she was suddenly glad she was sitting down as her knees actually went weak.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
He scrutinised her boots. ‘Are they waterproof?’
‘They’re leather.’
‘And they’ll be ruined within a day.’ He flapped a dismissive hand. ‘Never mind, we’ll get you something at the airport when we land. At least your coat is suitable.’
‘And it’s definitely windproof.’
He tipped his head slightly to one side. ‘And you know that, how?’
‘My best friend nagged me into doing a sponsored walk coast to coast with her. Let’s just say the north of England can be a bit windy. And wet.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you sure that you really need a lawyer with you? You seem to be quite good at grilling people.’
He laughed. ‘Force of habit. I apologise. Do you want a coffee?’
‘Do I have time to get one before our flight?’
He surprised her by scooping up his papers and putting them in his briefcase. ‘Stay put and I’ll get them—what do you want?’
‘Latte, if they have it, please. Otherwise, just ordinary coffee with milk, no sugar. But, hang on, shouldn’t I be getting these?’
Jake stood up. ‘Why?’
‘Because you’re the head of the company, and technically I’m your junior.’
‘You’re my colleague,’ he corrected, ‘so we’ll take it in turns to fetch coffee.’ His tone brooked no argument. ‘Do you want anything to eat?’
‘Thanks for the offer, but no. I’m fine.’
She watched him walk away, his movements easy and graceful and incredibly sexy, and her fingers itched to sketch him.
To touch him.
Down, girl, she warned her libido silently. Wrong time, wrong place, wrong man.
He returned with coffee and gingerbread. ‘It was fresh out of the oven. I’m prepared to share, but I won’t argue if you refuse.’
‘Your weakness?’ she guessed.
‘Blame it on memories of Saturday mornings in my Norwegian grandmother’s kitchen.’ He grinned, suddenly looking younger, and her heart skipped a beat. Jakob Andersen in work mode was gorgeous enough. In play mode, he was breathtaking.
His fingers brushed against hers as he handed her the coffee, sending a shiver of desire down her spine. She hoped he hadn’t noticed; the last thing she needed now was complications.
One last job. That was what they’d agreed. And then she could resign and get on with the life she really wanted to lead.
‘Do you mind if I…?’ He fished his phone from his inside pocket.
‘Sure. I have stuff to be getting on with, too.’ Emails of her own to check on her BlackBerry.
‘Fine. Help yourself to gingerbread.’
She didn’t dare. Just in case she reached for the bag at the same time as him, and their fingers ended up tangling, and she ended up blurting out the crazy ideas in her head.
This really wasn’t on. For all she knew, Jake was already committed elsewhere, and the last thing they needed was an embarrassing situation just before they left the country to work together for a few days.
An insidious voice in her head reminded her that Jakob Andersen worked the kind of hours that few women would put up with, so he was probably single.
But she refused to listen. As far as she was concerned, he was off limits and staying that way.
Lydia had just about got herself under control by the time they checked in and boarded the plane. Jake was busy reading through paperwork; she knew she ought to do the same, but he’d given her the window seat and the pattern of clouds was irresistible. A glance told her that Jake was totally absorbed in what he was doing, so she took out the sketchpad and tin of pencils she always carried in her handbag, and began sketching. She worked swiftly, her pencil skimming the page.
And then she realised what she was sketching. Not the clouds: a picture in her mind’s eye.
Jake.
Flushing, she closed her sketchbook and stuffed it back into her handbag. Better to concentrate on her paperwork. She opened her file, and forced herself to focus on the words in front of her.
Jake was aware of the sudden flush on Lydia’s cheeks. What had happened to make her colour rise like that?
He was horribly aware that he’d like to see her skin bloom with colour in a completely different situation. One where her breathing would be ragged and her eyes would be wide with desire and her mouth would be parted and…
No.
Apart from the fact that he never dated anyone who worked for him—in his view, mixing work and relationships always ended in a mess—thoughts like these were completely inappropriate. For all he knew, Lydia was in a serious, committed relationship. There were no rings on her left hand, but that meant nothing.
Though he had heard Tim refer to her as the ice queen, as if she never dated.
The ice queen. Ha. More proof that the junior lawyer still had a lot of growing up to do. Just by looking at her, Jake could tell there was nothing icy about Lydia Sheridan. Her mouth had a sensual curve that would make any man want to reach over and touch.
Taste.
And right now he was beginning to wish that he’d brought Tim with him instead of Lydia. Because Lydia was the first woman who’d tempted him since Grace—and he wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to resist.
Two hours later, the plane landed and they disembarked. It was raining, and Lydia was glad of her coat as they hurried across to the terminal.
‘There’s a saying in Norway: God made the country so beautiful, he must wash it every day,’ Jake said, as if reading her mind. ‘Oslo’s beautiful at night, when all the lights reflect on the wet ground.’
She could imagine it. ‘I was expecting it to be darker than this.’
‘The polar nights, you mean?’ He shook his head. ‘We’re in the south of the country, so at this time of year there are six hours of sunlight—it’s not that much different from London. Dusk and dawn are a bit longer, maybe. Further north it’s twilight, but it’s still light enough to read by at midday.’
‘Takk,’ she said.
He looked at her in surprise. ‘I thought you said you didn’t speak Norwegian?’
‘I learned a couple of phrases last night. To be polite.’
He gave her an approving
