and his eyes had seemingly soaked up the colours around them like the Northern Lights she’d seen on a documentary about the Arctic. She could have sworn a moment ago they were icy grey.
Her panicked breath caught and everything telescoped down to his amazing eyes before his gaze swooped to her mouth. He looked as if he was going to kiss her or was that just her idea?
Panic renewed, Sybella began to thrash about in earnest. ‘Please let me go before this all gets out of hand!’
* * *
On the contrary, Nik was confident he had it all in hand.
He would deal with the small tide of humanity edging towards them, and then he would find out why there appeared to be no security at all in operation at his grandfather’s home.
But first he needed to deal with what he had in his arms, the problem being he wasn’t sure what that was. He’d turned his head to find something other than what he’d first imagined. She had a vivid face, eyes that seemed to be searching his and the kind of sensuous full mouth that gave men creative thoughts. She also smelt of flowers, which was distracting him. He set her down in the snow.
‘Do not move,’ he told her.
He went around to the cab of the SUV and turned on the headlights to high beam, capturing the dozen rugged-up intruders like a spotlight on a stage.
‘I’m Nikolai Aleksandrovich Voronov,’ he said in a deep voice that didn’t need to be raised. On its own it carried across the front façade of the house and possibly beyond. ‘If you’re not off the estate in the next two minutes, I’ll have you all arrested for trespass.’
He didn’t wait to see what they would do. He knew what they would do. Scatter and run.
Nik hoisted his bag over his shoulder and gave his attention to the unhappy girl, standing there encased in what looked like cladding. In the dark she no longer looked like the sensual siren he’d imagined a moment ago and was back to being the abominable snowman.
‘You can go with your friends,’ he said with a curt nod, before turning his back on her.
Sleet was falling more heavily as he approached the house.
He used the side entrance lit by lamp posts that glowed through the snowy gloom like something out of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, a book his Anglophile grandfather had given to him when he was a boy. No wonder the old man loved the place. Nik saw only an investment and right now a heavy oak door he pushed open with his shoulder.
He was aware he’d been followed, alerted by his companion’s crunching footsteps over the stones and her hitching breath, because clearly the woman was out of shape with all that extra weight she was carrying.
He waited for Rapunzel because he wasn’t in the habit of closing doors in women’s faces. Another glance reinforced what he already knew. She was tall, abetted by a pair of what looked like hiking boots, and the parka and trousers gave her a square look not identifiable as female in the dark.
‘What do you want?’
She had planted herself just inside the threshold.
‘To explain.’
‘I’m not interested.’
She stepped towards him, clearly reluctant, the light falling full on her.
She was wearing the ski mask now as a beanie, most of her astonishing hair caught up inside it. She had full cheeks pink from the cold and her hazel eyes he’d already established were bright, but it was her lush pink mouth that drew the eye.
‘Actually, about that...you probably do want to talk to me.’
Nik had it on the tip of his tongue to tell her while she looked like a Christmas angel he wouldn’t be changing his mind.
Instead he gave her a moment to clarify.
‘I work here.’
She was staff? Why in hell hadn’t she said so?
‘I’m Sybella,’ she said. ‘Sybella Parminter.’
Nik took a moment to reconcile the girl standing in front of him with the woman with the wellington boots and the face like a shovel. He’d underestimated his grandfather. The old man had rigged a honey trap.
Nik crossed the floor to her in a few strides and, before she could react, reached behind her head and yanked off the ski mask.
Her hair tumbled out.
‘What are you doing?’ she demanded, lifting her bemittened hands to her head in a protective gesture, as if he might start pulling at her hair again.
It was exactly as it had looked in the snow, heavy and flaxen blonde almost all the way down to her waist. The electric light made it shimmer, or maybe he was just tired and even ordinary women were beginning to look like goddesses.
That fast a picture took shape of a golden angel ministering to his grandfather and putting ideas in his head about English heritage and great-grandchildren while she eyed the title deeds to the house.
‘You can’t just manhandle me,’ she said, pushing back her hair self-consciously and eyeing him as if he were a wolf about to leap at her. He also saw the feminine awareness kindling in her eyes and knew exactly how he was going to handle this.
‘Call me Nik.’
‘Nik,’ she said warily, taking a big step back. ‘Well, I would like the opportunity to explain. If I could come back tomorrow?’
‘I think you will stay where you are.’
‘But you just told me to go.’
‘Glad you’re keeping up.’
She blinked.
‘What were you doing outside?’
Sybella didn’t know whether to run for her life or stand her ground. His pulling and pushing, not to mention the way he’d looked at her hair as if it were some kind of man snare, had left her unnerved. But she had people relying on her. She couldn’t let them down.
‘The Heritage Trust meet here on Thursday nights. I’m secretary. Assistant secretary.’ She took a breath. Honesty was the best policy. ‘I’m the only one who can do shorthand. We don’t use a recording device.’
‘You don’t run it?’
‘Well, no.’
He was shrugging out of his coat, looking around the entrance hall as if expecting minions to appear and help him. ‘So you don’t run it, you’re the secretary. How long has this been going on?’ he asked.
‘A little under a year. Mr Voronov was kind enough—’
‘For you to take advantage.’
‘No, that’s not—’
Sybella promptly lost her train of thought as the tailored wool
