through from the rear of the premises, his craggy face bright with interest because usually, after a sale, they drank mugs of tea together and discussed the treasures she had found. But not today.
‘No, nothing.’ Honey shook her head regretfully. ‘The big boys from London were there en masse. I didn’t stand a chance.’
And Ben put in from right behind her, ‘Just as well. You couldn’t cram another teacup into this place and still have room for customers to browse.’ He edged past her, making a production of it as if to prove his point. ‘Get those wet clothes off and take a hot shower while I brew coffee. We’ll lock up, Fred, if you want to call it a day.’
Bossy, she thought as she watched him stride to the twisty staircase at the back of the showroom. But there was no resentment there, just an unusual willingness to allow someone else to take charge for once. Someone? Or just this one man?
She shrugged unconsciously and lifted long sweeping lashes to meet Fred’s twinkling eyes.
‘There goes a man who’s used to getting his own way. It comes naturally, and it shows,’ he said with the same lack of resentment.
In fact, Honey noted, his expression was thoroughly approving and she brushed wet, wrinkled hair out of her eyes and asked weakly, ‘Just how long has he been here?’
‘Long enough to get the business straightened out.’ Fred was already reaching for his ancient sheepskin coat. ‘He thinks you should move out and make your flat over to extra display areas. Forget the idea of buying up the next-door premises—the structural alterations to throw the two properties into one would totally destroy the character of both. I agree with him.’
‘Really.’ Honey’s voice was withering as she watched her right-hand man shrug into his coat. Ever since they’d heard that the adjacent property was due to come on the open market they’d avidly chewed over the possibilities of acquiring it, expanding the business—always presuming she could raise the capital. And now, just because some sort of bossy nomad had wandered in off the street, Fred had, in his mind, evicted her from her cosy home. So where was she supposed to live? Move in with her mother? Heaven forbid!
She would have reminded him that this was her property, her business, and she—and no one else—would decide what was done. But her sharp little tongue was silenced by Fred’s jaunty, ‘See you tomorrow, then. Pity about the sale. Night.’
‘And goodnight to you, too!’ Honey sniped at the already closing door, then turned slowly on her heels, the damp cloth of her raincoat making her shiver. What the hell? Nothing to get in a stew about. It hadn’t been a good day, that was for sure, and the unpleasant encounter with Graham, out there in the driving rain, had been the last straw.
All she needed to recapture her normal optimism was that hot shower and a hot drink. And if Ben wanted to produce the drink why should she argue? Just so long as he didn’t offer to scrub her back!
As she went to her bedroom she could hear him moving around in the kitchen. She would have liked to ask him to leave but couldn’t rake up the energy. The long day, the frustration of the sale, the nasty knowledge that Graham wasn’t about to abandon his pursuit—even though Ben had said they were engaged—had sapped her strength.
So she wouldn’t think about any of it. Not now. After her shower, after Ben had taken himself off, would be soon enough.
Divesting herself of her wet clothes, she tugged on a short scarlet silk robe, belting it securely at the waist and padded out of her room—meeting Ben in the tiny passageway. Suddenly, for no reason she could think of, she felt her face go as red as the silk that clung to every curvaceous line of her body. But he didn’t even seem to see her. He looked straight through her as he imparted briskly, ‘Good girl. I’ll have dinner ready in half an hour.’ He almost smiled. ‘Come as you are, no need to dress for the occasion.’
Huh, she snorted to herself as she shed her robe in the privacy of the tiny bathroom. No need to dress. Come as you are! Was that a build-up to a pass, or wasn’t it! Her face going hot, she rushed to bolt the door and immediately felt silly. He hadn’t even seemed to see her out there, and he certainly hadn’t subjected her to the lascivious slide of the eyes that meant he was mentally undressing her. She had been on the receiving end of just such looks for years now and was perfectly capable of recognising them.
Annoyed with herself for her mental over-reaction, she stepped into the shower and allowed the soothing spray of hot water to relax her and was almost tempted to do as he had said—present herself for dinner in her robe—but thought better of it and pulled on a pair of washed-out jeans topped by a baggy sweatshirt in a faded shade of black that seemed to emphasise the paleness of her skin, the delicate lines of her triangular face and the wildness of her rough-dried, shoulder-length vivid red hair.
Though what he had found to cook was beyond her. She knew for a fact that her fridge was empty, the store cupboard shelves bare of the makings of a meal. She had been too busy just lately to be bothered about such trifles as grocery shopping.
So the aroma of sizzling steak coming from the kitchen was a complete surprise, as was the sight of Ben Claremont with a tea-towel tied around his lean waist, his strong angular features frozen in a mask of concentration as he flipped the meat over then slid it back beneath the grill.
Then the mask dissolved into a smile of such warmth that Honey found her breath snatched away, her voice just for once totally lost as he put a cup of steaming coffee in one of her hands, a small measure of brandy in a tumbler in the other.
‘Go and warm through by the fire.’ He gave her an absent-minded push, turning her round, his hands on her shoulders, very briefly, not lingering. He surely didn’t appear to be the mauling type, she thought in a haze. True, he had held her quite intimately when she’d fallen into his arms as the door to the shop had opened, but that had been purely for Graham’s benefit, a physical back-up to his roundabout announcement that they were an engaged couple. He had certainly lost no time in putting her aside as soon as the other man had stumped away in a rage.
And it hadn’t been Ben’s fault that Graham had taken the so-called engagement news as a direct challenge. He had tried to help her. So she wouldn’t bristle at him because he had taken over, pushing her out of her own kitchen, giving orders.
Besides, she would find it impossible to be angry. He had an uncanny knack of soothing her. Well, some of the time. Like now, with the fire he had made burning brightly in the hearth, the flames throwing dancing shadows and splashes of glowing colour over the ancient carvings on the stone hood, the hot coffee and tiny sips of brandy relaxing her.
The table they’d used last night was already set with two covers. He’d certainly been busy while she’d been taking that shower and when he entered with a platter of steaming steak with fresh asparagus on the side, a bottle of champagne tucked under one arm, she smiled at him dreamily and uncurled languorously from the squashy armchair at the fireside.
It was nice, for a change, to be cosseted. No one had done so since her father had died; no one had petted her or really cared about her and what she wanted, or treated her as if she was important, special to them. Not even her mother. Especially not her mother! Avril had only been interested in having a daughter who would conform to her ideas of what a daughter should be. Honey’s personal wishes were disregarded if they didn’t dovetail with Avril’s—as witnessed by the endless arguments over her decision to set up in business on her own, by her refusal to do the sensible thing and give it all up to marry Graham!
The sound of the cork popping, the crisp foam of bubbling magic into cold crystal reminded Honey
