a little,’ she agreed, laughter dancing in her eyes. ‘I thought we were meeting at seven p.m., not seven a.m.’
‘I had this sudden yearning to know what you looked like first thing in the morning.’ His eyes drifted down the deep V of her wrap and she grabbed self-consciously at it and tightened the belt, feeling at something of a disadvantage alongside the immaculate dark blue pin-striped suit and stark white shirt.
‘Well?’
‘Exactly as I imagined. No make-up, bare feet, hair damp from the shower …’ she lifted her hand self-consciously, but he anticipated the move and caught her fingers ‘… and quite beautiful.’ He stepped through the door and closed it firmly behind him.
She laughed a little nervously and stepped back in the face of such assured advances. ‘Compliments so early in the morning deserve some reward. Would you like some breakfast?’
One stride brought him to her side. He slid an arm around her waist and drew her close. ‘That, sweet Joanna, rather depends upon the menu.’
Jo’s breathing was a little ragged. ‘Eggs?’ she heard herself say. He made no response. ‘I might have some bacon.’ His eyes never left hers. ‘Toast?’ she offered, desperately. ‘I haven’t much time. I have to get to …’ He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers and she no longer cared about the time.
‘You, Jo. Don’t you know that I want you for breakfast?’
He pulled the knot of her wrap and she made no move to stop him. Last night she knew that with very little persuasion she would have fallen into bed with him. He had known that too. It had been far too easy to fall in love with him. In the long, wakeful hours of the night she had determined that this evening she would put on some emotional armour along with her make-up. But, almost as if he had anticipated this, he had outmanoeuvred her, taking her by surprise with this early-morning raid. No make-up. No armour. No clothes. The harsh ring of the doorbell made her jump and he straightened, a crooked smile twisting his mouth.
‘Saved by the bell, Jo.’ For a moment he held the edges of her robe, then he pulled it close around her and retied the knot before standing aside for her to open the door.
‘Sorry, Miss Grant. Another of those recorded delivery letters for you to sign. You’d better pay up!’ She smiled automatically at the postman’s bantering humour and signed the form. This time she didn’t bother to open the letter, but threw it on the hall table.
‘Aren’t you going to open it?’ Clay asked. ‘It looks urgent.’
‘I know what it says. It’s from someone who wants to buy some shares I own. I’ve already told them I won’t sell.’
‘Oh? Maybe they’ve increased their offer.’
She frowned. ‘Do you think so? I wonder why they want them?’ Her eyes lingered for a moment on the envelope. ‘Perhaps I ought to find out—’
‘Forget them! They’re not important.’ She lifted her eyes to his and all thoughts of shares were driven from her head as he kissed her once more. But the moment of madness had passed and when he finally raised his head she took an unsteady step back.
‘I really must get ready for work, Clay.’
‘Must you?’ He frowned, then shrugged. ‘Of course you must. And I’m delaying you.’ He turned for the door.
‘Clay, why did you come here this morning?’
He paused for a moment, his knuckles white as he gripped the door-handle, as if debating with himself. When he looked back it was with a deadly and earnest force. ‘I thought we might have dinner at the cottage tonight,’ he said. His eyes were unreadable.
She didn’t stop to think. It was already far too late for thinking. ‘I’d love to,’ she said, the words barely escaping her throat.
She stood in the hall for a long moment after he had left, then, gathering her wits, she turned to get ready for work. Her eyes fell on the letter and impatiently she tore it open. Clay had been right, the offer had indeed been increased. His apparent omniscience gave her a ridiculous burst of pleasure.
Clay arrived on the stroke of seven and Jo picked up the soft leather bag that held everything she might need. She locked the door behind them and opened her bag to drop in the key, then turned to see him watching her.
‘Got everything?’ he asked.
‘Yes, thank you.’ Her cheeks were warm as she turned to follow him down the stairs to the waiting car.
The cottage was beautiful and very old, built of narrow autumn-coloured bricks, with a drunken pantile roof where a pair of fantail doves, golden in the evening light, were flirting. The garden had been neglected, but already work had begun to restore the stone pathways and a dilapidated dovecote. He helped her out of the car and for a moment she just stood and took it all in.
‘It’s lovely.’
‘I’m glad you like it. Come and see what I’ve been doing inside.’ Her heart was hammering as he led her up the path and opened the door, standing back to let her step across the threshold and into the hall.
The floor had been newly stripped and repolished and a jewel-rich Persian rug lay before them. She dropped her bag at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Hungry?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘Not very. Will you show me round?’
‘The grand tour?’ He laughed. ‘It won’t take very long.’
The colour in her cheeks deepened slightly. She just needed a little time to gain her bearings. It would have been so much easier if they had gone out somewhere first. Good food, wine, eased the way.
‘This is the study.’ His voice made her jump. He opened a door on the left and led the way into a square room littered with wallpaper off-cuts. ‘I’ve been trying to decide which paper to use.’
Glad of something positive to think about, Jo picked up various samples and held them against the wall. ‘I like this one,’ she said, finally.
‘That’s settled, then.’
She spun around. ‘But … it’s your choice.’
‘Yes. I know.’ He held the door to let her through. ‘That’s the cloakroom. Storage cupboard,’ he said carelessly, as they passed closed doors. ‘And this is the morning-room.’
‘This is a cottage on a rather grand scale,’ she said, admiring the use of yellow and white that would reflect the morning sun. She walked across to a pair of casement windows and opened them, stepping out into the garden. ‘You’re on the river!’ she exclaimed. ‘I hadn’t realised.’ She walked quickly down to the small mooring with its tiny dock.
‘There’s a boathouse behind those shrubs, but the roof has collapsed.’
‘Will you rebuild it?’
‘Maybe. Is it warm enough to eat out here, do you think?’
‘Oh, yes! I’ve a
