Grace tried to gather her scattered thoughts. Jack’s body felt lean and hard and disturbingly hot. When her hands fanned against his midriff she could feel the heat of his skin through his shirt.

And she knew she should put some space between them.

She tilted her head and looked up into his dark, compelling face and their eyes met.

Jack’s exclamation was harsh, but unmistakably passionate. And when his hands tightened on her arms she felt all the bones in her legs turn to water.

‘We—we have to go,’ she said, but her voice was thready and barely audible.

Jack nodded. ‘Yeah,’ he said hoarsely, but then he bent his head and covered her lips with his and she fairly melted against him. Which was so wrong. But just at that moment it felt so incredibly right.

Dear Reader,

Although it’s been three years since my last Modern Romance was published, I haven’t been wasting my time! I’ve written a long book, which took a little longer than I had anticipated and is still a work in progress, and three Modern Romances.

The first of them is A Forbidden Temptation, and I really hope you like it. It is set in the North of England, on the wild Northumberland coast, which I believe is one of the most beautiful coastlines in the UK.

I’d like to take this opportunity to thank all my readers, some of whom created the Anne Mather Fan Club on Facebook. I love reading all the posts, and I hope my new books will generate some more.

Thanks for everything.

Anne Mather

A Forbidden Temptation

Anne Mather

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ANNE MATHER and her husband live in the North of England, in a village bordering the county of Yorkshire. It’s a beautiful area, and she can’t imagine living anywhere else. She’s been making up stories since she was in primary school, and would say that writing is a huge part of her life. When people ask if writing is a lonely occupation, she usually says that she’s so busy sorting out her characters’ lives she doesn’t have time to feel lonely.

Anne’s written over 160 novels, and her books have appeared on both the New York Times and USA TODAY bestseller lists. She loves reading and walking and browsing in bookshops. And now that her son and daughter are grown she takes great delight in her grandchildren. You can email her at mystic-am@msn.com.

I’d like to dedicate this book to my loyal readers, whose letters have given me so much pleasure.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

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

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

Etract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THE PHONE WAS ringing as Jack walked into the house.

He was tempted not to answer it. He knew who it would be. It was at least three days since his sister-in-law had contacted him. Debra seldom ignored him for very long.

But she was—had been—Lisa’s sister, and he supposed she was only looking out for him. The truth was, he didn’t need looking out for, he thought resignedly. He was doing just fine on his own.

Dropping the bag containing the still-warm baguette he’d bought at the village bakery onto the granite counter, Jack hooked the kitchen phone from the wall.

‘Connolly,’ he said, hoping against hope that it might be a cold call. But those hopes were dashed when Debra Carrick came on the line.

‘Why do you insist on turning off your mobile phone?’ she greeted him irritably. ‘I called you once yesterday and twice today, but you’re never available.’

‘And good morning to you, too,’ Jack commented drily. ‘And why do I need to carry a mobile phone every place I go? I doubt there’s anything you need to tell me that can’t wait.’

‘How do you know that?’ Debra sounded offended now and he stifled a groan. ‘In any case, what if you had an accident? Or if you fell off that stupid boat of yours? You’d wish you had some means of communication then.’

‘If I fell off the boat, the phone wouldn’t work in the water,’ replied Jack mildly, and he heard Debra give an impatient snort.

‘You’ve always got an answer, haven’t you, Jack?’ she demanded, her frustration evident. ‘Anyway, when are you coming home? Your mother’s worried about you.’

Jack acknowledged that the worrying part might be true. But both his mother and his father—and his siblings, come to that—knew not to ask those kinds of questions.

They’d accepted that he needed to move away from the family. And this house he’d found on the wild Northumbrian coast was exactly where he wanted to be.

‘This is my home,’ he said now, glancing round the large farmhouse kitchen with a certain amount of pride.

When he’d bought the house, it had been in a sorry state of repair. But after months of his living out of suitcases and cardboard boxes, the renovation—a lot of which he’d done himself—was now complete.

Lindisfarne House had emerged as a comfortable, but elegant, home. The ideal place to find refuge and decide what he was going to do with the rest of his life.

‘You’re not serious!’ He’d almost forgotten what his answer had been until Debra spoke again. ‘Jack, you’re an architect! A successful architect at that. Just because you’ve inherited that money doesn’t mean you have to spend all your time bumming around some godforsaken corner of England!’

‘Rothburn is not a godforsaken corner of England,’ protested Jack civilly. ‘And certainly no more remote than Kilpheny itself.’ He sighed. ‘I needed to get away from Ireland, Debs. I thought you understood that.’

Debra sniffed. ‘Well, I do, I suppose,’ she conceded. ‘I’m sure your grandmother’s death was the last straw. But all your family’s here. Your friends are here. We miss you, you know.’

‘Yeah, I know.’ Jack could feel his patience thinning nonetheless. ‘Look, I gotta go, Debs.’ He grimaced at the lie. ‘There’s someone at the door.’

With the phone hooked back onto the wall, Jack spread his hands on the cool granite for a moment, breathing deeply. It wasn’t her fault, he told himself. Just because every time he heard her voice he found himself thinking about Lisa didn’t make her a bad person.

For God’s sake, he just wished she would get off his case.

‘She’s in love with you, you know.’

The light, half-amused tone broke into his bleak mood of introspection. He lifted his head to find Lisa seated on the end of the counter, examining her nails. She was dressed in the same cropped pants and silk blouse she’d been wearing the last time he’d seen her. One high-heeled sandal dangled from her right foot.

Jack closed his eyes for a moment and straightened from his stooped position.

‘You don’t know that,’ he said flatly, and Lisa lifted her head and met his brooding gaze.

‘Oh, I do,’ she insisted. ‘Debs has been in love with you for years. Ever since I first brought you home to meet Daddy.’

Jack turned away and picked up the baguette he’d brought home from the bakery. Despite his conversation with Debra, it was still warm, and he switched on the coffee pot and took a dish of butter from the fridge.

Slicing himself a generous wedge of the baguette, he spread it thickly with butter. Then forced himself to eat it, even though he disliked having her watch him do so.

‘Are you going back to Ireland?’

Lisa was persistent, and, although Jack despised himself for humouring her, he turned his head. She was still sitting on his counter, a pale ethereal figure that he knew from previous experience could disappear in an instant. But today, she seemed determined to torment him and he lifted his shoulders in a careless shrug.

‘What’s it to you?’ he asked, lifting a mug from the drainer and pouring himself some coffee. Strong and black, the way he liked it. ‘You don’t like Northumberland, either?’

‘I just want you to be happy,’ Lisa said, spreading her fingers as he’d seen her do a hundred times after she’d applied a coat of varnish on her nails. ‘That’s why I’m here.’

‘Really?’

Jack was sceptical. In his opinion, she was doing her best to make people think he was crazy. He was talking to a dead person, for God’s sake. How insane was that?

A draught of air blew across his face and when next he looked, she was gone.

She left nothing behind. Not even the faint trace of the perfume she’d always worn. Nothing to prove he wasn’t going out of his mind as he sometimes suspected he was.

In the beginning, Jack had dismissed Lisa’s appearances as a mental aberration. Even so, he’d gone to see a doctor in Wicklow who, in turn, had sent him to a psychiatrist in Dublin.

The psychiatrist had been of the opinion that it was Jack’s way of grieving. And as no one else saw Lisa, Jack had half believed he might be right.

But the visitations had continued, sometimes with days, at other times weeks, in between. Jack had become so inured to them that they didn’t worry him any longer.

Besides, he’d never felt that Lisa wanted to hurt him. On the contrary, she always appeared as quirky and capricious as she’d been in life.

Jack scowled and carried his coffee out of the kitchen and across a wide panelled hall into a sunlit living room.

The room was large, high-ceilinged and furnished with dark oak and leather. Pale textured walls contrasted with the beams that arched above his head, long windows overlooking the coastline and the blue-grey waters of the North Sea.

There was a leather rocking chair set in the window embrasure and Jack seated himself in it and propped his booted feet on the sill. It was early yet, barely nine o’clock, and the day stretched ahead of him, silent and unstructured.

Which was also the way he liked it.

As he drank his coffee he pondered the prospect of taking the Osprey out for a sail. He knew from previous experience that manning the forty-two-foot ketch demanded all his energies. The North Sea, even at the end of May, didn’t take any prisoners.

He frowned. He wasn’t sure he wanted that kind of action. He might spend some time on the boat. There were one or two jobs requiring his attention. And he enjoyed exchanging the time of day with the fishermen who also used the small harbour.

Not that he really needed the company. Although he’d suffered in the aftermath of the accident that had killed his wife, he wasn’t suicidal. Besides, it was nearly two years since Lisa had died, for heaven’s sake. He should be over his grief by now.

And he was. Mostly. Except when Lisa herself turned up to torment him.

When had she first appeared? It must have been about a month after her funeral. Jack had been visiting her grave in the churchyard at Kilpheny when he’d realised that Lisa was standing beside him.

God, she’d certainly shaken him out of his apathy that day, he remembered ruefully. He’d half believed they must have buried some other young woman by mistake.

But no. Lisa had quickly disabused him of that notion. In any case, despite the fact that her little sports car had burst into flames on impact with the petrol tanker, dental records and DNA evidence found at the scene had proved conclusively that the remains they’d found were those of his wife.

The only thing that had survived the crash unscathed had been one of her designer sandals. Which, he assumed, was why Lisa only ever appeared wearing one sandal these days.

He used to ponder that anomaly. Why, if Lisa herself could appear apparently unscathed by the experience, couldn’t she have been supplied with another sandal?

It wasn’t important. After that first shocking encounter, Jack had learned not to question such prosaic irregularities with her. Lisa had her own agenda and she never deviated from it.

She enjoyed provoking him. Much as she’d done during the three short years of their marriage. Anything else was apparently beyond her remit.

He scowled, finishing his coffee in a single gulp and getting to his feet. He couldn’t spend the rest of his life analysing what might have been. Or, as Debra had said, ‘bumming around’.

Or talking to a ghost, he appended drily. Perhaps he ought to be wondering if he was losing his mind.

Eight hours later, he was feeling considerably less gloomy. He’d spent the morning doing some minor repairs to the ketch. And then, because it had been a beautiful afternoon, with only a mild wind flowing from the south-west, he’d taken the Osprey out on the water.

By the time he drove back to Lindisfarne House, he’d forgotten how introspective he’d been that morning. He had a bucket of fresh shellfish he’d bought from one of the fishermen and some fresh greens in the back of the Lexus. He was looking forward to making a lobster salad for his supper.

He was propped against the fridge, drinking an ice-cool can of beer, when he heard tyres crunching on his drive. Dammit, he thought, slamming the can down and heading for the front door. The last thing he needed tonight was company...

He scowled. He didn’t get visitors. Not visitors who parked in his driveway, anyway. No one, except his immediate family, knew where he was living. And they had strict orders not to give his address to anyone.

When the doorbell chimed, he knew he had to answer it.

‘Why don’t you open the door?’

Jack swung round abruptly to find Lisa perched on a half-moon console table.

‘Say what?’

‘Open the door,’ she said again, and for the first time she looked almost animated.

‘I’m going to,’ he said, speaking in a low voice, hoping that whoever was outside wouldn’t hear him. ‘What’s it to you? I’m the one who’s going to have to entertain an uninvited guest.’

‘Two uninvited guests,’ amended Lisa, evidently implying that he had more than one visitor, and Jack’s brows drew together.

‘So who are they?’

‘You’ll find out,’ she said lightly, her image fading even as her words were dying away.

Jack shook his head, not sure what he ought to make of that. Lisa rarely if ever appeared twice in one day. Did something about the visitor—visitors—disturb her? Perhaps he ought to be on his guard. He was alone in the house, after all.

Well, as good as.

Pushing such negative thoughts aside, he released the latch and opened the door.

A man was standing outside. A man he hadn’t seen in God knew how long. He and Sean Nesbitt had grown up together. They’d even attended university together, sharing a flat in their final year.

They’d graduated from Trinity College, Dublin, and had been eager to gain advanced degrees, Jack in architecture and Sean in computer science. After leaving Trinity, however, they’d both gone their separate ways, only meeting occasionally when they’d been visiting their parents in Kilpheny.

Since Jack’s marriage to Lisa, he’d virtually lost touch with the other man. And he had to say, Sean was the last person he’d expected to see here.

‘You open for visitors?’

Sean was grinning at him and for the life of him Jack couldn’t have turned him away.

‘Hell, yes,’ he said, taking the hand Sean held out and then stepping back automatically. ‘But, my God, what are you doing here? And how the devil did you find me?’

Sean’s grin widened. ‘I’m a computer expert, remember?’ he said smugly, glancing back at the silver Mercedes he’d parked on Jack’s drive. ‘But I’m not on my own. I’ve brought my girlfriend with me.’ He pulled a wry face. ‘Is it okay if we both come in?’

So... Jack lifted a thoughtful shoulder. Lisa had been right. He did have more than one visitor. But...

‘Sure,’ he said, not without some reluctance, casting a swift glance over his shoulder as he did so. But the table was unoccupied. Lisa had definitely gone.

‘Great!’

It was only as Sean turned to go back to the car that Jack realised he hadn’t changed since he got back from the marina. His cargo pants were smudged with paint and his black sweatshirt had seen better days.

Ah, well, they would have to take him as they found him, he thought resignedly. He hadn’t been expecting visitors. And wasn’t that the truth?

Sean had circled the car to open the passenger-side door to allow a young woman to get out. But she forestalled his efforts, sliding out of the car before he reached her door. From his position in the doorway, Jack could only see that she was tall and slim, and dressed in jeans and a white tee shirt.

Sean was only of average height and build and in her high-heeled boots she was almost as tall as he was. She also had a mass of curly red-gold hair, presently caught up in a ponytail.

She didn’t immediately look his way and Jack wondered if she was as unenthusiastic about this visit as he was. But Sean was a friend and he couldn’t disappoint him. Not as he appeared to have come quite some distance to see him.

Sean attempted to put an arm about the girl’s waist to draw her forward, and Jack felt a momentary pang of envy. How long was it since he’d had a woman in his arms?

But to his surprise, the girl shrugged Sean off, striding towards the house with a determination that wasn’t matched by the expression on her face.

Uh-oh, trouble in paradise, mused Jack wryly. He must be right. She hadn’t wanted to come here.

Then he caught his breath. He felt suddenly as if he’d been stabbed in his solar plexus. His involuntary reaction stunned him, the surge of heat invading his lower body feeling like a fire in his gut.

His response was totally unexpected. Not to say inappropriate, as well. He didn’t do lust, but that was what he was feeling at that moment. Dammit, she was Sean’s girlfriend; he’d said so. And just because they’d apparently had a lovers’ tiff didn’t mean he had the right to pick up the slack.

But she was striking. High, rounded breasts, pointed nipples clearly outlined by the thin cotton of her tee. Her thighs were slim and shapely, and she had the kind of legs that seemed to go on for ever.

Thank God for his baggy cargo pants. He had the feeling he had more than his reaction to hide. He almost broke out in a sweat at the possibility that Sean might notice.

He couldn’t believe this was why Lisa had been so keen for him to open the door. Yet, wasn’t it just the kind of quirky thing she would do? She’d enjoyed baiting him in life and she still enjoyed baiting him now.

Of course, Sean’s girlfriend was nothing like Lisa. Lisa had been petite, blonde, bubbly. And okay, yes, she’d been flirtatious. But judging by the look he was getting from this girl, she was anything but flirtatious. She was regarding him with cool—what? Indifference? Contempt? As if she’d guessed exactly what was going through his mind.

Right.

Stepping back, he made room for them to come into the house, and Sean quickly made the introductions.

‘Grace Spencer, meet Jack Connolly,’ he said cheerfully, and, despite the look from her amazingly green eyes, Jack was obliged to take the hand the girl reluctantly offered him.

‘Hi,’ he said, aware that her slim fingers were cool against his suddenly sweating palm.

‘Hello.’ Her voice was as cool as her expression. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but Sean asked me to come with him, to show him how to get here.’

‘I— No. Of course not.’

Jack frowned. He detected a slight local accent. Did she come from this area? If so, how on earth had she met Sean?

Realising he’d been silent for too long, he said awkwardly, ‘Do you know the area, Grace?’

‘I was born here,’ she began, but Sean didn’t let her finish.

‘Her parents own the village pub,’ he said quickly. ‘Grace left here when she went to university, and she’s been living in London since then.’

Jack nodded. At least that explained the connection. The last he’d heard, Sean had been working in London, too.

‘But I’ve left London now,’ Grace inserted flatly, giving Sean what Jack thought was a warning look. ‘My mother’s ill and I’ve decided to move back to Rothburn to be near her. Sean is still living in London. This is just a flying visit, isn’t it, Sean?’

There was no mistaking the accusation in that question. Jack felt his eyes go wide, and his inhibitions about this visit increased. Whatever was going on here, he didn’t want to be part of it. But they were evidently not the happy couple Sean was trying to convey.

‘We’ll see,’ Sean said now. Then, squaring his shoulders, he forced a grin for Jack’s benefit. ‘I bet you were wondering how I found you out.’

‘You could say that.’

‘Well, when Grace’s pa said an Irishman had bought this old place, I never dreamt it might be you,’ Sean continued. ‘It wasn’t until they mentioned your name that I put two and two together. Small world, eh?’

‘Isn’t it?’

Jack inclined his head. He hadn’t tried to hide his identity from the locals. But no one really knew him here; no one knew about Lisa.

He just hadn’t expected Sean Nesbitt to turn up.

‘So...’ Jack tried to inject a note of interest into his voice now. ‘Do you come up here every weekend to see Grace and her family?’

‘Yes—’

‘No!’

They both spoke at once, and Jack could see the sudden rush of colour that stained Grace’s cheeks.

‘I come as often as I can,’ amended Sean, his pale blue eyes darkening with sudden anger. ‘Come on, Grace, you know your parents are pleased to see me. Just because you’re feeling neglected, that’s no reason to embarrass Jack like this.’

CHAPTER TWO

GRACE WAS ANGRY.

She knew she shouldn’t have let herself be persuaded to come here with Sean, but what could she do? Apart from the obvious misconceptions it created, she didn’t like arguing with him in public. With Jack Connolly looking on, she felt hopelessly embarrassed. He was not the kind of man to be fooled by Sean’s lies.

The trouble was her parents expected her to marry Sean, and they would certainly have suspected something was wrong if she’d refused to come with him. For now she had to accept the situation. But she refused to let Sean make a fool of her.

It had been so different in the beginning. When she’d first met Sean, she’d been fascinated by his easy charm. Okay, she’d been young, and naïve, but that was in the days when she’d taken everything he said as gospel; when just being around such a popular older student had given her a feeling of pride.

How wrong she had been.

Her first mistake had been bringing him to meet her parents. With Sean’s promises of easy money, her father had been persuaded to mortgage the pub to help finance Sean’s fledgling website.

Grace had tried to stop him. Even though she’d believed she was going to marry Sean, she’d known the website was a huge gamble and her father knew little about websites or their uses.

But Tom Spencer hadn’t listened to her. He’d thought he was investing in her future and she’d loved him for it. But even then she’d had some sleepless nights worrying about what would happen if the website failed.

And it had. Like so much else where Sean was concerned, the dream hadn’t equalled the reality. Even now, her parents had no idea that Sean had lost their money. Which was why Grace had to do everything in her power to get it back.

Even if it meant lying about her relationship with Sean.

Her parents were still labouring under the illusion that Sean was only staying in London to advance his business. She knew they thought she should have stayed with him, but Grace had had enough. She’d stopped short of telling them about the scene that had finally ended their relationship. Until her mother had recovered her health, she couldn’t lay that on them, as well.

She’d let them think that she had been homesick. When the sickness she had felt had been of a different order altogether.

But Sean knew their affair was over. And if she had her way, soon she’d never have to see him again.

But now, here they were, standing in Jack Connolly’s doorway, and she for one would have liked to turn around and go home. It was obvious Connolly didn’t want them here. And she couldn’t exactly blame him. So why didn’t Sean get the message and put an end to this embarrassing stand-off?

Unfortunately, their host seemed to realise his manners just as Grace was searching for the words to get them out of this.

‘Please,’ he said. ‘Come in.’ And he moved behind them to close the heavy door.

Grace was still wondering why Sean had wanted to come here, anyway. What was it he’d said: that Connolly had lost his wife in a car accident a couple of years ago and that this was his first opportunity to offer his condolences to the man? Grace had had to accept it when he’d strung that line to her father, but she’d have said Sean was the last person to offer sympathy to anyone. Unless there was something in it for him, she appended with the bitter knowledge of hindsight.

Or was she judging him too harshly?

And then she remembered another titbit he’d offered. Apparently Jack Connolly had inherited some money from his grandmother and that was how he’d been able to buy this place. Sean’s take on it—or rather the one he’d offered her father—was that Jack had wanted to get away from the pain of familiar places. He’d moved to Northumberland to find a place to lick his wounds in peace.

Having met Jack now, Grace took that with a pinch of salt. Whatever he was doing in Northumberland, he didn’t look like a man who had any wounds to lick. He seemed perfectly self-sufficient, and far too shrewd to need anyone’s sympathy.

She hadn’t forgotten the way he’d looked at her when he’d first seen her. It hadn’t been the look of a man who was drowning in grief. On the contrary, if she and Sean had still been together, she would have considered it offensive.

Were all men untrustworthy? she wondered. She didn’t think so, but she had no doubt that Jack Connolly wasn’t to be trusted, either.

It annoyed her that he was also drop-dead gorgeous. Even the thick stubble of a couple of days’ growth of beard on his chin couldn’t detract from the stark male beauty of his face.

His skin was darkly tanned, as if he’d been spending time in a sunnier climate. But, according to her father, he’d been living here throughout all the renovations he’d made to the house.

Unruly dark hair tumbled over his forehead and brushed the neckline of his sweatshirt. Thin lips below hollowed cheekbones only added to his sensual appeal.

They crossed the hall and entered a well-lit living room. Whatever she thought of Connolly himself, there was no denying the man had taste. Pale walls, dark wood, much of it antique from the look of it. And a Persian carpet on the floor that fairly melted beneath her feet.

Grace headed for the windows. Despite the attractive appointments of the room, she was fascinated by the view. It was stunning. And familiar. It was still light outside, and she could see the rocky headland curving away, grassy cliffs beyond a low stone wall falling away to dunes.

The sea was calm at present, reflecting the reddening clouds that marked the sun’s descent. Lights glinted in the cottages that spilled down the hillside to the harbour and the small marina, the distant cry of gulls a lonely mournful lament.

The outer door slammed and Jack Connolly strode into the room to join them.

‘You’ll have to forgive the way I look,’ he said ruefully, flicking a hand at his paint-stained pants. ‘I’ve been on the boat all day and I haven’t had time to change.’

‘A boat? You’ve got a boat?’ Sean was enthusiastic. ‘Hey, what’s it like to be a millionaire?’

Grace, hearing Sean’s words, felt her stomach sink within her. Oh, God, why hadn’t she asked him how much Jack had inherited? Why had she simply assumed it would be a moderate sum?

What price now his condolences for Jack’s wife and his grandmother? Jack’s supposed grief had been forgotten. Sean had simply used it as an excuse to get her here.

Jack, to his credit, didn’t call Sean on it. ‘Let me offer you both a drink,’ he said. His eyes shifted to Grace as she reluctantly turned from the window. ‘What would you like?’

Well, not you, she thought childishly, disturbed in spite of herself by those heavy-lidded dark eyes. What was he really thinking? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

‘Got a beer?’

Sean didn’t wait for her response, but Jack apparently had more respect.

‘Um—just a soft drink for me, please,’ she said, remembering she was starting a new job the following day. The last thing she needed was to have to face her boss with a fuzzy head.

‘A soft drink?’ Sean rolled his eyes at Jack. ‘Can you believe this woman was brought up in a pub and she doesn’t like beer?’

The twitch of Jack’s lips could have meant anything. ‘I won’t be long,’ he said and disappeared out of the door.

It was only as Grace heard the faint squeaking sound as Jack crossed the hall that she realised his feet had been bare.

She looked at Sean then, but he only raised his eyebrows in a defensive gesture.

‘What? What?’ He glanced away to survey the huge comfortable sofas and armchairs, the heavy bookshelves and inlaid cabinets with an envious eye. ‘Some place, eh? I bet this furniture is worth a fortune. Aren’t you glad you came?’

‘Uh—no.’

Grace could hardly bear to look at him. She should have refused to come here. Sean was a pathological liar. She’d known that, but she’d also not wanted to cause an argument and endanger her mother’s health.

‘A millionaire’s pad,’ went on Sean, when she didn’t elaborate. He turned his attention to a picture hanging on the wall behind him. ‘Hey, this is a Turner! Can you believe that?’

Grace didn’t want to talk about it. Whatever way you looked at it, she was here under false pretences, and she didn’t like it. God knew, she didn’t care about Jack Connolly or his money. He couldn’t solve her problems.

Jack came back at that moment carrying two bottles of beer and a glass of cola.

‘Please—sit,’ he said, setting Grace’s glass on a low polished coffee table where several expensive yachting magazines were strewn in elegant disarray.

Deliberately? Grace didn’t think so. Despite the little she knew of the man, she didn’t think Jack Connolly would care what other people thought of his home.

Jack put Grace’s glass on the table and, to his relief, Grace seated herself on a plush velvet sofa beside the coffee table. And Sean, after accepting his beer from Jack, did the same.

‘Hey, great place you’ve got here,’ he said, waving his bottle around with a distinct lack of regard for the safety of its contents. ‘Where’d you get all this stuff? It looks expensive.’

Jack propped his hips against a small bureau he’d picked up in an auction room and said, ‘A lot of it was my gran’s. The rest I bought and restored myself.’

‘No way!’

Sean stared at him, and Jack could see the disbelief in the other man’s gaze.

‘Yes way,’ he said and took a mouthful of his beer. ‘It seemed a shame to get rid of it.’

Sean shook his head. ‘Since when have you been a furniture restorer, man? You’re an architect. You design houses, shopping centres, schools, that sort of thing.’

‘Yeah, well—’

Jack didn’t want to get into his reasons for doing what he’d done, but Sean wouldn’t let it go.

‘Oh, I get it,’ he said. ‘Now you’ve got private means, you don’t need a job.’

Jack bit back the retort that sprang to his lips and said instead, ‘Something like that.’ He took another gulp from his bottle. ‘Beer okay?’

‘Oh, yeah. It’s cold.’ Sean nodded. ‘Just the way I like it.’

Then he glanced suggestively at Grace. ‘Well, beer, anyway.’

Grace cringed. Why couldn’t Sean just drink his beer and stop being so crass? It was so embarrassing.

And, as if he’d sensed her discomfort, it was Jack who came to her rescue.

‘So what are you doing these days?’ he asked, addressing himself to the other man. ‘Still inventing computer games for that Japanese company?’

‘Well, no. As a matter of fact, I don’t work for Sunyata any more. I’ve been doing some consulting until I can get my own website off the ground. We can’t all have your advantages, can we, Jack?’

Jack blew out a breath. How the hell was he supposed to answer that? He just wished this uncomfortable interview were over.

Forcing a smile to his lips, he met Grace’s unwilling gaze with a feeling of resignation. But he pressed on, anyway. ‘How about you, Grace?’ he asked.

‘Grace has a law degree,’ broke in Sean before she could say anything. There was pride in his voice, despite the lingering touch of animosity he’d revealed before. ‘She used to work for the Crown Prosecution Service.’

‘Really?’ Jack was impressed.

‘Not that there are jobs like that up here,’ Sean went on bitterly. ‘Grace has had to put her career on hold.’

Grace sighed. ‘I’m very happy with the job I’ve got,’ she averred shortly. ‘Can we talk about something else?’

‘But you, working for an estate agent!’ Sean was scathing. ‘You know you can do better than that.’

‘Sean!’

Grace stared at him with warning eyes, and, as if realising he wasn’t doing himself any favours, Sean grimaced.

‘It’s a living, I suppose,’ he conceded. ‘I may even try to find myself a job in Alnwick, too.’

Grace shook her head disbelievingly, but Sean’s expression didn’t change.

‘Well, I could,’ he insisted annoyingly. ‘I might enjoy a change of scene.’

‘I don’t think so.’

Grace knew he was being deliberately provocative. Was it all for Jack Connolly’s benefit? The last thing she wanted was for Sean to move up here.

But as if sensing what she was feeling, Sean reached out and took her hand.

‘You know how I feel about you, don’t you, baby?’ he crooned, bestowing a lingering kiss on her knuckles. ‘I know we’re having a few problems right now, but once you’re back in London...’

Grace gritted her teeth. ‘I’m not going back to London, Sean.’ She’d told him she wanted to stay near her parents, but he refused to believe it. She’d also made it clear that they could remain in touch—in the hope of recovering her parents’ money, although he didn’t need to know that—but any relationship between them was over. Did he think that by talking like this in front of Connolly he’d convince her to change her mind?

Meanwhile, Jack stifled a groan. If Sean and his girlfriend were having problems, he didn’t want to hear about it.

And despite Sean’s mournful expression, he didn’t think Grace was too thrilled about it, either.

Or was that only wishful thinking?

And, if so, where had that come from?

Grace had succeeded in pulling her hand away now. For want of something else to do, she wrapped both hands round her glass and concentrated on the cola fizzing away inside.

She’d known Sean was selfish, but his behaviour was unforgivable. He was supposed to be sympathising with Jack, but he hadn’t even mentioned his wife’s death.

Taking a sip of her drink, she put her glass down and got to her feet.

‘We should be going, Sean,’ she said firmly.

Sean swallowed another mouthful of his beer and stood up also, leaving the bottle teetering on the edge of one of the sailing magazines.

Aware of the obvious dangers, Grace had to steel herself not to lean down and rescue it before it fell over and sprayed sticky liquid over the table and the rug below.

Instead, she moved towards the door, avoiding Connolly’s narrow-eyed appraisal, desperate to get out of there before Sean could embarrass her again.

But unfortunately he wasn’t quite finished.

Looking at Jack, he said, ‘We’re going to have a proper catch-up, old buddy.’ He tried to catch Grace’s arm, but she’d already moved out of his reach. ‘How about next weekend?’ he added. ‘I’ve got to go back to London tomorrow, but I’ll try to get up again on Friday evening. What do you say?’

‘Well...’

Jack was non-committal. The last thing he wanted was another awkward interlude like this.

‘I’d like to tell you my ideas about developing the website,’ Sean continued. ‘It might be something you’d be interested in. I’d be glad to give you all the details.’

Grace wanted to groan.

She’d been half afraid Sean had been about to bring that up earlier on. As soon as he’d heard that Jack was living in the village, Sean’s intentions had been clear.

Jack straightened away from the bureau. He was watching them both through those narrowed eyes, his absurdly thick lashes veiling their expression.

She thought she could guess what he was thinking. He knew exactly what was going on here. She just hoped he didn’t think she had any part in it.

‘Yeah,’ he said at last, without enthusiasm, and, in spite of being innocent of any wrongdoing, Grace could feel the colour pouring into her face. ‘I’ll think about it.’

Grace crossed the hall, wondering how she could have been foolish enough to believe Sean thought of anyone but himself. All she’d succeeded in doing was making herself look equally avaricious, to a man who probably regarded both of them with contempt.

Jack’s eyes were drawn to the unconsciously sensuous sway of Grace’s hips as she headed towards the exit. The low-rise waistband of her jeans exposed a tempting glimpse of very fair skin. And, although he couldn’t be absolutely certain, he thought she had a small tattoo etched in the hollow of her spine.

She glanced back once and their eyes met, and Jack felt a momentary twinge of guilt. He had no right to be staring at the girl, no right to be thinking thoughts about her he’d believed he’d never have again.

But, no matter what restrictions he might put upon his conscience, he couldn’t deny she was a very sexy lady...

* * *

Grace left the Bay Horse with a feeling of relief.

It was good to be home; good to be staying with her parents again. But it had been an extremely frustrating day.

In her room at the pub, the noise from the bar had been penetrating. She wasn’t used to the social atmosphere of the Bay Horse these days. And even with the television playing, she could still hear the rumble of men’s voices, the shouts of laughter, the sound of car doors slamming in the parking area outside.

And because of this, she intended to find herself other lodgings. Her parents would be disappointed, no doubt, but she was used to living on her own.

Besides, getting herself a small apartment would prove to her parents that she was serious about leaving London. It might also help to get Sean Nesbitt off her back.

It was a pleasant evening, and she’d decided to take a walk. Her mother was resting. Since her bout with breast cancer and the subsequent course of chemotherapy, Mrs Spencer was easily tired and rested often. Evidently the sounds of the pub didn’t trouble her.

Grace chose to walk down to the harbour. She hadn’t visited the quayside since her return and it used to be a favourite haunt of hers. She was hoping it might help to put the problems of the day into perspective.

She’d wasted the morning at an old vicarage not far from Rothburn, waiting for a client who hadn’t shown.

Then, in the afternoon, she’d had to fend off the advances of a property developer.

William Grafton, who was in his late forties, had expressed an interest in some dilapidated cottages that were for sale on the coast. It was an isolated spot, but he’d said he thought they might be suitable for conversion to holiday lets. The area was a Mecca for birdwatchers and other naturalists, and accommodation was limited.

Now, however, Grace wondered if that had only been a ploy. He’d come into the agency to see her boss, but as soon as he’d recognised Grace he’d switched his attention to her.

She shook her head. Had he really thought she might be interested in him? A married man, moreover, who was old enough to be her father?

Grace had found herself wondering if she was cut out to be an estate agent, after all. Maybe she should try to find a job in a library or doing research. Something that tested her academic rather than her people skills.

Pulling the hairband out of her hair, she tipped back her head to allow the mass of red-gold curls to tumble about her shoulders.

Gosh, that felt good. Even the headache that had been probing at her temples for the past hour was eased by the removal of the confining band.

She hadn’t realised it before, but she was still tense from having to deal with William Grafton. The man was a menace, she thought, irritably. Mr Hughes could speak to him next time he came into the agency.

The trouble was he was also a friend of her father’s. And a patron of the Bay Horse. And as he was a client of the agency, she had to avoid offending him on three counts.

Leaving the forecourt of the pub, she started down the hill towards the seafront. Rothburn now had a thriving marina, catering to all kinds of leisure craft.

Was this where Jack Connolly kept his boat?

The thought came out of nowhere and she hurriedly flicked it away. She’d reached the quayside now, and she refused to let thoughts of Jack Connolly spoil the evening for her.

The area wasn’t busy. The fishing quay was littered with lobster pots and wooden boxes, evidence of the sale that had been held there earlier in the day. But there were few people about.

The marina itself was separated from the working side of the operation by a stone pier. It ran out to a small lighthouse that marked the entrance to the harbour. Rows of slips provided mooring for a surprising number of vessels; small yachts and sailing dinghies rubbing shoulders with larger, ocean-going, craft.

Grace had always liked the idea of sailing. When she was younger, she used to tell her father she was going to be a fisherman herself when she grew up.

Until he’d taken her out on one of the small trawlers and the swell had made her sick.

She half smiled at the memory and exchanged a greeting with an old man sitting on one of the capstans, smoking his pipe. She’d known the man since she was a toddler, she realised. That was the thing about Rothburn: everybody knew who you were.

Resting her arms on the railings that ran along one side of the pier, she scanned the boats moored in the slips with more than a casual eye.

She refused to acknowledge she was curious about the kind of boat a man like Jack Connolly might own. Probably the most expensive, she thought ruefully. Like that gleaming cruiser, with at least three decks.

‘Looking for something?’

CHAPTER THREE

GRACE STARTED ALMOST GUILTILY.

Despite the quietness of her surroundings, she hadn’t heard anyone’s approach and, glancing down, she could see why. He was wearing canvas boots, their rubber soles almost silent on the stone jetty.

Taking a deep breath, she turned.

‘Mr Connolly,’ she said politely. ‘How nice to see you again.’

‘Is it?’

Jack regarded her from between narrowed lids, wondering why he’d chosen to speak to her at all. Not ten days ago, he’d been hoping he’d never have to see her or her boyfriend again.

Grace lifted slim shoulders. She was still wearing the cream shell and navy suit she’d worn for work and, compared to his short-sleeved tee and black jeans, she felt ridiculously overdressed.

‘I...was just on my way home,’ she lied and saw the way his mobile mouth turned down.

Clearly, he didn’t believe her, but she couldn’t help that. She had no reason to care what he thought of her. But she couldn’t deny that she was powerfully aware of him as a man.

Still, for the present, she had to pretend that she and Sean were still together. She’d been in danger of denying that fact when she was at Jack’s house.

‘A pity,’ he remarked now, taking up a position similar to the one she had adopted. Lean muscled arms rested on the rail only inches from the hand she’d been using to support herself. ‘I thought maybe you were looking for the Osprey.’

‘The Osprey?’

Trying to ignore the fact that his soft Irish accent stroked like velvet over her skin, Grace managed to sound amazingly bewildered. So much so that Jack turned his head sideways to look at her.

‘Yeah, the Osprey,’ he said. ‘My boat.’

‘Oh—’ Grace moistened her lips. For some reason she was feeling a little breathless and tried to hide it. ‘Of—of course.’ Did she sound convincing? ‘I’d forgotten you had a boat.’

Jack made a sound that was half groan, half laugh. ‘Yeah, right,’ he said, and suddenly she resented his mockery.

‘Yes,’ she declared tightly. ‘Or do you imagine I came here looking for your boat? Perhaps you even think I was hoping to see you.’

‘Hey...’ He sounded almost amused now. ‘What did I say? I just thought—’

‘Yes, I know what you thought, Mr Connolly,’ retorted Grace hotly. ‘I’ve met men like you before.’

‘I’ll bet.’ Jack straightened, his own expression sobering. ‘I was being polite, that’s all. Forget it.’ He straightened. ‘See you around.’

He turned to stride away along the pier and instantly Grace felt ashamed.

It was evidently her day for annoying people, she thought resignedly, and Jack had every right to be annoyed with her.

For heaven’s sake, what had he said? It wasn’t his fault that the man had a talent for getting under her skin.

‘Mr Conn—I mean, Jack!’

Cursing her high-heeled pumps, Grace hurried after him. The stonework was uneven in places and she’d ricked her ankle at least twice before he stopped and looked back.

Immediately, Grace slowed to a walk, supremely self-conscious as she approached him. He didn’t say anything. His lean dark face was closed; enigmatic. And so incredibly sensual, she half regretted giving him a second chance.

‘Um—I just wanted to say I’m sorry,’ she said, trying to sound cool and confident. ‘It’s been a long day. I’m afraid you took the brunt.’

Jack surveyed her silently. Like her, he was conscious of the fact that there was more going on here than a simple apology. He guessed she felt obliged to be civil to him because of Sean Nesbitt. If only she knew.

For his part, he was far too aware of the full breasts rising and falling rapidly beneath her silk top. The top was less revealing than the tee shirt had been, but no less sexy.

She was wearing a short-skirted suit, too, that exposed more of those long, spectacular legs. Were her legs bare? He thought so. And the notion of running his hands up them and under her skirt was as unwelcome as his reaction.

As she drew nearer the fragrance of her perfume drifted to him. It was light, flowery, with just an underlying trace of musk. No doubt her sudden exertion was responsible for the wave of heat that was rising up her throat and into her cheeks.

‘It’s okay,’ he said, when she stopped beside him, managing to sound relaxed even though he was far from it. ‘I’ve had days like that.’ He paused, and then, because something more was required, ‘How’s the job?’

‘All right.’ Grace shrugged. ‘I guess.’

The pause was significant.

‘You only guess?’

His dark brows ascended and Grace pulled a wry face. ‘Working in Alnwick is great, but I’m not sure if I’m cut out to be an estate agent,’ she admitted. ‘I’m not a saleswoman.’

Jack pushed his thumbs into the back waistband of his jeans and regarded her sympathetically. ‘You haven’t been doing it for very long,’ he said. ‘How do you know?’

Grace sighed. ‘This is my second week.’

‘So give it more time.’

‘I suppose I’ll have to.’

Jack thought he sounded amazingly reasonable in the circumstances. But, since Lisa had died, he’d considered himself immune from the opposite sex. And he had been until this girl came into his orbit. He didn’t like feeling unsure of himself, but he was.

The urge to tuck a strand of silky red-gold hair behind her ear was almost irresistible. He wanted to touch her, to feel the satin-smooth skin beneath his fingers.

His muscles tightened automatically in anticipation, but somehow he reined his feelings in.

She was waiting for him to go on, so he said deliberately, ‘What does Sean think?’

‘Oh, Sean...’

If Jack hadn’t been so sure he was attributing her with feelings she didn’t have, he’d have said she sounded fed up.

‘Sean doesn’t know,’ she said at last. ‘I haven’t discussed it with him.’ And nor would she. She took a breath. ‘Yet.’

Jack nodded, and she wondered what he was thinking. Despite this conversation, she didn’t think he had a lot of respect for her or for Sean.

Well, that was okay, she decided. She’d had it with attractive Irishmen. With any man, for that matter. And just because Connolly was being sympathetic didn’t mean she should trust him, either.

‘So what do you plan to do?’ he asked now, rocking back on his heels. ‘If you left the estate agency, what sort of job would you like?’

‘I haven’t thought about it.’ Which was true. And despite her determination not to get involved with this man, it would be so easy to confide in him.

Her shoulders stiffening, she continued, ‘I suppose I’ll think about it.’ She paused. ‘I intend to stay in Rothburn. My mother likes me being nearer at hand. We’ve always been a close family.’

‘You have brothers and sisters?’

‘No. I’m an only child.’

‘And that’s the real reason you want to stay? Because of your mother?’

‘What is this? An interrogation?’ She moved towards the railings, her fingers curling over the cold metal. Then she sighed. ‘I suppose I want to stay here, too.’

O—kay.

Jack gave in to the impulse to go and join her. Where was the harm? he thought, leaning on the rail beside her. The fact that Grace was evidently conscious of his bare arm only inches from her sleeve was a bonus.

Dear God, he was in lust, and that was so not good.

‘How is your mother, anyway?’

Jack’s voice was a little strained, but he couldn’t help it. He’d chosen the words purposely to get his mind off the delights of the slender body almost brushing his sleeve.

It wasn’t working, so he added tersely, ‘I’m sorry. I should have asked you before.’

‘Why?’ Wide green eyes turned to look at him. ‘You don’t know my mother, do you? I asked Dad, and he said that as far as he knew—’

Her voice trailed off in confusion. Oh, God, why had she admitted she’d been asking her father about him? But she had to finish her sentence. ‘He—um—he said you’d never been into the pub.’

‘I haven’t.’

Jack didn’t sound perturbed, but Grace was mortified.

‘I suppose my enquiry stems from the fact that she’s your mother,’ he went on reasonably. ‘I hope you didn’t think I was prying.’

Prying?

Grace swallowed a little convulsively. ‘She’s—she’s much better,’ she said. ‘Cancer takes some getting over. But thank you for asking.’

Jack shrugged, turning his gaze towards the marina. But he could still see her eyes, open and candid, those words like a mirror to her soul.

Sean was so lucky, he thought, whereas he was being less than honest with her. And he had no right to be provocative. It couldn’t be easy for her and Sean to spend so much time apart.

All the same, he couldn’t deny that Grace’s mouth was so soft, so generous. A mouth he would very much like to taste...

Not that he ever would, he assured himself grimly. He was celibate, he reminded himself. And he intended to stay that way.

But there was nothing wrong with a little abstract speculation, was there?

Abstract?

Dragging his mind out of the gutter, he forced a polite smile. ‘So do you think Sean will like living in Rothburn?’ he asked, even though the idea of them setting up home somewhere in the vicinity filled him with dismay.

‘Oh...’ Grace was grateful to be distracted from her own thoughts. ‘Sean likes living in London.’ And that was true. She pushed herself away from the rail. ‘We’ll see.’

Jack turned his back to the barrier, arms spread along the rail where she’d been leaning, hooking one foot onto a lower rung.

He’d been on the verge of saying, Let me know what he decides, but it was really nothing to do with him. Besides, hadn’t he wanted to avoid Sean in the future? It would be a hell of a lot safer if they both moved away.

‘I’d better go.’

Grace was uneasily aware of how disturbing Jack looked lounging against the rail. He was much broader than Sean and, with his arms spread wide, his chest looked strong and muscular.

His stomach was flat, powerful thighs taut against the fabric of his jeans. Jeans that were worn to a much lighter shade in places, places where Grace determined not to look.

Although she did.

She couldn’t stop herself. The impressive bulge between his legs couldn’t help but draw her gaze. She felt an unfamiliar shivery sensation in the pit of her stomach.

Which troubled her a lot.

She blew out a breath.

‘Goodbye.’

With a nervous lift of her hand, she started back along the pier towards the quayside. But she was intensely conscious of Jack’s eyes watching her, of how much less constrained she’d have felt if she hadn’t been wearing a skirt.

‘Goodbye, Grace.’

The careless farewell drifted after her and she had to steel herself not to turn around and look back.

* * *

Jack spent the following weekend half anticipating that Sean would find an excuse to come and visit him again. But, despite his fears, Saturday and Sunday passed without incident.

And he didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry.

He knew he wouldn’t have objected to seeing Grace again, but it was probably just as well to cool that thought. In any case, he’d spent a goodly portion of both days on his boat, so it was possible he’d missed any visitors. Although knowing Sean, he doubted his temporary absence would have deterred him.

It poured with rain Monday and Tuesday and even Wednesday morning was overcast.

His housekeeper had phoned to say she wouldn’t be in that morning. And, unusually, Jack was feeling housebound. With the redecoration complete, and no other restoration project in prospect, he was restless.

Emptying the remains of his coffee into the sink, he left the kitchen and headed upstairs to his bedroom. He’d take the car for a drive, he decided firmly. He felt like driving and there was nothing to keep him here.

‘Are you going out?’

Jack was zipping up a pair of khaki pants when Lisa’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

He turned to find her slim form balanced on the edge of the windowsill. And he thought how typical it was that she hadn’t appeared for over a week, but now that he was planning on going out, she had to interfere.

‘Yeah, why not?’ He turned to pick up his leather jacket off the bed. ‘I’ve got nothing better to do.’

Lisa sniffed. ‘You could get a job.’ She paused, pressing a scarlet-tipped nail to her lips. ‘You have too much spare time on your hands.’

‘And that’s my fault, is it?’

Lisa’s lips pursed thoughtfully. ‘You’re going to see that girl, aren’t you?’

Jack’s jaw dropped. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Don’t pretend you don’t know who I’m talking about.’

Lisa slipped down off the windowsill and limped on her one high heel across the earth-toned carpet. ‘Even so, I doubt if Father Michael would approve.’

Jack’s lips twitched with humour now. Father Michael had been the priest who’d married them. He’d also officiated at Lisa’s funeral, but he doubted she was referring to that.

‘I think Father Michael gave up on me a good time ago,’ he remarked at last. ‘And I’m sure he’d be the first to suggest I should move on with my life.’

Lisa looked doubtful. ‘She’s very attractive, I suppose.’

Jack shook his head. ‘Do I have to remind you she already has a boyfriend?’

‘You mean Sean Nesbitt?’

‘That’s right. Sean Nesbitt. He’s a mate. I’m not about to forget that, am I?’

Lisa pulled a face. ‘Really?’

‘Hey, I don’t tell lies,’ retorted Jack, slotting his wallet and his mobile phone into his jacket pockets. ‘Which reminds me, you never did tell me where you were going the night you had the accident.’

He didn’t get an answer and he didn’t really expect one. It was a question he’d asked many times before. He knew, without even looking again, that Lisa was gone.

The Lexus was still standing on the drive and, dodging the rain, Jack got behind the wheel and started the powerful engine. Then, shoving a CD into the player, he backed the vehicle out onto the road.

So far he’d only seen a small part of the area. Cumbria and the Lake District were only a couple of hours’ drive west but, without much hesitation, Jack headed for the A1.

As he drove Jack wondered if he’d intended to visit Alnwick all along or whether Lisa’s taunts had piqued his interest. Either way, he refused to concede that he had any anticipation of seeing Grace again.

He was lucky enough to get parked in the town centre.

Despite the lowering clouds, there were plenty of people about, and Jack bought a map of the area before retiring to the nearest coffee shop to study it.

‘Looking for somewhere in particular?’

The pretty waitress who’d served him his coffee was standing at his shoulder and Jack looked up at her ruefully, wishing he had an answer for that.

‘Not specially,’ he replied non-committally. ‘I’ve never been to Alnwick before.’

‘Oh, you’re a tourist!’ The girl evidently thought she had him taped. ‘You’re from Ireland, aren’t you?’ She smiled flirtatiously. ‘I love your accent.’

‘Thanks.’ Jack grinned, amused in spite of himself. ‘Do you live in Alnwick?’

‘Just outside.’ She pulled a face. ‘It’s too expensive to live in town.’

‘It is?’

‘Oh, God, yes.’ She glanced over her shoulder to make sure the proprietor of the café hadn’t noticed she was wasting time. ‘It’s just as well you’re not looking for a house.’ She dimpled. ‘Unless you’re a secret millionaire, of course.’

Jack looked down at the map again, not wanting to give her any ideas. Besides, he reminded himself, he hadn’t come here looking for property.

Or estate agents, if it came to that.

‘Are you staying in town?’

The girl was persistent and Jack decided he had to nip this in the bud.

‘No,’ he said neutrally, swallowing the last of his coffee and pulling out his wallet. ‘I’m heading north to—’ He cast a quick glance at the map. ‘To Bamburgh.’ He got to his feet. ‘I believe there’s a castle there, too.’

‘Are you interested in castles?’

When Jack started for the counter to pay his bill, she accompanied him, apparently indifferent to the customers still waiting to be served.

Avoiding a direct answer, he said, ‘Thanks for your advice.’ He accepted his change with an apologetic smile for the cashier, hoping he could get out of the café without offending the waitress hovering behind him.

But to his dismay, she followed him to the door.

‘If you need someone to show you around, I’ll be finished in an hour,’ she offered eagerly. And Jack was just about to break his own rules and blow her off when the door opened and another young woman came in.

‘Jack!’

‘Grace.’

Jack managed to keep his reaction under control. But he was fairly sure that Grace had immediately regretted the way his name had sprung so effortlessly to her lips.

However, it was the young waitress who looked the most put out.

‘Hi, Grace,’ she said grudgingly. Then, glancing at Jack, ‘Do you two know one another?’

‘Um—a little.’

Grace was offhand, and before Jack could say anything in his own defence the waitress spoke again.

‘Hey,’ she exclaimed disbelievingly. ‘Don’t tell me this is your boyfriend. I thought his name was Sean.’

In the circumstances, Grace was loath to say anything. She felt hot colour rising up into her face. Of all people to run into—again—it had to be Jack Connolly. And, judging from the other girl’s attitude, she wouldn’t be averse to him taking an interest in her.

And why should it bother her? thought Grace crossly.

Meanwhile, Jack was feeling significantly peeved. He was all too aware of how the situation must look to Grace and he didn’t like it.

‘Look, I’m leaving,’ he said, uncaring at that moment what either of them thought of him. He nodded to Grace. ‘See you around.’

CHAPTER FOUR

GRACE CAME OUT of the café a few minutes later carrying three cups of cappuccino in a paper sack and a bag containing the sugary pastries Mr Hughes was partial to.

She didn’t enjoy this part of her job. But being the youngest in the agency, she was expected to do the coffee run. She supposed it was better than having to make it herself, but there were days, like today, when she had other things to think about.

Like explaining to William Grafton why his offer for the cottages at Culworth had been rejected.

She wasn’t looking forward to that, either, but Mr Hughes had been adamant that it was her responsibility.

‘You have to learn to handle awkward clients, Grace,’ he’d told her firmly. ‘In an agency like ours, we can’t just pick and choose.’

She could have said that handling awkward clients was the least of it. Handling a man who could lose her her job—however undesirable that job might be—was something else.

She glanced about her a little apprehensively as she crossed the street to the agency. But to her relief there was no sign of Jack Connolly waiting outside.

There was a big Lexus parked across the square that she thought might belong to him. But the vehicle was empty. Which was probably just as well.

Probably?

Impatient with herself for even doubting that scenario, she pushed open the door of the agency and stepped inside.

Only to find Jack Connolly standing in the reception area, showing every appearance of being interested in the properties displayed on the walls.

Not that she’d be expected to deal with him, she saw, with mixed feelings. Standing just beyond Jack was William Grafton, his broad, smug features lighting up when he saw her.

‘Grace,’ he exclaimed, and Grace was aware that his use of her name had attracted Jack’s attention. ‘I’ve been waiting for you. Grant tells me you have some news for me.’

Grace took a deep breath. Then, setting Elizabeth Fleming’s coffee on her desk, she did the same with her own before heading for the private office where Grant Hughes worked.

‘I won’t be a minute, Mr Grafton,’ she said, wondering if her day could get any worse.

By the time she’d given Mr Hughes his coffee and doughnuts, Elizabeth Fleming, Mr Hughes’s assistant, had left her desk to attend to Jack personally. The two of them were currently huddled cosily beside a free-standing display.

William Grafton, meanwhile, had seated himself in the clients’ chair beside her desk.

‘Well?’ Grafton said as soon as she was seated, and Grace took the opportunity to take a sip of her coffee before getting down to business.

She needed the boost of caffeine, and if Grafton didn’t like it, it was just too bad.

‘Grant says you’ve heard from the vendor,’ he prompted, when she didn’t immediately answer him. ‘I hope it’s good news.’

Grace sighed. ‘I’m afraid not, Mr Grafton. The offer you made has been rejected.’ She paused, consulting the papers on her desk, as if she needed confirmation of what she already knew. ‘Mrs Naughton wants considerably more than you offered for the properties.’

Grafton snorted, once again drawing Jack’s attention.

Despite his apparent absorption in what Mrs Fleming was saying, he was evidently listening to their conversation, too.

‘Those cottages are practically dropping to bits,’ Grafton exclaimed, his blunt fist coming down hard on Grace’s desk, dispelling any other thoughts. ‘The old woman knows that. This is just a ploy to get me to offer more.’

He scowled across the desk. ‘I want you to get in touch with her again and tell her it’s not going to work. She’s not dealing with some amateur, you know. When William Grafton wants something, he gets it. You tell her that.’

‘Mr Grafton—’

‘You heard what I said.’

Rudely, Grafton thrust back his chair, the legs scraping noisily over the wooden floor. Then, after adjusting the collar of his oilskin jacket, he leant forward again.

‘You sort this out, Grace, there’s a good girl. I’m relying on you.’ He tapped his nose with his forefinger. ‘No one ever said William Grafton wasn’t a generous man. Know what I mean?’ He started towards the door. ‘Don’t let me down.’

Grace could hardly contain her anger. The patronising man! How dared he call her ‘a good girl’? And he actually expected her to be flattered because he was giving her his business.

She caught her breath and, as she did so, she was made aware that Jack Connolly must have heard what was said, as well. And how humiliating was that?

All the same, she had to wonder what he was doing here. She didn’t believe in coincidence. He must have come here deliberately.

But why?

To see her?

The idea was provocative. And exciting.

But she couldn’t let him see how she was feeling. He had a bad enough opinion of her as it was.

She took a generous gulp of her coffee and got to her feet just as Elizabeth Fleming approached her desk.

‘Have you a minute, Grace?’

Grace blew out a breath. ‘Um—yes. Sure.’ She tamped down a feeling of apprehension. ‘How can I help?’

Elizabeth gave her a rueful smile. A middle-aged woman, in her late fifties, she’d been kind to Grace, easing her introduction to the agency and generally being on hand if she was needed.

‘Those cottages,’ she said in a low voice. ‘The ones at Culworth. Are they still for sale?’

Grace blinked. ‘You mean the cottages Mr Grafton offered for?’

‘I’m afraid so.’ Elizabeth pulled a wry face. ‘I assume you’ve told Mr Grafton his offer was declined.’

‘Well, yes.’ Grace’s brows drew together. ‘He wants me to speak to Mrs Naughton again.’

‘Has he increased his offer?’

‘No.’

‘I see.’ Elizabeth pulled her lower lip between her teeth. ‘Well, I’m pretty sure if that’s the case Mrs Naughton won’t be interested.’

Grace sighed. ‘I did try to tell him that.’

‘I’m sure you did.’ Elizabeth frowned. ‘The thing is I’ve got another client who’d like to view them.’

‘To view the cottages?’

Grace’s eyes went automatically to Jack, but his face was expressionless.

Not that she was deceived. He had obviously heard what she and Grafton had been talking about. Heavens, she knew he had. What on earth was he playing at?

‘Yes.’ Elizabeth was going on, completely unaware of Grace’s agitation. ‘But unfortunately I’ve got the Lawsons coming at twelve o’clock. I don’t have time to go out to Culworth this morning, and Mr Connolly wants to see the cottages today.’

Does he?

Grace bit her lip, trying not to let Elizabeth see how uneasy she was.

‘So—what?’ she asked tightly. ‘Do you want me to go?’

‘Would you?’ Elizabeth looked relieved. ‘I’d be really grateful.’ She paused. ‘I mean, it may come to nothing, but apparently Mr Connolly’s an architect and he’s looking for development property in the area.’ She grimaced. ‘I’d love it if you could tell William Grafton that Mrs Naughton has had another offer.’

Grace would love that, too, she admitted wryly. She had few illusions that Jack was serious, but she couldn’t let Elizabeth down, so, with a rueful smile, she said, ‘Okay. I’ll do it.’ She turned to pick up her coffee. ‘I hope...Mr Connolly...has his own transport.’

As if she didn’t know that Jack’s Lexus was parked on the square outside.

‘Oh, I’m sure he has.’

Elizabeth turned back to speak to her client, and Grace swallowed the remains of her coffee.

Okay, she thought, he wouldn’t be the first client she’d had whose intentions might be less than honourable, but she assured herself she could handle it.

And she was probably wrong, anyway.

Feeling eyes upon her, she looked up to find Jack watching her. And chided herself for the sudden frisson of excitement that zinged along her nerves at his cool-eyed stare.

She turned away, but the image of his dark, good-looking face and lean muscled frame stayed with her as she gathered her handbag from the drawer and slipped on her olive-green jacket.

‘Mr Connolly has his own car.’

Elizabeth was back at her side, her anxious expression an indication that she wasn’t totally unaware of Grace’s reluctance to deal with this client.

She moistened her lips. ‘Are you all right, Grace?’

‘Good. I’m good.’ Grace forced a smile. ‘Does—does Mr Connolly know the way to Culworth?’

‘He says he’ll follow you,’ said Elizabeth at once. She sighed. ‘You know, I would take him myself if it weren’t for the Lawsons—’

‘I know.’ Grace managed to infuse a little more enthusiasm into her voice. ‘I’m grateful for your confidence in me. Is Mr Connolly ready to go now?’

‘I’m ready.’

Grace had been unaware of Jack’s approach, and his low attractive voice caused another shiver to feather her spine.

Elizabeth turned to him with obvious pleasure. ‘Miss Spencer will take care of you,’ she said, patting Grace’s arm encouragingly. ‘I’ll see you later, right?’

‘Right.’

Jack nodded, and Grace was obliged to pick up her handbag and precede him across the room and out of the door.

She waited until they were out of hearing distance and then turned impatiently towards him.

‘Just what do you think you’re doing?’

Jack’s dark brows rose at the obvious accusation in her voice.

‘I understood we were going to view a row of run-down cottages at some place called Culworth. Isn’t that right?’

Grace sighed. ‘Like you’re interested in seeing a row of derelict cottages.’

Jack pushed his thumbs into the front pockets of his khakis. ‘I am.’

Grace stared at him frustratedly, wishing she didn’t have this almost visceral awareness of his masculinity. She struggled to suppress those totally unwelcome feelings and said, ‘Why would you be interested in the Culworth cottages? You’re not a property developer. It’s kind of you to try to help me deal with Mr Grafton, but he’s not likely to go away just because someone else has shown an interest.’

‘I know that.’

Jack conceded the point, not altogether comfortable with his reasons for getting involved. But when he’d heard Grafton, mouthing off about what he wanted Grace to do, he’d known an immediate urge to thwart the man, any way he could.

‘But I am an architect,’ he went on mildly. ‘With time on my hands.’ He paused. ‘It occurred to me that buying another property and developing it—’

‘There are six cottages,’ broke in Grace helplessly, but Jack only lifted his shoulders in a dismissive gesture.

‘So? It will be a challenge.’

Grace shook her head. ‘You don’t mean that.’

‘Don’t I?’ Jack shrugged. ‘Forgive me if I think I know my own mind better than you do.’

His words were cooler now, reminding her that she was still an employee of the agency. Whatever her personal feelings might be, Mr Hughes wouldn’t be pleased if she inadvertently offended another possible valuable client.

‘All right.’ Grace pursed her lips. ‘I’ll get my car.’

Jack’s dark eyes assessed her. ‘Or we could both go in mine,’ he offered evenly, but she just gave him a speaking look.

‘I don’t think, so,’ she said stiffly, looping the strap of her bag over her shoulder. ‘I’m parked at the back of the agency. Just give me a couple of minutes to bring my car round.’

Jack made a gesture of assent, wondering seriously why he was doing this. And she was right. This wasn’t why he’d come to Alnwick.

Pushing his hands into his jacket pockets, he watched her walk away with a feeling of irritation. He even played with the idea of just getting into his car and driving away, but he knew he wouldn’t do that.

For some reason, the rigid cut of her spine and the provocative sway of her hips assaulted his senses. It was crazy, because she was so obviously not interested in him, either as a client, or a friend. And anything else...

But he arrested his thoughts there before they took him places he really didn’t want to go. Well, not in the middle of Alnwick High Street, he mused drily as a small red Civic turned the corner at the end of the block and drove towards him.

It was Grace, and, grateful for the distraction, Jack strode across the square and climbed behind the wheel of the Lexus. His eyes met Grace’s briefly, and then, with a courteous wave of his hand, he allowed her to lead the way.

They drove north for a couple of miles before turning towards the sea. It appeared at fleeting intervals as the road wound through a series of hidden bends and blind summits to a small hamlet perched on cliffs above a rocky cove.

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