and butter pudding and ice cream,’ said Mrs Blackwood at once. ‘I know it’s fattening, but it is Mrs Robertson’s favourite. I thought she deserved something really nice, after having that fall and all.’
“Mmm.’ Eve nodded appreciatively. Mrs Blackwood’s bread and butter pudding, which she made with brioche and peaches, was famous in the village. She usually contributed individual puddings whenever the church had a coffee morning, and it always sold out at summer bakes and Christmas fairs.
‘You think your grandmother will approve, then?’
‘I think she’ll be delighted,’ Eve assured her. ‘Which reminds me, I’d better go and see how she is. I hope nothing’s been said to upset her.’
‘I shouldn’t worry.’ Mrs Blackwood looked up from her task as she made for the door. ‘Your grandmother’s a tough old bird, Eve. She’s had to be, if you get my meaning. I’m not saying she doesn’t love her daughter. Of course she does. But she’s known her too long to be upset by anything Cassie says.’
‘I hope you’re right.’
Eve let herself out of the door and headed for the stairs. The large entrance hall of the building struck her as chilly, after the cosy warmth of the kitchen, and she wondered if she ought to fetch a sweater while she was upstairs. But then, as she put her foot on the bottom stair, she realised someone was coming down. Looking up, she saw Jacob Romero descending towards her, and that thought went out of her head.
He’d changed his clothes, too, she noticed, though she quickly dropped her gaze and stood back to let him pass before starting up. Evidently Cassie had warned him that they didn’t dress formally for supper, but his fine wool camel-coloured sweater and black moleskin pants would have looked good in any company.
She supposed it was because they were expensive. Everything about him breathed money, which was par for the course as far as Cassie was concerned. Not that his dark good looks wouldn’t have played a part. Eve had seen from the way the other woman looked at him that she very much coveted his body as well.
She’d expected him to perhaps offer a smile and go on, but he didn’t. Instead, he stopped beside her, and she was instantly aware of his height. A tall girl herself she found she was usually on eye-level terms with the men she met, but Jacob Romero was several inches above her.
He was also much closer than she could have wished, and she had to steel herself not to step back from him. Was there a trace of cruel humour in the dark eyes? Was he as aware as she was of the effect he had upon her?
‘I just wanted to thank you for having me here,’ he said, the faint trace of some accent evident in his husky voice. Was he an American? If so, the intonation was very soft. Whatever, it only added to the sensual appeal of the man, and Eve couldn’t prevent a shiver of apprehension from sliding down her spine.
‘It’s not my house,’ she said quickly, aware that her tone had been much sharper than his. But, dammit, he disconcerted her, and she was pretty sure he knew it.
‘You live here,’ he murmured simply. ‘Cassandra says you teach in the village. Is that an interesting occupation?’
‘It’s a job,’ Eve responded, putting a hand firmly on the banister, making it fairly clear that as far as she was concerned the conversation was over.
He didn’t take the hint. ‘So—do you like living here?’ he asked. ‘It seems very—remote.’
‘Far from civilisation, you mean?’ she countered, aware that she was being unnecessarily blunt, but unable to help herself. He probably thought she was graceless as well as ignorant, she reflected. It wasn’t his fault that Cassie was such a bitch.
‘I meant it can’t be easy having only an elderly lady as a companion,’ he amended drily. Then, with a glint of humour tugging at his thin mouth, he added, ‘Who am I kidding? You obviously don’t want us here.’
‘I never said that.’ Eve was appalled that she’d betrayed her feelings so candidly. ‘Naturally, Cassie’s always welcome. This is her home.’
‘Yeah, right.’ He grinned at her discomfort, white teeth contrasting sharply with the dark tan of his skin. ‘But it’s not my home. I know.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’ Eve had been staring at him, but now she dropped her gaze. ‘You’re deliberately misunderstanding me,’ she said, concentrating her gaze some way below the shadow of beard already showing on his jawline. But the tight-fitting pants were just as disturbing to her present frame of mind, the velvet-soft fabric clinging lovingly to every line and angle of the bulge between his legs.
Dear God!
‘I’m trying not to,’ he said then, and his husky drawl scraped like raw silk across her sensitised flesh. He was much too close, much too male, and it was an effort to remember where she’d been going before this encounter.
‘I—I have to go,’ she declared hurriedly, attempting to move past him. ‘Um—Mrs Robertson will be wondering where I am.’
‘The old lady?’ As her breasts came up against the arm he’d put out to stop her, she recoiled in panic. But all he said was, ‘She’s not in her room. Cassandra said she insisted on coming downstairs to eat with us.’
Eve gathered her wits about her. The knowledge that Cassie had persuaded her mother to leave her bed, when she really needed her rest, just to join her and her paramour for supper was bad enough. But what had just happened had added a tension she really didn’t need.
Yet what had happened? she chided herself. It had obviously meant less than nothing to him. And was she so afraid of male attention that having her boobs accidentally crushed against his arm turned into a major event?
Once, she wouldn’t have considered it. Once, she would have fought off any attempt to get close to her, and any man who’d tried would have been nursing an aching groin for his trouble.
She was getting soft, she thought, aware that he was watching her with a strangely speculative look on his dark face. But, dammit, her nipples were still taut and tingling, and the unexpected contact with his body had caused a disturbing explosion of heat inside her.
Shaking her head, as if the simple action would clear her confusion, she said stiffly, ‘Where is she? My—Mrs Robertson, I mean.’
‘Your Mrs Robertson is in the library,’ Jacob Romero told her consideringly, and she guessed her slip of the tongue had not gone unnoticed. His brows drew together above his straight, almost aquiline nose. ‘Are you all right?’
Eve did step back then. This had gone far enough. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ she exclaimed, managing to sound surprised at the question. She smoothed her palms, which were unusually damp, down the seams of her cords. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and see if she needs anything.’
If she’d thought to escape him, she was disappointed. He accompanied her across the circular Persian carpet that occupied a prominent position in the centre of the floor. Double doors opposite opened into the library, which had been her grandfather’s study while he was alive, but now served as both estate office and sitting room.
It was a cosy room, the books lining the walls scenting the air with the smell of old leather. A fire was burning in the large grate and Eve’s grandmother was seated
