certain she did.
Danger. Fire. And Lydia Stanford. Like the Holy Trinity they belonged together.
‘Thank you.’
‘Give Wendy my…’Love. She’d been about to say love. Hardly appropriate for a woman she didn’t know. ‘Best wishes.’
His hand went to his tie. ‘I’ll do that.’
Lydia made herself smile. She didn’t know what was going on here. There were undercurrents she didn’t understand. ‘Perhaps she’ll ring me when she feels…ready?’
‘I’m sure she will.’
And then he left. Awkwardly—and she had no idea why. Why was it she felt so uncomfortable round Nicholas Regan-Phillips? It wasn’t as if she wasn’t used to men with influence and money. She was.
She heard the front door click shut and gazed about Wendy Bennington’s tired kitchen. What the heck was she doing? And, more importantly, why was she doing it?
It was true, what she’d told Nicholas Regan-Phillips, she did have the time. This was her holiday.
Nicholas Regan-Phillips. What a mouthful of a name. Nick Regan. His Nick Regan suited him far better.
Lydia filled the old limescale encrusted kettle and set it on the gas hob. It was just so out of character for her to have agreed to kick her heels in such a place.
Why would she do that? This wasn’t her problem.
But Nick Regan was, that little voice that sat some way to the left of her shoulder whispered. He was arrogant, rude, supercilious…and sexy. Lydia searched around for a coffee mug. Bizarrely, Nick Regan was very, very sexy—and he was probably the reason she’d agreed to stay.
Now, if Izzy knew that…
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