as he reached out to pick up the receiver, needing contact with his normal life.
He should really leave here now—that would be the best thing to do before he became any more embroiled in Grace Brown's life. Before he couldn't control that desire he had had to take her in his arms and kiss her until they were both breathless.
Rhea answered the call on the private line at Quinlan House, her voice warm with recognition once he had said hello, the contentment she had found as Raff's wife evident even over the telephone. ‘How did you get on?’ she prompted interestedly.
‘Fine,’ Jordan evaded.
‘And Miss Brown, is she—–?'
‘We'll talk about it when I get home,’ he cut in curtly.
‘OK,’ his sister accepted easily, used to his abrupt ways.
‘The thing is …’ he continued. No, Jordan, no, he anxiously instructed himself. Tell Rhea you'll be back tomorrow, as originally planned, that you'll be back in time for lunch, dinner at the latest. ‘I've decided not to come straight back,’ he heard himself add lightly. ‘I thought I might take a short holiday up here.'
He should leave now. Not tomorrow. Not in a few days’ time. But now. He knew he should leave.
‘We've been telling you for months to take a holiday,’ Rhea said with warm approval. ‘But isn't the weather a little cold up at the Lakes this time of year?'
‘Possibly,’ he accepted non-committally. ‘But I need the break more than the warm weather.’ But not here, he was desperately telling himself inside his head. Not anywhere near Grace Brown!
‘Yes, but—–'
‘Rhea,’ he cut in tersely, ‘unlike you when you decided to flit off and not tell anyone—least of all me—where you were going, I am
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