‘Come outside and have a look,’ he suggested, and the wall of glass slid effortlessly aside and he gestured for her to go out.
It was gorgeous. Huge, for the roof terrace of a London apartment block, and, as she walked all the way round past what must be the bedrooms and back to the doors they’d come out of, it gradually sank in just how much money he must have.
The car had been a bit of a giveaway, but his one indulgence? She didn’t think so. Not by a country mile.
And yet it was curiously homely. The furnishings were simple, the plants on the deck were well cared for, and she had the feeling he didn’t take his privileged position for granted. Unless he just had a designer with a gift for homemaking and a gardener to keep the roof terrace in order. Goodness knows it was big enough to demand it.
And then there was that other indulgence that was purely medicinal, the cedar hot tub that kept drawing her eye. She could see it was made of solid wood, not one of the timber-clad moulded-acrylic ones which, although very comfortable and easy to install, just wouldn’t have had the same understated dignity as the cedar planks.
This was like a huge, shallow barrel set into a raised area, and with the wooden lid in place it acted as a seat. She perched on it to sigh over the view again, and felt the warmth seeping through the timber. ‘It’s on!’ she said, surprised, and he grinned.
‘Of course. This is the best time of year for them. We can go in if you want—sit in it and unravel and talk about the plans.’
She did want to. She was aching to, but she didn’t quite trust herself, and she wasn’t sure of the clothing etiquette, and anyway, she was here to work, she reminded herself firmly.
‘Don’t you want to look at the ideas on paper first?’ she said with a touch of desperation, and he shrugged and ushered her back inside, to her disappointment and relief. No, just relief…
‘We’ll look at them now while we eat. There’s always later,’ he added, and the relief gave way to a flutter of nervous anticipation.
‘Maybe,’ she agreed, and, picking up the long cylindrical case she carried her drawings in, she un-screwed the end and pulled the sketches out.
‘They’re only rough,’ she warned, but he just shrugged, helped her spread them out on the huge coffee-table and stood a little statue on one corner to hold it down.
She blinked. She recognised the artist, and that piece had probably cost more than she’d earned last year. Oh, dear God, why on earth had she let him talk her into this? There was no way he was interested in what she had to say. He was so far out of her league—
‘Right. Talk me through them. What’s this thing here?’
She dragged her eyes back to the plans, took a deep breath and launched her sales pitch.
‘That was amazing!’
He laughed softly at her as she pushed her plate away and sighed with contentment. ‘I said they did good food.’
‘You lied. It was perfection. Good doesn’t even begin to do it justice.’
‘Coffee?’
She nodded. ‘Please—if it’s not too much trouble?’
‘No trouble. Hot and strong, isn’t it?’
His eyes smouldered for a second, and she felt her cheeks heat. He was only talking about the coffee, for heaven’s sake! ‘Please. With lots of cream, if you have it.’
‘Sure.’ He turned away, and she fanned her face and gulped in air. Actually…
‘Would you mind if I had a walk round on the deck for a minute? I just love the view.’
‘Of course not. Help yourself.’
She let herself out through the seamless glass and crossed over to the balcony rail, leaning on it and staring down in fascination at the lights on the river. She could hear the traffic far below, the sirens, the honking horns, a barking dog, but it all seemed somehow remote. She felt as if they were floating, removed in some way from the reality of it, and against the night sky the city below them sparkled like fairy lights.
It would be so wonderful to slip into the hot tub and just lie there, suspended above the city in a magic world—
‘Your coffee’s ready. Want it in or out?’
She turned towards him and laughed softly. ‘Out, but it’s chilly. We’d better have it inside.’
‘We could go in the tub—talk through your ideas.’
In the subtle lighting she couldn’t read his eyes, but the tension seemed to hang in the soft velvet air between them, as if the world was waiting for her answer.
‘I haven’t got a costume,’ she said, groping for practicalities.
He shrugged. ‘I won’t look, and we don’t have to have the underwater lights on. You could wear your underwear if you’re feeling coy.’
‘What about you?’
She saw the flash of his teeth in the darkness as he grinned. ‘I’ll preserve your modesty, Georgie. I’ll even lend you a robe.’
She couldn’t resist any longer. He took her back in, handed her a hugely fluffy towelling robe and a pile of towels, showed her into a bedroom the size of the average house and disappeared.
By the time she emerged from the French doors in her room and walked round the deck, the cover was off the tub, their coffees were perched on the side and he was nowhere to be seen. But the bubbles drew her, and, slipping off the robe, she dropped it on the deck and stepped down into the steaming water.
The heat made her catch her breath, then sigh with delight as she slid her shoulders under the surface and leant back against the side, her modesty preserved by the bubbling water. She could still see the city stretched out below through the misty air, watch the slow progress of a converted barge as it carried its boisterous cargo of partygoers on their evening out, but the steam and the bubbling of the water cut off all the sounds of the city and wrapped her in a magical cocoon.
No wonder he used the tub to unwind. If it was hers she’d never drag herself out of it!
‘Warmer now?’
‘Oh, you made me jump,’ she said with a laugh, turning her head, and then wished she hadn’t because he was just there, looming over her in the mist, dropping the robe that had been slung over his arm and lowering his long, beautifully honed body into the steaming, foaming water with a groan of ecstasy.
‘Oh, bliss.’
Oh, indeed. And to think she’d imagined the view was perfect before!
He was taller than her, so the water didn’t cover his shoulders, just left her a tantalising glimpse of his chest, the gleaming skin beaded with moisture and drawn tight over rippling muscle, the light scatter of hair over his pecs just enough to underline that abundant masculinity. He’d dropped his head back against the side, and the taut line of his throat and the jut of his jaw made her legs go weak.
In the spill of light from the living room she could see a pulse beating in the little hollow between his collar-bones, and she ached to lean over and touch her tongue to it, to lick away the tiny pool of moisture that had gathered there.
‘Gorgeous,’ she said, trying not to moan aloud. She tried to think of something to say, but it was difficult to think about anything other than his body, and she tucked her legs up tight under her because she was so afraid that they’d stray over there of their own accord and tangle with those long, muscular limbs…
‘Coffee,’ he said, opening his eyes and levering himself up, and, passing her her cup, he settled back against the smooth cedar planking and studied her over his mug. ‘Tell me about yourself,’ he commanded softly.
She laughed, a little surprised. ‘There’s nothing much to tell—’
‘Nonsense. Start with the easy bit. Where were you born?’
Now, that was easy. ‘Ipswich. My father was working in Yoxburgh when I was born, and I was brought up in a house with a sea view—if you climb up to the attic and crane your neck!’
He chuckled. ‘Hence your love of the sea.’
‘Not really. That came later, when I went on holiday to Cornwall and watched the waves smashing against the rocks. We don’t have that up in Suf
folk, unless they’re imported rocks for the sea defences. It’s all sand and alluvial deposits, but at least it means we get lovely sandy beaches, and I love walking on the prom at night and listening to the surf whispering in the sand. And of course on stormy days where there are sea defences you can shut your eyes and listen to the waves crashing on the rocks and you could be anywhere.’
‘That’s the beauty of the sea,’ he murmured. ‘It’s truly global. The smell, the sound—it doesn’t change, wherever you are in the world.’ He paused, then went on, ‘So tell me, why architecture?’
‘Oh.’ That was a change of tack. ‘Um—well, my father was a builder, of course, so I suppose that influenced me. He’d missed a lot of school because of illness and so he didn’t get to university. He’d always loved houses, though, and he loved being outside, so he went into building, and the sounds and smells of construction were in my blood from birth as much as the sea was. It wasn’t a big step from building houses to designing them, conceptually, and I managed to get the grades to study architecture, so I started training.’
‘And then found you didn’t like it?’
‘No, I love it,’ she told him. ‘Proper architecture. What I don’t like, and what I was doing day in day out, was filling in the gaps in a town planner’s scheme—x many two-bed units, y many three-bed and so on. Little boxes. It wasn’t what I wanted, what I was interested in, but it paid the bills and I thought it would be OK for a while until the right job came up.’
‘But it wasn’t.’
She thought of Martin, and sighed. ‘It might have been, for a while, but there were personal issues as well.’
‘Your boss?’
How had he known? She nodded agreement. ‘He had matrimonial problems. He brought them to me.’ Two of them, aged six and three, dear little girls who needed their sick mother and latched onto Georgie like limpets. As did Martin—until his wife recovered from her illness and took them back. Then he’d dropped her like a hot potato.
‘Sounds messy.’
‘You’d better believe it.’ And there was no way she was filling in the blanks for him. It was still too raw, too fresh to talk about, the shock in the girls’ eyes as he’d told them she was leaving still too painful to remember.
‘So you thought you’d take a career holiday and think about things?’
She laughed, on safer ground now. ‘My father’s been nagging me to go into business with him for ages. For the past ten years he’s been building exclusive, one-off houses. He’s got a great reputation—that’s why Andrew wanted him to do the school development. He thought the Cauldwell name might give it a bit of an edge. But the development isn’t up to Dad’s usual standards—much too big, not nearly exclusive enough—’
‘But that’s changing. This design of yours has got far fewer units on it, and lots of open spaces, and you’ve got rid of that disgusting extension on the back of the house. That’s the most significant thing.’
‘We have to get it past the planners, and to do that I have to draw up much more detailed plans—if you approve of it, that is.’
‘I think so. There are one or two things I want to talk about, but in principle I like what you’ve come up with. I like it a lot. And I’ll want to retain part of the house to keep as a weekend retreat for me and other people from the firm to use.’
Her heart fluttered. ‘Which part?’ she asked, knowing what he’d say before he spoke.
‘The ground floor and the tower.’
Damn. She felt her face fall, but couldn’t do anything about it. Maybe he wouldn’t notice—
‘What is it?’
Trust him. ‘What’s what?’
‘You don’t approve for some reason.’
She could feel her smile was wry, and gave up and confessed. ‘I was going to buy the tower.’
‘Ah.’ His eyes were thoughtful, searching. ‘How about the upstairs apartment instead?’
She smiled again, another twisted little parody. ‘It’s not the same.’
‘No. I can understand that. In fact I’ve toyed with the idea of keeping the house intact, just one unit, but it’s crazy. It would be wonderful, but it’s so big, and I don’t suppose that many families would want a house as big.’
‘It wouldn’t be cost-effective either, not compared to dividing it into three units,’ she said, but there must have been something in her voice because he tipped his head on one side and studied her curiously.
‘You agree with me, don’t you?’
She smiled wistfully. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said softly. ‘I think it would make a fantastic family house. I can hear it echoing with the laughter of children—I can see them running on the lawn, and hear them giggling, and in the evening I can imagine parties spilling out into the garden, the music and laughter and murmured conversations…’
‘You’re just an old romantic,’ he teased laughingly, but there was a wistful look in his eyes and she wondered if his solitary and hectic lifestyle was what he really wanted, coming home alone at night to sit by himself in his hot tub and brood over what was missing in his life—
And now she really was crazy! How on earth did she know he was solitary? Or missing anything? He might entertain a different woman here every night of the week. Hectic, sure. But solitary? Not if the women of London had a say in it, she was certain!
‘Are you married?’ she asked suddenly, and he chuckled.
‘Me? Hardly. I can’t see a woman putting up with my lifestyle for many seconds.’
That hadn’t stopped Martin’s wife from marrying him, but it had probably been the thing that drove her over the brink and put her in a psychiatric clinic for months. That and his constant put-downs.
‘Now what have I said?’
She pulled herself together and found a smile. ‘Nothing. I was thinking about someone else.’
‘Your old boss,’ he said with uncanny accuracy.
She didn’t want to go there, so she just smiled again and he shook his head.
‘He must have been a real bastard.’
‘He was.’
He stood up, the water streaming off his beautifully crafted body, and she felt her heart lurch against her chest. ‘Come on, time to get out or you’ll turn into a prune. We can have another look at the plans before we go to bed, as well. Are you happy in my guest room, or do you want me to ring the hotel next door?’
Her heart hiccuped again. ‘No, your guest room’s fine,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m sure the hotel wouldn’t be nearly as nice and the view won’t touch it. It’s lovely here.’
His smile was crooked. ‘I love it, too. Here—your robe.’
And he held it out for her so there was nothing she could do but stand up in front of him in her soggy, all-too-transparent underwear and climb the steps, turning her back to him so he could slip the robe over her arms while her cheeks burned self-consciously.
But he didn’t leave it there. He snuggled it round her neck, mopping her hair with the thick shawl collar, tucking it round her like a mother—or a lover.
And she was getting crazy, stupid ideas. She wrapped it firmly across her chest, tugged the belt tight and stepped down onto the deck, glancing up as she did so and catching a strange expression in his eyes.
No. She was dreaming. He wasn’t remotely interested in her, and even if he was, she wouldn’t be interested.
Would she? She turned away, and as she did her head started to swim. ‘Oh—dizzy,’ she said, just as he reached out and caught her.
‘It’s OK, it’ll pass. You were in the tub for too long—you aren’t used to it. It can do odd things to your blood pressure. OK now?’
No. She wasn’t OK. She was pressed up against the hard, muscled slab of his chest, her cheek against the damp, wiry curls that she hadn’t been able to take her eyes off, and his arms were round her, cradling her firmly against him.
And the last thing she wanted to do was let go.
‘I’m fine. Sorry,’ she muttered, and pushed gently backwards o
ut of his arms.
And it would have been fine if she hadn’t lifted her head and met his eyes, but she did, and they were smouldering in the darkness of the night, and without a murmur she went back into his arms, sighing softly as his head came down and blocked out the stars.
His mouth was warm and firm and persuasive, his lips coaxing, and she opened to him, giving him access. He drew her closer, the velvet stroke of his tongue sending quivers of desire through her body and nearly taking out her legs.
She whimpered against his mouth and with a growl of need he deepened the kiss, his hands sliding round inside the front of her robe, letting in the cold night air so her skin tingled and her nipples peaked under the brush of his thumbs. Gasping with the sensation, dizzy with wanting, she arched against him, feeling the hot, hard strength of him, the very physical evidence of his response, and her fingers closed over his upper arms and clung.
‘Nick,’ she said raggedly, and then she felt something change, felt him pull back, ease away, lifting his head and resting his forehead against hers, his breathing fast and uneven.
‘What the hell are we doing?’ he muttered, and his hands fell away, drawing the edges of her gown together, turning her towards her room and giving her a gentle push. ‘Go and get dressed, Georgie,’ he said gruffly, ‘before we do something we’ll both regret.’
Oh, too late, Nick. Far, far too late.
Hugging the gown around her, she went.
CHAPTER THREE
SHE showered and dressed, taking her time even though spending any more time in hot water didn’t seem exactly necessary. She felt she’d gotten herself into quite enough by throwing herself at him when he’d just been stopping her from falling over!
‘Idiot,’ she ranted for the hundredth time. ‘Such an idiot! Why on earth would you think he’d be interested in you? He’s only human, and you take almost all your clothes off and shove yourself in his face! Of course he kissed you, but he can have his pick, for God’s sake, so why on earth would he bother with a little nobody like you?’
The Tycoon's Instant Family Page 4