Secret Millionaire

by Kitty Alexander

  Had she?

  Unbidden, the sights and smells and feelings of the potting shed that afternoon filled his mind, and his body stirred in automatic response. He was just going to have to wing it – ask questions to deflect her attention away from him. Like whether she had a boyfriend and what sort of underwear she wore beneath those shapeless gardening clothes…

  No, no and no! Not those kinds of questions: polite, getting-to-know a colleague kind of questions. Dinner party stuff, without the food. And he’d keep it brief – one bottle of beer then home. That was it.

  As he turned the corner, there was one house in the long row that stood out. Walking towards it, Mark smiled to himself. It had to be Alexia’s – she’d mentioned window boxes, but she hadn’t said they were potential prize-wining window boxes, bursting at the seams with cheerful blooms. Yes, it was number seventy-seven. Taking a deep breath, Mark knocked on the door.

  She must have been sitting in the front room waiting for him, because the door opened quickly. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Come in.’ Her voice sounded a bit croaky. He wondered if she felt as nervous as him. No, that would be impossible.

  ‘Thanks.’ Mark stepped past her into the tiny room. It was a riot of colour, with a blue sofa and a patterned rug in shades of blue and red. And there were more flowers, standing in tall jugs in the tiled fireplace. Unlike the grim terraced house he was staying in, this one appeared to have all the original Victorian features. He wondered if it had a big bath with the clawed feet, like the one he had in his own home. But he’d better not think about that. If he did, he was going to start thinking about her naked. Oh help, now he was. It was a glorious thought, but it did nothing at all to help him act like a normal human being.

  ‘I’m afraid I’ve got you here under false pretences,’ Alexia was saying.

  Surprised, Mark turned to look at her. The Gro-More T-shirt had gone, to be replaced by a stripy shirt in a soft material that clung to her body.

  ‘I… I thought I had some beer,’ she said. ‘But I… must have drunk the last bottle at the weekend. I’m really sorry. Can I get you something else? A glass of juice? I’ve got apple or orange. Or a cup of coffee? Tea?’

  Mark blinked. Something about her voice distracted him from his lustful thoughts about her lying naked in the bath. She’d sounded… uncomfortable about something. But what?

  ‘A coffee will be fine,’ he said, and then he smiled. ‘But you owe me a pint.’

  She smiled back briefly. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Sure. Fine. I’ll just er… go and make the coffee.’

  While she was gone, Mark strode over to the bookshelf to look at her books. Gardening – no surprise there. Birds of the British Isles, flowers, nature stuff. Fifty Riverside Walks in the Derbyshire Dales. Smiling, Mark picked the book up, turning the pages to find Chee Dale. It was one of his favourite places to go for a walk, and not very far from home. It was obvious that Alexia had done the walk too because the book fell open easily at that page, and it looked as if it had been exposed to the elements.

  Mark stroked the crinkled page, feeling a warm something stir somewhere inside him. So, she liked the same kinds of places as him. If this was a date, he could take the book through to the kitchen and they could chat about Chee Dale with its stone stepping stones and comic dipper birds while she made the coffee. He could tell her about The Copper Beeches and invite her to visit. He could even tell her about his business, share his pride at what he had achieved.

  But this wasn’t a date.

  ‘Mark?’ Alexia called.

  He jumped, feeling stupidly guilty, and thrust the book back onto the shelf, causing a pile of Ordnance Survey maps to cascade onto the floor just as she put her head round the door.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, bending to scoop them up. ‘Just being nosy.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ she said. ‘Just wanted to know how you take your coffee.’

  ‘Black, no sugar please.’ For some reason, his fingers seemed useless. The maps kept slipping through them and back onto the floor like jumping fish. She was going to think he was a complete idiot.

  ‘Coming right up.’

  * * * * *

  Oh, lord, his legs and his butt looked divine in jeans. She hadn’t thought it possible for him to look more attractive than he had this afternoon, but it was. Denim definitely suited him, especially the worn, soft body-shaping kind. And he was interested in maps. She adored them herself – loved poring over them, planning walks and adventures. If this were a date, they could spread a map open on the floor and kneel down next to each other as she showed him the places she’d been to and the places she still wanted to go to. They could pick out a spot for a picnic. Maybe their hands would collide as they pointed to a riverbank or a hilltop. They’d laugh and look at each other and then they’d kiss…

  But this wasn’t a date, and she’d do well to remember that. Mark Brown was out of bounds. Besides, she could swear his hands had been shaking while he tried to pick up the maps. Was he craving the drink she’d so effectively deprived him of? There had been just enough time to hide her bottles of beer at the back of the cupboard before he arrived. She hadn’t liked lying to him, but she’d had no choice. It was for his own good.

  Finishing making the coffee, she carried it to the front room, pausing briefly in the lobby at the bottom of the stairs to take a deep breath and to fix a smile on her face before she went in. Mark was sitting on the sofa, the maps now arranged neatly on the shelf above his head.

  ‘Here you are.’

  ‘Thanks.’ His fingers brushed hers as he took the mug. Refusing to react, even though it felt as if a thousand volts had swept through her body, Alexia retreated to the armchair, searching for something to say.

  ‘So, how did you find your first day as a volunteer?’

  He smiled, sipping his coffee. ‘Fine, apart from my run in with Bert,’ he said.

  Alexia pulled a face. ‘I’m sorry if I was a bit defensive of Bert,’ she said. ‘It’s just that he’s had a rough time, and people don’t always give him the benefit of the doubt. That goes for most of the centre users actually. People are too quick to write them off. Most of them only need the chance to prove themselves.’

  Something flickered across Mark’s face. Had she hit a nerve? Had the same thing happened to him during his struggle with alcohol?

  ‘You said you’ve just moved here?’ she said.

  Mark smiled. It was a small, tight smile that somehow didn’t seem to quite reach his eyes. ‘That’s right, on Saturday.’

  The phone rang. ‘Sorry,’ she said, reaching out to answer it. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi, it’s Mum again.’

  Alexia smothered a sigh, smiling apologetically at Mark. ‘Hi, Mum.’

  ‘I forgot to tell you. The party’s going to be here, at home. I thought it would be more relaxed like that.’

  Alexia knew that it would not. ‘All right, Mum. Like I said, I’ll let you know by the end of the week.’

  ‘All right, darling. But you will think about it, won’t you?’

  ‘I said I would. Now, I’ve got to go. I’ve got… a friend here. Bye.’

  ‘Bye, Alexia.’

  Mark was watching her as she put the phone down. ‘Problem?’ he asked.

  Alexia sighed. ‘Just another function I’m not keen on going to,’ she said, aware of how much of an understatement it was.

  ‘So don’t go,’ he advised easily.

  She looked at him, somehow unable to imagine him doing anything he didn’t want to do. ‘Yes, but life’s not as easy as that, is it?’ she said, deciding to change the subject. She didn’t want to think about her father’s party and the likely need to hurt her mother.

  ‘We were talking about you moving here before the phone rang,’ she reminded him.

  ‘Were we?’ he answered, in a non-encouraging tone of voice.

  ‘Yes, we were.’ The man certainly seemed to like his secrets. ‘That’s a Sheffield accent, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Is th
at where you’re from?’

  He smiled briefly, putting his coffee cup down in the hearth. ‘What, do you sideline as a private detective in your free time?’ he asked.

  She laughed. ‘No, I have quite a few friends from Sheffield.’

  He looked at her. ‘You don’t have a Nottingham accent.’

  ‘No. I come from Skipton originally. And my father did his best to make sure I never acquired the accent.’ She blinked, realising she’d given more away than she’d intended to. ‘Mind you, it has a way of coming out at times of stress. Expect to hear me speaking broad Yorkshire on the day of the fundraiser!’

  Mark looked at her clothes, his gaze stroking her. Alexia shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

  ‘Some women would love the chance to dress up in beautiful clothes and act at being a star for a night,’ he said. ‘Or do you prefer casual clothes?’

  ‘I wear dresses and skirts just like any girl if the occasion suits. You should see me when I go to salsa classes!’

  ‘I’d like to,’ he said.

  Oh, God. This was getting out of control. She kept saying things that seemed provocative. But when she wasn’t speaking, there was just this intense, throbbing silence between them – a silence that drove her to fill it with babbling chatter.

  ‘No, the reason I’m not especially looking forward to the fundraiser is because I’m not keen on the idea of having to persuade all those would-be patrons to part with their cash. I’m just not a sales person.’

  ‘I’m sure it won’t be as bad as you think it will be. Just imagine you’re talking to them about vegetables. That should do it.’

  Alexia smiled. ‘Maybe.’

  Mark put down his coffee mug and stood up. ‘Could I use your bathroom?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘It’s straight up the stairs and first on the left.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  It was only after he’d gone that she remembered her underwear, still hanging on the line over the bath. Oh, hell. Not only had she been completely unprofessional, sharing her views about potential sponsors for the Centre, but now he was going to know exactly what she wore under her jeans and t-shirts. And it was only day one of him being a volunteer.

  Chapter Six

  ‘I’m calling a meeting, tonight, at the Turkish Baths. And don’t you dare say you can’t make it. I need to know all the gossip.’

  Alexia walked with her mobile phone a short distance away from the vegetable stall in Newark’s Market Square so she could talk to her boss in private. Laura, it seemed, had popped into the office and had been given all the juicy details about Mark by Julia.

  ‘There isn’t really any gossip, Laura,’ Alexia protested, but she knew it wasn’t true. If either Laura or Julia knew she’d invited Mark round to her house the previous evening, their jaws would do more than drop – they’d hit the floor. Not that she had any intention on telling them about that. And as for the small matter of Mark having seen her underwear… Oh, no. There was no way she was going there.

  Just thinking about it now, she felt mortified. It was a good job it had been her best lace underwear hanging over the bath, and not the full brief passion killers she occasionally wore when she wanted to be really comfortable.

  No, it wasn’t. Maybe if it had been her full briefs, then Mark wouldn’t have looked at her the way he had when he’d come down the stairs. Oh God, she was going all hot just thinking about it. And she had to stop thinking about him that way, she really did. Not only was Mark a volunteer, he was a recovering alcoholic too. Why was that so hard to remember? This morning, the dark circles beneath his eyes were worse than ever. The man was clearly suffering.

  ‘Alexia?’ On the other end of the line, Laura sounded impatient.

  Alexia sighed. There was no getting out of it. ‘All right, I’ll be there,’ she said. ‘What time?’

  ‘Seven-thirty. That’ll give me time to feed everyone and get Lily settled.’

  Lily was Laura’s baby and Alexia’s goddaughter. She was gorgeous, but a handful. With two other children as well, Alexia knew that her friend probably needed a trip to the Turkish bath for more than just a good gossip. And it would be nice to see her anyway. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Great. I’ll see you at seven-thirty in the foyer.’

  Alexia ended the call and walked back over to the stall, her eyes appraising their display. It looked good – simple, but good. It was a sunny day, and trade was already brisk. Both Bert and Mark were busy serving customers. At the back of the stall, Peter was stacking empty boxes. Now that everything was up and running, there was very little for Alexia to do except offer advice if it was needed and serve customers if it got really busy.

  ‘These potatoes were freshly dug from the earth yesterday afternoon, madam,’ Mark was saying to the customer he was serving. He was wearing a navy blue striped apron that was slightly too small for him, but still managed to look extremely attractive, even with those dark circles beneath his eyes.

  Beside Mark, Bert seemed to be harrumphing about something. ‘Everything all right, Bert?’ she asked him.

  ‘Some of us were digging them up,’ he said under his breath. ‘And some of us were spearing them.’

  ‘Now then, Bert,’ Alexia said. She was watching the way Mark was charming his female customers, and the way in which that charm was being received. If he carried on like that, they’d soon have all the women of Newark standing in line to buy potatoes from him. They’d be sold out by lunchtime.

  ‘How are you getting on with practising for your interview next week, Bert?’ she asked, deliberately turning away from Mark and his charm.

  Bert blew out his breath dismissively. ‘Practise?’ he said. ‘What practise?’

  Alexia sighed. ‘Oh, Bert,’ she said. ‘We talked about this. If you practise answering questions they’re likely to ask you, you’ll feel much more relaxed on the day.’

  ‘Have you got a job interview, Bert?’ asked Mark, joining in the conversation.

  Bert’s grunt could have meant ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Alexia wondered why he seemed to have taken such a dislike to Mark.

  ‘He has,’ she answered for him. ‘For a gardening job with the council.’

  ‘That’s excellent,’ Mark said.

  Bert grunted again. ‘Won’t get it,’ he muttered. ‘Waste of time going.’

  ‘I agree,’ Mark said. ‘If you take that attitude, it will be a waste of time.’

  Oh, help! What had he said that for? Mark turned away to serve another customer, leaving Alexia to placate an angry-looking Bert.

  ‘You have to try to think positively, Bert,’ she said encouragingly. ‘You’re so good at what you do. You’d be a credit to a job like that.’

  But Bert wasn’t distracted by her compliments. ‘Who asked him for his opinion?’ he asked indignantly. ‘Only been here since yesterday and already thinks he knows everything!’

  Alexia sighed. A part of her knew he was right. ‘Look, why don’t you go and get us some coffees? Here’s some money.’

  With a bit more grumbling, Bert went on his way. And when, shortly afterwards, Ian excused himself to go to the loo, that left her and Mark alone at the stall.

  ‘Sorry,’ Mark said. ‘I seem to have a knack of putting my foot in it where Bert is concerned.

  Alexia sighed. ‘That’s all right. It’s not difficult to offend Bert. Like I said, he’s had a hard life. Actually, I’m afraid that might be a problem with the job he’s going for. With a council job, he’s going to have to get used to people telling him what to do, and that’s something he really doesn’t like. He doesn’t usually mind when I do it, but I know how to handle him.’

  Mark frowned, and his expression made her realise she’d just been very unprofessional, speaking about Bert like that. Damn!

  ‘Why put him up for the job then? If he hasn’t got a hope of being successful?’

  Already annoyed with herself, Mark’s direct question really irritated her. He was far too abrupt and outspok
en at times. ‘I didn’t put him up for it’, she retorted. ‘It was Bert’s idea to apply. I just helped him with his application.’

  Mark sighed. ‘I’ve put my foot in it with you now, haven’t I?’ he said.

  ‘Not at all,’ she answered, still on her dignity.

  ‘Yes, I have,’ he said. ‘And I’m sorry. That’s the very last thing I want to do, Alexia, believe me.’

  The tone of his voice was intimate, and the atmosphere had changed in a flash. It was as if they were back in her house, with him coming back into the room after his trip to the bathroom, and her sitting there flame-cheeked, knowing full well he had just seen her underwear on display over the bath.

  She licked her lips. ‘No offence taken,’ she said.

  Mark smiled, bringing more life to his face than she’d seen all day. ‘Good,’ he said.

  In the distance, Alexia could see Bert returning with the coffees, and she spoke quickly before he arrived. ‘You look tired today. Didn’t you sleep well?’

  Something flickered across his face. Was he thinking about the demons he had no doubt suffered through the night? The craving for a drink that had left him sleepless?

  But then he looked at her, and she saw something else entirely in his face. Something that made her body throb and hum as if he had flicked a switch to ignite it. ‘No, Alexia, I did not sleep well last night,’ his voice very soft, so obviously meant for her alone.

  * * * * *

  Hell, it was so damn difficult to keep focussed on what he was doing here. It was driving him crazy standing in the confined space next to Alexia. Every pore of him was aware of her, even when he was doing something else entirely.

  She was wearing a lemon yellow T-shirt and the colour gorgeous with her hair. It also had a V-neck, which was providing him with the teeniest slightest sliver of a glimpse of her cleavage – a sliver that was playing havoc with his body. And worst of all, when he wasn’t actually looking at her, he kept on imagining her incredibly sexy underwear, hanging up over the bath. Was that what she was wearing beneath her jeans today? Those tiny scraps of satin and lace? They were the main reason he’d slept so badly last night. That and the fact that he’d replayed all their conversations over and over in his head like a video on a loop.