first place. She called bullshit on the barefaced lie. ‘That’s not true, is it? You’re going back to Ireland.’
* * *
The accusation – which, from the tone of Annabel’s delivery, was undeniably what it was – caught Aidan by surprise. In the context of their current discussion, the reference to Ireland had been the last thing he’d expected.
They’d spoken a bit about his restoration of the Tulaí estate and distillery over coffee earlier in the evening. It had been a childhood dream of his to renovate the derelict manor house that sat perched on a clifftop overlooking the little coastal village of Carriglea in County Cork where he’d grown up. A dream that had been all but forgotten when the path to adulthood had led him to a successful financial career in the City of London. It hadn’t been until he’d found himself back in his parents’ house, on the long road to recovery from the stroke caused by the pressures of that high-flying career, that he’d started to think on it again; started wondering whether the silly City money he’d made could be used to turn the dream into a reality. Rather than give in to the frustration and self-pity brought on by his painfully slow rehabilitation and restricted physical abilities, he’d begun pursuing the idea from his sickbed, giving himself something other than despair to aim for.
In the end, the process had turned out to be every bit as difficult as his recovery. With a longstanding family feud hanging over the property, the purchase negotiations had been drawn out and fragile, under constant threat of collapse. It wasn’t until after his health had recovered and he’d returned to London and met Annabel that he’d learned of his success in acquiring the estate. She’d discovered his plans before he’d had a chance to tell her himself, and that had been the catalyst that had sent her running away from him.
Earlier this evening, he’d taken care to explain to her that the project was still largely in the planning stages, that it would be a couple of years before the house was up and running as an exclusive hotel and required him to be there full-time. The fact that she was throwing it up as an issue now told him a lot about the undercurrents swirling beneath her display of bravado.
It also gave him hope. Because, if the thought of him leaving bothered her that much, it meant she cared, too – even though she was currently doing her damnedest to protect herself by pretending she didn’t.
It took a herculean effort not to grin like a madman.
Not that he didn’t have a sackful of his own concerns. He couldn’t deny that the timing was truly awful. Even at her easiest, Annabel Frost was more trouble than he’d come across before in his life, and the scale of the commitment he was already having to put into making the hotel venture work was immense. Splitting his attention successfully between two such demanding, high-intensity tasks was going to be no mean feat. Especially when, for the sake of his continuing good health, he needed to keep his life as stress-free as possible, ease back up to his pre-stroke speed. How he was going to manage that when he was already screeching away from the starting line with his foot on the floor he had no idea, but he’d find a way. He’d have to. Because choosing one or the other wasn’t an option; he wanted both things equally badly, and he intended doing whatever it took to ensure he got to have both …
Starting right now with convincing the complex and complicated Ms Frost that despite her fears she wanted him every bit as badly. And, rather than waste a moment more getting nowhere with this current war of words, he could think of a much more satisfying way for them to express their feelings.
‘Eventually,’ he said, reaching out to remove the spoon from her fingers and setting it on the worktop before retaking her hand. ‘But not tonight.’
He saw her eyes widen a fraction as they registered the new intent in his. Before she could even think about retreating, he used the hand he held to pull her to him and slid his other arm around her waist.
She was resistant, raising her free hand between them to press her palm against his chest. ‘I think you should go home.’
‘I’m not leaving you like this.’ And by that he meant he doubted he could physically force himself to do so. Not with her cries of her distress still ringing in his ears. The sounds she made in her sleep had been heart-wrenching, spine-chilling. ‘Don’t ask me to.’
‘Why not?’ she huffed. ‘I’ve managed on my own for the past six weeks.’
It was a fair comment only because she had no idea how hard it had been for him to let her go when she’d run out on him. How hard he’d had to fight himself to let her have the time and space to calm down, in the hope she’d regret her actions, come to her senses.
But now all the regret lay with him. If he’d had any idea that her nights had been hijacked by such terrible dreams, had any inkling that she’d been too stubborn to get the assistance she needed to help her heal and move on, he’d have come after her like a shot.
God, the memory of what had happened that day was still enough to turn his bowels to liquid. He’d never forget the moment he stormed in to find Annabel on the floor, bloody and barely conscious, fighting for her life while Tony Maplin, in a drunken rage, straddled her, one hand clenched around her throat, the other clutching a gin bottle aloft ready to smash it down into her face.
If Aidan had been haunted by that horrific scene replaying in his head countless times, gripped by the fear of what would have happened if he’d been even a split second later, how much worse must it be for her?
And she’d been trying to tough things out without any support? He would never have believed it, not even of the obstinate Ms Frost, but now that the knowledge sat like a sickening weight in his gut there was no way he was going to leave her to face her nightmares alone. Not tonight.
‘Six weeks neither of us wants to go through again.’ He ducked his head and pressed his lips gently to the hard line of her mouth. ‘Forget the coffee and the TV and come back to bed. Seeing as we’re both awake, I’ve got a better idea how we can pass the time.’
Standing in the chilly afternoon shadows that stretched over the Soho pavement, Aidan watched through the glass pane of Cluny’s front door as Tim, the assistant manager, came towards him. Chewing a mouthful of food and grinning, the fair-haired Australian threw the lock.
‘G’day, mate!’ he cried in his distinctive twang as he swung the door open. ‘Good to see ya.’
‘You, too,’ Aidan said, stepping into the welcoming, aroma-infused warmth of the restaurant. With a classic décor of polished wood and shiny fittings, Cluny’s was a successful, well-respected London establishment. It was also owned by his uncle, and it had been through that family connection that Aidan had found himself temporarily working there six months earlier. Bored by his long recovery from the stroke and eager to feel useful and self-sufficient again, he’d jumped at the chance to fill the shoes of the head barman who’d walked out without notice. Even though he’d been there a relatively short time before the breakup with Annabel had precipitated the end of his stand-in role, the timeless elegance of the European-style interior felt instantly familiar.
He dropped his overnight bag by the coat-rack and shook Tim’s hand as a hail of greetings came from deeper inside. Seated around several tables that had been pushed together, an assembled group of employees were tucking into their staff meal ahead of the upcoming evening service.
Following Tim across
