired, the slightly caustic note in her voice going completely over her friend’s head.

‘Absolutely not,’ Sophie told her seriously. ‘After all, you never know when the bread you’ve thrown on the water isn’t going to be gobbled up by a nice fat duck—right? Which reminds me…we were talking about your new second-floor apartment.’

Harriet shook her head. ‘No. You were talking about it,’ she told her friend firmly. ‘The builders may have moved out today, but I’m still waiting for the fridge and cooker to be delivered—and they won’t arrive until next week. So this crazy idea of yours that—’

‘Hey—relax! There’s no need to get your knickers in a twist,’ Sophie assured her quickly. ‘Believe me—this guy is really desperate to find somewhere to live. But only for the next six months. So there’d be no problem about getting rid of him. Right?’

‘Why does he want to rent somewhere for only such a short time?’

‘Because he’s already bought himself a large apartment in Holland Park. Unfortunately, he can’t live there at the moment. Not until he’s got rid of the builders who are currently tearing the place apart.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Come on, Harriet! You know what it’s like trying to convert a flat…dust and mess everywhere. So it’s not surprising the poor guy needs to rent another flat while all that work is going on.’

Harriet gave a reluctant nod of agreement.

‘Of course, once it’s finished, his apartment will be absolutely fabulous!’ Sophie told her enthusiastically, waving her glass airily in the air, quite oblivious of the fact that she was spilling champagne over the expensive smart Armani suit of the man standing next to her. ‘A huge penthouse…enormous-sized rooms…terrific view…security like you wouldn’t believe, et cetera, et cetera. And—since I’d have been so helpful in finding him temporary accommodation—if he ever decided to sell it, he’d be bound to ask me to deal with the sale, wouldn’t he?’

‘Has your boss put you up to this?’ Harriet asked her sternly.

Sophie shook her head. ‘Absolutely not. He’s gone away on holiday for a few days, and has left me in charge.’

‘More fool him!’ Harriet muttered under her breath. Sophie was her oldest and dearest friend. But anyone willing to risk his business by leaving her in charge of anything—even a photocopier—clearly needed his head examined.

‘OK, I’ve got the picture,’ she told her friend. ‘But why pick on me?’

‘Because the arrangement’s going to suit the three of us down to the ground,’ Sophie told her bluntly. ‘He needs a place to rent. You have just finished doing up that second-floor apartment, of yours. And as for me…well, living down in your basement, I get to see the man of my dreams every day.’

‘I’ll admit it all sounds fine—as far as you and this man are concerned,’ Harriet agreed grimly. ‘I just can’t see why I should have to go along with this crazy scenario.’

‘Because he’s willing to pay a really huge amount of lovely money to rent your apartment. And there’d be absolutely no problem about getting rid of him in six months’ time,’ the other girl told her with an encouraging smile. ‘Quite honestly—it really is the perfect arrangement for all three of us!’

‘Hmm…’ Harriet murmured sceptically. She very much doubted whether Sophie—who changed her boyfriends almost as fast as she changed her clothes—would be likely to stay interested in this guy, however sexy he might be, for as long as six months.

On the other hand, her old friend was quite right. It would suit her down to the ground to have a tenant straight away. Especially since, having budgeted as best she could, the bills for doing up her house in Lansdowne Gardens were becoming astronomical. Not to mention the enormous amount of hassle from her parents, who’d both thoroughly disapproved of her plans of converting the large, derelict house which had so unexpectedly been left to her by her great-aunt Jane.

‘Think of a number—and then double it,’ had been her father’s grim warning. And, while she’d have died rather than admit the truth, he’d unfortunately been quite right. So, maybe immediately finding a tenant for her newly designed second-floor apartment might not be such a bad idea, after all?

Besides, if this man was really as rich and as desperate for a roof over his head as Sophie seemed to think he was, she might be able to charge a high rent for the next six months. All of which would help her depleted finances more than somewhat.

‘Well…I might be prepared to consider this man,’ Harriet told her friend. ‘But I’m going to need some very good references—and an iron-clad contract.’

‘No problem,’ Sophie assured her quickly. ‘I can guarantee to arrange a good contract for you. And, as far as I can see, references won’t be a problem, since this guy seems to know practically everyone.’

‘So do most con men!’ Harriet murmured dryly. ‘By the way—what’s his name? And what does he do for a living?’

Sophie shrugged. ‘I did take his card—but I seem to have left it at home. To be truthful—’ she grinned ‘—I was so gobsmacked when he strolled into the office today that it took me some time to come down to earth! But I know he’s something to do with this film company.’ She waved her hand around the room. ‘So I guess that he’s probably some sort of producer.’

Harriet shrugged. ‘OK, I’m willing to meet him. But I’m not promising anything,’ she added warningly as Sophie gave her a wide, beaming smile. ‘And if he turns out to be a scriptwriter—you can forget the whole idea. Because absolutely the last thing I need is someone who works from home, cluttering up the house all day.’

‘I’m sure there won’t be a problem. And besides,’ Sophie laughed, ‘you won’t see too much of him—I’ll see to that!’

‘I just bet you will!’ Harriet grinned, gazing down at her friend. Small, dark and bubbly, Sophie never had any problem in attracting men. Even now, despite looking slightly hungover and not too steady on her pins, there was no doubt that Sophie had bags of sex appeal.

Harriet gave a sigh of pure envy, before resolutely pulling herself together. ‘OK. I’m willing to talk to this man. But until I’ve met him that’s as far as I’m prepared to go.’

‘Just wait till you see this guy. You won’t be able to believe your eyes!’ her friend told her, before leading the way through the tightly packed throng of people towards a group on the other side of the room.

Sophie was quite right.

Harriet simply could not believe her eyes—or her bad luck—as she watched the other girl breaking into a circle of women surrounding the tall, dark man in the corner, whom she’d viewed across the room earlier in the evening.

‘Here we are!’ Sophie trilled, deftly elbowing a small blonde out of the way as she grabbed hold of the man’s arm, dragging him out of the crowd towards Harriet, who was standing rooted to the spot, almost paralysed with shock and dismay.

‘I just know that you two lovely people are going to get on like a house on fire!’ her friend continued, blissfully unaware of a highly embarrassed flush spreading over Harriet’s cheeks, or the sudden stiffening of the man’s tall figure.

‘Let me introduce you. This is my friend Harriet Wentworth, and—’

‘I’ve already had the pleasure of meeting Miss Wentworth,’ he drawled sardonically. A tight-lipped, grim smile of amusement flickered over his handsome features as he viewed the dawning consternation in the tall, red-headed girl’s green eyes.

‘Oh, that’s good!’ Sophie burbled happily.

No, it isn’t—it’s a bloody disaster! Harriet wanted to scream out loud. Although, considering the horrendous amount of noisy laughter and shouting going on around them, no one would have taken any notice if she had suddenly started yelling her head off.

Life was just so damned unfair! Of all the men in London—why did it have to be this particular man who was now wanting to rent a flat in her house? she asked herself incredulously. But—as much as she wanted to tell him to get lost—she simply didn’t have enough nerve to cause a scene.

‘Well, actually…’ she began, desperately trying to pull herself together. ‘I’m sure that Mr…um…’ What was the guy’s name? ‘That Mr—’

‘My name is Finn Maclean,’ he interrupted curtly.

‘Oh, yes…er…sorry…’ she mumbled, suddenly hating both Sophie and this awful man for putting her in such a difficult position, and desperately wishing that she’d never—absolutely never—agreed to come to this awful party. ‘The fact is…’

‘The fact is, you apparently have a flat to let. And I need to rent one, almost immediately,’ he told her in a firm let’s-have-no-nonsense tone of voice, which immediately raised her hackles.

‘I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that Sophie has jumped the gun,’ she told him quickly. ‘I’ve only just got rid of the builders, and—’

Busily intent on explaining just why it was not possible for him to rent her new apartment, Harriet was startled to find herself abruptly cut off in mid-sentence, the man quickly grasping her arm and towing her determinedly towards the back of the room, before opening a door and issuing her into a dimly lit small office.

‘Now, just a minute!’ she protested, rubbing the top of her arm where he’d gripped her so fiercely.

‘I’m sorry. But we were hardly able to hear ourselves think—let alone hold a reasonable conversation,’ he said, perching himself down on the edge of a large partners desk and stretching his long legs out in front of him.

‘I’ve bought this new flat, in Holland Park,’ he continued, before explaining the problem he was likely to have with so many workmen, and his need for alternative accommodation for anything up to six months. ‘And so, when your friend told me that you’d completed the conversion of the second floor in your house, it seemed the perfect solution to my problem,’ he added with a warm, engaging smile.

While Harriet would normally admire a guy who was prepared to take decisive action in pursuit of his goal, she’d already had dealings with Finn Maclean—and it had not been a pleasant experience.

So, it was no good him trying to turn on the charm—which he clearly possessed in abundance. Or trying to smooth-talk her into allowing him to rent her flat, she told herself grimly. Because he was definitely not the sort of tenant she’d had in mind.

‘I’d be at work in the City all day—and I’m out quite a lot in the evenings,’ he was saying as she stared mulishly back at him, determined to stick to her guns. ‘So, most of the time you’d hardly know I was there.’

‘What do you do? I mean,’ she added quickly as he looked at her in surprise, ‘Sophie seems to think that you are some kind of film producer.’

He gave a deep chuckle of laughter. ‘No, I’m afraid not. I work in the City as a lawyer,’ he explained. ‘In fact, my only contact with the film company giving this party concerned drawing up a contract for some work they were doing recently, on location.’

‘Oh, right,’ Harriet murmured, feeling somewhat relieved to know that if she was going to let her flat to this man—which, of course, she wasn’t—he would be unlikely to be throwing wild parties full of weird people, and disturbing her neighbours in the early hours of the morning.

However, Finn Maclean was obviously a very successful lawyer, if that wafer-thin Cartier gold watch on his wrist was anything to go by. So there seemed no point in mentioning that she, too, was a lawyer—albeit having worked as a very junior solicitor in a large, multinational firm.

‘Come on, you gorgeous girl—give me a break!’ He grinned engagingly at her. ‘I really am desperate to find somewhere to live.’

Easily able to discard his outrageous flattery—‘gorgeous girl’ indeed!—and frantically searching her mind for a good excuse to avoid renting him her apartment, Harriet was nevertheless finding it very difficult to concentrate on the problem.

Even though she was still relatively sober—mostly because she hadn’t liked the look of those peculiar-coloured cocktails—she was finding it extraordinarily difficult to ignore the amazing good looks, heady attraction and all-persuasive allure of this man.

Despite being perched on the desk, a few feet away from her, the magnetic force of his personality—not to mention the staggering effect of so much sheer naked sex appeal—was causing her to feel confused and breathless. The warm sparkling glints in those large blue eyes of his seemed to contain an almost seductive enticement; the atmosphere between them now was so thick that she could practically cut it with a knife.

‘Well…?’

‘I don’t know…’ she muttered weakly, realising that it would be no good saying that, since he hadn’t even seen the house, it was far too soon to take any sort of decision. Because not only did he know her house very well—but he’d also been extremely angry when she’d refused to sell it to him, all those months ago.

Unfortunately, it seemed that Finn Maclean—alongside all the other gifts with which nature had clearly endowed him—was also quite capable of reading her mind.

‘You may not want to rent me that flat of yours, Harriet. But I reckon you owe me a favour,’ he told her bluntly, the icy-cold, forceful determination in his voice sharply at variance with the warm, soothing tones he’d been using only a few seconds ago.

‘You were responsible for the fact that I wasted a great deal of time and money,’ he continued grimly. ‘Which is why I feel it’s not asking too much for you to now help solve my current difficulty.’

‘Yes, well…maybe I did…but…’

‘So, we’ve got a deal—OK?’

‘That’s great!’ Sophie cried, bursting into the room just in time to catch his last words. ‘And there’s no need to worry, Harriet. I’ll get my boss to draw up a really iron-clad contract. No problem!’

‘Oh…all right,’ Harriet sighed helplessly, well aware that she was being somehow railroaded—by these two highly persistent and determined people—into agreeing to have this awful man in her house for six months.

But, of course, it was very far from being ‘all right.’ In fact, she barely needed to glimpse the icy-cold gleam of triumph in those startling blue eyes, to know that Finn Maclean was Bad News.

Not to mention a feeling of total certainty, now settling like a hard stone in her stomach, that this was one decision she was going to bitterly regret.