the evidence of the arousing effect she had on him.
‘Give me five minutes to get dressed,’ he requested as he turned away and headed to the door.
‘Gabriel?’
Her soft voice halted him and he glanced back. ‘Yes?’
‘I could prepare a quick meal while you’re gone,’ she offered.
‘Are you sure?’
Her head bobbed in assent. ‘It’s no trouble. Is there anything you don’t like?’
Dieu! He couldn’t imagine anything Lauren could suggest that he wouldn’t like, but he managed to focus his attention on food. ‘Mushrooms, shellfish and red meat,’ he informed her, catching her surprised smile.
‘Me, too.’ Mischief gleamed in her eyes. ‘And I confess I’m not keen on boiled cabbage, tapioca or mushy peas either.’
‘Believe me, Lauren, you are not alone!’ Chuckling, he left the room.
‘I certainly hope not—not any more.’
Had he really heard those final whispered words? And could they mean what he hoped they did? He was confused by his instinctive response to this woman. It was unlike him. And that was disturbing. He’d not been so spontaneously attracted to anyone for years—if ever. The timing was unfortunate. He had never considered such a thing happening to him, especially not while part of his world was in turmoil and he had decisions to make about his future. Coming here was meant to give him space to declutter his life, not add more complications to it.
But he couldn’t deny the way his body had reacted to the sight, scent and sound of Lauren Nightingale. Anxious to dress and return to the kitchen as quickly as possible, Gabriel hurried up the stairs. Had he dreamed it all? What if the sizzle of electricity between himself and Lauren had been a figment of his overactive imagination? What if it wasn’t? He was here for a year. To work. To think. Did he even want to consider any kind of involvement? He hadn’t been at the Manor House an hour and already he was feeling alive at an unexpected awareness, filled with a sense of wary excitement at the possibilities that might lie ahead.
Perhaps it had just been too long since he had dated a woman. After his most recent experience with Adèle, and with his mother’s continued interference, he had become cautious, untrusting. But that had been a year ago. And Lauren knew nothing about his life—or his family circumstances. More importantly, Yvette, his mother, knew nothing about Lauren. If anything happened between them, it would be because of who and what they were…no ulterior motives, no deception, no scheming.
Unzipping a suitcase, he pulled out fresh clothes and dressed in record time, favouring casual jeans and a warm cashmere jumper. As he made his way out of his bedroom, tantalising aromas teased his senses and sharpened his hunger, and he increased his pace, keen to discover both the food awaiting him and the intriguing woman who was preparing it.
Lauren occupied his thoughts. He would be cautious about rushing into anything, but he wanted to spend time with her, to get to know her better. If the connection and charge of desire he had felt between them was real…
CHAPTER TWO
LAUREN set the plate of food she had prepared on the table in the rustic kitchen and tried very hard not to stare at Gabriel. An impossible feat. He looked almost as gorgeous with his clothes on…and just as impressive. The sweater he wore—over the kind of faded, body-hugging jeans that ought to be made illegal, so lethal were they to a woman’s blood pressure—looked expensive, the mulberry colour warming and flattering the espresso-coffee tones of his skin.
He sat down, a quizzical expression on his face as he noted she had only laid one place. ‘You are not eating, Lauren?’
‘No.’ The breathlessness was back in her voice—an uncharacteristic reaction that seemed to afflict her at every sight and sound of Gabriel Devereux. ‘I met up with friends in town. We had soup and sandwiches at the farmers’ market.’
‘But you will join me here, yes?’ He drew out the chair nearest to him before extending a hand and inviting her to sit.
Gratified by his suggestion to be near him, Lauren hastened to take her seat, hoping she looked far less flustered than she felt. ‘Thank you.’ For goodness’ sake. She was a thirty-year-old woman, not some blushing schoolgirl!
‘Forgive me tucking right in, I’m hungrier than I thought.’ The appreciative look he sent her, and the readiness of his smile, heated her right through. So much for cool, calm maturity. ‘This looks and smells wonderful.’
Cooking was not her greatest talent, but Gabriel gave every evidence of liking her food. She’d made him a simple omelette with cheese and chives, serving it with a warmed granary roll, plus a tomato, rocket and watercress salad…all fresh ingredients she had picked up on her shopping trip that morning. He was eating with relish, his enjoyment making her smile with relief. And she had even more to be grateful for, she admitted to herself—she’d not had any accidents or set fire to the kitchen which, given her current run of clumsy faux pas, was a major achievement.
Foxy, having quenched his thirst from the bowl of water she had set down for him, now sprawled his long, too-skinny body beside her chair, his paws twitching in his sleep, blissfully unconcerned by the electrically charged atmosphere crackling between the two humans. Lauren couldn’t help but be aware of it. Aware of Gabriel. She was glad she had made herself some tea. It gave her something to do with her hands. Anything to avoid the temptation—the compulsion—to touch him. She cupped the mug, watching from beneath her lashes as he finished his meal. When she raised the mug to her lips and took a sip of her drink, she looked up to find mocha eyes watching her intently, and a fresh dart of feminine recognition zinged through her body.
‘That was delicious.’ Gabriel’s smile and sexy accent undid her every time. ‘Thank you, Lauren.’
‘My pleasure.’
After taking a drink from his glass of water, he turned so he was facing her, giving her his undivided attention. She could feel fresh heat tinge her cheeks. ‘It seems a long time since breakfast.’
‘Did you come over from France this morning?’ she ventured, struggling to appear cool and composed.
‘I took the chance of an earlier ferry from Cherbourg to Poole yesterday, then I stayed the night with an old friend in Bournemouth before driving down here today.’
A bleakness shadowed his eyes, so fleeting it was gone before she could be sure. But she was left with a sense that there was more to Gabriel’s departure from France than he had let on. She wondered what had happened, and whether there was a woman involved.
Instead of satisfying her curiosity and asking outright, she endeavoured to be more subtle. ‘Wouldn’t getting a ferry to Plymouth have been easier?’
‘Not really. Cherbourg is only about thirty or forty minutes from where I was based in St Ouen-sur-Mer. If I had gone to Plymouth, it would have meant a long drive through France to Roscoff and almost twice as long for the Channel crossing.’ His eyes twinkled as he sent her a wry smile. ‘I am not the best traveller on ferries! And I prefer to be in control of my own destiny. Besides, the drive down from Dorset to Cornwall today gave me the opportunity to reaccustom myself to English roads.’
‘How did you come to take this job?’ she asked,
