He became aware that her short hair was not brown at all, but in the light shining through the window was actually a mixture of shades of copper and auburn and dark oak. Her eyelashes were dark brown rather than black, and her eyes—the wide eyes, which were looking at him now with such kindness and compassion, were a lighter shade of green today, flecked with golden flakes. The perfect combination against her pale golden skin flushed with pink.
She looked as lovely and as totally natural as any woman he had ever met. There was no false pretence here—this was the real thing.
And it touched him in a place in his heart, which was painful and raw and unaccustomed to being exposed to the light. And he instantly felt guilty, but he couldn’t tell Sara the real reason why he was at the hotel.
‘I didn’t explain myself very well,’ he answered, but this time in a calm voice, so as not to alarm her. ‘It is only a temporary arrangement. I am actually designing my own home with my team of architects, but it’s not ready yet.’
He raised his free hand and wiggled his fingers. ‘Three or four months is the latest estimate. In the meantime, I am travelling a great deal to close various international projects and the hotel life fits me very well.’
‘Oh, that must be so exciting.’ She breathed out long and slow. ‘You had me worried there for a moment.’ And as he watched her a warm smile flashed across her face. ‘Call me an old softie, but being without a home is one of my nightmares.’ She gave a dramatic shiver for effect. ‘What a horrible thought. But you probably don’t know what that feels like.’
It was as if a bucket of icy water had been thrown over his head and for a moment he wanted to shout how very, very wrong she was about that.
There had been weeks and months after his parents were killed when he and his sister had been shuffled from house to house, friend to friend, until his aunt had obtained custody, stepped in and gave them a home. He had not slept, terrified that they would both be taken into care. It had been a dramatic time which he had shielded from his sister. His first act of real deception. Since then he had become a master of it.
But how could he share the pain with this girl he had only met the evening before?
He did not know how to demonstrate his compassion as openly as she had just done—he simply did not have those skills and tools in his arsenal.
So he held back. Same as usual. And flicked on his casual professional smile. It had taken him years to perfect the ability to look interested but distant at the same time.
‘To answer your question,’ he replied, ‘I still haven’t decided between granite and one of the new glass work-tops. That is still to come.’
Sliding his hand back away from Sara, and brushing away crumbs of sticky sugary baked goods from his fingers, Leo took another long sip of tea to disguise his discomfort, focused his total attention on his mug of hot tea and came up with the only thing he could think of that was relevant and would change the subject—fast.
‘Right. Time to get to work, I think. I suggest we start with your financial records. Bank statements and your accounts. That should tell us exactly what the balance sheet is like and what financial options are open to you—or not.’
Sara nodded and jumped up. ‘No problem. I have them all right here. All organised.’
Leo peered over the table as Sara rooted around inside the cupboards of her pine dresser, then looked on in stunned silence as she proudly presented three overstuffed, totally chaotic shoe boxes of paperwork and popped them in front of him on the table.
‘There used to be sticky labels on things but I think that they must have fallen off. Hope that’s not going to be too much of a problem.’
‘Sara,’ he asked, trying not to panic, ‘don’t you have these records on a spreadsheet on your computer?’
‘I don’t have a computer.’
His hand wiped across his mouth for a second while he tried to process that statement and failed. ‘Then how do you update your website?’
‘Oh, that is all in next year’s plan. No computer. No website. Why? Do you think that might be a problem?’
CHAPTER SEVEN
AN HOUR and a half later, the cakes and buns were crumbs in the bottom of the cake tin and Leo was struggling to stay focused on financial reports.
Sara’s kitchen was so small that he had to squeeze along one wall and stand to one side to pull out a chair so that he could sit opposite her. After the third time he kicked her in the ankle when he stretched out his legs absentmindedly, she suggested that he move around to her side of the table so that they could sit next to each other and file papers into boxes as they went.
Of course he had readily agreed. To make the paperwork easier, of course.
Nothing to do with her bruised shins at all and everything to do with the fact that he did not need an excuse to be in physical contact with Sara Fenchurch.
He had thought the log cabin office was cramped but it was positively spacious compared to her kitchen/dining room, which was jam-packed with so much clutter it should have felt claustrophobic. Instead, it felt homely and lived in.
He was close enough to see the tiny scar above the bow of her upper lip, the beauty spot just below her left ear and the fading red marks on her arm where her cat had scratched her. She smelt of shampoo, earthy compost and feminine old-money class.
What was worse, every time she stretched across to pick something up, an image of Sara wearing the lingerie he had seen on their first night kept flashing in on Leo so fast and hot that it startled him.
As though he was a mind reader, Pasha, the fluffy old sun-warmed cat, chose that moment to jump onto Leo’s lap—only he didn’t quite make it and dug his long claws into Leo’s trousers to get a grip, piercing his skin at the same time and making him yell as Pasha scrabbled for purchase.
‘Oh, no! Bad Pasha. Very bad Pasha,’ Sara said and instantly broke the quiet connection as she slid her chair back and calmly picked up the cat around the middle and lifted his paws away from Leo’s leg, giving Leo a quick flash down the front of her T-shirt as she bent over.
Yes. He had been right. She was wearing the pink lace against her creamy smooth skin, and he almost groaned out loud. He was rooted to the spot, the pain in his leg forgotten.
‘I am so sorry about that,’ Sara said. ‘We don’t have many visitors and Pasha loves people. Pity the old boy can’t jump so well any more. Come on, you… Outside! You have disgraced yourself!’
Sara lowered the scrabbling cat to the floor and gave him a gentle shove towards the open doors leading to the patio. Then she waggled her bottom back onto her chair and gave Leo a quick look sideways. ‘You have been very quiet for much of the last hour. Should I be worried? Not that I’m complaining,’ she hastened to add. ‘I like quiet. Quiet suits me.’
He liked her body pressed lightly next to his side, he liked the way she bit her lower lip and hissed and groaned when she found an unopened bank statement she had dropped inside her shoe box filing system months earlier and promptly forgotten about. And he especially liked the way her hands moved when she talked, expressive, warm and completely and naturally open and unguarded. Even if her clothing was covered with cat hairs which she shed as she moved around.
She was completely different to any of the women whom he met in his life. And it totally disarmed him. All of the defence mechanisms he had built up, and the surface gloss and prestigious trappings of success did not mean one thing here. He found it bizarrely calm and reassuring that there were people like Sara Fenchurch still around. Shame that it also made his job, and his task at that moment, particularly difficult.
Focus. That was it. Back to the work at hand.
‘Your finances are not looking good, Sara,’ he replied in a soft voice and half turned in his hard seat so that he could face her.
‘I think I liked quiet better, but yes, I know, and that’s with three greenhouses. If I lose two of them?’ She sighed and blew out long and slow. ‘Any ideas you have would be very welcome
now. Please.’
Leo looked into her wide concerned eyes in silence for a few seconds, his brow creased with concentration.
‘There are a couple of less pleasant options involving finding a day job which are fairly obvious but I suggest we keep those as last resorts. Does that shudder mean yes? Good.’
Leo picked up one of the bundles of receipts.
‘You don’t have a website and, from what I can see on paper, you don’t spend any money on telling people how wonderful your orchids are and where they can find you. Your main customers are local florists and garden centres plus a few hotels and restaurants, but all within about a twenty-mile radius of where we are sitting. Is that a reasonable assessment?’
Sara sat back and grinned, then tapped two fingers against her forehead in a quick salute. ‘You got all that just from a few scraps of paper? I am impressed. And yes, you’re right. All of my customers came by word of mouth really. One person tells another and I get a call.’
She started to bite her thumbnail, and then pushed her hands onto her lap.
‘Marketing and promotion were on that list with the computer and the website. Looks like I have left it too late. Doesn’t it?’
‘Not necessarily,’ Leo replied and leant forward just a little, his elbow resting on the table. ‘What I am looking for is some way to make your orchid nursery stand out from all of the other plant nurseries in this area. Once you find that unique aspect, then you can start to create a whole new brand for yourself and really get started on the marketing. That is when you need your computer and your website. With a new name and a new professional image you can begin to charge higher prices for your plants.’
He slid back and gestured towards the kitchen window. ‘More orders, more income, more land you can rent. How does that sound? Sara? You’re shaking your head. I thought you wanted to hear some realistic suggestions.’
‘I do. I really do, but frankly the whole branding thing scares me silly. It is exactly what I wanted to get away from when I left my job in London. And I don’t want to change the name of my company. I like calling myself Cottage Orchids. It says a lot about me. That has to stay.’
‘And where is this cottage? And what makes it special? I don’t even have any hint where the plants are grown from that name or who is growing them. For all I know, your cottage could be a huge corrugated iron warehouse in central London.’
Sara gasped in horror and threw a paperclip at him which bounced off his chest. ‘That is a horrible thing to say. What do you want me to call it? Phalaenopsis-R-Us? Or perhaps we should go for something like my grandmother’s cunning idea? Just wait until you see this.’
There was a great shuffling of chairs and table but Sara was able to squeeze out, slide along to her dresser and, after a few seconds of a spectacular view of the back of her trousers and much pulling and pushing, she emerged with a piece of once white card with a title written in very flowery and curving script which Sara passed to Leo as she read it out from memory in the highest, whiniest, poshest voice Leo had ever heard. And he had heard plenty in his time, but this girl had it down perfectly.
‘Lady Fenchurch’s Kingsmede Manor Heritage Orchids.’
She sighed and went to refill the kettle. ‘Can you imagine it? I would have coachloads of tourists turning up in the lane expecting to find a huge museum dedicated to my orchid hunting ancestors, a team of professional scientists cloning endangered orchid specimens in a sterile lab and several acres of tropical glasshouses. There should probably be a gourmet café and gift shop on the side with photos of my grandmother wearing her tiara.’
A snort was followed by a hollow laugh. ‘I could charge admission! Until they actually realise that all I have left is one orchid house and this cottage to show for three generations of orchid-mad ancestors and they all demand their money back. I might have got away with it when I was living in the Manor, but in a few weeks…? No, Leo. The last thing I want is to pretend to be something I am not. Kingsmede Manor Heritage Orchids should be grown at Kingsmede Manor. End of story. And would you prefer coffee or tea?’
‘Tea, please. And I love it.’
‘Love what?’ Sara replied, looking around the room until she realised that he was grinning and practically drooling at the piece of card she had just passed him.
The penny dropped. And so did her chin.
‘Oh, you cannot be serious. Please, no. Not that. There has to be something else we can do, Leo,’ Sara said. ‘Think. There are three generations of my family who have worked to create these orchids. I might not be an orchid-hunter like they were, but I have to do something to carry on the tradition they started. If I don’t, then everything they did would be lost, and I can’t bear the thought of that happening.’
‘Then try and see this name with new eyes. It is inspired. I’m serious. Don’t you see it?’
Leo grabbed the card, his eyes shining with excitement as though he had just unearthed some ancient treasure from a muddy field. ‘You need a brand that launches you head and shoulders above the competition—and it’s right here, staring you in the face. All you have to do is combine your name with your family heritage in growing orchids. It would make all the difference.’
He grinned, trying to contain his enthusiasm. ‘Why on earth didn’t you tell me that you had a title? Any links to the nobility are a terrific selling feature. Believe me. You will not come up with anything better than this.’
One of her hands pressed hard onto the tabletop, palm down for support, while the teaspoon she was holding in the other hand waved widely in the air, splattering droplets of cold tea across the paperwork.
‘A selling feature. Oh, that is just perfect. The entire history of my mother’s family comes down to how I can use my heritage as a terrific selling feature. How foolish of me not to think of that before.’
Her hand stilled and Leo could see the faint tremble in her fingers but, when she spoke, Sara’s voice was intense, quiet and absolutely crystal-clear and resolute.
‘I need to make something very clear. I don’t have a title and I never have had a title. My grandmother was the daughter of an Earl but she left that world behind when she married a commoner. Sorry, Leo. She may have kept her courtesy title but any links to the peerage ended right there. If I have learnt anything in my life it is that having a title is a curse, not a blessing. That’s why I won’t do it. I won’t lie. And I certainly will not use my grandmother’s title to sell my orchids.’
And just like that Leo’s heart contracted and he felt a powerful cord pulling him towards Sara from a place deep inside that he had forgotten was even there.
It was so sudden and so powerful that he almost moved backwards to counteract the strength of the invisible bond that was locking him into this girl. But the tension was so strong there was no way that he could break it by the force of his will.
This was no trivial frisson of physical attraction. This was something else. Something much, much bigger which bypassed his head and hit him hard in the heart and the gut. Fast and hard and brutal in its intensity, but so miraculously uplifting his heart soared.
And the feeling knocked him sideways and speechless.
Here was this girl he had only just met, opening her heart and spilling out her feelings and her loyalties onto this messy table, while he just sat there, his secrets buried so deep inside his chest for so many years that he had almost convinced himself that they no longer existed. Until moments like this one when he saw how his life could have been so very different if he had taken a different path all those years ago. A path where he did not have to deceive the world around him every day of his working life just as he deceived himself to get through the day.
He had kept his secrets and resentments and pain to himself for so long that they had become almost like a story rather than the truth. It made it easier that way.
Until someone like Sara came along and in a few minutes told him that his story was not unique. Far from it.
Sara’s grand
mother had sacrificed her inheritance for love, just as his mother had left her wealthy family behind to be with her soulmate. And the aftermath of those earthquake decisions were still rippling through the lives of their descendents.
They were so alike it terrified him.
He had not told Sara one word about his own past and yet he felt as though she knew him and what was going on inside his head even better than his own sister. His aunt saw driving ambition and the search for status and position. But Sara? Sara had the power to disarm him with a few simple words as she wrapped her small fingers around his heart and squeezed.
And the walls around his heart started to feel just a little less solid, as though tiny cracks had appeared and alarm bells were ringing, warning him to be careful.
There was still time to repair the damage and rebuild this flash outer mask the world saw when they looked at Leo Grainger.
He should walk away from this connection and from Sara, wish her well for the future and simply get on with his life. He could deny the attraction. Why not? He had given her an option for a business idea and kept his side of the bargain.
He could leave any time he wanted. Just get up and go back to the hotel and drive away.
Leaving her to lose everything she had worked for.
He looked up to see Sara trying to make tea, only as he watched this pretty girl, her hands were so jittery the teaspoon fell onto the flagstones and she was so overcome that it was all she could do to cling onto the worktop.
Instinctively and without conscious thought for the consequences, Leo squeezed out of his chair and crossed the few feet that separated them and pressed his chest against the back of her T-shirt, wrapping his arms around her waist and enclosing her in his embrace.
He wanted to kiss away her fears and pain so badly that he could already imagine what she would taste like from the perfume of her shampoo in her hair and the aroma of coffee and baking. Honest smells. Real. Homely. All Sara.
Blind Date Rivals Page 10