don’t believe you.’ She looked at him challengingly for several long seconds, feeling an urge to wipe the smile away; there was nothing funny at all in the situation. ‘My aunt left me the cottage,’ she blazed. ‘She wouldn’t have done that if she’d sold it to you.’
Thick brows rose. ‘There has to be some mistake.’
‘No!’ Saira shook her head wildly. ‘I have proof, I can show it to you.’
‘I don’t want to see your proof; the cottage is mine,’ he announced brusquely, and again he took a couple of paces, but this time towards her.
Saira lifted her chin defensively, eyes a brilliant, angry green. ‘In that case I would like to see your proof.’
His lips quirked. ‘I dare say the deeds are filed somewhere.’
‘You dare say! ‘ stormed Saira, completely incensed by this man’s far too casual attitude. ‘Am I supposed to think that your word is good enough?’ She had never stopped to wonder why she had not been given any deeds herself. In fact she hadn’t thought about deeds at all. She suddenly realised how ignorant she was where house ownership was concerned. But she had no doubt that Mr Kirby had it all in hand.
Jarrett Brent stared at her coldly, suddenly angry. ‘My word has never been questioned before.’ His grey business suit did nothing to hide his masculinity; he was all raw manhood and Saira knew that in other circum-stances she would have found him attractive. But not now, not today; he was the enemy and it was a serious battle she was fighting.
‘Well, I’m questioning it.’ Saira told him. ‘I came here planning to spend the weekend and that’s what I’m going to do. In fact I shan’t go back home until the whole matter’s sorted out.’
‘There is nothing to sort out,’ he announced loftily, his deep blue eyes watchful on hers. ‘The property is mine and I have plans to extend and modernise it and——‘
‘You can’t do that,’ she cried out in alarm. ‘It’s mine. Just a minute and I’ll prove it.’ But a search of her handbag showed that she had forgotten to bring the letter from her aunt’s solicitor.
He stood now with his arms folded across his wide chest, his legs slightly apart, his face stern, his whole stance one of haughty, powerful arrogance.
Their eyes locked and warred and Saira’s chest heaved as she fought for control. He had strong capable hands, she noticed, long, well-manicured fingers spread on his forearms, and she wondered briefly what he did for a living—besides being a property owner! Power emanated from every bone in his body.
‘I have proof,’ she persisted, ‘most definitely I have proof. I have a letter from Aunt Lizzie’s solicitor. I thought I’d brought it with me, but——‘
‘And if I provide proof of my own?’ he cut in coldly.
‘I’ll contest it,’ Saira’s voice was loud and hostile, and she tried to match his demeanour with one of her own, standing tall, her chin high, her eyes ebullient.
Jarrett Brent’s lip curled, but there was undisguised admiration in his eyes. ‘You’re quite a spitfire.’
At his words something clicked in her subconscious, gone again instantly, forgotten in this battle of ownership. ‘Aunt Lizzie wanted me to have it; we were very close. I spent all my school holidays here. She would never have sold it to you, I know she wouldn’t.’
Jarrett Brent pushed his fingers through thick brown hair, cut viciously short. It would have suited him longer. The thought flashed through Saira’s mind and was gone. Damn the man, what he looked like didn’t matter. It was the sort of person he was that was at issue—and she sure as hell did not like what she saw.
‘Perhaps she had no option?’ Vivid blue eyes watched her closely.
‘Perhaps you didn’t give her any?’ she retorted. ‘Or perhaps you thought she had no relatives and decided to spread the word that you’d bought the cottage, adding it to your not inconsiderable list of properties. Oh, yes, I know all about you, Mr Brent, much more than you think.’
‘Indeed?’ Brows rose yet again, but there was anger now inside him. Gone was the mockery. He didn’t like her attitude, the way she was sticking up for herself, the things she was saying. He had probably never met anyone like her before.
Saira knew she ought to watch herself but instead she stamped her foot. ‘Lord, you’re the most infuriating man I’ve ever met. You say you have proof? Well, show it to me.’
Thick brows rose reprovingly. ‘Why should I do that when I have no proof that you’re who you say you are? Lizzie never mentioned you to me.’
‘And she never mentioned you to me,’ Saira flung back.
‘Then we’re in a stalemate position, wouldn’t you say?’ Eyes locked, hostility reigned; it was a battle royal they were fighting.
‘This is an intolerable situation,’ she cried. ‘Where the hell am I going to sleep tonight if I can’t get into the cottage?’
‘You could go home,’ he suggested easily.
‘I have no transport,’ she told him, ‘and even if I had I wouldn’t go, not until this matter’s sorted out.’
‘So how did you get here?’
‘I came by train and taxi,’ she told him coolly.
‘And you dismissed the driver without first of all making sure that you could get in?’ He made it sound as though it was an incredibly stupid thing to do.
‘I never dreamt for one moment that the key wouldn’t fit,’ answered Saira hostilely. ‘Do they have rooms at the Challoner’s Arms?’
‘I’m afraid not.’ And he looked as though the fact pleased him.
Saira eyed him stormily. ‘I’ll find somewhere to stay. I’m most definitely not going home until I find out who the legal owner of Honeysuckle Cottage is.’ She would ring her employer and tell him that she was taking the few days’ holiday he owed her.
‘You’re a hell of a determined lady, I’ll say that for you.’ It was a grudging compliment.
Saira had never needed to stand up to anyone the way she did to this man; she was seeing a new side to herself. But there was a whole lot at stake and she had the feeling that if she walked away from here now she would lose the cottage altogether. ‘Where’s the nearest hotel?’ she asked.
‘Thirsk, I expect.’
‘Then perhaps you’d kindly ring for a taxi and I’ll book myself in there. But I’ll be back, Mr Brent, you can be sure about that.’ She would phone her mother and ask her to send Mr Kirby’s letter. With a bit of luck it would come in the morning and then she could present Mr High and Mighty Brent with it. That would wipe the smile off his face.
‘I have a better suggestion.’
Saira frowned suspiciously. She didn’t like the look in his eyes.
‘You can be my guest.’
