never forget her femininity…The thought stole up on him like a thief in the night, searing his chest like a firebrand, and he sat bolt upright, grasping the edges of the table for support. That was twice in one day he’d thought about Nicole—the woman he’d planned to marry, fellow journalist and love of his life. Months had gone by without him allowing such thoughts access to even the merest dusty corner of his mind, and now twice in the space of less than twelve hours her memory had hit him hard, like a fierce blow slamming into his ribcage that doubled him up in agony. His mind’s eye saw her: glorious red-gold hair splayed out on that sun-baked concrete, blood staining the silken strands like some vile desecration; her beautiful green eyes staring up at Adrian in confusion and pain as she drew her last few breaths on this earth.
The news team had been warned about a possible attack on the embassy for weeks leading up to the terrorist bomb that had blown it to smithereens. But on that baking-hot day, after they’d travelled for three days to get there through notorious bandit country, Adrian’s belief in his own invincibility had been sky-high. So much so that he’d convinced the other, less confident members of his crew that, as long as they kept their wits about them at all times, all would be well. Seconds before they started to walk into the embassy, he’d been sharing a joke with Nicole about the unappetising rations they’d endured the last few days, when Mark, one of the older, more experienced cameramen on the team, had called him back to the Jeep to fetch the micro-cassette recorder he had left behind. Just as Adrian had reached the hot, mud-splattered vehicle all hell had broken loose, in an ear-splitting explosion that had sounded like the end of the world. Mark had shoved him roughly to the ground to give him some cover and Adrian had stared helplessly across to the sidewalk to see Nicole lying there…
‘I wonder if any more snow will fall during the night.’
‘What?’ Staring distractedly up into Liadan’s guileless blue gaze, Adrian forced his attention abruptly back to the present. Watching her small, pale hand steadily pour the ruby-red wine into his empty glass, he stole a second or two to wipe away the perspiration that he knew beaded his brow.
‘I said, I wonder if it will snow again tonight?’ Smiling, she put down the bottle, then adjusted his place-mat so that it sat more squarely on the table.
‘I have many interests but predicting the weather isn’t one of them.’
In less than a second, his caustic comment had wiped the smile from her face as though it had never been. Seeing the hurt in her eyes, Adrian took a deep slug of wine, remaining stubbornly silent as she mumbled, ‘Excuse me,’ and retreated from the room without another word.
It was with relief that Liadan turned down the perfectly white linen and pretty red and white quilt on her bed that night. Shivering as she removed her robe, she slid between the ice-cool sheets, making a mental note to go in search of a hot-water bottle the next morning, then pulled up the covers and sat back against the plumped up pillows with a pent-up sigh that she felt she’d been holding in all day. It had been a trying evening and one she wanted swiftly to forget. Adrian was right. Maybe she wouldn’t last the week after all? He was certainly pushing her towards that inevitable conclusion with his morose, uncommunicative behaviour.
Who could blame her if she quit tomorrow, under the circumstances? Clearly the efficient Kate Broomfield had had a substantial advantage when it came to dealing with Adrian Jacobs. She’d had the experience and the wisdom of maturity on her side to help her cope. If not that, then the woman had to have possessed something special to endure four and half years at the beck and call of a man who didn’t seem to view the rest of the human race as even remotely worthy of his attention.
Blinking at the clock on the nightstand, wishing she had more than just five short hours in which to get some sleep before rising at dawn to light the fire in Adrian’s study and make breakfast, Liadan had to admit that her shorter working hours at the shop had perhaps made her a little soft. Now she would have to get used to rising at the crack of sparrows once again—just as she and her mother had done when they’d run the hotel together.
Thoughts of the family home brought thoughts of her father and, not willing to go down that melancholy road at this moment when she was already feeling vulnerable, Liadan determinedly pushed the thought away to save it for another time when she was more able to handle it. She wished that Izzy were here with her, curled up on her lap, her soft, mesmerising purr the only sound to distract her racing thoughts, instead of the unfamiliar creaks and groans of a venerable old house settling down for the night.
In the gentle glow of the lamplight, Liadan guided her gaze to systematically check every dark corner of the bedroom, which was too large and impersonal for her taste and reminded her of a room in a museum. Satisfied that there was nothing to spook her save her own too wild imagination, she promised herself that when next she got home she would fetch some things to make it more homely. There was a charming picture of a cottage garden that hung in her bedroom that always gave her comfort. Perhaps if she brought it back with her it might act as some kind of lucky charm? Right now she could do with some positive influences. She wasn’t the sort who gave up easily but, if she should lose this job, such an opportunity to work so close to home and make some decent money to live on wasn’t likely to show up again soon, no matter how optimistic she was.
There were two viable options as far as she could see. One was to make the best of a difficult situation, sit it out and pray that Adrian Jacobs had a more agreeable side than he had displayed so far, which would reveal itself to her in the fullness of time. The second was to try and make herself as indispensable as she could to her new employer—as indispensable as Kate had been, if that was even remotely possible.
Her eyes gritty with lack of sleep, Liadan was on her knees in the study making up the fire in the impressive marble grate when Adrian came into the room. His appearance disturbed her more than she cared to admit, and not just because she was unsure that she was up to the job of being his housekeeper. With that thick black hair streaked with grey touching his collar, broadly muscular shoulders and a visage that was far more sexy than handsome, he had an aura of power and authority about him that would make a person sit up and take notice, whether they wanted to or not. No doubt it had come in very handy in all those threatening terrains he had reported from, back when he was a journalist, Liadan mused. But such authority first thing in the morning made her feel at a distinct disadvantage. She knew she wasn’t at her best after an almost completely sleepless night and she had only herself to blame. She’d let her anxiety about the job, about Adrian and about being attracted to emotionally unavailable men like Michael nearly drive her crazy.
‘Good morning.’
Her heart almost stopped at his greeting, her thoughts reflecting how good he looked in black, how imposing and how…ticked off.
‘Mr Jacobs, I was just about to—’
‘The fire should have been lit in here at least half an hour ago, Miss Willow. I thought Kate made my routine clear? And where is my coffee? I went into the kitchen but unless my eyesight is failing me I saw no evidence of any being made, not a drop. Care to explain why?’
Hearing the unsettled throb of her own heartbeat in her ears, Liadan sat back on her haunches and nervously pushed her fringe from her eyes.
‘Kate told me she usually gets up around five-thirty, Mr Jacobs, which I did. If it’s taking me a little longer to build up the fire it’s just that I’m a bit out of practice. Bear with me and you’ll have your fire and your coffee in just a few more minutes’ time.’
Amazed at her own ability to appear outwardly calm when inside she was seething at his criticism, Liadan turned her back on him once more to continue with the task in hand. She leant forward to set a match to the tinder, her hand shaking, her face growing hotter by the second at
