creamy skin. She had freckles after the summer, just like she’d had in France—
He dragged his eyes away, coughed to clear his throat, hauled his libido back under control. He didn’t want to blow it now, when it looked as though he’d got over the first hurdle. His heartbeat was starting to steady, the nerves of steel he’d always had before an op coming back now to help him through, but this was much, much harder, somehow much scarier because it was the real thing.
She’d given him a fright when she’d first looked up at him. He’d been sure she’d recognised him, but then she’d talked herself out of it as he watched. He’d seen the cogs turn, and then he’d just had to deal with her veiled curiosity.
She’d been studying him just now, and it had taken all his self-control not to get up and walk away. He hated looking like this—hated what had been done to him, the fact that he didn’t recognise himself any more. And he hated being studied. Normally he would have walked away or stared the person down, but this was Annie, and she needed to be able to live with it. So he’d let her look, pretending interest in the coffee, just hoping it didn’t make her want to run.
‘So you want the garden?’ he said, forcing himself to stick to the game plan, and for a moment she looked a little startled.
Then she nodded.
‘Yes—but I know it goes with the flat.’
‘Not necessarily,’ he said slowly, watching her. ‘We could certainly divide it. What did you have in mind? You’ve obviously been thinking about it—how long have you been here now, did you say?’
‘Nine years.’
As if he didn’t know that, almost to the minute. He kept his expression steady—not easy, considering. ‘So in that time you must have come up with some ideas.’
‘Oh, all sorts, but one of the problems is that to gain access to the garden at the back I’d have to lose one of the tables, and I can’t really afford to do that. Our summers aren’t reliable enough.’
‘But you could have a conservatory.’
She laughed. ‘I couldn’t possibly justify the expense! It would cost a fortune to have one big enough to do any good, and the place doesn’t do much more than break even really. I make a reasonable living, but I work hard for it and there’s no slack in the system. I wouldn’t contemplate taking on any expansion plans.’
‘But I might.’
Her eyes snapped back to his, widening. ‘Why? Why would you do that?’
He shrugged. Why, indeed? To make her happy? Crazy.
‘I’ve got the money—why not? It would add to the value of the property.’
‘Only if you’re thinking of selling it,’ she said, and he could see the apprehension in her eyes. He shook his head and hastened to reassure her.
‘No. It was just an idea. Don’t worry about it. But the access to the cloakroom through the store—that’s not a very good idea, and it’s a bit cramped. There was a doorway on the other side at the back of the stairs, according to my plans. We could open it up and make a store there. Or create an alcove, as well as a store. Take more off the antique shop. There are lots of options. I don’t see the cost as a factor. Think about it.’
She caught her lip between her teeth, worrying it gently, making it pinker. He had an overwhelming urge to soothe the tiny bruise with his tongue and had to remind himself firmly what he was doing here.
Helping. Not hindering, not chatting her up or flirting with her or putting the moves on her.
He’d done that nine years ago, and look where it had got them. No. This time he was going to do things right. Take it slowly, give them a chance to get to know each other properly. There was far too much at stake to blow it because of his over-active hormones.
He picked up his cup, dragged his eyes off her and drained it in one.
‘Right. Let me pay you for the coffee and I’ll go and get on. Lots to do.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ she said quickly. ‘I wouldn’t dream of taking any money off you—’
He laughed softly. ‘No, I insist—because I’m just about to rip out the kitchen in the flat and I intend to pop down whenever I need a drink or something to eat, and if you won’t let me pay my way I won’t feel I can—’
‘Rubbish. Anyway,’ she said, and her mouth tipped up into a grin that made his heart crash against his ribs, ‘I’ll keep a tally and get my pound of flesh. I’m still after the garden, remember?’
He laughed again, and shook his head. ‘I won’t argue—for now. And think about what I said about the changes you want.’
‘I will. Thanks.’
She met his eyes, and the urge to bend forwards and brush his lips against hers nearly overwhelmed him.
Nearly.
He slotted the chair under the table, grabbed his jacket and fled for the door before he got himself into trouble.
Wow.
Annie sat down again with a bump, staring after him. The door at the bottom of the stairs closed softly behind him, and she heard his footsteps running up into the flat above. Suddenly she could breathe again, and she sucked in a great lungful of air and shook her head to clear it.
Wow, she thought again. What was it about him? Was it simply that he’d reminded her so forcefully of Etienne? Although he wasn’t really that like him. It had just been the initial shock.
But it was more than the looks. He had the same way of concentrating on what she was saying, really listening to her, watching her attentively. Etienne had done that, and it had made her feel somehow special.
Crazy. Michael was just trying to find out what she wanted from the tearoom. He wasn’t being attentive; he was just listening to her suggestions for improving his investment.
And any fanciful notions to the contrary had better go straight out of her head, together with any foolish ideas about getting to know him better. This minute.
Now.
There was a thump upstairs, and her attention zinged straight back to him.
Great, she thought. Kept your mind off him for less than a second. You’re doing well, Annie. Really well.
There was another thump overhead. With any luck he’d be so busy up there he wouldn’t find time to come down here pestering her and putting her senses into turmoil.
‘You need a life,’ she muttered. ‘One half-decent man wanders in here and you go completely to pieces.’
She put the scones in the oven, straightened up and saw a coach pull into the square. Oh, no! Just what she needed when her brain was out to lunch. She threw a few more scones into the pan, shut the oven door and refilled the coffee machine as the first of the coach party wandered through the door, peered around and headed for the window table.
Plastering
