The Gold Collection: A Bride For The Taking: Distracted by her Virtue / The Lost Wife / The Brooding Stranger. Maggie Cox

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ spun round, her eyes widening in alarm. ‘Who told you my name?’

      ‘You’ve moved into a village … sooner or later everyone learns the name of a newcomer. They also tend to speculate on where they’ve come from and why they’ve moved here. Human nature, I guess.’

      He shrugged nonchalantly, and Sophia stared. It was hard to ignore the width of those broad, well-defined shoulders beneath his well-worn, expensive-looking leather jacket. The black T-shirt he wore underneath with jeans was stretched across an equally well-defined chest, and he exuded the kind of masculine strength that made her even more wary of him. But more than that she was uncomfortable with the fact that people she didn’t even know might be discussing her and her son.

      ‘People should mind their own business! If my name should ever be mentioned in your hearing again, Mr Gaskill, I’d be obliged if you would make it very clear that I want to be left in peace.’

      ‘I don’t hold with gossiping about anyone. However, I will endeavour to respect your desire for privacy, Ms Markham.’

      Sophia’s glance was wary, but she made herself acknowledge his remark just the same. ‘Thank you.’

      Before Jarrett could engage her further, she took herself and Charlie off into the crowd and didn’t once glance back to see if his disturbing blue gaze followed them … even though her heart thudded fit to burst inside her chest at the thought that he might indeed be following her progress …

CHAPTER TWO

      CHARLIE was playing in the overgrown front garden as Jarrett drove his Range Rover up to the impressive old house. Glancing out of his window up at the pearlescent sky that threatened rain, he grimaced. Before he talked himself out of it he was on his feet, opening the creaking iron gate that led onto a meandering gravel path sprouting with weeds.

      He stopped to talk to the child. ‘Hello, there.’ Jarrett smiled. ‘Your name’s Charlie, isn’t it?’

      ‘Where’s your dog?’

      Large dark eyes stared hopefully up at him. He was gratified that the boy seemed to remember him. It was two weeks since they’d last met. He also guessed that he probably didn’t have a pet of his own. For some reason, that bothered him.

      Dropping down to his haunches, so that he was on the same level as the child, Jarrett frowned with genuine regret. ‘I’m afraid that he doesn’t belong to me. I was just looking after him for my sister. He’s back with her now.’

      ‘Oh.’ His young companion was stumped for a moment. Recovering, he fixed his visitor with another interested gaze. ‘You called him Dylan.’

      ‘Yes, I did. That’s his name.’

      ‘It’s a good name. But if I had a dog I’d call him Sam.’

      ‘That’s a good name too. Would you like a dog of your own?’

      The boy studied him gravely. ‘Yes, I would … But Mummy thinks a dog would be too much trouble to take care of—and we’ve had enough trouble already.’

      Jarrett absorbed this very interesting snippet of information, ruffled the boy’s unruly dark hair, then rose to his full height again. ‘Never mind … perhaps in time she might have a change of heart?’

      ‘No, she won’t.’ Charlie kicked a nearby pebble with the scuffed toe of his trainer, but not before giving Jarrett a look that said he wished she could be persuaded differently. ‘Have you come to see her?’ he asked.

      ‘Yes, I have. Is she inside?’

      ‘She’s painting.’

       Did Sophia Markham’s creative talent extend beyond photography to painting?

      Jarrett was still considering the idea as he strode up to the front door. The faded sandstone of the house reflected the more muted, mellow tones of a bygone age. The whole building was in dire need of some serious maintenance and redecoration, but no one could deny it had tremendous potential and charm. If he owned the place he would know exactly which restoration company to hire to help return it to its former glory.

      Biting back his disappointment that he would now never have the chance, he made robust use of the heavy brass door-knocker and waited for Sophia to appear. He couldn’t deny he was a little apprehensive about seeing the emerald-eyed beauty again. Both times that he’d tried to engage her in conversation she’d been decidedly aloof. He’d already received a warning that all she wanted to do was to be left in peace. And, despite his sister Beth and her friends still speculating on the whereabouts of a man in her life, Jarrett was becoming more and more convinced that, aside from her son, the mysterious Sophia was unattached.

      ‘For goodness’ sake, sweetheart, the back door is open. You don’t need to—’ Sophia bit off the comment that was clearly meant for Charlie and stared up in open-mouthed surprise at Jarrett. ‘You!’ She shook her head as if to clear it, and her already loosened ponytail drifted free from its band, so that long silken strands of the glossiest chestnut-brown fell down over her shoulders. A faded pink T-shirt spattered with blue and white paint highlighted the small pert breasts underneath it, and a pair of slim-fitting denims with a large ragged hole in one knee clung to long, slender legs.

      Jarrett raised an eyebrow. If she’d appeared in a couture dress from one of the top fashion houses in Paris he couldn’t imagine her looking sexier than she did right then. Facing the pair of annoyed and sparkling green eyes that glared back at him, he couldn’t deny the powerful surge of sexual heat that tumbled forcefully through him.

      ‘How did you find out where I live?’

      ‘The house has been empty for quite a while. Didn’t you think that people would notice when it became occupied again?’

      With what looked like a weary effort, she dragged her fingers through her loosened chestnut hair and shrugged. ‘I get the feeling that people round here notice a little bit too much.’

      ‘Anyway … my apologies for interrupting what looks like a very industrious Sunday afternoon for you. Your son said you were painting? Does that mean you’re a painter as well as a photographer?’

      ‘I’m painting my sitting room … not a canvas.’

      ‘Okay.’ He held up his hands, grinning at his mistake. ‘At any rate, I dropped by because I have an invitation to give to you—from my sister, Beth.’ He produced what was, in his opinion, a ridiculously scented and girly-pink envelope from the inside pocket of his three-quarter-length black leather jacket.

      ‘Have I met your sister?’

      Amusement forced one corner of Jarrett’s mouth up into his cheek. ‘Not yet … but, trust me, she’s determined to meet you, Ms Markham—or is it Mrs?’

      Her expression became even more vexed. She snatched the envelope from him. ‘It’s Ms. I used to be married, but I’m not any more.’

      ‘So you’re divorced?’

      He saw her swallow hard. ‘No. I’m a widow.’

      The СКАЧАТЬ