Shea clocked Brando’s silent grimace. One big revelation there! Bryony was more than just the TV girl. That explained a lot.
Mrs McCaul dismissed Brando with a snort, though as she turned, Shea caught a long-suffering twinkle of affection in her eyes. ‘Don’t worry Shea, he won’t be bothering you for long. He rarely graces us with his presence for more than one night at a time, so he’s already well overdue to leave.’
‘Thanks for sharing that, Mrs McCaul.’ His tone was caustic. ‘I’ll show Shea up to her room myself now. By the way, we’ll be having supper in the west wing dining room later, if that’s okay with you. I take it you’ll have time to remove the dust sheets.’
Mrs McCaul looked perturbed. ‘Perhaps not the best choice Brando. You’d be much more comfortable eating in the kitchen, as you usually do. That dining room is very … ’
He cut in abruptly. ‘Very whatever! It’s my choice, and that’s where we’ll be eating, thank you!’
Shea heard the polished oak boards creak gently as Brando turned and sauntered casually towards the staircase.
Wow! Rear of the year, or what? She let out a silent gasp of appreciation. Not that she was in the least bit interested, but a view like that could hardly go un-applauded.
‘Shoes, Brando!’
Mrs McCaul’s curt instruction flew after them, and Shea stood open mouthed and watched as Brando kicked off first one then the other sneaker, flipped them, and nonchalantly caught them as he walked.
‘Are you coming or am I going to have to wait all day?’ He was calling to her impatiently over his shoulder now, already halfway up the stairs, mounting them three at a time.
Shea wavered, chewing her thumbnail and not entirely sure what she was doing. She’d come in feet first, feeling thoroughly shaken, and even more thoroughly stirred. And she didn’t do stirred. Never. Brando was the rudest guy she’d met, and he wasn’t even supposed to be here. And now she was following this commitment-phobe up to his ‘wing,’ when he obviously saw her as some money-grubbing opportunist, who he was determined to wipe the floor with.
And just five minutes ago she’d thought this was a walkover.
‘If you don’t come now I can guarantee you’ll get lost, and I won’t be responsible if the wolf gets you!’
His gravelly words spiralled down from the landing, and sent goosebumps down her spine …
And what the heck was all this about wolves anyway?
All a million miles away from what she’d been expecting. But then …
‘I can always come back and carry you.’
Glancing up, she saw him watching her coolly over the balustrade, eyes narrowed and calculating, poised for action.
Cripes, he wasn’t joking either.
Grabbing her muddy shoes in one hand, and her bag in the other, she bolted towards the stairs.
‘It’s eight thirty pm, I hope you’re ready!’
Brando’s shout outside Shea’s door was loud enough to make the handle rattle, and it matched his mood.
Ready? Who was he kidding? When had a woman ever been ready?
He’d spent the remainder of the afternoon fuming. Fuming with Bryony for landing him in this situation, and fuming with this damned woman who’d helicoptered her way into his private domain. After years in the music business, he reckoned he was unshockable. But what kind of woman would be pushy enough to pull a stunt like this to grab a husband? And what the hell had he been thinking to go along with it? He must have had some kind of consciousness blackout.
He let out one disgusted snort, and raised his hand to add a knock, but before his knuckle made contact, the door flew open.
Bang. Hot sweet woman. His head reeled as her scent hit him full on.
‘Absolutely ready Brando! Or I will be in two minutes … ’
So he was right. Of course she wasn’t ready!
He leaned on the doorframe, and drummed his fingers idly, as she spun back into the room. Took in a shapely little black dress. No sleeves. A brave choice at Edgerton, in late October. High, high heels. And black lace stockings that made the backs of her calves look delectable as she walked away from him, then propelled his libido into the stratosphere as she knelt down in front of the fireplace. Yanking his lust firmly into line, he noticed that whatever the fire in his groin was doing, the fire in the grate wasn’t blazing.
‘I’d better help with that. Much as you need to learn about the rigors of life in a stately home, I’d hate you to be cold tonight.’ As he strode over, he caught the chestnut glint in her swept-up hair, then the exposed nape of her neck, as she bent over the hearth.
White and vulnerable. His gut gave a twist of guilt at the thought of using and dispatching her. Except she’d walked into this, dammit, and hell, he knew better than to be taken in by downy napes of necks. This woman was here to play for high stakes. A swift dispatch was nothing less than she deserved, and if a tumble in the manorial bed was what was needed to achieve that, he was more than willing to go down that road, but the more he saw of those curves, the hotter that end game was shaping up to be.
As he knelt down next to her by the fire, he let his thigh bump lightly against hers. She jerked away from him, and the poker she was holding clattered onto the hearth.
Jumpy or what?
Picking up the poker, he riddled the embers back to life energetically. He knew Mrs McCaul always checked the fires, but what the heck? It was worth it, for the tease – and the insanely sexy blast of lace stretched taut across Shea’s knees. Perhaps his judgement hadn’t been so clouded after all. The promise of what was to come was looking sweeter by the second.
‘Thanks for helping with that! I’m not used to coal fires. I’ll just get my phone.’ She stood up, and the grateful smile she flashed down at him as she unfolded those glorious legs sent his stomach into a crazy freefall for the second time that day. He regularly threw his body through corkscrew twists and flips, but hauling Shea Summers into the house earlier that day had sent his insides spinning like never before. And now it had happened again, dammit.
‘Forget your phone. There’s no signal at all here. Another of the wonders of Edgerton! Are you coming then?’ he snapped, before he jumped up, marched through the doorway, and strode off down the landing.
No way was he looking back. The floorboards, creaking under her uneven high-heeled lurches, told him she was following closely behind, and he only slowed as he reached the dining room door. As he threw it open, stepping back to let her pass, a freezing gale slammed him in the face. Ha! Just as he’d expected. Despite the roaring fire, the lofty room was bitterly cold and inhospitable. Miss Shea made-in-a-day Summers was about to experience the full glory of the west dining room.
‘Come
