by Anne Mather
Conversely, Jack didn’t strike her as the kind of man to be taken in so easily. It was just another website, for goodness’ sake. And there were dozens of comparison sites out there already. Sean’s idea was not that original. She could only hope and pray that somehow a miracle might happen.
‘Come on.’ Sean’s tone was wheedling now. ‘At least pretend we’re still a couple. Don’t embarrass me in front of Jack.’
Embarrass him?
Grace closed her eyes against the images that suddenly assaulted her senses. Was it really better to pretend she supported Sean than to admit she was afraid of her feelings for Jack?
Grace was still thinking about this when Sean got impatiently to his feet.
‘Hey, do you think Jack would mind if I helped myself to a beer?’ He was tense and nervy, probably apprehensive about what he was going to say. ‘I’m thirsty.’
‘You can’t go poking around in someone else’s kitchen,’ Grace protested. She pointed to the window, drawing his attention in that direction. ‘Look at that fantastic view! I wonder if the surfing competition has started yet. It might be interesting to watch.’
‘Are you kidding me?’ Sean was contemptuous. ‘If you think I want to waste my time watching a bunch of muscleheads in wetsuits, trying to stay upright on an ironing board, you’re very much mistaken.’
‘It wasn’t an invitation,’ retorted Grace tightly, and then she caught her breath when Jack spoke behind them.
‘I think it’s a bit more demanding than that,’ he remarked, and they both swung round—Grace almost guiltily—to find their host standing in the doorway.
He’d evidently had a swift shower and Grace could see drops of water glistening on his shaggy dark hair. He looked unbearably masculine and so sexy she felt every nerve in her body go on high alert.
In low-waisted khakis that hugged his narrow hips and a black collarless body shirt, he exuded a raw sensual appeal that she’d never experienced before meeting him. And the fact that his body hadn’t been completely dry when he’d got dressed meant that the cotton fabrics clung to him in all the most disturbing places.
Thankfully, Sean had his own agenda.
‘Jack, my man,’ he exclaimed expansively, leaving Grace and turning to Jack. ‘We were just admiring your view.’
‘Were you?’
Jack’s dry comment made Grace almost sure he’d heard every word Sean had said.
‘Yeah.’ Sean was undaunted. ‘So, how are you, Jack? Still living the life of a beachcomber?’
‘Don’t you mean a beach bum?’ suggested Jack, undeterred, and Sean had the grace to pull a wry face.
‘Whatever,’ he muttered. He thrust his hands into the back pockets of his chinos and pushed his chest out. ‘Anyway, how about offering me a beer? Trailing around your garden is thirsty work.’
‘Okay.’
Jack half turned away. Then he looked back, straight at Grace.
‘What would you like?’
How to answer that?
Grace felt the treacherous colour rising up her face at the thoughts she couldn’t quite keep at bay.
Jack, naked, in her bed, was in there somewhere. As was the compelling prospect of repeating that kiss that had purely blown her mind.
She shivered. How pathetic was that? He could seduce her brain with only a look.
‘Um—anything,’ she mumbled, aware that Sean was looking at her now.
‘So long as it’s not beer, eh, Grace?’ he said mockingly, and she struggled to find a smile.
Jack’s dark brows arched. ‘White wine?’
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘That would be nice.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
Without waiting for an invitation, Sean followed Jack out of the room and Grace sank down rather weakly onto the nearest chair. Right now, it was hard to care what Sean intended. So long as her unwanted attraction to Jack wasn’t exposed.
Jack entered his kitchen with Sean behind him.
He was a bit aggrieved at the other man’s presumption, but he tamped it down. Remembering the way he’d betrayed their friendship was a rude wake-up call.
Jack pulled open the fridge door, taking out two beers and a bottle of Chardonnay. He handed one of the beers to Sean and then jerked open a drawer, looking for the corkscrew. ‘Do you need a glass?’
‘Nuh-uh.’ Sean borrowed the corkscrew to hook off the cap of his beer, then perched himself on one of the tall stools that faced a central island, surveying the copper pans hanging from the units, the bowls of climbing plants and pots of herbs suspended from the beamed ceiling.
‘This is some place,’ he said, taking a long drink of his beer. ‘I bet it cost a small fortune.’
‘Actually, I got it fairly reasonably,’ said Jack, despite his dislike of discussing money. ‘As Grace’s father has probably told you, it was in pretty dire straits when I took it over.’
‘Ah, but you didn’t do all this,’ said Sean, gesturing with his bottle. ‘I mean, come on, Jack. You’re no do-it-yourselfer, are you?’
‘You’d be surprised.’ Jack had no intention of telling Sean exactly what he had done during the course of the renovation. ‘How about you? Have you found a post in Northumberland, or have you decided to stay in London?’
Sean shrugged. ‘As a matter of fact, I haven’t been looking. But don’t tell Grace that. I’m still hoping to find a backer for my website.’ He swallowed the remainder of his beer. ‘Got any ideas?’
Jack frowned. ‘Do you need a backer to start a website? I’d have thought it was a fairly simple thing to arrange.’
‘Not the kind of website I have in mind,’ Sean contradicted him shortly. Then he held up his empty bottle. ‘You got another one of these?’
‘Sure.’
Jack opened the fridge again and handed him another beer. Then he said pointedly, ‘Oughtn’t we to be getting back to Grace? She’ll be wondering where we are.’
‘Oh, Grace is okay.’ Sean opened his bottle and took another generous swig. ‘Man, that really hits the spot.’
Jack said nothing and after a moment, Sean met his gaze.
‘Why don’t you tell me what you think of her. Grace, I mean.’ There was a sly shrewdness to the question. ‘You’ve seen her, haven’t you? Since I went back to London.’
Jack kept his reaction securely under control. ‘I assume you mean at the agency,’ he said neutrally. ‘Yes. She showed me the cottages at Culworth.’
‘Mmm.’ Sean’s eyes narrowed. ‘So go on. What do you think of her?’ His mouth twisted. ‘You can tell me.’
Jack could feel a simmering sense of resentment stirring inside him. Where the hell was Sean going with a question like that?
‘What do you want me to say?’ he asked, restraining his temper with an effort. ‘She seems very nice. Very efficient.’ The words almost stuck in his throat. ‘You’re a very lucky man.’
‘Yeah, I am, aren’t I?’ Sean took a moment to enjoy the compliment. ‘But she deserves so much more than I can give her.’ He grimaced. ‘Ever since I lost that job with Sunyata, it’s been a struggle to make ends meet.’
Jack suspected that was an exaggeration. Sean’s job and the salary Grace had earned as a paralegal would have surely added up to quite a comfortable income.
‘Anyway...’ Sean wasn’t finished ‘...we all know it’s okay for you, Jack. You don’t have to go bowing and scraping for every penny you need.’
‘Nor do you,’ said Jack mildly, but now Sean’s jaw jutted aggressively.
‘I do, if I want to make anything of myself,’ he exclaimed harshly. ‘I don’t have a wealthy grandmother to help me out.’
Jack sighed. ‘I’m sorry you feel like that, Sean,’ he said. ‘But I haven’t had it all my own way.’
Sean’s mouth thinned. ‘You mean, because of Lisa.’
‘Yeah, because of Lisa,’ Jack agreed, feeling another twinge of guilt at the realisation that he hadn’t thought about his wife in days.
Grace, yes. God help him, he’d thought about her a lot. Because despite his conscious determination to stay well away from her, he couldn’t control his subconscious so easily.
Which, let’s face it, he thought, was why he was letting Sean Nesbitt pull his strings.
Sean shrugged. ‘Lisa was a beautiful woman,’ he conceded, though there was little real sympathy in his voice. ‘And I know you loved her.’ He paused. ‘But you have to admit, she was no saint.’
Jack scowled. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
As far as he was aware, Sean had met Lisa only a couple of times; one of them at their wedding. Certainly not enough to pass judgement on her character.
‘I’m only saying, it’s a couple of years since the accident,’ Sean muttered offhandedly. ‘And your life has had its compensations, if you know what I mean.’
‘Okay.’ Jack had had enough of this. ‘If you’ve got something to say, why don’t you spit it out?’
Sean hunched his shoulders. ‘You always were an arrogant bastard, weren’t you?’
‘And you know damn well you’re only here because you need my help.’
‘All right, all right.’ Sean pulled a face ‘I’ll tell you about my idea for a website.’ He paused for a moment and then added confidently, ‘It’s a comparison site. And I know there are lots of them. But this is like nothing you’ve seen before.’
* * *
It was fully half an hour before the two men returned to the living room.
Grace had pulled a sailing magazine off the coffee table and was flicking through the pages in an effort to ignore what she was sure was going on in the other room.
Sean hadn’t gone with Jack because he wanted to check out his kitchen. He’d seen an opportunity to speak to him without her obvious disapproval and jumped at it.
Sean’s face as he came back into the room mirrored a smug satisfaction. Grace felt her stomach tighten at the realisation that he must have achieved his objective.
But how had he achieved it? Why had Jack succumbed so easily? Was it because he saw some merit in his website idea? Or because he felt guilty after that torrid embrace in the cottage at Culworth?
She suspected the latter, particularly as Jack’s expression was decidedly cynical. It irritated her beyond measure that Sean had put them in such a position and she wished she could just leave him to it.
‘White wine?’
Jack was offering her a glass and she was obliged to take it.
But she deliberately avoided his eyes as she did so. Even if she couldn’t prevent the little frisson of electricity that shot up her arm when his fingers touched hers.
‘Thanks,’ she muttered a little ungraciously and felt even worse when Sean came to perch on the arm of her chair.
‘Guess what?’ he said, and she wondered if he really believed she didn’t know exactly what he was going to say.
‘What?’ she asked dutifully, aware that once again Jack had chosen to remain on his feet, propped against the small bureau at the other side of the room.
He still wasn’t wearing any shoes, she noticed out of the corner of her eye. And despised herself for finding the omission unbearably sexy.
But what was new? she asked herself resignedly. Everything about Jack Connolly was sexy, and for some reason her body refused to ignore the fact.
‘Jack’s agreed to look at my idea,’ Sean declared, with a self-satisfied smile. ‘I told you he’d be interested. He’s like me. He knows a good investment when he sees one.’
Grace had to bite back the words that Jack was nothing like Sean. But that didn’t make them any less true, and she felt a weary sense of depression digging at her temples.
Why couldn’t Sean have waited until he’d saved enough money for him to speculate on something as risky as this on his own? He’d already almost bankrupted her parents with his lies. And he must know that for every website that succeeded, at least a dozen others failed.
‘Well?’ Sean knew she resented him sitting on the arm of her chair but he seemed indifferent to her feelings. ‘Don’t you have anything to say? Aren’t you going to congratulate me on being such an astute salesman?’
Grace’s lips felt frozen.
She knew she had to say something. But she made the mistake of looking up instead. And the contempt in Jack’s brooding countenance was like a chill finger down her spine.
‘Um—that’s wonderful news,’ she managed at last. What else could she say, in the circumstances? And, although it sounded unconvincing to her own ears, Sean evidently only heard what he wanted to hear.
Jack pushed himself up from the bureau and looked away before he said something he’d regret.
But, dammit, it was bad enough having to watch that oaf with Grace without hearing her endorse her boyfriend’s sordid little game.
To his relief, Sean seemed to realise he should quit while he was ahead. Getting up from the chair, he said, ‘I guess we should be going. Grace’s mother worries and we have been out rather longer than we expected.’
Grace bit her tongue until it bled.
Sean had never given a damn about her mother’s feelings before.
But perhaps he could see that Jack had evidently had enough of them. Even Sean’s thick skin must have some sensitivity, after all.
CHAPTER NINE
‘YOU’RE NOT SERIOUSLY going into business with Sean Nesbitt!’
It was the following morning, and, after a restless night plagued with dreams of Grace and Sean together, Jack had decided to make himself a bacon sandwich.
‘What’s it to you?’ Jack demanded, casting a dour glance in Lisa’s direction. ‘It’s not as if you’re going to lose anything by it.’
Lisa made a sound of protest. ‘I’m hurt,’ she exclaimed, lowering her shoeless foot to the floor. She was standing at the other side of the island, arms crossed and ready for a fight.
‘I know the feeling,’ Jack said now, forking crisp slices of bacon onto a wedge of wholemeal bread. He shrugged. ‘But he’s right. I have been lucky. Financially, anyway. And maybe I do owe him something for all the years we were good pals.’
Lisa snorted. ‘Sean Nesbitt was never a “good pal” of yours,’ she retorted shortly.
Then she stifled a groan. ‘Uh-oh! Here comes trouble!’
‘What do you mean?’
Jack lifted his head to look at her just as Lisa’s image began to fade. Instead, he saw Mrs Honeyman through the kitchen window—at least half an hour early, by his estimation—cycling into the yard at the side of the house.
He swore roundly, understanding perfectly what Lisa had meant.
But then he crossed the stone tiles to unlatch the outer door with a certain resignation. Mrs Honeyman always came into the house through the old boot room, changing from her outdoor shoes into the soft-soled trainers in which she preferred to work.
‘Mr Connolly!’
Her first words needed no further explanation and Jack sighed.
‘Yeah, I know,’ he said, ‘Fried food is bad for my digestion. But I was hungry!’
Mrs Honeyman merely shook her head and began clearing up the mess he’d made. The frying pan went into soapy water; the utensils he’d used were rinsed and put into the dishwasher. Then, after eyeing Jack, munching on his sandwich, she said, ‘I assume you’d like some coffee with that?’
Jack’s mouth was full, but he nodded his approval, deciding not to tell her he’d had at least three mugs of his favourite brew already.
A sturdy woman, in her middle fifties, Mrs Honeyman had been the first person to an
swer Jack’s advertisement for a part-time housekeeper. And she and Jack had hit it off at once, making any other interviews he’d conducted superfluous.
Of course, she occasionally despaired of his eating habits. Usually, it had to be said, because she deplored his practice of buying fast food. But in the past few weeks, her attitude had turned to one of concern.
‘As I’ll be here all day, would you like me to make you some lunch?’ she suggested. ‘I’ve got some nice fresh tomatoes in my bag, and I could mince the remains of the steak I used yesterday and make you a dish of bolognese.’
Jack blew out a breath.
‘Well, that’s very kind of you, Mrs Honeyman—’
‘But?’
‘—but I won’t be in for lunch,’ he said apologetically. ‘I’m meeting the builder at Culworth, and I’ll probably have a sandwich with him!’
‘Another sandwich!’
Mrs Honeyman raised her eyebrows, and Jack gave her a rueful smile. He could have told her that while the renovations were going on he’d eaten anything he could lay his hands on. And that included days-old sandwiches whose sell-by date was long past.
‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘don’t you worry. I’ll see that you have some fresh vegetables for your dinner. And maybe a fresh steak pie to go with them.’
Jack shook his head. ‘You spoil me, Mrs. Honeyman.’
‘Well, somebody has to,’ she declared. ‘It’s time you thought about getting yourself a lady friend. Respecting your late wife is all well and good, but a man needs a woman in his—’
She broke off abruptly, her cheeks flushing again, and Jack decided to put her out of her misery.
‘Yeah, I know what you mean,’ he said ruefully, aware that Mrs Honeyman didn’t know how inspired her words had been.
He’d had a woman in his bed last night. Unfortunately, the woman in question had known nothing about it.
* * *
Grace drove the last half mile to the church and pulled in behind a battered pickup.