Separate Rooms

Blabbermouth, she sniped at herself, but was too relaxed to be really annoyed with the way her tongue ran away with her. But so far he hadn’t told her a single thing about himself and she leaned back in her chair as he divided the remaining Côtes du Rhone between their two glasses, determined to remedy the situation.

‘So what brings you to this neck of the woods?’ she asked, easing her boots off beneath the table. ‘You tell me Colin’s an old friend—you must have a lot of catching up to do to be staying with them for weeks on end.’ She couldn’t have stood to be Sonia’s house guest for a few days, let alone a few weeks, old friend or not. She was not a peaceful person to be around; she never stopped talking, for one thing.

And Ben must have read her thoughts because the smile he gave her was like a secret shared, then he stretched out his long legs beneath her table and told her, ‘I’m setting up a production unit in the new industrial park on the edge of town. I like to take charge of the whole operation personally. Colin offered me bed and board and I took him up. I’ve spent too much time in hotels.’ He picked up his glass and drained the remaining contents and Honey grabbed her cue.

‘I would have thought you’d have got around to having a home of your own by now. You sound as if you could be described as a person of no fixed abode.’ She was fishing, she knew that. But she was curious. He knew everything there was to know about her, or almost, and she knew next to nothing about him. And she didn’t know why, but she wanted to know everything.

But he appeared not to have heard her comments. Slewing round on his chair, he ran his eyes over the room. Fairly large, heavily beamed, three small casement windows overlooking the Shut, the stone hood of the fireplace finely carved with strange heraldic beasts. And he said, ‘If you moved out of here you could use this room at least as a second showroom. And presumably you have a bedroom? Large enough to act as a third?’

He turned the full and shattering force of his sleepy sapphire-blue eyes on her and Honey’s readily volatile mood swung from relaxed enjoyment to blistering contempt. As a hint it was definitely unsubtle. Did he really think she was about to invite him into her bedroom, invite his opinion on its suitability as an extra showroom? Did he think she was that stupid or that eager to round the evening off in the way most men seemed to take for granted?

‘I don’t think my shortage of space is your problem, do you?’ She gave him a ferocious look, her fingertips drumming on the table. ‘And while we’re on the subject of problems, what was the grand solution you were supposed to have dreamed up?’ Snapping brown eyes challenged lazy blue and she saw his mouth twitch and wanted, quite desperately, to hit him, her ruffled feelings not much soothed by the even tenor of his drawled,

‘Do you always fly off the handle so easily, Honey? Did you really imagine I introduced the subject of your bedroom because I couldn’t wait to leap on you? Nothing, I solemnly assure you, was further from my mind. I was simply making conversation.’

Which should have soothed her but somehow didn’t. Apart from the annoyance of finding he could read her mind he was telling her he didn’t find her remotely attractive, that wild horses wouldn’t drag him into her bed. But that shouldn’t make her feel all turned inside-out, should it? On the contrary, it should be reassuring, making his company nice and safe and comfortable. Ever since she’d turned seventeen her dates hadn’t been able to keep their hands off her, so it was really something to find a man who didn’t find her sexually attractive, who was interested in her chosen career, who preferred to talk rather than cavort between the sheets.

So why did she feel so...piqued?

And her voice was gritty as she came back, beginning to gather the dishes, ‘Let’s forget the polite conversation bit, shall we? Why don’t you toss that solution at me, then leave?’ She made an elaborate display of consulting her wristwatch, almost dropping the plates in the process, saving them by a whisker, adding pointedly, ‘I have to make an early start in the morning.’

‘Marry someone else.’ He took the stack of plates from her, putting them gently back down on the table. Which was astutely self-protective of him, she fumed to herself. The utter stupidity of his so-called solution had sorely tempted her to hurl the china at his head.

But the bubbling beginnings of temper abated to a simmer and then disappeared altogether. It had nothing to do with the mesmeric quality of his glittering, vivid blue eyes, she assured herself. She was at last learning to handle her volatile temper, that was all. And there was almost a smile in her voice as she told him, ‘I can see such an action on my part forcing our Graham to back off for good.’ She flopped down in the chair she had vacated and watched him begin a leisurely pacing of the room. ‘However, as there’s no one around I want to marry the idea’s a bit of a non-starter, wouldn’t you say?’

He had reached the casement windows and his lean, tall, black-clad body was dominantly silhouetted against the cream velvet curtains and he turned slowly on the balls of his feet, his features almost austere in the dim lighting as he trod slowly back to where she sat, his hands in the pockets of his trousers, emphasising the narrow, sexy cut.

Suddenly, Honey’s mouth went dry and her heart tripped over itself. He looked, as he paced towards her, like a dangerous animal intent on its prey. But the brief and unprecedented moment of girlish trepidation was wiped out of existence as he offered quietly, ‘Marry me.’ Then dropped into the chair opposite hers and smiled slowly into her pale-skinned, open-mouthed face, raising one hand in a tacit command to silence as the gradual beginnings of a scornful flush crept up from her neckline. ‘It would be a mere formality, you understand. A piece of paper to get Graham Trent finally off your back. And over just as soon as you deemed it safe to be available again. I’m willing, if you are,’ he added in a cool, flat voice. ‘Think about it. The offer will be open for another twenty-four hours.’

CHAPTER THREE

OH, BUT he was a cool customer... Cool and calculating. Honey slammed the door of the lock-up and huddled deeper into her raincoat, dragging the hood up over her bright head.

Today had been a total waste of time. Too many London dealers had gathered at the country house sale, outbidding her on each and every item she had wanted. And spring had done a U-turn, making the day gloomy with chilling rain. And, more annoying still, she hadn’t been able to drag her mind away from Ben Claremont and his crazy proposal.

Crazy or calculating?

A man would have to be out of his mind to propose a paper marriage to a woman he hadn’t known existed until twenty-four hours ago. Out of his mind or on to a good thing!

But what? What could he gain from such a marriage? Honey simply couldn’t begin to guess. Her shoulders hunched against the rain, the high heels of her boots beating an angry tattoo on the cobbles, she turned into Stony Shut and for once the warm glow of light coming from the windows of her shop failed to take the edge off her aggravation.

If only she could stop thinking about him, about his odd proposal, about the way he’d simply said goodnight, politely thanked her for the meal and walked away leaving a thousand and one questions racing round her brain.

It wasn’t as if she had any intention of accepting his insane offer of a ‘solution’—even if he had been serious about it, she grumbled at herself. So why couldn’t she get it, or him, out of her mind?

‘Honey—’ The masculine voice was thin and irritated and she lifted her head, screwing her eyes up against the rain and groaned a disgusted protest. Graham. All she needed right now was Graham.

He was approaching from the other end of the Shut and even in the gloom of the wet afternoon she could see his face was pinched and tight, almost completely eradicating his film-star good looks. He looked about as pleased with life as she was, and if he’d come to ask her to apologise for her behaviour on the night of Sonia’s party he would have a long, long wait.

She was nearer the shop premises than he, and dived into the shelter of the doorway, waiting for him, her teeth clamped together, her hands on her hips, like a warrior defending her kingdom. But his peeved expression had to have more to do with the way the rain had slicked his hair to his head, was dripping off the hem of his stuffily styled shortie car-coat and soaking his trousers than any of her numerous—to him—shortcomings. Because his tone was conciliatory in the extreme as he peered into her bristling brown eyes and told her, ‘I’ve come to bury the hatchet, old thing.’

‘Wow! Make my day. What have I done to deserve such a treat?’ she growled, willing him to go away. All she needed right now was a hot soothing bath, a nice cup of tea and the opportunity to unknot her mind. But sarcasm was wasted because Graham stepped into the shelter of the doorway with her, stoically smiling.

‘Don’t be like that, sweetheart. That spat the other night was as much my fault as yours, I freely admit it. So let’s put it behind us, shall we?’ The film-star smile flashed again, the effect slightly diminished by the drop of rainwater on the end of his too perfect nose. ‘I’ve booked a table for two at the Crown. I would have given you more warning but when I phoned this morning that odd-job man of yours said you’d be out all day. I just dropped by on the off-chance you’d be back—otherwise I would have left a message.’

‘I don’t—’

‘I won’t come in just now,’ he cut across her, as if an invitation to do just that had been extended. ‘Must dash. But I’ll pick you up at eight.’

‘No.’ Honey recognised that look in his eyes. It meant he was about to honour her with one of his totally unremarkable kisses. She backed away, knocking into the shop door, her voice tight with temper as she spat, ‘You don’t give up, do you? I won’t have dinner with you tonight, or any other night. So why don’t you go back home and tell your father to keep his nose out? I won’t marry you, because I don’t want to. And, if you think about it, you don’t really want it either.’

But he was still smiling, as if she were a bad-tempered child who didn’t know what she was talking about. Still advancing, too. And she had nowhere to go but into the haven of her shop and she was already fumbling for the door-latch when it swung open behind her, sending her toppling into a strong pair of arms—another kind of haven.

‘You always fall into my arms so beautifully, my angel. That’s just one of the things I love about you.’ The relaxed and slightly amused tone of Ben’s voice calmed her and the strong arms around her body warmed her, dispelling the memory of the chilling rain. Graham’s face was a picture of outrage and she closed her eyes because Graham’s face was not what she wanted to see, and nestled her head into that broad, accommodating, soft-leather-clad shoulder. And heard his voice assume a cool toughness. ‘Is there anything we can do for you? The premises are about to close and, as you can see, my fiancée needs to get out of her wet things.’

Which brought Honey’s eyes flying wide open again, and she could swear her heart actually stopped beating for whole seconds. And it wasn’t a reaction to the words Ben had said, oh, no, just a frantic need to see how Graham took that ‘my fiancée’ bit.

If he actually believed she was engaged to this suave stranger then surely he would drop his own pursuit, the desire to fall in with his father’s wishes and marry the woman the cunning old man had picked out for him. It might work, it just might work, and if it did she would treat Ben to the best meal the Crown could offer, the best champagne too, by way of celebration.

But luck wasn’t riding with her because Graham’s face had gone black with temper and his voice was more incisively confident than she had ever heard it before as he bit out, ‘As you said yourself, Honey—’ he invested her name with a kind of disgust ‘—I don’t give up. And there’s no way I’m going to let some smooth-talking Yank take my woman.’ His eyes snapped with a ferocity she wouldn’t have believed him capable of as he swung on his heels and delivered his parting shot, ‘And you’d better believe it. Both of you.’

‘Oh, heavens!’ Honey’s bright head burrowed more deeply into Ben’s wide shoulder, the tangle of her damp curls brushing his tough jawline. She might well have stayed there forever had he not gently put her aside, she recognised with a grumble of self-disgust when he brushed drops of water from his jacket and said wryly,

‘Quite a determined guy you’re up against there.’ Then, his eyes taking in the rain-darkened corkscrew twists of her hair, her dripping raincoat and sodden boots, he told her crisply, ‘Time to get out of those wet things,’ and closed the shop door behind them, flicking the ‘Open’ sign to ‘Closed’ and dropping down the latch.

‘Any luck today?’ Fred ambled through from the rear of the premises, his craggy face bright with interest because usually, after a sale, they drank mugs of tea together and discussed the treasures she had found. But not today.

‘No, nothing.’ Honey shook her head regretfully. ‘The big boys from London were there en masse. I didn’t stand a chance.’

And Ben put in from right behind her, ‘Just as well. You couldn’t cram another teacup into this place and still have room for customers to browse.’ He edged past her, making a production of it as if to prove his point. ‘Get those wet clothes off and take a hot shower while I brew coffee. We’ll lock up, Fred, if you want to call it a day.’

Bossy, she thought as she watched him stride to the twisty staircase at the back of the showroom. But there was no resentment there, just an unusual willingness to allow someone else to take charge for once. Someone? Or just this one man?

She shrugged unconsciously and lifted long sweeping lashes to meet Fred’s twinkling eyes.

‘There goes a man who’s used to getting his own way. It comes naturally, and it shows,’ he said with the same lack of resentment.

In fact, Honey noted, his expression was thoroughly approving and she brushed wet, wrinkled hair out of her eyes and asked weakly, ‘Just how long has he been here?’

‘Long enough to get the business straightened out.’ Fred was already reaching for his ancient sheepskin coat. ‘He thinks you should move out and make your flat over to extra display areas. Forget the idea of buying up the next-door premises—the structural alterations to throw the two properties into one would totally destroy the character of both. I agree with him.’

‘Really.’ Honey’s voice was withering as she watched her right-hand man shrug into his coat. Ever since they’d heard that the adjacent property was due to come on the open market they’d avidly chewed over the possibilities of acquiring it, expanding the business—always presuming she could raise the capital. And now, just because some sort of bossy nomad had wandered in off the street, Fred had, in his mind, evicted her from her cosy home. So where was she supposed to live? Move in with her mother? Heaven forbid!

She would have reminded him that this was her property, her business, and she—and no one else—would decide what was done. But her sharp little tongue was silenced by Fred’s jaunty, ‘See you tomorrow, then. Pity about the sale. Night.’

‘And goodnight to you, too!’ Honey sniped at the already closing door, then turned slowly on her heels, the damp cloth of her raincoat making her shiver. What the hell? Nothing to get in a stew about. It hadn’t been a good day, that was for sure, and the unpleasant encounter with Graham, out there in the driving rain, had been the last straw.

All she needed to recapture her normal optimism was that hot shower and a hot drink. And if Ben wanted to produce the drink why should she argue? Just so long as he didn’t offer to scrub her back!