"Yes, I'm sure." He sounded unconvinced. "Come into my study. I'd like to have a drink."
He led the way to a room on the main floor and, as she entered, Chloe realized it was directly below her bedroom, the alcove surrounded with windows part of the same turret. The rest of the room looked like the sort of study seen in movies set in manor houses in the English countryside, all dark paneling and leather furniture. He closed the door behind her and lit a fire under the logs in the fireplace before pouring a drink from a bottle on the mantle. He did not ask her to sit, and she stood awkwardly in the doorway.
"Would you like a scotch?" he asked, and it occurred to Chloe it was perhaps the first polite gesture he had made toward her.
"Yes, please," she said.
"I don't have any ice." Is that an apology? she wondered. Perhaps there’s a man with a heart under there after all, she thought sarcastically.
"That's fine. I like mine neat."
"Not very schoolmarm-like of you," he said, pouring her a glass. "Although I approve. Good scotch should never be watered down." He held the glass out toward her, and she left her post by the door to take the drink from his hand. He did not relinquish the drink immediately, holding it for a moment as he looked at her critically. She was very aware of his closeness. Her head did not quite reach his shoulder, and she was looking at the button of his ivory-coloured shirt. He smelled of the outdoors, of the ocean air. She could sense the power of his body and was again reminded of the ocean, so powerful, moody, and restless. It was attractive and seductive, she couldn't deny that, but it was also dangerous, full of pitfalls, susceptible to sudden storms. Definitely someone not to get involved with. Not if you didn't want your heart broken…
He relinquished his hold on the glass and she stepped back as if to remove herself from the field of magnetism, daring to meet his eyes. He was looking back at her with a somewhat triumphant gleam in his eye, as if he had just proved something. She wondered what. She turned away and studied the photographs on the wall over the mantle. They were nature photographs, with whales, birds, and icebergs as the main subjects. They were excellent, and she was surprised to see they were signed G. Byrne. These photographs showed a sensitive side to Gaelan Byrne that he didn't seem to care to show any other way.
Gaelan moved to his desk and picked up the receiver of his phone to check his messages. He only half listened to them, most of his mind concentrating on Chloe, who was still watching the fire. Or at least pretending. He knew she was thinking about something else entirely. He could feel it only moments ago as he handed her the scotch. Felt it himself too. The unmistakable tug of attraction.
She certainly is beautiful, he thought. Not in the glamorous model way like Colleen, but in a more classic way, like a Victorian painting, all soft, enticing curves. Made him wonder if he shouldn't just go for it - a teacher for Sophia, a mistress for himself.
It wasn't natural, this self-imposed celibacy. He missed the feel of a woman's body beneath his hands and the touch of her lips on his skin…. Damn, he thought as his body started to react to these erotic thoughts. If only it were that easy. He remembered his attraction to Colleen. It had seemed so easy then, too - no premonition of the horrors to come.
The last message was from Marcus. "Just checking my book, Gaelan. I made a mistake. Sophia's new teacher arrived in Newfoundland today. I don't know how I got the dates mixed up. I hope she's not still standing at the airport, although I'm sure she found a way to get in touch with you." There was a pause, and Gaelan heard the smile in his friend’s voice as he continued. "I know she's not quite what you're expecting - but she'll be perfect for both of you. Talk to you soon."
Christ, Gaelan thought. He was going to kill Marcus! But first he had to get rid of this woman.
Chapter 2
Gaelan slammed the receiver into its cradle and looked up to see Chloe eyeing him nervously. Good, he thought, with more satisfaction than he cared to admit to himself, she's scared of me. This'll be easy. In a few minutes he would be able to forget about this woman, sexy curves and all.
“Ms. Winters,” he began in a calculatingly cold and formal voice. “I’m a busy man, and I’d like to keep this brief. I cannot possibly employ you, and I think it would be best for everyone if you left first thing in the morning.”
He expected her to nod, give up, and leave. He knew he was being a bit cruel - was even willing to feel sorry for her - but he believed in efficiency. However, instead of giving up, she drew herself up to her full five-and-a-half feet and addressed him in a haughty voice. “I think it’s only fair that you explain to me why you can’t employ me. I came a long way to take this job."
Her tone infuriated him, making him lose all his previous sympathy. “I don’t have to explain myself to you,” he said aloofly. "I’ve met you, and I don’t want you here. End of story.”
But Chloe didn't give up. “Why did you let Marcus do the hiring if you didn’t trust his judgement?”
“Did you not hear me? I think I've made it perfectly clear that I do not have to explain myself." He wasn't used to having his decisions questioned, and he couldn't believe she was criticising how he ran his affairs! Well, anything that steeled his resolve to get rid of the woman was welcome. "This meeting is over, Ms. Winters. You will be taken to the airport first thing tomorrow.”
Gaelan threw back the contents of his glass of scotch and looked longingly at the bottle on the mantle. It had been the sort of day that made you want to end it in a drunken oblivion. Certainly one more wouldn't hurt. He went to the mantle and refilled his glass before returning to his position behind the desk. She was watching him, and he suddenly found himself thinking how kissable her lips looked. He changed his mind about getting drunk. One more scotch and he wasn’t going to be able to concentrate.
“Isn’t it a breach of contract to dismiss me like this?” Chloe’s voice penetrated his thoughts. “I was, after all, hired for a year.”
“Are you threatening me with a lawsuit?" he said, her kissable lips quickly forgotten.
“I didn’t say that,” Chloe objected sharply. "I was asking you a question. I have rights, you know." It was such a naive statement that Gaelan found himself wanting to laugh.
“Well, I wouldn't suggest that you try and exercise them, my dear, as I have sufficient funds to mop the floor with you, should you try." She had that look of Oh yes, that's what you think, and Gaelan found himself amused again. She was determined, he had to give her that, which, of course was why she was too dangerous to keep around. Nonetheless, he felt a grudging admiration. Most women had tried to get into his bed either by acting innocent and helpless or by playing the sex kitten. He didn’t know which irritated him the most. This was at least a variation on the theme.
Gaelan suppressed a smile. "Fortunately for you, I’ve already decided to compensate you for your trouble." Of course he hadn't - but she didn't need to know that. It would, however, make an interesting test. If he was right about her, and he was sure he was, the offer would, one, get rid of her, and, two, confirm that it was his money she was interested in all along. "How’s six-months pay for not lifting a finger?”
He watched with grim satisfaction as her eyes grew larger. "I thought that would do the trick," he said quietly but not without a certain disappointment. Hope, as they say, springs eternal, he thought grimly.
Then her face changed. For a second he thought she was going to fly across the desk at him. “Is that why you think I’m here, for the money?" she asked indignantly. "I came because I love children and I love to teach.”
“Then why aren’t you teaching in a school?" he said, deciding that his test probably hadn’t proved a thing. He could see her hesitate, and he knew she wasn't being straight with him. She was hiding something from him - he could see it in those beautiful green eyes of hers. "Why are you here?" he demanded.
"I wanted a change," she said, the haughtiness gone from her voice.
"And…?"
"I saw the ad in a magaz
ine for retired teachers. It looked interesting, so I thought I would apply."
"The fact that it was in a magazine for retired teachers should’ve been a clue. Twenty-year-olds need not apply."
"I’m not twenty. I’m thirty-two." She was indignant again, but he noticed there was little conviction in her tone. "But if this is about age, I can assure you that I am both mature and responsible."
"I’m sure you are, Ms. Winters." He couldn't very well explain that it most certainly was about age, that he was looking for someone that looked like his grandmother. He walked out from behind the desk and went over to poke the languishing fire. He gave it a vicious jab with the poker, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. He wanted another scotch, but he would not pour another. He felt like he needed all of his faculties. Already he felt he had missed something important. She had hesitated, and he had failed to discover why.
"I have a lot of experience as well," Chloe said somewhat hopefully from behind him.
"In what?" he said cruelly as he let the poker fall to the stone hearth with a clatter. He leaned back against the mantle. He had definitely rattled her, and he felt his edge returning. He'd get her to come clean yet.
She had been nursing her drink in careful little sips, but now she finished it off in a single swallow and set it on the desk. "How about we start again?" she said.
Gaelan noted she had put her schoolmarm voice back on. Nobody had spoken to him like that since he was ten. Maybe she would make him sit in the corner. He almost smiled at the thought and suddenly realised he was maybe enjoying this a little too much. No wonder he had let himself get dragged into an argument. "I don't think we need to start again. I’ve made up my mind - you're going." Did he detect the slightest bit of regret in his own voice?
Perhaps Chloe detected it too. She dropped the schoolmarm tone, and there was a note of pleading in her voice. She looked at her feet, and her hair dropped around her face like a rich curtain. "I came such a long way," she said quietly.
"I told you I'd compensate you," he said firmly. He could not allow himself to feel regret.
"But I don't want six-months pay for doing nothing. I want to stay here and teach. Even more so, now that I've met Sophia." She looked up and pushed the waves back from her face. "Has she ever shown you her drawings?"
This was not a conversation that Gaelan was comfortable with and was part of the reason he had given the job of interviewing to Marcus. How was he to explain he had virtually nothing to do with the child - that just to look at her brought back her mother and a whole history he would just as soon forget? He felt guilty of course, but that's the way it was.
"Sometimes," he said, although it was a lie. Sophia never showed him anything - she knew he didn't like her to bother him. They didn't even eat meals together. Sophia ate in the kitchen with Windy, while Gaelan ate here in his office. And with his business, weeks could go by without them seeing each other at all. Really, her impassioned plea not to send Chloe away tonight was more than she had said to him in months.
"They're very good, aren't they?"
"I suppose so," he said evasively. He would ask Sophia to show him her drawings tomorrow.
"She's very talented, and I would like to encourage her to draw more."
Gaelan said nothing, but Chloe was not deterred. "She likes animals too, doesn't she?"
This Gaelan did know. "Yes, she does." She had asked for a kitten for her sixth birthday, and even he had been touched by her delight when he presented her with the tiny tabby. And on several occasions he had heard her chattering to Windy about the puppy she would like to have.
"I believe in working with a child's interests," Chloe said. "It makes learning much more natural."
Gaelan could see the interest in her eyes, and he had to admit she looked genuinely excited about the prospect of teaching Sophia. Could he be wrong? Maybe Marcus wasn't matchmaking at all. Maybe he was only thinking of Sophia. And God knows, it was good someone was. Gaelan felt her eyes on him and became aware she was waiting for an answer to the question she'd just asked him. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"Does she speak any French?" Chloe repeated.
He shook his head. He had put French as a job requirement in his advertisement, believing everyone should know a second language. This being Canada, French was the obvious choice. He himself was completely bilingual but had never spoken French to Sophia. Just another one of the ways he had failed her.
Chloe continued. "I’m fluent in French. My father grew up in Massachusetts, but my mother was born in Quebec City. I thought we could speak French together at least part of the day. Children learn very quickly. Has she started learning the piano? I teach piano as well.”
"Nobody is doubting your teaching qualifications, Ms. Winters," he said, feeling annoyed with himself. He wouldn't risk it. He couldn't.
"Chloe," she insisted. "And if it isn’t my teaching abilities that are in question, what is?" she asked almost desperately.
"I thought I told you, I was looking for someone who is retired."
"And I thought I addressed that sufficiently," she insisted.
"Not for me." He watched as a lock of strawberry blond hair fell down over her eye. He felt an urge to reach out and tuck it behind her ear. The thought suddenly made him notice it was getting hot by the fire, so he edged away, a move that unfortunately narrowed the space between them. He forced himself to look away from the tempting lock of hair. He was suddenly aware of how much he was holding himself back. It would be good to feel her body against his. He swallowed hard and hoped the thought didn’t reach a certain uncontrollable part of his anatomy. "So unless you can age forty years overnight...” God forbid, he thought dryly... “I don't think there’s any way to satisfy my requirements."
"But-"
"There are no buts,” he said firmly. “What are you going to do out here? Widow's Cliff is extremely isolated. Yes, Puffin's Cove is close, but it’s hardly a bustling metropolis. And as you know, St. John's is two-hours away - in the winter, both places might as well be a million miles away given the roads can be closed for days on end.”
"I don’t mind isolation. I love it. I may have lived in Boston, but I like to go camping on the weekends...”
“This is not camping on the weekends. This is all year around. And I do not allow visitors at Widow's Cliff. None."
“But surely you allow Sophia's friends to come and visit?" Chloe said, looking taken aback.
"No, I do not. This is my house, and I like it to be quiet."
"But she doesn't go to school. What does she do for friends?"
"Once a week she goes to an enrichment class in Puffin’s Cove. That is sufficient." He had no idea whether it was or not, but he could not tolerate the thought of noisy children running around the house.
"She's just a little girl. She should have friends…"
"Look, we're not talking about Sophia, we're talking about you. Sophia is quite used to the quiet here. You are not. This is no place for a young girl from the city. As I said, no visitors are allowed here, so there will be no inviting your boyfriend…"
"I don't have a boyfriend," she interrupted.
"Isn't that a surprise," he said sarcastically, taking this as another indication of her intentions in coming to this lonely place.
"What’s that supposed to mean?" she said defensively. "Am I that repulsive?"
Gaelan looked her up and down slowly, his gaze lingering on the rise of her breasts before moving on to her tiny waist and the curve of her hips. "Not at all," he said. He bet Marcus knew this girl didn't have a boyfriend. Who was he trying to kid? Marcus hadn't been interviewing a teacher for Sophia; he had been interviewing a potential wife. He had told Marcus he was finished with women, but Marcus stubbornly refused to stop trying to set him up. But one thing about Marcus, he sure knew what Gaelan found attractive in a woman. He glanced unconsciously at her breasts, feeling an unmistakable hardness forming.
The Billionaire's Secrets Page 3