DEAR READER LETTER

By Sharon Kendrick

Dear Reader,

One hundred. Doesn’t matter how many times I say it, I still can’t believe that’s how many books I’ve written. It’s a fabulous feeling but more fabulous still is the news that Mills & Boon are issuing every single one of my backlist as digital titles. Wow. I can’t wait to share all my stories with you - which are as vivid to me now as when I wrote them.

There’s BOUGHT FOR HER HUSBAND, with its outrageously macho Greek hero and A SCANDAL, A SECRET AND A BABY featuring a very sexy Tuscan. THE SHEIKH’S HEIR proved so popular with readers that it spent two weeks on the USA Today charts and…well, I could go on, but I’ll leave you to discover them for yourselves.

I remember the first line of my very first book: “So you’ve come to Australia looking for a husband?” Actually, the heroine had gone to Australia escape men, but guess what? She found a husband all the same! The man who inspired that book rang me up recently and when I told him I was beginning my 100th story and couldn’t decide what to write, he said, “Why don’t you go back to where it all started?”

So I did. And that’s how A ROYAL VOW OF CONVENIENCE was born. It opens in beautiful Queensland and moves to England and New York. It’s about a runaway princess and the enigmatic billionaire who is infuriated by her, yet who winds up rescuing her. But then, she goes and rescues him… Wouldn’t you know it?

I’ll end by saying how very grateful I am to have a career I love, and to thank each and every one of you who has supported me along the way. You really are very dear readers.

Love,

Sharon xxx

Mills & Boon are proud to present a thrilling digital collection of all Sharon Kendrick’s novels and novellas for us to celebrate the publication of her amazing and awesome 100th book! Sharon is known worldwide for her likeable, spirited heroines and her gorgeous, utterly masculine heroes.

SHARON KENDRICK once won a national writing competition, describing her ideal date: being flown to an exotic island by a gorgeous and powerful man. Little did she realise that she’d just wandered into her dream job! Today she writes for Mills & Boon, featuring her often stubborn but always to-die-for heroes and the women who bring them to their knees. She believes that the best books are those you never want to end. Just like life…

The Billionaire Bodyguard
Sharon Kendrick

www.millsandboon.co.uk

With special thanks to Anthony Maskell for his unflappable emergency rescue (they should call you Thunderbird!), David Carter for averting my breakdown (though sadly not the mechanical one!) and that most eminent of historians Richard (Dick! Blaine!) for his genial hospitality.

Of course, we must not forget the beauty that is Cascob…and Guy Black.

CONTENTS

Cover

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Acknowledgments

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

HE DIDN’T say much, but maybe that was best. There was nothing worse than a driver who talked.

Keri settled back in the soft leather seat of the luxury car and stared at the back of the man in the driving seat in front of her. No, definitely no talker he—more the strong, silent type. Very strong—judging by the broad set of those shoulders—and very definitely silent. There had been little more than a nod when he had picked her up from her London flat early that morning, and very little since.

Keri shivered. Outside the snowflakes continued to flurry down—big, fat, splodgy things which melted on your cheeks and clung like stubborn confetti to your hair.

She pulled her sheepskin coat tighter and huddled into it. ‘Brrr! Could you turn the heater up a little? I’m absolutely freezing.’

His eyes intently fixed on the road ahead, Jay flicked a switch. ‘Can do.’

‘And would you mind putting your foot down? I want to get back to London some time tonight.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ he said equably.

He would drive only as fast as conditions demanded, no more and no less. Jay’s face was hidden, but he flicked a glance at the rearview mirror to see the model sliding a pair of fur-lined gloves over her long fingers. If she had been able to see him she would have seen the unmistakable look of irritation on his face. Not that his irritation would have bothered her, of course—even if she had picked it up. He was simply the driver—employed to cater to her every whim and keep close watch on the priceless chandelier of a necklace which had been dripping exquisite diamonds from her long, pale neck during one of the coldest afternoons of the year.

He had watched while the stylists and the photographers and all their assistants had fussed round her, and had observed her blank, almost bored look of compliance as she had let them. He had been pretty bored himself, if the truth were known. Watching a magazine-shoot seemed to involve one hell of a lot of waiting around. The waiting he could deal with, if there was a good reason for it, but this had seemed like a complete waste of time.

To Jay, it had seemed crazy that a woman would agree to wear a flimsy evening dress outdoors on a bitterly icy day. Surely they could have recreated a winter scene inside the warmth and comfort of a studio, and made his job easier?

And then he had seen the Polaroids, and suddenly he had understood. Before the camera she had come alive—and how. He had given a long, low whistle and the photographer’s assistant had flashed him a conspiratorial smile.

‘Gorgeous, isn’t she?’

Jay had studied them. Sure, she was exquisite—just like the diamonds themselves, if you liked diamonds, which personally he didn’t. Framed by the sooty fall of her loose hair, her face was pale as a dusting of frost, her eyes as dark as the bare charcoal branches of the trees. Her lips were full and red—painted crimson, like rich ruby wine—and they parted into a shape of sheer, moist provocation. The thin silver gown had added to the wintry feel of the photograph, and it had clung like sparkling hoar-frost to her body, to the firm, high breasts and the curving bottom.

But she’d looked as if she had been made from ice, or wax—too perfect to be true and not real at all. If you pricked a woman like that, would she bleed? he wondered. If you made love to her, would she cry out in wild, uninhibited passion—or would she just smooth down that perfect hair and flick it back over her shoulders?

‘She’s okay,’ he had drawled, and the assistant had given him another understanding smile.

‘I know what you mean.’ He’d shrugged. ‘Not just a case of out of our league—she’s probably never even heard of our league!’

Jay had nodded and turned away, not bothering to correct him—the day he decided a woman was out of his league would be the day he failed to draw breath. He was here to do a job and get away as soon as possible. He shouldn’t even have been there in the first place, and he had a date that night with a cool dream of a blonde he had been fighting off without quite knowing why—only tonight he had decided that maybe it was time to throw in the towel.

A slow smile of anticipation curved his mouth.

‘How long, do you think?’

The model’s voice cut into thoughts which were just threatening to get erotic, and her question didn’t really help.

‘How long is what?’ he questioned.

Keri sighed. It had been a long, long day and, if the truth were known, she would have liked nothing more than to go home to a hot bath and then curl herself up with a good book instead of go out on a dinner date. Not that dinner with David would be anything other than enjoyable—it always was. True, he didn’t set her pulses on fire, but he knew that and he didn’t mind a bit. Well, that was what he said—but Keri couldn’t help wondering if, deep down, he was quietly working on a campaign to make her change her mind. And she wouldn’t, of course. David fell firmly into the category of friend and was stuck there, and that was probably best. Lovers—at least in Keri’s limited experience—tended to be bad news.

‘I was asking how long it will take us to get back to London.’

Jay narrowed his eyes at the road ahead. The snow was getting heavier now. The skies were pale grey, so pale that it was impossible to see where the falling, swirling snow ended and the sky began. Trees loomed up as they passed—skeletal brooms so inhospitable that you could not imagine them ever bearing fruit or leaves or blossoms.

It was tempting to say that if she hadn’t wasted so much time then they would be well on their way now, but he didn’t. It wasn’t the job of the driver to offer anything in the way of opinions, which took more than a little self-restraint on his part.

‘Difficult to say,’ he murmured. ‘Depends.’

‘On what?’ Something about that lazy, drawled air of assurance was making her prickly. What kind of driver was he, anyway, if he couldn’t throw in a rough estimate of their time of arrival?

He heard the faintly impatient note in her voice and hid a smile. He had forgotten what it was like to be subordinate—to have people tell you what to do and to ask you questions and expect you to answer, just as if you were some kind of machine.

‘On how bad this snow gets,’ he said, frowning suddenly as he felt the treacherous slide of the front wheels. He slowed right down.

Keri stared out of the window. ‘It doesn’t look that bad to me.’

‘You think so?’ he murmured. ‘Well, that’s okay, then.’

He had a faint, almost American drawl, and for a moment she thought she detected a mocking note of humour underpinning it. Suspiciously, Keri stared at the unmoving set of his broad shoulders. Was he making fun of her?

Through a gap in the thick curtain of dark fringe which flopped into her eyes Jay could see the tiny frown which pleated the smooth, pale perfection of her forehead. ‘Would you like the radio on?’ he questioned, as soothingly as he would to a maiden aunt who was in danger of becoming fractious.

He was making her feel…uncomfortable, and she couldn’t quite put her finger on why. ‘Actually,’ said Keri, very deliberately, ‘what I would really like is to get some sleep, so if you wouldn’t mind…?’

‘Sure. No problem.’ Jay hid a smile which vanished as he drove further into the winter dusk. The flakes of snow had changed from being the innocent ones of storybook pictures—now they were small, and he knew that they would have the bite of ice behind them. The wind was gusting them into bitter white flurries so that they looked like swarms of white bees.

He glanced in the mirror again. She had fallen asleep. Her head had fallen back and her hair was spread out behind it, like a shiny black pillow. The blanket had slipped down and the slit in her skirt meant that her long legs were sprawled out—pretty much the longest legs he had ever seen on a woman. Legs like that could wrap themselves round a man’s neck like a deadly snake. Deliberately, Jay averted his eyes from their coltish display and from the tantalising glimpse of lacy stocking-top. This drive was going to take longer than he had anticipated—far better she slept than distract him.

But the weather was distraction enough. The narrow lanes became more precarious by the second, with the snow falling heavier and heavier, and as night closed in the darkness hid the fall from sight and the car began to slow as it encountered the first drifts.

He knew way before it happened that things were going to get bad—really bad. Instinct told him that, coupled with the experience of having lived in some of the most God-awful conditions known to man.

His windscreen wipers were flicking dementedly, but still it was like gazing into an icy abyss. The road dipped slightly, and he eased his foot back. A dip was good. Slopes ran down into hollows and hollows were where you found people, and they built houses which equalled shelter, and he suspected that they very soon they might need shelter… Except that this was pretty desolate countryside. Unspoiled, he guessed. Chosen for its beauty and its very isolation.

He flicked the light on briefly, to glance down at the map, and then squinted his eyes as the car passed the darkened bulk of a building. Some way after that, Jay realised that he no longer had a choice, and braked. Hard.

The jerk of the car woke her, and Keri opened her eyes, caught in that warm half-world between waking and sleeping. She yawned. ‘Where are we?’ she questioned sleepily.

‘In the middle of nowhere,’ he answered succinctly. ‘Take a look for yourself.’

The sound of the low, tough masculine voice shook her right out of her reverie, and for a moment it startled her, until she realised where she was. She looked out of the window, and then blinked. He wasn’t joking.

While she had been sleeping the snowy landscape had been transformed into one which was now unrecognisable. Night had closed in, and with it the snow. Everything was black and white, like a photographic negative, and it would have been beautiful if it didn’t look so…forbidding. And they were in the middle of it. Of nowhere, as he had said. ‘Why have you stopped?’ she asked.

Why do you think I’ve stopped? ‘Because the fall is heavy here.’

‘Well, how long is it going to take us to get back now?’

Jay shot another glance out, and then looked in the mirror at her beautiful perplexed face. It was clear from her question that she had no idea how bad it was, and he was going to have to break it to her. Gently.

‘If it carries on like this there’s no way we’re going to make it back at all, at least not tonight—we’ll be lucky if we make it as far as the nearest village.’

This was sounding like something out of a bad movie. ‘But I don’t want to go to a village!’ she exclaimed. ‘I want to go to home!’

I want. I want. He supposed a woman like that spent all her time getting exactly what it was she wanted. Well, not tonight. ‘You and me both, sweetheart,’ he said grimly. ‘But I’ll settle for what I can take.’

She let the sweetheart bit go. Now was not the time to get frosty because he was being over-familiar. ‘Can’t you just drive on?’

He pressed cautiously on the accelerator, then eased his foot off. ‘Nope. We’re stuck.’

Keri sat bolt upright. ‘What do you mean?’

What the hell do you think I mean? ‘Like I said, we’re stuck. There are drifts in the road. Snowdrifts. And they’re underpacked with ice. It’s a potentially lethal situation.’

Keri briefly shut her eyes. Please tell me this isn’t happening. She opened them again. ‘Couldn’t you have predicted this might happen and taken a different route?’

He might have let it go, but something in her accusation made his blood simmer. ‘There is no alternative route—not out of that God-forsaken field they chose for the shoot—and, if you recall, I asked you three times to hurry up. I said that I didn’t like the look of the sky. But you were too busy being fawned over by a load of luvvies to pay much attention to what I was saying.’

Was he criticising her? ‘I was just doing my job!’

‘And I’m trying to do mine,’ he said darkly. ‘Which is dealing with the situation as it is, not wasting time by casting around for recriminations!’

Keri stared at the back of his dark head, feeling like a tennis-player who had been wrong-footed. And the most annoying thing of all was that he was right. He might have an arrogant, almost insolent way of expressing himself, but she could see his logic. ‘So what do you suggest we do?’ she questioned coolly.

By we he guessed she meant him. ‘I guess we find some shelter.’

‘No.’ Keri shook her head. What did he think—that she was going to book into a hotel for the night? With him? ‘I don’t think you understand—I have to be back in London. Tonight.’ She eyed his muscular frame hopefully. ‘Can’t you dig us out?’

‘With a spare snow-plough?’ Jay smiled. ‘I don’t think you understand, sweetheart—even if I dug us out, it would only be a temporary measure. This road is impassable.’

She felt a momentary flare of panic, until reason reasserted itself. ‘You can’t know that!’

He wasn’t about to start explaining that he had seen snow and ice in pretty much all its guises. The empty bleached horizons of arctic wastes which made this particular snow scene look like a benign Christmas card. Or swimming beneath polar ice-caps and wondering if your blood had frozen solid in your veins, wetsuit or no wetsuit. Men trapped…lost…never to be heard of again.

A hard note entered his voice. ‘Oh, but I can—it’s my job to know.’ He turned off the ignition, and turned round and shrugged. ‘Sorry, but that’s the way it is.’

She opened her mouth to reply, but the words froze on her lips as she met his eyes for the first time—hard, glittering eyes which took her breath away, and it was a long time since a man had done that. It was the first time she had looked at him properly, but then you never really looked at a driver, did you? They were part of the fixtures and fittings, part of the car itself—or at least they were supposed to be. She sucked in a dry gulp of air, confused by the sudden pounding of her heart, as if it was trying to remind her that it still existed. Lord alive, what was a man like this doing driving a car for a living?

His face was chiselled—all hard and lean angles—which seemed at odds with the lush, sensual curve of his upper lip. In the low light she couldn’t make out the colour of his slanting eyes, but she could appreciate the feathery forest of lashes which gave them such an enigmatic look, and she had been modelling for long enough to know that cheekbones like that were rare.

He was, quite simply, gorgeous.

Jay noted the dilation of her eyes with something approaching wry amusement and then put it out of his mind. This was business, not pleasure—and even if it had been he wasn’t into spoiled, pretty girls who expected everyone to jump when they spoke.

‘So we could stay here all night,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Keep the engine running and wait until morning and hope it gets better.’

Spend the night in the car? ‘Are you serious?’

‘Completely.’ He would keep awake quite easily—he had had a lifetime’s experience of waiting for the first faint glow of a winter dawn.

There was something so unequivocal about that one clipped-out word that Keri began to realise that he meant it. But surely there was something they could do? This was England, for heaven’s sake—not the Rocky Mountains!

‘We must be able to phone for help.’ She began to fish around in her handbag. ‘I have a mobile here somewhere.’

His own was snug in his pocket—did she really think he hadn’t thought of that? ‘Sure, go ahead,’ he murmured. ‘Call the emergency services and tell them we’re in trouble.’

She knew just from the tone of his voice that there would be no signal, but stubborn pride made her jab at the buttons with frustration coupled with rising panic.

‘No luck?’ he questioned sardonically.

Her hand was shaking, but she put the phone back in her handbag with as much dignity as possible. ‘So we really are stuck,’ she said flatly.

‘Looks like it.’ Her eyes looked huge and dark, all wide and appealing in her pale, heart-shaped face—designed by nature to provoke protectiveness in a man. And nature was a funny thing, he mused—a nose, two eyes and a mouth could be arranged in such a way to transform a face from the ordinary into the exquisite. Luck of the draw, like so much else in life. ‘Listen,’ he drawled, ‘I thought I could make out a building a little way back. It makes far more sense to head for that. I’ll go and investigate.’

The thought of being left here all alone made her feel even worse. What if he disappeared into the cold and snowy night and never came back again? What if someone came along? It wasn’t much of a contest, but on balance she’d probably be much safer with him than staying here without him. He might be a little lacking in the respect department, but at least he seemed to know what he was doing. ‘No, I don’t want you leaving me here,’ she said. ‘I’m coming with you.’

His eyes flickered over her leather boots. They were good, soft, waterproof leather, but heels like that weren’t made for walking. And neither, by the look of it, was she. He raised his eyebrows. ‘Not exactly dressed for it, are you?’

‘Well, I wasn’t expecting to have to go for a hike!’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Ever skied?’

Keri laughed. ‘With my job? You’re kidding—skiing is classified as a dangerous sport and therefore frowned on.’

Pretty restrictive job, he thought. ‘Well, you’re sure you’re up to it?’

‘I can manage,’ she said stubbornly.

He supposed that there was no choice but to let her try. ‘You’ll have to—because there’s no way I’m carrying you.’ His eyes mocked her again as he saw her lips part, and he realised that he was lying. Of course he would carry her, just the way he had been conditioned to do. Men would walk miles across any terrain for a woman who looked like that. ‘Button up your coat,’ he said roughly. ‘And put your gloves back on.’

She opened her mouth to ask him to please stop addressing her as he would an idiot, but something about the set of his mouth told her that the dynamics had subtly changed and he was no longer just the driver. It was indefinable but unmistakable from his body language that suddenly he was in charge. And she wasn’t used to that either.

‘Hat?’ he drawled.

She shook her head and he reached in the glove compartment for a beanie and handed it to her.

‘Put your hair up,’ he instructed. ‘And then put this on.’

‘Won’t you need it yourself?’

‘You need it more,’ he stated. ‘You’re a woman.’

She thought about making some clever remark about equality, but something cool and implacable in his eyes told her not to bother, as if he didn’t really care what she thought. For a woman used to men hanging on her every word, it was certainly a change.

He got out and came round and opened the door for her, pulling it back with difficulty, for snow was piled up against it.

‘Be careful,’ he warned. ‘It’s cold and it’s deep. Just follow me, okay? Close as you can and quickly as you can. And do exactly as I tell you.’

It was most definitely an order.

He seemed to know exactly where he was going, even though Keri could barely make out what was lane or field or sky or hedge. She panted slightly as she stumbled into the blinding whiteness. It was an effort to keep up with him and he kept having to stop, turning to look at her, the slanting eyes narrowing.

‘You okay?’

She nodded. ‘I’m being slow, aren’t I?’

You’re a woman, and you aren’t trained up for this kind of stuff. ‘Don’t worry about it. Fingers not freezing too badly?’

‘Wh-what fingers are they?’ She shivered.

He laughed then, an unexpected and oddly musical sound, and his breath made frozen clouds in the air. ‘Not long now,’ he promised softly.

As she teetered behind him she wondered how he could be so sure. Swirling flakes of snow flew against her face, shooting into her eyes and melting on her lips. The boots she had thought comfortable were only so in the context of a short stroll down a London street. Her feet felt as if they had been jammed into sardine cans and her toes were beginning to ache and to burn. And her fingers were freezing—so cold that she couldn’t feel them any more.

She had never been so aware of her body in such an aching and uncomfortable way, and with the unfamiliar feelings of physical discomfort came an equally unfamiliar fear. What if they couldn’t find the place he had claimed he had seen? Hadn’t she read newspaper reports of people freezing to death, or getting lost in conditions not unlike this?

A shiver quite unconnected to the cold ran through her. Why hadn’t they just waited in the car and sat it out until morning? At least they would have been easily found there. She bit her lip hard, but scarcely felt it, then he stopped suddenly.

‘Here!’ he said, and a note of satisfaction deepened his voice into a throaty growl. ‘I knew it!’

Keri peered ahead, her breath a painful, icy gasp which shot from her lungs. ‘What is it?’ she questioned weakly.

‘Shelter!’

As she came alongside it, it loomed up before her like a spectre. It didn’t look either warm or welcoming. It was a very tall building—almost like a small church—and the path leading up to it was banked high with snow. There was no light whatsoever, and the high windows were uncurtained, but at least it was shelter.

And Keri did what any woman would do under the circumstances.

She burst into tears.

CHAPTER TWO

JAY narrowed his eyes and gave her a quick, assessing look. How like a woman! The Canadians had at least five different descriptions for snow; the Icelanders countless more—and so it was with women and their tears. They cried at the drop of a hat, for all kind of reasons, and it rarely meant anything serious. And these, he surmised, were simply tears of relief.

He ignored them.

‘There’s nobody home,’ he said, half to himself. If indeed it was somebody’s home.

The tears had taken her off guard. She couldn’t remember the last time she had cried, for that was one thing her job had given her, in spades—the ability to hide her feelings behind a bright, professional smile. She supposed she should be grateful that he hadn’t drawn attention to them, yet perversely she felt short-changed because he hadn’t attempted to comfort her—even in a small way—and she scrubbed at the corners of her eyes rather defensively, with a frozen fist. ‘How can you tell?’ she sniffed.

Explaining would take longer than going through the motions, and so he began to pound at the door with a loud fist. He waited, but, as he had known, the place was empty.

‘Stand back,’ he said tersely.

‘Why?’

‘Because I’m going to have to get us inside.’

Keri eyed the door, which was made of strong, heavy oak. ‘You’re planning to kick the door in, are you?’ she asked disbelievingly.

He shook his head, half tempted to give a macho display of strength just to show her. ‘No, I’ll jimmy the lock instead.’

‘J-jimmy the lock?’ It wasn’t an expression she was familiar with, but she could work out what he meant. Alarmed, Keri took a step back and very nearly lost her balance, but he didn’t appear to have noticed that either. ‘You can’t do that! That’s called breaking and entering!’

He shot her one impatient glance. ‘And what do you suggest?’ he questioned coolly. ‘That we stand here all night and freeze to death just to have our good citizen medals awarded to us?

‘No, of course I—’

‘Then just shut up for a minute and let me concentrate, will you?’

This was an order verging on the simply rude, but Keri didn’t have time to be indignant, because, to her astonishment, he produced what looked like a screwdriver from the pocket of his flying jacket, leaving her wondering slightly hysterically if it was a necessary job requirement for all drivers to have house-breaking skills. She dug her gloved hands deep into the pockets of her coat, and with chattering teeth prepared for a long wait.

But with astonishing speed he was soon opening the front door, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he saw her look of horror.

‘You look surprised,’ he commented.

‘Surprise isn’t quite the right word—how the hell did you manage to do it so quickly?’ she demanded as she stepped inside and he shut the door firmly behind her.

‘You don’t want to know,’ he drawled. ‘Just put it down as one of many skills I have.’

Oh, great! What kind of a maniac had she found herself marooned with? A thief? Or worse?

She eyed him with apprehension, but he was looking around him, his face raised slightly, almost like an animal which had found itself in a new and potentially hostile terrain, his hard body tensed and watchful.

Jay was enjoying himself, he realised. He had forgotten what it was like to live on his wits, to cope with the unexpected, to use his instincts and his strength again. It had been a long time. Too long. ‘Nobody lives here,’ he said softly. ‘At least, not all the time.’

‘How can you tell?’

‘Because it’s cold—really cold. And there’s no smell—when a place is inhabited people always leave a scent around.’ He stared down at the floor, where the shadowed outline of untouched post lay. ‘But it’s more than that—it’s a feeling. A place that isn’t lived in feels lonely.’

Lonely…yes—quite apart from its geographical isolation, the house had a lonely feel. And Keri knew exactly what that meant—you could have the busiest life in the world, but inside you could sometimes feel achingly lonely.

‘So here we are,’ he said softly. Alone and stranded in a beautiful house with a beautiful woman. An unexpected perk.

His voice had dipped, and deepened, and Keri stared at him, the reality of their situation suddenly hitting her for the first time. It was just her and him. As her eyes became more accustomed to the gloom she started to become aware of him in a way which was too vivid and confusing. Not as someone employed by the company who had commissioned the photo-shoot, but as something quite different.

As a man.

The first impression she had had in the car had been the correct one—he was spectacular. Very tall—taller than she was, and that didn’t happen too often either, because Keri was tall for a woman—models usually were. But it wasn’t just his height which she was inexplicably finding so intimidating, it was something much more subtle, more dangerous, and it was all to do with the almost tangible masculinity radiating off him, and the raw, feral heat which seemed to make a mockery of the weather outside.

Keri swallowed, and inside her gloves the palms of her hands began to grow clammy, and maybe the place had just telescoped in on itself, because right now it felt small and claustrophobic, even though the hall was high and spacious. And perhaps he felt it too, because he reached out a hand towards the light switch.

‘Let’s see if we can throw a little light on the…damn!’

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Should have guessed. No power.’ He swore quietly underneath his breath and pulled a lighter out of his pocket, flicking the lid off and sliding his thumb down over the wheel. His face was startlingly illuminated by the bright flare.

‘You don’t happen to have a white rabbit in your pocket, too?’ she questioned, but she noticed that her voice sounded high and rather wobbly.

He looked her up and down. ‘You okay?’

Well, up until he had produced the lighter she had been fine, under the circumstances. Tearstained, cold and slightly shell-shocked, true, but more than a little relieved to be inside—if not exactly in the warm, then at least in the dry. But the more she saw of him, the more she realised that the first impression she had got of him in the shadowed recess of the car wasn’t strictly accurate.

She had thought that he was good-looking, but she had been wrong. Good-looking implied something that was attractive on the surface but with little real depth to it, like lots of the male models she knew. Whereas this man…

Her breath suddenly caught in her throat.

The flare from the lighter threw deep shadows beneath the high cheekbones and his eyes glittered with a cold, intelligent gleam. She became aware of a strength that came from within, as well as from the deeply defined muscular build. He looked confident and unshakable, while she, on the other hand, was left feeling slightly dazed.

‘I’m…I’m fine,’ she managed, thinking that she had to pull herself together. It looked as if they might be here for some time—and if that were the case then she quickly needed to establish some kind of neutral relationship between them. So that they both knew where they were. They needed boundaries so that they wouldn’t step over them. She mustn’t think of him as a man. He’s the driver of your car, for heaven’s sake, Keri! And a burly security guard who has been employed to…to…

‘Oh, my God!’ she exclaimed.

He frowned. ‘What is it?’

‘The necklace! You’re supposed to be guarding the necklace!’

His mouth curved into a disapproving line. ‘Well, isn’t that just like a woman? Save them from the extremes, find them shelter and safety, and all they can think of is damned diamonds!’

He dug his other hand in his pocket and indolently pulled out the gems so that they fell sinuously over his hand, where they glittered and sparkled with pure ice-fire against the tanned dark skin of his hand. ‘There?’ He sent her a mocking look. ‘Happy now?’

Keri felt anything but. She was used to deference and adoration—she certainly wasn’t used to men who behaved with such unashamed masculine swagger. Who clipped out orders and broke into strange houses with ease and didn’t seem a bit bothered by it. ‘You must be the happy one,’ she observed. ‘Happy you didn’t lose them—after all, it’s more than your job’s worth!’

Jay smiled. It was a remark designed to put him firmly in his place, but Miss Beauty would soon discover that he was a man who did not fit into traditional slots. He slid the gems back negligently into his pocket. ‘That’s right,’ he agreed innocently. ‘Can’t have them thinking I’ve skipped to pawn them on the black market, can we? Now, let’s see if we can find a candle somewhere. We need to get a fire lit, but first I guess we’d better check out the rest of the house.’

Her teeth were chattering. ‘With a view to finding—what, exactly?’

A dark sense of humour made him consider making a joke about corpses, but in view of the tears he thought he’d better not try. The trouble with women was that they always let their imaginations run away with them.

‘With a view, sweetheart, to seeing what luxuries this place has to offer.’

There—he was doing it again. ‘I am not your sweetheart.’

Touchy. ‘Well, then, I guess we’d better introduce ourselves,’ he drawled. ‘Since I don’t even know your name.’

How bizarre it seemed, to be introducing themselves like this. As if all the normal rules of social intercourse had been turned upside down and re-invented. Into what? ‘Keri.’ She hesitated. ‘And I, er, I don’t know yours either.’

He could hear her skating round the edges of asking him, unsure whether or not it was ‘appropriate’ to be on first-name terms with him. She didn’t know how to react to the situation, he thought with wry amusement. Or to him. Take her out of her gilded cage and she probably didn’t know how to fly properly! Maybe his first impression of a woman who would not bleed or love with vigour and passion had been the right one all along. ‘It’s Linur,’ he said sardonically. ‘Jay Linur.’

It was an unusual name, maybe that was why it suited him. Again, she felt the need to re-establish boundaries. ‘Are you…American?’

He knew exactly what she was trying to do. That vaguely interested, vaguely patronising tone. His eyes sparked. ‘Fascinating as my name must be to you,’ he drawled, ‘I’m freezing my bones off—so why don’t we postpone the discussion until we’ve had a look around? Want to go and explore?’

‘Do I have a choice?’

‘Well, I guess we could stand around here and make polite conversation.’

‘I’d hate to put you under any pressure,’ she said sweetly. ‘The strain of that might prove too much for you.’

He gave a brief smile. ‘It just might,’ he agreed silkily, but the subtle taunt set his pulse racing almost as much as the rose-petalled pout of her lips.

He seemed to show no fear, and she tried not to feel any either—yet who knew what they might find in this strange, empty place? Keri stayed as close to him as was possible without actually touching.

Illuminated only by the small flicker from the lighter, he led the way to what was obviously a kitchen—although by no stretch of the imagination did it resemble any kitchen Keri had ever seen before.

From the doorway, she surveyed the faint shape of ancient-looking appliances.

‘I’m going to hunt around for some candles,’ he said softly. ‘Wait here.’

I’m not going anywhere because I can’t, she thought rather desperately, as she watched him disappear into the gloom. He doesn’t need me at all, but I need him. She could hear him opening drawers and cupboards, and the clatter of china as he hunted around. He suddenly made a small yelp of satisfaction, and when he reappeared it was with two lit candles waxed to saucers. He handed her one, the reflection of the flame flickering in his eyes.

‘Hold it steady,’ he instructed.

‘I’m just about capable of carrying a candle!’

His mocking eyes seemed to doubt her, but he didn’t retaliate.

‘Come on—we’ll look upstairs first.’

There were three bedrooms, but they looked ghostly and unreal, for the beds were stripped bare of all linen and there was no sign that they had been slept in.

‘I feel like Goldilocks,’ whispered Keri in a hollow voice. ‘Any minute now and we’ll bump into one of the three bears.’

‘I’ve never been particularly fond of porridge,’ he murmured. ‘Come on, there’s no point hanging around here.’

There was an archaic-looking bathroom, with a huge free standing bath.

Jay went over to the cistern and flushed the lavatory, and a great whooshing sound made Keri start.

‘Well, that’s something,’ he said drily.

Thank God it was dark or he might have seen her blush—but Keri had never lived with anyone except for her family, and this was one more thing which felt too uncomfortably intimate.

They went back downstairs and moved in the opposite direction from the kitchen. Jay opened a door and looked down into pitch blackness.

‘Cellar,’ he said succinctly. ‘Want to explore?’

‘I think I’ll pass on that.’

On the other side of the hall was a heavy oak, door and Jay pushed it open, waiting for a moment while the candle flame stopped guttering.

‘Come over here, Keri,’ he said softly, his words edged with an odd, almost excited note. ‘And look at this.’

Keri went down the step and followed the direction of his gaze. ‘Oh, my word,’ she breathed. ‘I feel like Aladdin.’

‘Yeah.’ His voice was thoughtful. ‘I know what you mean.’

It was like stumbling unawares upon a treasure trove—a gloriously old and elegant room which looked as though it belonged to another age. Jay held the candle aloft and Keri could see that it was as high as four men—with a pointed raftered ceiling made out of dark, wooden beams—and the room itself was so big that she could not see the edges.

‘Where are we?’ she said. ‘What is this place?’

He was busy taking more candles from his pocket and lighting them, placing one on the mantelpiece and one on a low table in front of the empty grate. ‘I don’t know, and right at this moment I really don’t care.’

It was amazing what a little light did, and as more of it appeared so did the room, and the dark, threatening shadows were banished and forgotten as she looked around. It was beautiful.

There were high, arched windows and a mighty fireplace, with two enormously long sofas sprawled at right-angles beside it. In one corner stood a piano, and there were books crammed into shelves on one wall and pictures on the walls.

‘It looks almost like a church,’ she whispered.

‘Why are you whispering?’ he asked, in a normal voice, and the sound seemed to shatter through the air.

‘I don’t know. Anyway, you were whispering too!’ Keri’s teeth began to chatter as the icy temperature began to register on her already chilled skin. ‘B-but wh-wherever or whatever this place is, it’s even c-colder here than it is outside.’

‘Yeah.’ He crouched down beside the fireplace, an old-fashioned type he had never seen before and big enough to roast an ox in. ‘So why don’t I light this, and you go and have a scout about—see what kind of supplies there are?’ She was looking at him blankly, and he let out an impatient sigh as he began to pull some kindling towards him. ‘Sustenance,’ he explained. ‘Food, drink, coffee, a spare suckling pig—anything.’

Keri eyed the darkness warily. ‘On my own?’

He glanced up. Clearly she was a woman to whom the word ‘initiative’ was a stranger. ‘You mean you want me to come and hold your hand for you?’

‘No, of course not,’ she said stiffly.

‘There’s nothing to be afraid of.’ His voice softened by a fraction. ‘Here, take a candle with you.’

‘Well, I’m hardly going to feel my way out there in the dark!’ She lifted her hand to her head. ‘But before I do anything, I’m getting rid of this hat.’

His eyes narrowed as she pulled the snow-damp beanie off, shaking her hair out so that it fell and splayed in night-dark glossy tendrils before falling down over the soft curves of her breasts. It was a captivating movement, as elegant as a dancer, and he wondered whether it just came naturally or if she’d learnt it from her modelling career. Keep your mind on the job, he told himself.

Except that the job he had set out to do was turning into something quite different. He sat back on his haunches and his eyes travelled up the endless length of her legs. He felt a pulse beat deep in his groin—an instinctive reaction to a beautiful woman. God, it had been a long time. ‘Run along now,’ he said softly. ‘My throat is parched.’

Run along? Run along? ‘Don’t talk to me that way,’ she said in a low voice.

He looked up. ‘What way is that?’

As though he were some kind of caveman and she was the little woman, scurrying away with whatever he’d successfully hunted that day. Though when she stopped to think about it there was something pretty primitive about the deft way he seemed to be constructing the fire.

‘You know exactly what way I’m talking about!’

‘You mean you just can’t cope with a man unless he’s paying homage to you, is that it?’

‘Don’t put words into my mouth!’

If her feet hadn’t been hurting so much, and if she hadn’t been afraid that the candle might go out, then Keri might have flounced out of the room. But Jay Linur didn’t seem like the kind of man who would be impressed by any kind of flouncing, and so she made do with walking, her back perfectly straight, her head held very high.

She made her way back to the kitchen and looked around. It didn’t look very hopeful. An ancient old oven which looked as though it had seen better days. A big, scrubbed wooden table. And that was about it. A cupboard yielded little more than a couple of tins, and a box of dusty old teabags which had clearly seen better days.

She filled the kettle with water, but the kettle wouldn’t work, and she remembered why and went back into the huge room, where he had managed to coax a tiny flame from the fire.

He looked up. ‘What is it?’

‘The kettle won’t work! There’s no electricity—remember?’

He stared at her consideringly. ‘How about gas?’ He raised his eyebrows questioningly and then shook his head. ‘I don’t believe it—you haven’t even bothered to check, have you?’

She felt like telling him that she was a model, not a girl guide. And that she didn’t even want a hot drink, and that if he did then he could jolly well go and make it himself. But there was something so forbidding about the expression on his face that she decided against it. Being stuck here with him was like a nightmare come true, but Keri suspected that it would be even more of a nightmare if he wasn’t here.

‘No,’ she admitted reluctantly.

‘Then I suggest you go and try again.’

He was doing it again—dismissing her as if she was a schoolgirl. This had to be addressed some time, and maybe it was best she did it now. ‘Did anyone ever tell you that you are distinctly lacking in the charm department?’

‘Oh.’ There was a pause. ‘Is it charm you want you want from me, then, Keri?’

The question threw her as much as the smoky look of challenge in his eyes and the silky note of caress in his voice, and suddenly she became aware of a whispering of unwelcome sensation, too nebulous to define. Almost as if… She shook her head to deny it and gave him her coolest smile, the kind which could intimidate most men—a frosty and distancing kind of smile. ‘Not at all—but if you could hold back on the arrogant, macho, bossing-me-around kind of behaviour, I’d be very grateful.’

He raised his eyebrows laconically. ‘You don’t like it?’

‘Show me a woman who does!’

‘I could show you legions,’ he observed softly, thinking of two in particular.

‘Not this woman!’

He watched her wiggle out of the room in that sinful leather skirt, imagining its softness as it swished against her thighs.

In the kitchen, Keri gingerly scouted around, trying to rid herself of that strange, tingly sensation which was making her feel almost light-headed—as if her blood had suddenly come to life in her veins, making her acutely aware of the way it pulsed around her body. Here to her temple. There to her wrist. And there. There.

Her cheeks burned uncomfortably. Somehow he had done this to her—brought to life in her something unknown and unwanted, with his silky taunts and that lazy way he had of looking at her. And he was so damned blatant about it, too!

Had she perhaps imagined that he would feel almost shy in her company, the way men so often did? Dazzled and slightly bemused by the impact of her looks and the status of her job? Especially someone who drove cars for a living, no matter how blessed he had been in the looks and body department.

She held her hands up to her hot cheeks, angry with herself for a physical reaction which seemed to be beyond her control. So it was time to take control. The important thing to remember was that if she didn’t react to him then he wouldn’t behave so provocatively. If she smiled serenely at his attempts to get under her skin then he would soon grow bored and stop it.

She found a battered-looking saucepan in one of the cupboards, and broke a fingernail into the bargain, and she was fractious and flustered by the time she returned, carrying two steaming mugs of black tea. But at least he had managed to get the fire going properly, and tentative flames were licking at one of the logs, bathing the room in soft, comforting shades of scarlet and orange.

She took her coat off and crept towards the fire’s warmth. She handed him a mug, then crouched down on the floor, wishing she were wearing something warmer and more practical than a leather skirt and wondering why on earth she had, on such a cold day. Because it’s fashionable, she reminded herself, and because the designer begged you to take it as a gift.

Jay Linur had removed his rather battered flying jacket too, but, unlike her, he had obviously made no concessions to sartorial elegance. His outfit was tough and practical. Faded jeans hugged his long, lean legs and he wore a warm dark sweater which softly clung to his torso. Firelight danced flames across the ruffled black hair, which was thick and slightly too long—giving him a buccaneer air which seemed to blend in well with the ancient fireplace.

He looked, she realised, completely at home as he lounged rather indolently along the rug, watching the progress of the fire—all rugged and arrogant confidence as he gazed into the flames, his thick lashes hooding his eyes. He turned his head to study her with lazy interest.

Keri put her mug down and winced as the ragged nail scratched against the palm of her hand.

‘Hurt yourself?’ he questioned softly.

‘Not really, but I’ve broken my nail—and I can’t even file it down—I left my make-up bag in the car!’

He gave a short laugh. ‘Outside it’s sub-zero, the snow is still coming down with no sign of a let-up, we’re stranded God knows where, and all you can worry about is your damned fingernail!’

Keri was stung into defence. ‘It isn’t just vanity, if that’s what you’re implying—my job happens to depend on the state of my hands, among other things, and I was supposed to be doing a magazine-shoot for nail varnish next week!’ It was, she realised, the first time in her life that she had ever felt the need to justify her job to anyone. So why—especially now, and to him of all people?

Jay took a mug of tea, sipped it and grimaced, wondering what type of world it was where a broken fingernail could mean anything at all other than just that. Not a world he could ever inhabit, that was for sure. Different strokes for different folks, he supposed.

He put the drink down in disgust. ‘What the hell did you put in this? Arsenic?’

‘Oh, please don’t tempt me! I just used what was available,’ she said crossly. ‘Which were teabags which looked like they belonged in the Dark Ages!’

‘Don’t believe they had teabags in the Dark Ages,’ he responded drily.

Keri almost laughed. Almost. Boundaries, she reminded herself. ‘Do you have an answer for everything, Mr Linur?’

He looked at her. Oh, yes. The answer was staring him right in the face right now. Her lips were parted, so soft and so gleaming that they were practically begging to be kissed. He didn’t have to approve of an icy beauty whose whole livelihood depended on the random paintbox of looks which nature had thrown together, but it didn’t stop him wanting her.

‘Try me,’ he murmured. ‘Ask me any question you like.’

There it was again—that tingy feeling, that sense of being out of control, as if she had drunk too much champagne too quickly. Keri swallowed. ‘Okay. How’s this for starters—just how are you proposing to get us out of here?’

CHAPTER THREE

JAY shrugged. ‘I’m not,’ he said flatly.

Keri raised her eyebrows. ‘You mean that we’re going to have to stay here for ever?’

He smiled at her sarcasm. Don’t worry, sweetheart, he thought acidly—the idea appalls me just as much as it clearly does you. ‘It’s an intriguing prospect, but no. There’s not a lot we can do, at least until the snow stops. Until then we’ll just have to sit it out.’

The thought of that was making her more than uneasy. ‘For how long?’

‘Who knows? Until the thaw starts, or until someone finds us.’

And who knew how long that would be? ‘You haven’t even tried telephoning for help!’ she accused.

‘That’s because there isn’t a phone. I checked.’

‘How can a place not have a telephone in this day and age?’

He shrugged his broad shoulders. It sounded like bliss to him. ‘For the same reason that there’s no television.’ He shifted his legs slightly. ‘I suspect that this is a holiday home and that the people who own it have deliberately decided to do away with all modern comforts.’

‘Why would they do something like that?’

‘The usual reasons. Televisions and telephones create stress, and some people don’t like that stress. It’s why they sail. Or climb mountains. Why they buy places like this—to escape.’

His voice had taken on a hard note, the tone of someone who was familiar with the word ‘escape’, and suddenly Keri longed for the safe and predictable. The sanctuary of her London flat—a clean and modernistic haven, as far removed from this big barn of a place as it was possible to imagine. Where heating was instantly produced by the touch of a button and cars and taxis moved comfortingly outside.

A world where men wore linen and silk and paid you clever compliments—not criticising you and then eyeing you with a kind of lazy watchfulness which had the ability to make you feel as flustered as a gauche young girl, and moving their legs as if to draw attention to their hard, muscular definition.

Quickly, she looked into the fire instead. ‘Ironic, really,’ she said, and thought how loud her voice sounded in the big, echoing room. ‘A house designed for people to escape to, and we can’t get out of it!’

‘It could be a lot worse,’ he said grimly. ‘At least we’re inside.’

Yes, they were. Alone. And Keri had been right—there were no rules in situation like this; they had to make them up as they went along. ‘So what are we going to do?’

He sat up. ‘Well, first we need to eat.’

‘Eat?’ she echoed blankly.

‘You do eat, I suppose?’ He watched her in the firelight. She was all bones, he thought—angles and shadows and long, slender legs, like a highly strung racehorse. The leather skirt clung to hips which were as narrow as a boy’s, and although she did have breasts, they were tiny, like a young girl’s. Jay liked his women curvy, with firm flesh that you could mould beneath the palms of your hands and soft hips that you could hold onto as you drove into them and catapulted them to pleasure. ‘Though not a lot, by the look of you.’

‘Oddly enough, the well-fed look isn’t in vogue at the moment,’ she said drily.

‘I’ve never really understood why.’

‘Because clothes look better on slender figures and that’s a fact.’

Jay gave a half-smile. ‘But nakedness looks better on a curvy figure, and that’s a fact!’

‘Well, thanks for bringing the conversation downmarket!’

He shrugged. She thought that nakedness was downmarket? ‘That wasn’t my intention.’

‘You’re saying you don’t like thin women?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Careful, Keri,’ he said softly. ‘That sounds awfully like you’re fishing for a compliment, and I’d guess you get more than the average quota of those.’

Yes, she did. It was part of the whole package which came with the way she looked. Men liked to look at her and to be seen with her—from her teen years she had been familiar with the phrase ‘trophy girlfriend’. Yet beauty could be a double-edged sword. She had learned that, too. She earned her living through capitalising on her looks, then sometimes found herself wishing that people would see through to the person beneath—a person with all the insecurities of the next woman.

Defensively, she raked her hand back through her hair. ‘Not a lot of danger of that at the moment, I imagine. I must look like I’ve been dragged through several hedges backwards.’

Her hair had been rumpled by the beanie and she hadn’t brushed it, so it fell in ebony disarray over the pale silky sweater she wore. Her pale cheeks were tinged with roses, a combination of heat from the fire and the exertion of her walk through the snow. Yet she looked far more touchable and desirable than the ice princess in the diamonds and silver gown, who had pouted and swirled for the camera earlier.

‘If you must know, you look a little…wild,’ he said softly. ‘Like a wood nymph who has just been woken out of a long sleep.’

Keri had never in her life been called ‘wild’, neither had she been compared to a wood nymph, and the poetic imagery of his words was so seductively powerful that for a moment she felt a slow, pulsing glow of pleasure. Until she reminded herself that this was madness.

Complete and utter madness.

Models had notoriously fragile egos—inevitable in a job in which you were judged so critically on physical attributes alone—but surely hers wasn’t so bad that she needed praise from a house-breaking driver with a dark and dangerous air about him?

Suddenly she felt like a baby fish, swimming around in uncharted waters. ‘Didn’t you say something about food?’

‘Sure.’ He rose to his feet and wondered if she knew how cute she looked when she lost the frost princess look and let her lips soften like that. ‘How about a fair division of labour? I’ll go and see if I can find more fuel for the fire, and you can fix us a meal.’

‘You’ll be lucky!’

‘Oh?’

‘It’s just that I don’t cook. Can’t cook,’ she amended hurriedly as she saw him frown.

‘I’m not expecting you to spit-roast a pig to impress me,’ he bit back. ‘Just rustle up any old thing.’

Impress him? In your dreams. ‘There wasn’t,’ said Keri deliberately, ‘anything much in the way of food, save for a few old tins.’

‘Then get opening,’ said Jay, and threw another log on the fire.

But Keri quickly discovered that this was easier said than done, because the tin-opener looked as though it should have been in a museum.

Jay walked out into the kitchen to find her slamming a tin frustratedly onto the table. Great, he thought! Have a tantrum, why don’t you?

‘Having problems?’ he questioned laconically.

‘You try using it!’

He picked up the tin and read the label. His voice was cool. ‘Tinned peaches?’

‘Well, obviously there’s no fresh fruit—’

‘That wasn’t,’ he exploded, ‘what I meant!’

‘Well, there was nothing much else to choose from.’

‘If you think I’m existing on tinned peaches, then you are very much mistaken!’

‘Well, would you mind opening them for me?’

He dealt with the can quickly, and thrust it away as if it had been contaminated, then bent to examine the contents of the cupboard, rummaging around until he produced a sealed pack of dried spaghetti and a solitary tin of meat sauce, which he slammed down onto the worktop. ‘What’s wrong with these?’

She suspected that it was going to be a mistake to try to explain her dietary requirements, but she forged ahead anyway. ‘I don’t eat wheat,’ she said.

Jay shuddered. Bloody women and their food fads! Well, I do,’ he said coolly. ‘So would you mind heating these up?’ He saw her open her mouth to protest. ‘Unless you’d rather tend to the fire?’

She could see the mocking look of challenge in his eyes, as if he knew perfectly well that she had never ‘tended’ a fire in her life. Lots of people she knew hadn’t—so why was he trying to make her feel as though she was in some way inadequate? Just because he was the original cave-dweller, that didn’t mean the rest of the world had to follow suit. Very well, she would heat his revolting food for him. ‘I’ll cook.’

‘Good.’ And he turned and walked out of the kitchen without another word, thinking that she was undeniably beautiful but about as much use as an igloo in a heatwave. He cast an assessing eye over the fuel. There were a couple of cupboards he’d noticed upstairs; they might yield an armful of blankets which they would need to see the night through. The strain of spending a night closeted with her made a tiny muscle work at the side of his temple, and then he remembered the only room they hadn’t explored. Maybe the cellar might come up trumps. Something to ease the tension.

When he returned to the kitchen it was with a look of triumph on his face and a bottle of dusty wine in his hand. He put it carefully on the table.

‘Look at that! Would you believe it?’

Fractiously, Keri looked up from the steaming pot. Half the spaghetti had snapped on the way into it, and she had scalded her finger into the bargain. ‘It’s a bottle of wine—so what?’

‘It is not any old bottle of wine,’ he contradicted, running his thumb reverentially over the label, as if he was carressing a woman’s skin. ‘It just happens to be a bottle of St Julien du Beau Caillou.’

His voice had deepened with appreciation and his French accent was close to perfect. Keri couldn’t have been more amazed if he had suddenly leapt up onto the table and started tap dancing.

‘You know about wine, do you?’

Jay’s eyes glittered. The tone of her question said it all. ‘Surprising for a common-or-garden driver, is that what you mean?’ he drawled. ‘Thought I’d be a beer man, did you?’

‘I hadn’t given it much thought, actually.’