had begun life as a dressing table but was now used as a surface on which any and everything found its way.
Jude snatched her drawing from his hand and returned it to its place. ‘I’m a designer, actually.’ Thank God she kept all her work in her architect’s chest downstairs or he would be rifling through those as well. ‘I just do a bit of sketching now and again as a hobby.’
‘Well, well, well. A designer. Interesting.’
‘Yes, it is,’ she responded tightly.
‘Actually, I meant that it’s interesting to discover that you have a proper job. Most of the women who have cluttered up my brother’s life have only paid lip service to the work ethic. In fact, the last one to grace my presence was a flightly little thing with a sideline in glamour modelling.’
Jude tried hard not to think of Imogen. What, she wondered with an inward shudder, would he have thought of a stripper? She and Imogen went back all the way to pigtails and hopscotch. A couple of poor choices on the boyfriend front had found her working in a nightclub, saving hard so that she could continue her studies and get the qualifications she needed to become a primary school teacher, but Jude doubted whether the man looking at her now would find an ounce of compassion for that sob story.
He appeared to have read her mind because he continued, musingly, ‘Naturally I had to ensure that that particular relationship was stillborn.’
‘Why?’ Jude asked uncomfortably. Images of her pregnant friend rose in her head. ‘There’s nothing wrong with glamour modelling…’
‘A glamour model and my brother equate to a gold-digger out to fleece a golden goose.’
‘That’s a very cynical way of thinking…’
‘It’s called the realities of life. Another reality of life is that I would do anything within my power to ensure that my brother is not taken advantage of. Flings with women are all well and good, just so long as they leave the picture. Any unsuitable ones who try to stick around…would have me to contend with…’ Always a good idea to lay down one or two ground rules, Cesar thought. She might blush like a teenager and appear to have a face as transparent as glass, but he was savvy enough to know that neither of those two things necessarily added up to a personality as pure as the driven snow.
‘Well, thank you for that,’ Jude told him coolly. ‘It’s always illuminating to hear what other people think, even if you don’t agree with what they say. Although I’d guess that you don’t really give a damn whether people agree with what you have to say or not.’
‘Bull’s eye!’ With a quick, easy movement he stripped off his shirt and tossed it on the ground. ‘I’ll have to dry these in the morning.’ Intriguingly, she looked as though she had never seen a man half naked before.
‘You’re going to sleep…in the… What are you going to wear to bed?’
‘What I usually wear.’ He looked at her in genuine surprise. ‘My birthday suit. It’s very comfortable. You should approve.’
Jude thought of him sleeping naked, with only a small bathroom separating their rooms, and felt faint. Of course, this was because she had taken an instant dislike to him and, in fact, disapproved of pretty much everything he had had to say, but the image of that muscular, lithe body flung over her sheets and blankets lodged in her head like a burr.
‘I’ll get you something!’
‘You have men’s clothes stashed away in your house?’ Cesar’s ears pricked up but she didn’t say anything. She had backed right out of the door and he waited, thinking, until she reappeared two minutes later and tossed him a T-shirt. It was big all right. It was also bright pink.
He could hear the laughter in her voice as she said, ‘That should fit. Have a good night’s sleep!’
CHAPTER TWO
AT SIX-THIRTY the following morning, the snow had stopped but outside was a landscape of pure wintry white. Very attractive for a postcard, Jude thought sourly, but not so handy when it came with her house guest, the thought of whom had kept her tossing and turning throughout the night. He should never have mentioned that he slept naked. The minute he had told her that, the image of him without his clothes had lodged in her head and all her mechanisms for a peaceful night—counting sheep, planning her day, thinking about the projects she had on the go—had been ruined.
Her highly efficient heating system had kicked in over an hour previously and the house was already beautifully warm. It was also beautifully silent.
She crept stealthily out of her bedroom, wondering whether to use the bathroom and then deciding against it just in case her visitor woke up. She had decided overnight that the less contact she had with him, the better. He was disturbing and, much as she loved Freddy and Imogen both, she didn’t see why she should have her life disturbed by a virtual stranger. Of course he would surface at some point but before then she could at least snatch a cup of coffee in relative peace.
She crept down the stairs, which didn’t creak because she weighed so much less than he did, and expelled one long relieved breath when she was in the safety of her kitchen.
Like everything else in the cottage, it was small but beautifully proportioned, with two beams across the ceiling, an old but serviceable Aga and a much worn kitchen table, which she had bought second hand from a shop which purported to sell antique pine. Freddy’s apartment in the city centre was shiny and new and kitted out in a style that could only have been achieved by an interior designer with a limitless budget. She caught herself wondering what his brother’s place looked like and immediately stamped on her curiosity.
She was happily pouring hot water into her mug, back to the kitchen door, when an all too familiar voice said from behind, ‘Great. I’ll have one, too.’
Jude started violently, with the kettle in her hand, and she gave a cry of shock and pain as hot water splashed over her wrist.
Cesar was next to her before she could turn around and give him the full benefit of her annoyance at finding her privacy invaded.
‘What have you done?’
‘What are you doing down here?’ The man looked bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, as though he had been up for hours, and he was back in his trousers and shirt, although he had appropriated one of the baggy old zip-up sweats which she kept on a hook by the front door for those rare moments when her conscience got the better of her and she decided to go to the gym. It drowned her but on him was pulled tight, leaving her in no doubt as to the build of his olive-skinned muscular body.
‘Give me your hand.’
‘I know what to do.’ She turned away, her heart racing at the sight of him, and switched on the cold water, but he was there before her, holding her hand under the tap and then gently patting it dry with one of the tea towels on the Aga.
Jude watched, mesmerised, those long brown fingers against her pale skin, barely able to breathe properly. His clean masculine scent filled her nostrils and made her feel giddy.
‘Clumsy, clumsy,’ he tutted under his breath and she glared at him.
‘You gave me the fright of my life,’ she accused. ‘I didn’t expect you to be sneaking around at this hour in the morning! You’re a guest! Guests stay
