wrong?’
Connor’s deep drawl broke into her consciousness. She’d almost forgotten him in her panic.
‘I just killed my computer with orange juice.’ It would have been funny if it wasn’t so absolutely devastating. Losing her laptop was tantamount to losing her right hand.
‘Orange juice?’ He nodded slowly. ‘So that’s what you’ve christened my bed with.’
Irritation got the better of her. How could he be concerned about the state of the bed when her laptop had kicked the bucket?
‘I’ve just lost three days’ worth of work.’
He appeared unfazed by her snippy tone. ‘Do you always work naked?’ Crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow, he gave her a look that bordered on seductive.
The hairs on her arms stood up in response and heat burned in her belly. Acutely aware of her nakedness under the towel, she broke eye contact and looked around for her clothes. She’d have to walk past him to get to them. That meant skirting the end of the bed and passing within a foot of him. The thought made her uneasy and a little tick throbbed in her eye.
Rubbing a hand over her face, she tried to wipe away the befuddling mix of sensations. ‘I was in the shower and I had a thought.’ Her voice trembled and she cleared her throat to relieve the tightness.
He tilted his head in an approximation of bewildered understanding.
She sighed. ‘I’m writing a tender document for work and I was hit with inspiration. I didn’t want to forget it before I had a chance to write it down.’
‘I get it,’ he said, giving a bemused shake of his head.
Good God, he knew how to get under her skin.
‘Look, do you mind?’ She forced her shoulders back and tipped up her chin. ‘I’m not exactly prepared for socialising right now. Can we talk about this in the morning?’
Connor dragged his gaze up from where her fingers grasped the towel and frowned. ‘Where am I supposed to sleep? You’ve taken the only bed.’
‘Try the sofa.’
The look on his face almost made her laugh.
‘I’ve been travelling for three months. I was looking forward to finally sleeping in my own bed.’
‘If I’d known you were coming we could have worked something out,’ she retorted.
‘Worked something out, huh?’ He dropped his gaze down her body, taking in the swell of her figure that the towel barely concealed.
The disturbing throb began again, deep inside her. She pulled the towel tighter, unnerved by his attention. It was disconcerting being half-naked in front of a total stranger. Especially one as unsettling as Connor Preston.
‘You know what I mean,’ she said, nerves making her tone snappy again. The heavy unease she’d been wrestling with for the past week stretched its tentacles. She blew out a steadying breath, counted to three. ‘Look, can we sleep on it tonight and work it out in the morning? I doubt you want to sleep in a damp, orange-soaked bed anyway, right?’ She cocked what she hoped would come across as an affable smile.
He continued to size her up for a moment. ‘Okay,’ he said slowly, then ran a hand over his tired eyes. ‘I’ve been travelling all day and I haven’t got the energy to deal with this now. I’ll sleep on the sofa tonight. We’ll talk in the morning.’
He turned abruptly and left the room, slamming the door behind him and leaving her shaky and bewildered.
* * *
Josie woke late the next morning.
After failing to resuscitate her laptop she’d scribbled down as much as she could remember from the tender document, trying not to let panic sink its teeth into her, before falling into a fitful sleep. Her senses had been on high alert following the run-in with Connor, and every creak and groan in the old property had made her jump. She’d finally dropped off just as the birds started their dawn chorus, exhaustion winning the battle over her adrenalised body.
She lay staring at the ceiling, cursing her bad luck. It hadn’t been the best few weeks ever and it didn’t look as though things were about to improve any time soon. Hopefully her computer would dry out and boot up again in a few hours, so she wouldn’t have to spend the next week reconstructing the whole document. If not—well, she’d have to find a repair shop somewhere and see if it was salvageable. More delays. Just what she didn’t need. Just what the business didn’t need.
And she had another problem now. Abigail’s brother was obviously annoyed to find someone else using his house—which was understandable; if she’d come home to find someone in her bed she’d have been totally thrown too—but she’d promised Abi that she’d have a proper break away after the whole humiliating debacle at work.
If only she hadn’t lost her cool and flipped out like that in front of everyone perhaps Abi would have taken her worries about the state of the business more seriously. She’d ended up looking like a total loon.
No wonder her business partner had been so firm about her staying here for a couple of weeks—in her words ‘to give everyone a chance to calm down and work things through’—and she hadn’t wanted to argue and strain their precarious relationship further. Agreeing to a couple of weeks here had seemed like a sensible compromise, but Connor wanting this place too had thrown a spanner in the works. She really didn’t need the hassle of finding some faceless hotel to stay in during peak season. Anyway, this place was just as much Abi’s as Connor’s, and she’d arrived here first.
With newfound determination she tossed back the covers and slipped out of bed, pausing for a moment to luxuriate in the feel of her toes digging into the soft Persian rug before going to the antique wardrobe to find some clothes. Grabbing a pair of jeans and a loose T-shirt, she pulled them on, then stripped the king-sized brass bed, bundling up the sheets ready to stick in the washing machine.
When she’d arrived a few days ago she’d been blown away by the beauty of the place. She’d expected a rundown holiday home in the middle of nowhere. Instead she’d found a characterful farmhouse a twenty-minute drive from Aix-en-Provence.
It had a large kitchen diner and a cosy, snug downstairs, complete with battered leather sofas and an old wood-burning stove. The air smelt delicious—like herbs and woodsmoke and sunshine. Nothing like the sanitised holiday lets her mother had used to scour with foul-smelling disinfectant when they first arrived on their interminable family vacations. Upstairs there was a large bathroom with an enormous claw-footed bath and a separate shower cubicle, along with a beautiful antique vanity unit. Worryingly, she remembered, of the three bedrooms only one was furnished: the one she was currently sleeping in. The others looked as though they were being used to store various strangely shaped equipment and large crates of goodness only knew what.
So only one bed.
She needed to talk to Abigail’s brother and find out his plans. Then, if he meant to stay, gently persuade him to change them. Or maybe not so gently, if it came to that. The last thing she needed was someone asking questions and spoiling her fragile peace. She was going to do her time here, prove to Abi that she was fit and rested enough to come back to work, then get on with advancing the
