flexed her fingers and moved tiredly away from her laptop. It was still far too early for her to begin her preliminary report on the house, but looking down into the garden had reminded her not just of the pretty little summer house but of the many statues in the garden as well, some of which she knew were extremely valuable.
She would have to check with Robert to see whether or not they were to remain in the garden, and if they were how best they could be protected from damage and theft. Tomorrow she would list them all properly and contact Robert to get his advice.
She tensed as she heard a knock on her door, knowing who it would be and hesitating warily before going to answer it.
‘Yes?’ she questioned Nash hardly as she saw him standing outside the door.
He had changed his clothes since she had seen him getting out of his car and was now wearing a white tee shirt that clung to his torso in a way that suddenly made her feel far too hot. She could almost feel her face burning as her senses reacted to the maleness of him. As a girl she had adored him, longed for him, worshipped him almost, but now, as a woman, she was aware of the air of raw sexuality that clung to him—aware of it and resentful of it too.
‘The supper Mrs Jenson left is still in the fridge. She’ll be offended if we don’t eat it,’ Nash told her abruptly.
The words ‘I’m not hungry’ were burning on the tip of Faith’s tongue, but before she could say them her traitorous tummy gave a very audible and very hungry gurgle.
Unable to meet Nash’s eyes, Faith told him tersely, ‘I’ll be down shortly. I’m just finishing something.’
Faith waited until she was sure he had gone before racing to close her bedroom door. Her hands were trembling violently. Was she imagining it or could she really scent danger in the air? Danger and something else—something that was wholly and hormone-activatingly Nash.
She quickly sluiced her hot face in the bathroom that adjoined her bedroom, brushed her hair and reapplied the minimal amount of make-up she favoured. After what he had said to her she could scarcely believe that Nash had actually bothered to concern himself about the fact that she had not had any supper. Or perhaps he wanted to make sure she ate it where he could ensure that she didn’t make off with the cutlery and crockery, she told herself cynically.
And yet when she walked into the kitchen and discovered that it was empty of Nash’s presence her predominant feeling was one of…of what? she asked herself sharply. Not disappointment…no way. No, she was glad he was at least giving her the privacy to eat alone, without his tormenting presence.
But as she opened the fridge she realised she was wrong, because Nash was walking into the kitchen.
‘Asparagus and salmon,’ Faith murmured as she saw the food that had been left for them. Her eyes filmed with tears, forcing her to keep her head down so that Nash couldn’t see them whilst she blinked fiercely to disperse them.
Philip’s favourites.
Suddenly Faith knew that despite her hunger the food would taste like sawdust to her.
Shakily she closed the fridge door.
‘I’ve changed my mind,’ she told Nash. ‘I’m not hungry.’
The look of male incomprehension he gave her might have amused her under different circumstances, but when she headed for the kitchen door she saw it change to frowning anger as Nash moved lithely past her to stand between her and her exit.
‘I don’t know what kind of game you think you’re playing—’ he began ominously.
Faith felt her self-control starting to fray. It had been a long day, beginning with her being buoyed up with excitement and pride at the knowledge that Robert had entrusted her with such an important project, then going from that to deep, numbing shock when she had first seen Nash. Then had come the trauma of reliving searingly painful memories—and that was without taking into account everything she had experienced when Nash had kissed her.
‘I’m not the one who’s playing games,’ she refuted fiercely, her voice trembling with the intensity of her feelings. ‘You’re the one who’s doing that, Nash. Why have you come here? Why are you staying here? That wasn’t part of the arrangement Robert made with the trustees of the estate.’
‘You seem to know an awful lot about his business for a relatively new employee,’ Nash countered smoothly, and Faith suspected that despite her anger he could tell that underneath it she was feeling very vulnerable. ‘But then, of course, you aren’t just his employee, are you, Faith? Why the hell do you think I’m here?’ he demanded with an abrupt change of tone. ‘Do you really think for one moment that once I learned you’d be here I would allow you to stay on your own?
‘This house is full of almost priceless architectural features—panelling, architraves, fireplaces, to name just a few items that would fetch thousands if they were removed and sold to some unscrupulous builder who wasn’t worried about checking where they’d come from.’
Faith knew that what he was saying was true, but it appalled her that he should actually consider her capable of perpetrating such a crime. Before she could defend herself Nash was attacking her again, although in a very different way this time.
‘Are you going to tell Robert that you asked me to kiss you?’ he asked with acid softness.
‘What? I…I did no such thing,’ Faith denied with vehement indignation, her face pink with anger.
‘Liar,’ Nash taunted her. “‘Kiss me”—that’s what you said to me.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Although of course it’s typical of you that you should deny it.’
Her face was now scarlet with mortification as she had a sickening memory of actually thinking those words. Surely she hadn’t…couldn’t have said them out aloud? But she must have done—unless Nash had read her mind, which in truth she wouldn’t entirely put past him.
‘The next thing you’ll be doing is trying to pretend that you didn’t enjoy it,’ Nash goaded her tauntingly.
Now Faith really had had enough.
‘I didn’t,’ she denied flatly.
‘No? Well, there’s one very sure way to prove whether or not you’re telling the truth, isn’t there?’ Nash retaliated.
The way he was watching her, looking at her like a hungry lion eyeing up its prey, made Faith wish with all her heart that she had never become involved in a verbal battle she knew Nash would not allow her to win.
‘Fortunately for me Hatton doesn’t have a torture chamber,’ she told him with angry scorn.
‘I don’t need a torture chamber to prove you a liar,’ Nash told her smoothly. ‘This is all it’s going to take…’
Faith’s eyes widened in disbelief as he took hold of her, imprisoning her against his body and holding her captive there as he bent his head.
Grittily she closed her lips tightly together, fiercely refusing to close her eyes, letting them tell him all that her lips could not as they glittered with angry contempt and female pride, daring him to do his worst.
‘Open your mouth.’ Nash seemed impervious to
