Tempted by Trouble

by Liz Fielding

  She gave a little yelp as she checked her watch. ‘Can you bring those leaflets?’

  She didn’t wait for a reply, but practically fled the room.

  Sean gave himself a moment, gave her a moment, but as he gathered up a pile of leaflets advertising Scoop!, he saw the smear of pink on his thumb where it had rested close to her mouth and, unable to help himself, he rubbed it against his lower lip, tasting it. Tasting her.

  Forget about some old guy having a heart attack when he saw her in the black lace. He’d come close when he’d seen her in the pink dress and there was a lot less of her on show in that one.

  There had been a moment, no more than a heartbeat, when Elle had turned and her entire body had appeared to lift in welcome. Or maybe it had been his own instinctive response to the sight of her. An urge to reach out and touch her. Just a hand to her arm. The kind of small, intimate gesture exchanged by lovers.

  They weren’t even close. They’d shared just one kiss. So why did he feel more like her lover than he ever had with any woman he’d known?

  What was this intimacy that had nothing to do with sex, lust? This belief that he knew her? That somehow her thoughts, her feelings mattered more than his own? The powerful draw that brought him back to her even when she’d told him to go.

  All week, wasting precious time hoping to find some small clue, he’d cursed Basil up hill and down dale. But Basil was the one excuse he had to keep coming back to her. Even when the risk of it scared him witless. Even when he needed no excuse.

  It was Elle who’d led the way on the phone, boldly teasing him, making promises.

  She was such a curious mixture. Capable in ways that the Charlotte Pickerings of this world could never imagine. A woman who’d learned very early in life to deal with loss, officialdom at its worst, hardship, she would hold the world at bay to protect her family. ‘Sean!’

  He smiled at the imperious summons in her voice.

  Not a curious mixture, a glorious one. She deserved to be wooed, courted, made to feel valued. He might not be able to give her the kind of commitment she deserved, but he could at least give her that. ‘Sean!’

  ‘Right with you,’ he said, following her into the kitchen where she was standing holding up the retro pink kettle he’d bought her.

  ‘What,’ she demanded, ‘is this?’

  ‘A kettle?’ he offered.

  For a moment their eyes met and he dared her to turn it down.

  ‘Thank you.’ She turned quickly away. ‘Sorrel is coming along with us to learn the ropes.’

  Her sister glanced at her. Clearly it was the first she’d heard of it but she was quick on the uptake. ‘Can’t wait.’

  ‘Just Sorrel?’ Sean asked, not entirely sorry to have a little chaperone to keep things from boiling over. They needed time. They needed space. ‘What about you, Angelica? Aren’t you desperate to learn the trick of producing the perfect ice cream?’

  ‘I’m too busy tweaking the website and blog,’ she said, flicking her mouse and leaning sideways so that he could see. ‘I’m putting some of those cute things Basil wrote about ice cream in Rosie’s speech bubbles at the head of each page.’

  ‘Neat idea. And that’s a great cartoon of Rosie. Who did that?’

  ‘Me,’ Geli said, doing her best to look cool, but failing miserably. ‘I’m going to take arts and design at college.’

  Elle, helpless to stop herself, drank in his profile, the straight nose, firm chin, long fingers as he leaned forward, raking back the dark hair sliding over his forehead with long, slender fingers. Trying not to think about what they could do to her.

  Instead, he took the mouse, clicking through the pages until he paused on one and looked up, catching her before she could look away.

  ‘Everyone has a price—mine is ice cream…?’ His right brow kicked up. ‘Basil wrote that?’

  ‘He must have been thinking of you,’ she said and was finally rewarded with one of his killer smiles. The kind that sent heat surging through her veins, leaving her shaky, helpless.

  But the mention of price reminded Sean that he had something for Elle and, taking out his wallet, he produced a cheque. ‘I sold your car.’

  ‘Did you advertise it on the Internet?’

  ‘No. I emailed a description to some enthusiasts I know. It’s not a lot, but this way you don’t have to pay commission.’

  Elle took the cheque, looked at it, then up at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘Not a lot?’

  ‘She’s an old classic and while she had a few internal problems, her bodywork was in amazingly good condition. I’d have made more if I’d had time to do some work on her, but I thought you might need it now,’ he told her.

  ‘Thank you again.’ Then, turning to Geli, she said, ‘Take care of this. It’s your trip to France paid for and enough for a driving school car to take Sorrel through her test next week.’

  And, having handed the cheque to Geli, she took Sean’s hand, wordlessly, in her own for the briefest moment.

  ‘Okay. Time to go.’

  At the garden party, Sean watched Elle add a frilly white apron to her outfit.

  ‘One of your delicious ices, please, Miss Amery. Something very pink if I’m going to be a walking advertisement for your wares.’ He stretched out his arms to display the sparkly logo emblazoned on his chest. ‘No one I pass will be able to resist the temptation.’

  He saw her swallow down whatever she was going to say. ‘Would you prefer a shell or a cone?’ she asked.

  ‘Give the man a cone,’ Sorrel said, then, when Elle glared at her, she rolled her eyes. ‘It would do it for me.’

  Elle decorated the ice lavishly with pink mini marshmallows and sprinkles, then wrapped the cone in a pink paper napkin. ‘Is that pink enough for you?’ she asked as she handed it to him.

  ‘I’d have liked to have seen a few crushed beetles,’ he teased as he put down his money.

  He could see that she was dying to tell him that he didn’t have to pay, but she pressed her lips together to stop the words and, by then, a queue was forming.

  He licked a groove up the side of the ice, sucked the top into his mouth. ‘If you have any problems, get the announcer to…’ he met her eye ‘…call me.’

  For the first hour Elle didn’t have time to think, which was just as well. If she’d had time to think, Sean’s provocative ‘call me’ would have had her melting faster than her ices.

  Not that he’d rushed back.

  From her high viewpoint, she’d caught glimpses of him from time to time, working his way through the crowd, always talking to someone or other. He seemed to know an awful lot of people. Most of them women. One of them was the blonde with the linen dress from that evening in the Blue Boar.

  She tried not to look, but couldn’t help herself. Not that they talked for long. The blonde turned and headed for the car park. And finally Sean headed for her.

  ‘Everything okay?’ he asked. ‘No problems?’

  ‘None,’ she admitted.

  ‘You can cope if I shoot off? Bit of a panic back at the estate.’

  The mind-reading thing worked two ways, she discovered. The fact that he was lying was coming off him in waves.

  ‘Another baby duck in distress?’ she asked sweetly, calling herself all kinds of a fool for all the angsty thoughts she’d had just an hour or so earlier. She didn’t wait for his lying answer, but waved him away. ‘Don’t get your feet wet.’

  He frowned and she thought he was going to say more, but he let it go, raised a hand to Sorrel, turned and walked away.

  ‘What is it with you two?’ Sorrel asked.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Elle denied.

  ‘You look at one another as if you want to tear each other’s clothes off and yet you’re keeping each other at arm’s length.’ If only.

  ‘Sean doesn’t do commitment, Sorrel.’

  ‘So?’

  Pretty much what she’d been thinking until he’d looked her in the face a
nd lied.

  ‘Just leave it,’ Elle said, turning to serve someone.

  The Royal St George Golf Club was on the far side of the country on the south-east coast. Charlotte had got his round robin email asking if anyone knew what RSG might stand for. Apparently Oliver played golf and had been to the Open the last time it had been played there.

  And Sean had seen some golf trophies in Basil’s cottage.

  He’d tried phoning, but they’d refused to give any information about members or guests, which meant that he had to go there.

  He hadn’t told Elle where he was going because he hadn’t wanted to get her hopes up. Just as well. He’d been clutching at straws and now he was stuck in a motel with a toothbrush and cheap razor from a slot machine instead of sending out for a takeaway and spending the evening with Elle and her family, sitting out beneath the lilac tree, with the blackbird serenading them.

  And, with luck, getting a kiss goodnight for his trouble.

  He checked his watch. Picked up his mobile phone and called her. Listened to her phone ringing until it was picked up by voicemail. Listened to her asking him to leave a message, but then cut the connection. There was no message. He had nothing to tell her. He just wanted to talk to her, hear about her day. Hear her laugh.

  Tomorrow. He’d call her in the morning, tell her where he was, what he’d done. What an idiot he was.

  Elle had looked at her phone when it rang, seen the caller ID and left it to be picked up by voicemail.

  It had been a good day and a bad day.

  Until Sean had left Longbourne Court to follow the blonde home it had been a pretty good day.

  They had made a lot of money for the PRC. Exactly how much she’d work out in the morning. More than enough not to feel guilty about having to deduct costs.

  All the leaflets had gone, thanks to Sean, although how many were now trampled into the grass for the Longbourne gardeners to pick up remained to be seen.

  But it had gone downhill from there. Sean hadn’t returned and when they’d packed up just before six, Rosie decided to sulk. By the time Elle had managed to get the trick of coaxing her into life, her day had hit rock-bottom. And when they did get home, only she knew how to dismantle the ice cream maker, how to clean and disinfect it. Only she had a precious hygiene certificate—now stuck up beside Basil’s inside Rosie—thanks to her stint working in the Blue Boar kitchens.

  Then she had gone to work. Late again.

  How could he?

  She didn’t expect a forever commitment from a man she’d met only a week ago, who had given her fair warning that the word wasn’t in his vocabulary but, no matter how short it was to be, it had to be total commitment while it lasted.

  It seemed he couldn’t even manage that.

  She ignored the phone for as long as she could before, unable to help herself, she picked it up. Called up her messages.

  Nothing.

  Sean hadn’t bothered to leave one. Not even a simple goodnight and, despite the warm night she shivered, rolled off the bed and closed the window to shut out the heavy scent of the lilac.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Don’t drown your sorrows. Suffocate them with ice cream.

  —Rosie’s Diary

  ELLE got up early when she heard Geli making a move. Made her breakfast before she went to do her dog-walking stuff, then shut herself away in her office to rationalise the accounts for the PRC charity.

  She checked stock, making a note of what they needed to reorder, and kept herself busy making a cake as a treat for everyone. They deserved it.

  Doing her best not to think about the previous Sunday when she’d slept in, got up when everyone else had gone out. When Sean McElroy had walked into her kitchen and turned her world upside down.

  Difficult with that pink kettle gleaming across the kitchen at her. With her pink dress hanging in the scullery waiting to be washed in the morning. With Sean leaning against the frame of the open door.

  Geli had left it open when she’d rushed off to walk her waifs and strays and after a night shut up in her bedroom Elle had been glad of the fresh air. She really was going to have to start locking it.

  ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Something smells good.’

  ‘I made a cake.’

  ‘You are a domestic goddess. Any chance of a cup of tea to go with it?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s too hot to eat, but help yourself to tea,’ she said, waving in the direction of the kettle. ‘You know where everything is.’ Proud of the fact that she’d managed to control the wobble in her voice. ‘You look as if you’ve had a hard night.’

  He rubbed a hand over his unshaven chin. ‘You could say that,’ he said, pushing himself away from the door. He checked that there was water in the kettle and switched it on. Pulled out a chair and collapsed onto it.

  Now he was closer, she could see that he looked exhausted. ‘Duck give you a hard time, did she?’

  ‘Duck?’ He managed a grin. ‘Not a duck. It was a wild goose. I didn’t have a problem at the estate, Elle, but then you already knew that, didn’t you?’

  ‘I knew you were lying to me, if that’s what you’re asking.’

  ‘Yes, well… The truth is that I drove to Kent yesterday afternoon.’

  ‘Kent?’ That was on the other side of the country and if he’d driven there and back since yesterday afternoon it was hardly surprising that he looked exhausted. ‘Why?’

  ‘I send out an email to everyone I know asking if they knew what RSG might be. Someone suggested Royal St George. It’s a golf club.’

  He’d driven all that way just to find Basil?

  ‘Let me guess. The someone would have been Charlotte?’ He looked up. ‘I saw you talking to her. Just before you left.’

  ‘Someone she knows suggested it. She gave me a lift home so that I could pick up my car.’ He smiled wryly. ‘She didn’t know it was for you or I doubt she would have bothered.’

  ‘Probably not,’ she said dryly. ‘Does Basil play golf?’

  ‘There were some trophies in his cottage.’

  ‘Recent?’

  ‘Nothing since nineteen seventy-five.’

  ‘And for that you drove what, four hundred miles, on the off chance that he might still be playing?’ she exclaimed.

  ‘He might have been there. Then I’d have been a hero instead of an idiot.’

  ‘Stay with the idiot,’ she advised. ‘RSG could mean anything.’

  ‘I know. I spent most of the night surfing the ‘net and discovering just how many anythings it might have been.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘The Red Star Garage?’

  ‘Basil comes to you for spanner work,’ she reminded him.

  ‘Ridge Side Gardens. Rodney, Simmons and Garth. Roundabout Servicing Guide…’

  ‘It’s a Rumpelstiltskin puzzle, Sean.’

  He looked confused.

  ‘Like the name in the fairy tale,’ she said. ‘Off the wall. Unguessable. Reorder Sparkly Gravel. Ring Supermarket for Gravy. Retrieve Second Gargoyle.’

  ‘Reverse, Stop, Go?’ he suggested, grinning as he caught on.

  ‘Far too sensible. Ribbons—Silver and Gold…’ She stopped. ‘Actually, that makes some kind of sense. I’ve got those on my own shopping list. For the wedding. And the hen night. Why didn’t you tell me?’ she asked. ‘Where you were going. I would have come with you.’

  ‘Would you? What about Freddy? You’d have missed work.’ He shook his head. ‘I didn’t want to get your hopes up.’

  ‘My hopes can handle the occasional disappointment.’ She wasn’t sure she could take another evening, night, believing that he’d abandoned her for another woman. ‘But thank you.’ She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. ‘Do you want some breakfast?’

  ‘Actually, all I want right at this moment is to hold you, kiss you, then lie down and go to sleep for ten hours. But breakfast would be good to be going on with.’

  ‘Breakfast can wait.’

  She sto
od up, held out her hand and, as he took it and stood up, she turned and walked through the house, up the staircase, into her bedroom. She closed the door, then, her heart pounding like the entire timpani section of the London Philharmonic Orchestra, she said, ‘Hold me.’

  ‘Elle…’

  She lifted her arms, put them around his neck.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he asked, putting his hands around her waist.

  ‘Shh,’ she whispered, relaxing against him. ‘No questions. You’re holding me.’

  ‘And now I kiss you?’

  ‘Tick,’ she murmured.

  ‘Close your eyes.’

  She obeyed and he kissed each lid with a butterfly touch of his mouth. She waited, breath held, but when she finally opened her eyes, he was just looking at her. And so she kissed him. A brush of her lips against his.

  That was all it was meant to be, but the touch of his day-old beard against her cheek stirred a darker need that shivered through them both and, with a groan, he gathered her, holding her so that his body was touching hers, warm, hard, as the kiss deepened into something fierce, desperate.

  The need to breathe drove them apart but they clung together for what seemed like an age. Until Elle wished she’d told him to lie down first so that she could have held him, watched him while he slept. So that she could have been the first thing he saw when he woke.

  Instead, she lifted her head. ‘Lie down, Sean. Sleep for as long as you need.’

  ‘Elle…’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Remind me, next time I list my heart’s desires, to be a little more ambitious.’

  ‘The bathroom’s through there,’ she said, but she was smiling.

  Sean slowly surfaced from a dream so vivid that he could still smell the scent of Elle’s shampoo. Opened his eyes and for a moment had no idea where he was. He rolled onto his back. Somewhere a door banged. A dog barked and Geli’s voice protested unintelligibly from somewhere below him.