by Tricia Jones
He topped off their wine. “Tell me about your parents.”
“They loved each other, loved me.” Which was something nobody could ever take away. No matter what.
As Nathan shifted, Chloe launched into some of her favourite memories. He listened, attentive, acknowledging where appropriate as she let the memories come—some happy, some more difficult to remember. She held nothing back. It must have been the wine loosening her tongue, opening her heart. Some of those recollections had been shut away so long, she herself had almost forgotten them. But Nathan had a way about him. A way that, if she wasn’t careful, would niggle and slip beneath her defenses until she had no option but to care again. To feel.
“So that’s when you came to live with your grandparents?” He topped off their wine again, and because she felt so deliciously relaxed, she let him. It was enough that she was aware of his easy charm and sympathetic manner. Awareness was half of the battle, wasn’t it? At least she had the measure of him and could make sure she only went so far in her confess-all mood.
“My grandparents changed their retirement plans to take me in. I didn’t know that until they died and I found papers with all the workings out. The college fee was at the top and underneath how many weeks my grandfather had to work extra time to pay for it. They put up the cottage as security on a loan to send me to the best school, and my grandfather worked five extra years at the boatyard to make sure I wanted for nothing.
“Mum was their only daughter, and they were well into their thirties when she was born. They thought they could never have children. My mum had similar problems conceiving me.” She sipped her wine and experienced a fizzle of panic when the room went slightly blurry. “I never knew my grandparents had given up so much to look after me. I was a problem at first, a difficult and obnoxious pre-teen.”
“You’d just lost your parents.”
“They lost a daughter and an adored son-in-law. I never even considered that.”
“Why would you? You were just a kid.”
“I suppose.” Chloe gave a shaky smile. “I was no angel, and bless them, they gave me everything a young girl could want, with love and security right at the top of the list. My grandfather used to build these model boats and aircraft. He displayed them in cabinets and had them hanging from the ceiling of the back bedroom. When I came, he cleared them out and had to break some of them up. The rest he stored in the shed at the back of the garden.” She took a larger sip of wine. “I felt really guilty about that. I mean, I never felt like an intruder or anything, but I felt so guilty about those models. They were his pride and joy.”
“That particular accolade went to you, I would imagine.”
She smiled at that, marveling at how easily he could make her feel better. “He spent ages decorating the back bedroom for me. I got to choose everything, from the wallpaper to the type of hooks I wanted on the door. Nothing was ever too much trouble. They made me feel so safe, so secure, at a time I felt anything but. It was amazing how soon it came to feel like home, and how cocooned I felt. I planted the garden with my grandmother, you know?”
Nathan’s eyes widened in interest, and there was still understanding in them. She knew she was talking too much, but for some reason she was on a roll. “We planted spring bedding every year, marigolds and those lovely little daisy things. We planted sunflowers—grew taller than me, they did.” Her head spun a little. “We planted roses, planted a bush each for my parents and…err…” Before she could do anything about it, her throat tightened and her eyes filled.
Chloe dragged in a huge breath, and then let it out on a steady stream. She frowned in mock admonishment. “Did you put confession powder in this wine?”
“That cottage holds a lot of memories. I can see why you’re hesitant to sell.”
“It’s time to move on. My grandparents would want me to do that. They always encouraged my business aspirations.” She stopped, frowning again. “I really think there must be something in this wine. How about I put a dose of whatever it is in yours?”
His smile was easy, wicked. “Want me to tell you my darkest secrets?”
“I don’t for a moment think you would, but we could perhaps even up the scales a little. What made you choose marina development?”
“It chose me. I was working in the Bahamas when my father died. I came home to arrange everything and ended up helping out in the family business. It was meant to be a temporary arrangement, but it somehow became permanent.”
“You must enjoy it. You don’t seem the type of man who’d do something he didn’t want to.”
“Is that a plus in my favour or a minus?”
Her mouth curved. “I’m not sure.” When Nathan went to top off her glass, she covered it with her palm. Her head spun pleasantly. “I haven’t made up my mind about you. I mean, you have a reputation of being ruthless where business is concerned, and I’d have thought you’d have better things to do than hang around here helping me get this place up and running.”
“You could say it’s in my best interests. The sooner this place is up and running, the sooner I get you out of the cottage.”
The flutter of panic at leaving the cottage disappeared beneath the knowledge she was being teased. “You have ulterior motives?”
“I do, yes, but probably not the ones you think.”
“You can get that idea out of your head, Nathan Fitzgerald.” She waved her glass at him and the liquid spilled dangerously close to the edge. “I’ve told you before, I’m not on the menu.” When some wine trickled over the edge of her glass and dropped onto the floorboards, she giggled. God. She actually giggled.
Watching her, Nathan sipped from his own glass. There was something about her right now. Something soft and almost naive. When she fought back tears as she’d talked about her grandparents, he’d had to push away the fierce need to gather her in his arms. It seemed that underneath the abrasive manner was a sentimentalist, a woman who had lost too many of the people she’d loved.
He remembered how his sister, Beth, had reacted when their father died. How difficult she’d found it to deal with her feelings, until she’d just locked them inside, building a wall around herself until he and his mother had eventually found a way through.
Maybe there’d been nobody left to break down Chloe’s walls. Maybe she didn’t even want them broken down. She certainly gave that impression.
Except there was a poignancy about her that tugged at him.
It wasn’t exactly what he’d expected from the cautious businesswoman who valued tradition yet had no compunction about profiting from progress. Of course, he couldn’t blame her on that—he did so himself. He’d caught her sneaking a look at the development agreement on his coffee table during that storm, no doubt checking which of her competitors had been awarded sole agency.
While she might appear vulnerable right now, he’d do well to remember she was no helpless female. Even if his hormones were suddenly rampant, and all he wanted was her in his arms, soft and pliable, and preferably underneath him.
Unnerved by the dark look Nathan aimed in her direction, Chloe realized it was time to pull this thing back from the dangerous edge. Sitting with him here like this, all chummy-chummy, was way too informal, too… What the devil had he put in this wine? It didn’t usually affect her like this. She wanted to lean back, close her eyes, feel his body against hers; his hands touching her, sliding into her.
She was up like a bullet out of a gun and heading for the door, but Nathan was quicker and blocked her exit. She stared at his chest, not trusting herself to look at him. She dodged to one side, then the other, but he mirrored each move.
“I want you, Chloe, and you want me. Before long, you’ll give yourself to me, willingly.”
She glared at him. The arrogance of it, the sheer conceit. “I won’t give myself to you,” she bit out as her head swam and temptation flooded through her. “Now you’ll leave, and I really don’t want you coming back.”
When she wen
t to move around him, he leaned in. “Oh, I’ll be back.” With a slick patience, he skimmed his finger along her jaw and cupped her chin when she tried to turn her head away. With no time to prepare for the bolt of reaction as their gazes clashed, Chloe could only watch him, could only feel the weight in her chest as her lungs locked tight. Her hands came up in reaction, her palms lying flat, and not altogether steady, on his chest. With that same patience, his gaze traveled over her face, taking a long, slow tour of her mouth before journeying back to her eyes.
Chloe increased the pressure on his chest as he moved in. It was reflex, because she wasn’t sure of anything right at that moment. Except she wanted him to stay. Wanted him to move closer, to wrap his arms around her. She wanted to feel those hands… Oh God, those big hands…
“We want each other, and we’ll have each other. I can be a patient man when the occasion demands it, so for now I’ll let you believe your little fantasy that you don’t want me.” He fastened his grip on her chin as she tried to turn her head, and looked deep into her eyes as she fought against leaning in. “When I do get you in bed, and believe me I will,” he added as she opened her mouth to offer a token protest, “it most definitely won’t be panic I see in your eyes.”
It was most definitely panic now, and not just in her eyes—her whole body vibrated with it. Her heart beat against her ribcage, and delicious sensations dragged through her pelvis. She hated herself. Feeling this way over someone so overbearing, so presumptuous. The cheek of him, the sheer unadulterated cheek of him.
“Go away.” She did shove him now. Hard and determined. Not that he budged. Not one inch. But at least he let go of her chin. “Just go away, and stay away. Like I said, there are any number of women—”
“I want you.”
“You can’t have me. When are you going to get that into your thick head?”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, let me spell it out for you—and please listen,” she added in a tone more suited to reprimanding a child.
He folded his arms, exaggerating a look of concentration.
God, this man was so irritating. Stepping back, she wobbled a little, then steadied herself and took a deep breath. “I do not want any sort of relationship right now. I have no time for it, neither have I the inclination. Even if I did, which I don’t,” she added when he stepped forward, “it would not, in a million years, be with you.”
Pleased with herself, Chloe folded her own arms. “Got it?”
“Loud and clear. You going to this ball on Saturday night?”
“What?”
“The Mayor’s Charity Ball. I hear it’s an important event on the social calendar around here.”
Chloe threw up her hands. “I give up.” Then she thumped her fists on her hips and shook her head. “No, I don’t give up. Let me have one more shot at this, and I’ll make sure I use words of one syllable.”
“Come as my guest. I’ve been given two tickets, top table.”
His grin, that easy slide that made his eyes spark, sent her defenses tumbling. “Top table? Now why doesn’t that surprise me.”
Because she’d let her guard down, he was able to move closer. His arms were around her before she could draw breath. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”
“I already have a date.” Her hands found his arms, whether to encourage or refute, she wasn’t sure. For now she let them settle there, enjoying the feel of hard muscle beneath her fingers.
“Break it.” As his mouth moved dangerously close, Chloe willed herself not to look at its tempting contours. She kept her eyes locked on his. What harm could it do to accept his invitation? She was a big girl, she could handle him, couldn’t she? She represented a challenge to him, he’d said so himself. If she were no longer a challenge, he’d move on. That’s how it worked, didn’t it? It would mean nothing to either of them. Simple, uncomplicated, temporary, with no chance of forever after.
Maybe it could work. If nothing else it would get him out of her life, and as long as she held tightly to the reigns of control…
“Chloe?”
She couldn’t chance it. Already he was lighting up places inside her that she hadn’t known existed. He would tire of her once the challenge was met, while she’d be left raw and hurting.
Plan A remained the best option. “I already have a date,” she repeated, dropping her hands to her sides. “You’ll have to ask someone else.”
Nathan’s eyes flashed. Quick and dark, while the blue in their smoky grey depths intensified. “You’ll deal with me, Chloe. Sometime soon, you’ll deal with me. With us.” His arms tightened around her, yanked her close so the breath expelled from her lungs on a heady gasp. “Until then, perhaps you’d like to consider this.”
His mouth crushed down on hers before she could inhale. She arched into him, slid her hands over his shoulders, and matched his fierce possession of her mouth. When he took the kiss deeper still, she went with him, tightening her arms around his neck and feeling him pull her so close she thought her feet might leave the ground.
The kiss went on and on and her breath came in painful little gasps. She felt like this mass of hot, swirling need, and the ache between her legs was terrifying. Oh Lord. Just what was she doing?
Nathan’s hands covered hers. Gently, he unhooked her fingers from around his neck and pulled away. She studied his face. Raw and unmistakable desire burned in his eyes, heat flared along taut cheekbones, and that full mouth was slightly parted.
“Like I said, consider that.” His voice was scratchy, like gravel, and his breathing fast, uneven. “I’ll see myself out. Make sure you lock the door after me.” Then he turned and was gone.
Chloe did as he’d instructed and locked the door. Her breath was still irregular when she returned to the living room, the only consolation being that Nathan’s had been the same.
She dropped onto the floor and willed her breathing to return to some semblance of normality. She slid her tongue over her lips, tasting him, then lay back with her knees bent. As her stomach swirled and her heart thumped, she stared at the ceiling. She had to get a grip here. Reality check, she demanded of her still foggy brain. If you keep this up, allow yourself to get sucked into this, you’ll end up with your heart broken. Your choice.
She was having one humdinger of a reaction to Nathan. She’d been kissed before, though not as intensely as that. She’d had relationships before, and one had even made it to the bedroom. If she put every man she’d kissed together, they wouldn’t come close to giving her one spark of the reaction that Nathan’s kiss had given her.
She always managed to end a relationship before she started to feel. This one hadn’t even begun…and she had started to feel.
Chapter Five
There was still no sight of the drafted sole agency contract, and Chloe was getting a little uneasy. Perhaps she could give Nathan Fitzgerald something to consider—by letting him know how inefficient his legal team was.
She smiled with satisfaction. Just imagine the look on his face if she even dared to suggest his precious company was anything less than top-notch efficient. That would wipe the arrogant smirk off his face. Then as he was reeling from the shock of it all, she would yank his mouth down to hers and kiss him. Senseless. See how he liked it.
He probably would—that was the whole problem. Which meant there was little she could do to get one over on him. The only thing left was to keep out of his way. Give him a very wide berth.
That might be the sensible thing to do, the only thing to do if she was to safeguard her heart from being broken again, yet she couldn’t shake this awful melancholy.
She’d heard on the grapevine that Nathan had returned to the South of France for a few days. Which meant, with a bit of luck, he would be away for the weekend and she wouldn’t have to face him at tomorrow’s charity ball.
Chloe rustled some papers on her desk, piled them together, and popped them into her “pending” tray. It was the end of a good week, business-wise. S
he’d completed on three properties, exchanged contracts on six. There were two other buyers interested in purchasing Claybury Manor but Nathan had outbid them both, and as with the cottage, he had put his solicitor to work immediately. The paperwork was well on course for an early completion.
She was buttoning her jacket when the phone buzzed. Chloe wasn’t too perturbed to hear Pam’s bright tone. Her friend often called late on a Friday to check Chloe’s social calendar for the weekend, intent on persuading Chloe to join her and her husband at some “do” or another—and with the express aim of doing a bit of matchmaking.
“I’ve just spoken to Poseidon’s solicitor,” Pam said. “He wanted to review the completion date for the cottage.”
Chloe suffered the all-too-familiar sinking feeling that came with selling the cottage. They were due to exchange contracts next week with the completion date to follow at the end of the following week. While she wanted things settled and Nathan out of her life once and for all, the thought of making things legally binding in just a few short days made her very soul ache.
“The completion date stays what we agreed,” Chloe confirmed. “I’ve organized the removal van and arranged to have the meters read. I can’t bring it forward, he’ll just have to wait. I won’t alter things to accommodate Mr. Fitzgerald.” Her tone was brusque and sarcastic and Pam didn’t miss a trick.
“Oh, rattled your cage, has he?”
“His sort would rattle anyone’s cage. It will give me great pleasure to rattle right back. I won’t change the date.”
“Not even if you can stay in the cottage a couple of weeks longer?”
“What?” Chloe’s heart missed a beat. The thought of staying in her beloved cottage for even a couple of days longer was music to her ears.
“Apparently, Mr. Drop Dead Gorgeous says that because he’s decided not to use the cottage for his original purpose, he doesn’t need you to leave quite so urgently.”