by Maggie Cox
Biting back a sob as she turned unhappily back towards the house, she knew with certainty that in her rational everyday mind there was no way on this good green earth that she would ever have conjured up a man like Gray O’Connell. Only a fool could expect anything more than hurt from such an angry, embittered soul as him …
CHAPTER THREE
GRAY splashed whiskey into a tumbler about a quarter of the way up the glass, then raised it to his lips. Despising himself for succumbing to a device that really was a last resort in his book, he took one long draught, emptied the glass and set it carelessly back down on the old oak sideboard. An answering fire burned in his gut, but even that wasn’t hot enough to scorch out what ailed him. Just what did he think he’d been doing, treating a grieving young widow as if she was his for the taking? Just because she’d done him the courtesy of listening to his litany of regrets when he’d turned up unannounced at the cottage that first time, it didn’t mean that he should presume she would now give him anything he asked for!
He groaned out loud, shaking his head. Chase looked up curiously from his place by the fire, then dropped his head mournfully down onto his front paws again as if to say What’s the point?
Precisely … What was the point? Gray agonised. There were plenty of likely women in the town and thereabouts—women who would be only too willing to warm his bed. Some of them had done just that—if only briefly—in the past. After Maura had left him he hadn’t cared about who they were, just that they were willing.
He almost reached for the whiskey bottle again at the thought of such recklessness. He’d protected himself, of course—he didn’t want anyone jumping up and down accusing him of making them pregnant—but just the same it wasn’t the kind of behaviour he was proud of.
But now, after two years of being unattached and heart-free—he scowled at that—he couldn’t believe he could be so affected by a little witch with honey-gold hair and an angelic smile, and a body that he ached to have wrapped round him naked. Neither the faded jeans nor the baggy shapeless sweater she’d been wearing had been able to totally disguise the long-legged, shapely body beneath the clothes. It had taken every ounce of willpower Gray had in him to refrain from taking her out there in the rain—up against the wall of the cottage, most likely. Desire had been running high in both of them, like sizzling sparks along a fuse wire. He’d felt it in every exquisite tremble of that taut and sexy little body of hers. Gray imagined her big blue eyes widening in shock, then capitulating in passion as she opened to receive him.
The vivid picture he conjured up had heat slamming into him with such ferocity that there wasn’t a single cell in his body that didn’t want her right there and then—that wouldn’t have pushed aside every single scruple he had left just to lose himself in the heat and softness of that alluring young body even as her sweetly musky scent drove him slowly crazy.
He was a passionate man—a man who put his heart and soul into everything he did, whether it was pushing his body hard in a workout, making money, painting pictures or making love. But he could honestly not recall another time in the whole of his thirty-six years when he had wanted a woman as badly as he wanted the chaste little widow. And the damnedest thing about it was that he had no business wanting her at all. Not when she was clearly still nursing her hurt over the death of her husband. Only a heartless bastard would take advantage of such a situation, and that was one title he’d tagged himself with for long enough.
‘She’s nothing but trouble with a capital T,’ he said out loud, his rich, resonant tone ringing out in the big, sombre drawing room with its dark oak panelling and ruby-red carpeting. For such an impressive room, its furnishings were sparse, to say the least. A more kindly observer might suggest minimalist. One large antique couch sat a few feet back from the huge brick fireplace with its open hearth, its once deep red cushions now sadly flattened and faded to a more sedate and dusky plum.
There was nothing comfortable about it, if the truth be known, but then Gray had become so careless of his own comfort of late that he scarcely gave the matter much thought. A few once beautiful but now faded Turkish rugs were laid indifferently here and there across the rich carpet, and one large oak sideboard and a heavily embossed armchair—renovated for Maura’s benefit, not his—was the only other furniture. On the walls were various old portraits that he’d got as a kind of ‘job lot’ when he’d purchased the grand old house, but none of them was of any relation of his as far as he knew. He’d been meaning to put them into storage, but lately he hadn’t had the heart to even think about the task, let alone do it.
The house was beautiful, right enough. It had the kind of faded grandeur that many old Irish houses descended from the landed gentry often possessed. But now many of the owners of such houses couldn’t afford the soaring upkeep they entailed, and despite the fact that Gray could afford it easily it was still soulless when all was said and done—even with his housekeeper Bridie’s loving administrations. What else could it be with just one singularly unhappy man and his bear of a dog living in it? It occurred to him just then that his father’s cottage was far more homely and welcoming. But then that was down to his beautiful shapely tenant and nothing to do with him.
As a picture of Karen filled his mind, scented candles and blazing fire an alluring backdrop, he shook his head with a fresh spurt of anger, desperately trying to dismiss it. He couldn’t understand it. The woman set him on fire with just one innocent glance from those incandescent blue eyes of hers. Doubly so because there was no falsity to be detected anywhere in their crystal silky depths—just a warmth he wanted to gravitate towards and a hurt that he found himself desperate to ease. That wasn’t like him. It wasn’t like him at all.
Besides, it was as plain as day that she didn’t need a hard, embittered man like Gray. The woman’s trusting soul and generous heart needed a man more in the mould of the way he guessed her husband must have been. Someone gentle and loving, no doubt—someone with infinite patience, someone selfless who worshipped the ground her perfect little feet walked on.
A rueful grin split his lips. The thick white socks she’d been wearing on a previous occasion hadn’t gone unnoticed. She had feet like a ballerina, perfectly poised, with a delicate but distinct little arch that was positively sexy. He wondered what she’d look like wearing nothing else but those chaste white socks and that beguilingly angelic little smile of hers? The thought caused him serious agony. For God’s sake! Just give her a wide berth from now on, man!
The instruction careened through his brain, wiping the grin clean off his handsome face. Scowling, Gray turned and stalked across the sea of ruby-red carpet, heading determinedly for the large scullery-type kitchen to chop up some steak for Chase’s dinner …
Karen sat in the window seat sipping her tea, straining for the sound of the ocean, which on a calm, still day could just be detected by those of a soulful enough disposition wanting to hear it. Her whole body was tense with waiting. Waiting for Gray O’Connell to show up with whatever bits and pieces of furniture he wanted to install in the cottage. Perhaps after last night he’d changed his mind?
Her heart took a dive as she remembered how vulnerable she’d made herself to the man, how incapable she’d been of holding back the tide of feeling so strong that it had threatened to knock her off her feet. Was that what passion did to a person? Made them lose their reason and dignity?
If Gray hadn’t strode away when he had, like some compelling black shadow melting into the darkness, Karen had serious doubts as to whether she would have restrained herself from practically begging him to share her bed. No wonder she was so keyed-up at the idea of seeing him again. How on earth was she even going to be able to look him in the eye? As if the man didn’t have enough advantages, without his sexually frustrated tenant throwing herself at his feet!
With a little groan she shook her head, then scrubbed at the condensation from her breath that clouded the windowpane. Everything could do with a coat of paint, she though
t suddenly, her glance assessing. The white emulsion on the small square frames was grey and flaking, and the same washed-out tone on the walls was equally ready for some kind of springlike makeover. Would it be presumptuous of her to ask her taciturn landlord if she could apply a fresh coat of paint here and there? she wondered. After all, it could only be to his advantage. She was quite prepared to buy the paint and undertake the task herself.
The sound of a vehicle approaching had her leaping off the seat and hurrying to the kitchen sink to empty her half-consumed mug of tea. Pulling out a drawer, she let her fingers busily scramble through the jumbled contents that consisted of matchbooks, packets of incense and the odd battery and paperclip, to reach for her hairbrush. She pulled the cushioned comb through her hair, wincing at the occasional tangle it wouldn’t easily unravel.
Squinting into the small make-up mirror she’d left propped up against a line of cookery books on a shelf above the fridge, she grimaced at her flushed cheeks and over-bright eyes. It was hardly the composed visage she so desperately needed to present to her intimidating landlord, with his rangy good-looks and stinging glance that was currently the major stumbling block and disruption to her peace of mind.
A loud rapping on the door had Karen dropping the hairbrush haphazardly back into the drawer and slamming it shut with a bit too much gusto, causing the ill-fitting container to get jammed halfway and then refuse to budge. Cursing her own impatience, she left it as it was, then flew out into the sitting room to get the door.
‘Hello!’ Breathless, she stared up at Gray, winded by her sudden exertion as well as an unsettling feeling of intense anticipation at seeing him again.
Those mysterious grey eyes of his considered her for several tension-filled seconds without him uttering a word. Was he even going to say hello back? Karen’s stomach lurched, then lurched again. Dry-mouthed, she let her gaze move downwards to the deliberately provocative curl of those ruthless brooding lips. The same mocking lips that only just last night had all but burned her, highlighting an aspect of her nature that she now knew without a doubt she’d long suppressed.
‘My, my … What big eyes you have, Miss Ford.’ His voice, low and laced with a deliberate taunt, turned the blood in her veins to the consistency of sluggish warm treacle.
‘Barring the name—isn’t that supposed to be my line?’ she quipped back, astounded that she’d managed to even get the words past her throat. Trouble was, she was remembering the provocative, compelling taste of that taunting mouth and wondering how she was going to pretend that nothing disturbing had happened when they both knew it had. That destroying, passionate kiss from Gray had turned everything Karen believed about herself on its head, and there didn’t seem to be a single thing she could do to restore that belief to where it had been before.
After assessing her for a couple more seconds, Gray bestowed upon her a disturbing lingering smile. ‘A man could quite forget his own name, standing here looking at you,’ he ruefully told her. ‘And that wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t do at all. Regarding the furniture that I’ve brought—if you don’t like it, or it’s not to your taste, then I’ll change it for something that suits better. Not that I’m enamoured of the idea of a shopping trip any time soon, but maybe for you, Miss Ford, I’ll make an exception.’
‘I’m sure whatever style you’ve chosen will be just fine,’ she murmured, the mere idea of going on a shopping trip with Gray O’Connell churning her insides like butter.
‘Good.’ He grinned. ‘What a refreshing change to meet a woman that’s so amenable.’ Turning abruptly, he stepped back outside.
When she finally remembered to breathe again, Karen’s breath was distinctly shaky. There was no doubt that the man was good-looking—if in a kind of arrogant, couldn’t-careless, everybody-else-be-damned kind of way—but when he smiled. His smile was like the sun lighting up the greyest of gloomy days, or a full moon brightly showcasing the myriad stars that it shared the night sky with. His fathomless long-lashed eyes were stop-you-in-your-tracks amazing, and his mouth—his mouth had a deliciously enigmatic curve that was without a doubt provoking and made her toes curl. It also transformed his face from darkly handsome to hauntingly, irresistibly beautiful. How could a woman ever forget it? All Karen could do was blink up at him, saying nothing. It was as if she had suddenly lost the power to think, let alone speak, when he looked at her like that.
Striding across the grassy area round the house onto the narrow unmade road that led to the dwelling, Gray opened the rear doors of a large white transit van. Karen saw a tall, slim young man with a thatch of unruly fair hair, dressed in paint-splattered jeans and a scruffy black tee shirt, clamber out of the front seat and amble up beside him—presumably to assist with whatever he’d brought in the van.
The first item to emerge was a beautiful Victorian two-seater sofa with cabriole legs, upholstered in natural linen. Its condition was immaculate, and between the two of them the men brought it into the house and deposited it beside the older worn version that it would replace. Lifting the three small green velvet cushions that adorned the old couch, Gray threw them down onto its smarter replacement, then glanced directly over at Karen where she stood awkwardly and bemused by the door.
‘That’s a lot better, don’t you think?’
There was something almost endearing about the glance Gray gave her—almost as if he was unsure of her reaction and sought her approval. The thought was so surprising that an answering sensation of warmth curled in Karen’s belly, bringing with it a surge of affection towards the aloof, complex man who acted as if he didn’t need anything from anyone—let alone affection.
‘It’s great.’ She lifted her shoulders with a shrug of pleasure.
‘By the way, this is Sean Regan. Sean—meet Miss Ford.’
‘Call me Karen.’ She stepped forward to shake the younger man’s hand, already warming to the unrestrained friendliness she saw on his eager, attractive face, and noting the two little silver earrings he wore in one earlobe with a feeling almost akin to maternal indulgence. Which was ridiculous, because he could only be a couple of years her junior—if that.
Her shy gaze slid furtively across to Gray. Perhaps it was just that she preferred her men to be a little more mature and rugged? Gray certainly fitted into that criteria as far as life experience went. She frowned at the preoccupied expression on his face, aching for that glorious smile of his to revisit the sternly handsome features even though she’d intuited that such smiles were probably incredibly rare.
‘Pleased to meet you, Karen.’ Sean stepped back with a grin as Gray indicated he wanted his help in taking the old sofa outside. ‘I’ve seen you round the town and sometimes walking the hills or down by the sea. How do you like it out here? Not too lonely for you?’
‘I like it just fine, Sean. The peace and quiet is just what I need.’
‘Are you going to stand round all day chatting to Miss Ford, or are you going to give me a hand like I asked you to?’ Scowling at the younger man, Gray picked up one end of the old sofa and waited with barely concealed impatience for him to lift the other.
‘I suppose I’m going to help you, boss—that’s why I’m here, isn’t it? But it’s a sad day when a man can’t take the time to share a few words with a new neighbour, don’t you think?’
This gently amused remark elicited another dark scowl from Gray, and as the two men passed Karen with the sofa Sean gave her a conspiratorial wink.
Biting her lip to keep from grinning, Karen followed them outside again. ‘Shall I make some tea?’
‘Got any coffee?’ Gray came back.
Tucking her hair behind her ears, Karen felt her cheeks burn at the sudden intense inspection he subjected her to. She personally thought such interested scrutiny was ill-deserved when she was wearing her second oldest pair of jeans and a plain, too-big lilac shirt that had lost a couple of its buttons.
‘Sure. How do you take it?’
‘Black and strong, no sugar,’ came the
clipped reply.
Karen nodded. She should have guessed. It probably summed up the way Gray lived his life, she thought. No frills, just the basic essentials. Milk and sugar would have been far too much of an indulgence for such a man.
‘And you, Sean?’
‘Tea for me, darlin’ … plenty of milk and three sugars.’
‘Okay—and how about a slice of home-made fruitcake to go with it?’
‘I’m a sucker for home-made cake any time, so I’ll say yes, please!’ Sean winked at her.
‘And you, Mr O’Connell?’
She’d deliberately kept her address formal, so he wouldn’t think she was being forward, but there was a maddening twinkle in his eyes as he replied, ‘You clearly know how to tempt a man, Miss Ford.’
‘Refreshments coming right up, then.’ Blushing and smiling shyly, Karen turned back into the house to put the kettle on.
Altogether Gray had brought her a sofa, two matching armchairs in the same tasteful natural linen, and a couple of Victorian brass table-lamps that complemented the traditional interior of the cottage so well that Karen could have hugged him with delight. The new furniture transformed the place. Now all she needed to do was apply a couple of coats of paint to the walls and window frames and it would resemble a home again, rather than a place haunted by the twin ghosts of sadness and neglect.
Taking a sip of tea from a pink mug labelled ‘Prima-donna’—a long-ago gift from Ryan—she surveyed the two men currently gracing the new armchairs.
Sean had the ease and careless body language of his youth, and was oblivious to anything but the enjoyment of his sweet milky tea, while Gray. Well, Gray was another matter entirely, Karen thought. The long legs clad in close-fitting black jeans seemed almost too long for the chair he sat in. He’d rolled the sleeves of his rust-coloured shirt halfway up his forearms, revealing strong limbs with a distinct smattering of fine dark hair. The fingers that curved round his blue china mug were long and slender, and definitely hinted at artistic leanings. But, unlike Sean, he wasn’t at ease. His handsome face seemed singularly distant and preoccupied, barely concealing the fact that he was scarcely comfortable with the situation at all and would probably much rather be anywhere else but there.