would have liked to turn around and go home. It was obvious Connolly didn’t want them here. And she couldn’t exactly blame him. So why didn’t Sean get the message and put an end to this embarrassing stand-off?
Unfortunately, their host seemed to realise his manners just as Grace was searching for the words to get them out of this.
‘Please,’ he said. ‘Come in.’ And he moved behind them to close the heavy door.
Grace was still wondering why Sean had wanted to come here, anyway. What was it he’d said: that Connolly had lost his wife in a car accident a couple of years ago and that this was his first opportunity to offer his condolences to the man? Grace had had to accept it when he’d strung that line to her father, but she’d have said Sean was the last person to offer sympathy to anyone. Unless there was something in it for him, she appended with the bitter knowledge of hindsight.
Or was she judging him too harshly?
And then she remembered another titbit he’d offered. Apparently Jack Connolly had inherited some money from his grandmother and that was how he’d been able to buy this place. Sean’s take on it—or rather the one he’d offered her father—was that Jack had wanted to get away from the pain of familiar places. He’d moved to Northumberland to find a place to lick his wounds in peace.
Having met Jack now, Grace took that with a pinch of salt. Whatever he was doing in Northumberland, he didn’t look like a man who had any wounds to lick. He seemed perfectly self-sufficient, and far too shrewd to need anyone’s sympathy.
She hadn’t forgotten the way he’d looked at her when he’d first seen her. It hadn’t been the look of a man who was drowning in grief. On the contrary, if she and Sean had still been together, she would have considered it offensive.
Were all men untrustworthy? she wondered. She didn’t think so, but she had no doubt that Jack Connolly wasn’t to be trusted, either.
It annoyed her that he was also drop-dead gorgeous. Even the thick stubble of a couple of days’ growth of beard on his chin couldn’t detract from the stark male beauty of his face.
His skin was darkly tanned, as if he’d been spending time in a sunnier climate. But, according to her father, he’d been living here throughout all the renovations he’d made to the house.
Unruly dark hair tumbled over his forehead and brushed the neckline of his sweatshirt. Thin lips below hollowed cheekbones only added to his sensual appeal.
They crossed the hall and entered a well-lit living room. Whatever she thought of Connolly himself, there was no denying the man had taste. Pale walls, dark wood, much of it antique from the look of it. And a Persian carpet on the floor that fairly melted beneath her feet.
Grace headed for the windows. Despite the attractive appointments of the room, she was fascinated by the view. It was stunning. And familiar. It was still light outside, and she could see the rocky headland curving away, grassy cliffs beyond a low stone wall falling away to dunes.
The sea was calm at present, reflecting the reddening clouds that marked the sun’s descent. Lights glinted in the cottages that spilled down the hillside to the harbour and the small marina, the distant cry of gulls a lonely mournful lament.
The outer door slammed and Jack Connolly strode into the room to join them.
‘You’ll have to forgive the way I look,’ he said ruefully, flicking a hand at his paint-stained pants. ‘I’ve been on the boat all day and I haven’t had time to change.’
‘A boat? You’ve got a boat?’ Sean was enthusiastic. ‘Hey, what’s it like to be a millionaire?’
Grace, hearing Sean’s words, felt her stomach sink within her. Oh, God, why hadn’t she asked him how much Jack had inherited? Why had she simply assumed it would be a moderate sum?
What price now his condolences for Jack’s wife and his grandmother? Jack’s supposed grief had been forgotten. Sean had simply used it as an excuse to get her here.
Jack, to his credit, didn’t call Sean on it. ‘Let me offer you both a drink,’ he said. His eyes shifted to Grace as she reluctantly turned from the window. ‘What would you like?’
Well, not you, she thought childishly, disturbed in spite of herself by those heavy-lidded dark eyes. What was he really thinking? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
‘Got a beer?’
Sean didn’t wait for her response, but Jack apparently had more respect.
‘Um—just a soft drink for me, please,’ she said, remembering she was starting a new job the following day. The last thing she needed was to have to face her boss with a fuzzy head.
‘A soft drink?’ Sean rolled his eyes at Jack. ‘Can you believe this woman was brought up in a pub and she doesn’t like beer?’
The twitch of Jack’s lips could have meant anything. ‘I won’t be long,’ he said and disappeared out of the door.
It was only as Grace heard the faint squeaking sound as Jack crossed the hall that she realised his feet had been bare.
She looked at Sean then, but he only raised his eyebrows in a defensive gesture.
‘What? What?’ He glanced away to survey the huge comfortable sofas and armchairs, the heavy bookshelves and inlaid cabinets with an envious eye. ‘Some place, eh? I bet this furniture is worth a fortune. Aren’t you glad you came?’
‘Uh—no.’
Grace could hardly bear to look at him. She should have refused to come here. Sean was a pathological liar. She’d known that, but she’d also not wanted to cause an argument and endanger her mother’s health.
‘A millionaire’s pad,’ went on Sean, when she didn’t elaborate. He turned his attention to a picture hanging on the wall behind him. ‘Hey, this is a Turner! Can you believe that?’
Grace didn’t want to talk about it. Whatever way you looked at it, she was here under false pretences, and she didn’t like it. God knew, she didn’t care about Jack Connolly or his money. He couldn’t solve her problems.
Jack came back at that moment carrying two bottles of beer and a glass of cola.
‘Please—sit,’ he said, setting Grace’s glass on a low polished coffee table where several expensive yachting magazines were strewn in elegant disarray.
Deliberately? Grace didn’t think so. Despite the little she knew of the man, she didn’t think Jack Connolly would care what other people thought of his home.
Jack put Grace’s glass on the table and, to his relief, Grace seated herself on a plush velvet sofa beside the coffee table. And Sean, after accepting his beer from Jack, did the same.
‘Hey, great place you’ve got here,’ he said, waving his bottle around with a distinct lack of regard for the safety of its contents. ‘Where’d you get all this stuff? It looks expensive.’
Jack propped his hips against a small bureau he’d picked up in an auction room and said, ‘A lot of it was my gran’s. The rest I bought and restored myself.’
‘No
