acknowledged Rand hardly.
‘Considering my parents rarely saw each other enough to make love, it was all the more of a shock,’ Merlyn nodded. ‘My father was the one sent for an operation this time.'
He gave a harsh laugh. ‘Poor bastard!'
She shrugged. ‘I don't think he was all that thrilled to find himself a father again at forty-six, either!'
Rand turned away. ‘Would you like a drink?’ he bit out, pouring himself another one while he waited for her answer.
‘The coffee will be fine—–'
‘It will be cold by now,’ he dismissed.
‘I'll make some more,’ she offered, picking up the tray. The way he was knocking back the brandy he was going to be needing a lot of black coffee soon! Unless this was how he spent his days now—she knew that he left the running of his considerable businesses to a number of assistants.
‘Could you manage to “conjure” up some dinner for both of us?’ he prompted. ‘The only household staff I have come up from the village each day,’ he explained abruptly. ‘And I gave them all the day off.'
Considering the weather, that had been a very wise decision; Rand might have ended up with a houseful of unwanted guests instead of just one! As far as Merlyn was concerned, that might not have been a bad thing. ‘I'll see what I can find,’ she nodded. Food might help to counteract the alcohol he had been consuming, too.
It was a delightful kitchen, obviously belonging to a time long-gone, with its huge open fireplace, copper pots and saucepans hanging from hooks along its ledge. But Merlyn quickly discovered that although the charm and character had been maintained in the room it was also filled with every modern convenience, from a dishwasher to an electric knife.
The freezer was stocked with already prepared meals that just had to be defrosted in the microwave and then heated in the oven, and Merlyn mentally thanked the absent cook as she placed the beef casserole in the oven to warm through, making the mixture for dumplings before dropping them into the already warming meal, its aroma mouthwatering.
The kitchen at her flat was adequate, but it was nothing like the luxury of this one, and Merlyn was humming softly to herself as she put an apple pie in the oven with the beef. The humming stopped abruptly as she straightened, her face flushed from the heat of the oven, to find Rand Carmichael leaning against the wall just inside the kitchen, watching her every movement.
‘As I haven't seen you since you brought up the fresh coffee almost an hour ago, I thought perhaps you had made your escape out the back door while you had the chance,’ he drawled.
Merlyn frowned a little as he made it sound as if she were a prisoner here, although considering the state of the roads and the broken telephone lines perhaps that was what she was! ‘That would have been ungrateful of me,’ she dismissed, with an effort at her usual confidence, although just knowing who he was made that difficult, if not impossible.
‘But perhaps wise.’ He straightened. ‘I was near to being drunk.'
‘Was?’ She frowned at the past tense; he had seemed pretty far gone to her.
He gave a mocking inclination of his head at her bluntness. ‘I drank a couple of cups of black coffee and then took a shower. I can assure you I am now completely sober.'
That he had taken a shower was obvious by his still-damp hair, although even now it was drying back into those riotously dark curls. But the reckless glint had gone from his eyes, the anger from his expression, and in its place had come a weary look, almost of defeat.
‘I hope you like what I've chosen for dinner,’ she said lightly, some of her tension dissipating now that she was sure she didn't have a drunken host to contend with; she had a feeling this man could be dangerous enough, without that. ‘There's a beef casserole, with baked potatoes, and apple pie—–'
‘I'm sure it will be fine,’ he dismissed as a man not much interested in the food he ate, ingesting it only through necessity.
‘Yes.’ She eyed him frowningly. ‘Well, if you would like to wait in the lounge—–'
‘I wouldn't,’ he cut in softly.
Merlyn was filled with a new wariness now as she sensed the speculation in his gaze as it moved slowly over her body, the hair on her nape seeming to stand on end as a ripple of awareness flowed down her spine, her nipples suddenly taut against the softness of her jumper.
‘Come here,’ Rand suddenly instructed throatily, his stance one of challenge.
Her gaze flew to the hardness of his face. ‘What?’ she said breathlessly.
His brows rose slightly at her obvious nervousness. ‘I said come here,’ he repeated slowly, his gaze lowering pointedly to the hard thrust of her nipples beneath the clinging wool.
She felt like a puppet having her strings pulled as she crossed the room to stand in front of him, her eyes a dark stormy green as she stared up at him, her breath caught in her throat as she waited for the master to dictate what her next move should be.
Rand returned her look with narrowed eyes, the slight rise and fall of his chest indicating the shallowness of his breathing. The bell of the timer on the microwave broke the spell, anger flaring in Rand's eyes—white hot fury turning them from grey to platinum. ‘You have flour on your nose,’ he declared harshly, turning away.
Her hand rose shakily to wipe away the flour. The gesture was mechanical as she was still watching Rand as he strode forcefully from the room, knowing he had brought her to him for quite a different reason, a reason that he had instantly regretted once he realised what he was doing.
If there had been any women in his life since his wife's death then no one but he—and they—knew about it. Before his marriage to Suzie Forrester he had often been mentioned in the gossip columns, had been a highly eligible bachelor, with numerous women in his life. During his marriage to Suzie, his actions had been just as newsworthy, but since her death he might as well have disappeared, never going to London, and certainly not involved in any of the social whirl he and Suzie had seemed to enjoy so much during their marriage.
But a few seconds ago there had been a physical hunger in his eyes—for Merlyn.
He was drinking brandy again when she brought the casserole up to the dining-room, although he joined her in a glass of wine with their meal, and he didn't go back to the brandy after they had eaten.
‘So,’ he sat across the room from her, ‘you can do magic after all.'
‘What?’ She blinked up at him, startled by the comment.
‘The meal you “conjured” up was very nice,’ Rand's voice was mocking.
She moistened her lips, relaxing slightly. ‘Thank you, but your cook did most of the work, I just defrosted.'
‘You're from London.’ It was a statement, not a question.
Merlyn instantly realised it was a mistake to ever relax around this man. ‘Yes,’ she confirmed warily.
‘Decided to get away from the
