Swept Into The Rich Man's World. Katrina Cudmore

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СКАЧАТЬ had left their beds in the cloakroom and now ambled towards her, tails wagging at the prospect of having someone else to love them.

      Both immediately went to her and bumped their heads against her leg. She leant over and rubbed them vigorously. In the process of her doing so her shirt fell forward and he got a brief glimpse of the smooth swell of her breasts. She was not wearing a bra.

      Blood pounded in his ears. It was definitely time for bed.

      ‘They’re gorgeous. What are their names?’

      ‘Mustard and Mayo.’

      Raising an eyebrow, she gave him a quick grin. ‘Interesting choice of names.’

      A sputter of pleasure fired through him at the teasing in her voice. And he experienced a crazy urge to keep this brief moment of ease between them going. But that didn’t make sense, so instead he said curtly, ‘Remind me of your name again?’

      Her eyes grew wide and her cheeks reddened. With a low groan she threw her hands up in the air. ‘I knew it. I woke you up, didn’t I?’

      He folded his arms. ‘Maybe I’m just terrible at remembering people’s names?’

      Her eyes narrowed shrewdly. ‘I doubt that very much.’ And then she added, ‘So, do you always go to bed so early?’

      The moment she had the words out an even deeper blush bloomed on her cheeks and her lips twisted into a small wince.

      Something fired in his blood. ‘Only when I have good cause to.’

      Her mouth fell open.

      For a moment they just stared at one another, and the atmosphere immediately grew thick with awareness. Two strangers, alone in a house. She was wearing his clothes. The spark of something happening between them had his pulse firing for the first time in years. And warning bells rang in his ears. She was his neighbour. He was not into relationships. Period. He was no good at them. He had a long day ahead of him. He needed to walk away.

      * * *

      A coil of heat grew in Aideen’s belly.

      Propped against an antique wing-backed chair, in the low light of the kitchen, Patrick looked at her with an edgy darkness. She stood close by, her back to the island unit. She dropped her gaze to the small sprigs of flowers on the material covering the chair, instantly recognising the signature motif of a luxurious French textile manufacturer. Everything in this house was expensive, out of her league. Including its owner.

      She should talk, but her pulse was beating way too quickly for her to formulate a sensible sentence. He went to stand up, and his movement prompted her to blurt out, ‘Aideen Ryan... My name is Aideen Ryan.’

      Rather reluctantly he held out his hand. ‘And I’m Patrick Fitzsimon.’

      Thrown by the way her heart fluttered once again at the touch of his hand, she said without thinking, ‘Oh, I know that.’

      ‘Really?’

      For a moment she debated whether she could bluster her way out of the situation, but one look into his razor-sharp eyes told her she would be wasting her time. ‘Every time I drove by I was intrigued as to who lived here, so I looked you up one day.’

      His expression tightened.

      She realised she must sound like some billionaire groupie or, worse, a gold digger, and blurted out, ‘We are the only houses out here on the headland. I wanted to know who my only neighbour was. There was nothing else to it.’

      After a torturous few seconds during which he considered her answer, he said, ‘I’ll ask my estate manager to drop down to you tomorrow. He can give you his contact details. That way if you ever need any help you can contact him directly.’

      For a few seconds she smiled at him gratefully, but then humiliation licked at her bones. He was putting a filter between them. But then what did she expect? Patrick Fitzsimon lived in the moneyed world of the super-rich. He wasn’t interested in his neighbours.

      ‘Thanks, but I’m able to cope on my own.’

      He stood up straight and scowled at her. ‘I didn’t say you weren’t.’

      She gave a tight laugh, memories of her ex taunting her. ‘Well, you’re not like a lot of men, then...’

      The scowl darkened even more. ‘That’s a bit of a sweeping statement, isn’t it? I was only trying to be helpful.’

      The last sentence had been practically growled. He looked really angry with her, and she couldn’t help but think she had hit a raw nerve.

      She inhaled a deep breath and said, ‘I’m sorry... I’m a bit battle-scarred at the moment.’

      He stared at her in surprise and, praying he wouldn’t ask her what she meant, she said quickly, ‘I don’t know about you, but I could do with a cup of tea. Will you join me?’

      He looked as taken aback by her invitation as she was. Did she really want to spend more time with this taciturn man? But after the night she’d had, and three months of living alone, the truth was she was starved for company.

      He looked down at his watch and when he looked up again frowned at her in thought. ‘I’ll stay five minutes.’

      Could he have said it with any less enthusiasm? He looked edgy. As though he wanted to escape.

      He walked towards the countertop where the kettle stood. ‘Take a seat at the table. If you prefer, I also have hot chocolate or brandy.’

      ‘Thanks, but I’d love tea.’

      Instead of going to the table she walked to the picture window in the glass extension at the side of the kitchen. The faint flashing light from the lighthouse out on the end of the headland was the only sight in the darkness of the stormy night.

      ‘Do you think my cottage will be okay?’

      He didn’t answer immediately. Instead he walked over to her side and he, too, looked out of the window towards the lighthouse. In the reflection of the window she could see that he stood four, maybe five inches taller than her, his huge frame dwarfing hers.

      ‘I called the emergency services when you were in the shower. I really don’t know what will happen to your cottage. The timing of the storm surge was terrible—right at the same time as high tide. I thought the worst of the storms was over, but April can be an unpredictable month.’ He turned slightly towards her. ‘I know you must be worried—it’s your home—but you’re safe. That’s all that matters.’

      His words surprised her, and she had to swallow against the lump of emotion that formed in her throat. He didn’t try to pretend everything would be okay, didn’t lie to her, but he didn’t dismiss how she was feeling either.

      She gave him a grateful smile, but he looked away from her with a frown.

      He moved away from the window, back towards the table, and said in a now tight voice, ‘Your tea is ready.’

      For a while she looked down at the mug tentatively, two forces battling within СКАЧАТЬ