Holiday with a Stranger

by Christy McKellen

  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...