She was the last woman in the world he’d expected to be so in tune with.
Once he’d helped her clear away, she said, ‘I thought we could have coffee in the living room.’
‘Sounds good to me.’
‘OK. You can go through and put on some music, if you like,’ she suggested.
Claire’s living room had clearly been hastily tidied, judging by the edges of the magazines peeking from the side of her sofa—he remembered her telling him that she was addicted to magazines; but the flowers he’d sent her that morning were in a vase on the coffee table, perfectly arranged. Clearly she liked them and hadn’t just been polite when she’d thanked him for them earlier. And, given the pink tones in the room, he’d managed to pick her favourite colours.
Her MP3 player was in a speaker dock. He took it out and skimmed through the tracks. Given what she’d said at lunchtime, he’d expected most of the music to be pop, but he was surprised to see how much of it was from the nineteen-sixties. In the end, he picked a general compilation and switched on the music.
She smiled when she came in. ‘Good choice. I love the Ronettes.’ She sang a snatch of the next line.
‘Aren’t you a bit young to like this stuff?’ he asked.
‘Nope. It’s the sort of stuff my gran listens to, so I grew up with it—singing into hairbrushes, the lot,’ she said with a smile. ‘Best Friday nights ever. Totally girly. Me, Mum, Gran, Aunt Lou and my cousins. Popcorn, waffles, milkshake and music.’
It was the first time she’d talked about her family. ‘So you’re close to your family?’ he asked.
‘Yes. I still clash quite a bit with my dad,’ she said, ‘but that’s hardly tactful to talk about that to you.’
‘Because I’m male?’
‘Because,’ she said softly, ‘I’d guess that, like Ash, you’d give anything to be able to talk to your dad. And here am I grumbling about my remaining parent. Though, to be fair, my dad is nothing like yours was. Yours actually listened.’
Fair point. He did miss his parents. And, when the whole takeover bid had kicked off, Sean would’ve given anything to be able to talk about it to his dad. But at the same time he knew that relationships were complicated. And it was none of his business. Unless Claire wanted to talk about it, he had to leave the subject alone.
She’d brought in a tray with a cafetière, two mugs, a small jug of milk and the box he’d given her earlier. ‘Milk and sugar?’ she asked.
‘Neither, thanks. I like my caffeine unadulterated,’ he said with a smile.
Claire, he noticed, took hers with two sugars and a lot of milk. Revolting. And it also made him worry that she wouldn’t like the samples he’d brought; she probably preferred white chocolate to dark. Then again, he’d been wrong about a lot of things where Claire was concerned.
‘Right. This box of utter yumminess. Whatever else I might have said about you in the past,’ she said, ‘I’ve always said that you make seriously good toffee.’
Honesty compelled him to say, ‘No, my staff do. I’m not really hands-on in the manufacturing department.’
‘Now that surprises me,’ she said. ‘I would’ve pegged you as the kind of manager who did every single job in the factory so you knew exactly what all the issues are.’
‘I have done, over the years,’ he said. ‘Everything from the manufacturing to packing the goods, to carrying the boxes out for delivery. And every single admin role. And, yes, I worked with the cleaning team as well. Nowadays, I have regular meetings with each department and my staff know that I want to know about any problems they have and can’t smooth out on their own.’
‘Attention to detail.’
Her voice sounded almost like a purr. And there was a suspicious glow of colour across her cheeks.
‘Claire?’
‘Um,’ she said. ‘Just thinking. About Capri. About...’
And now he was feeling the same rush of blood to the head. ‘Close your eyes,’ he said.
Her breathing went shallow. ‘Why?’
‘Humour me?’
‘OK.’ She closed her eyes.
He took one of the dark salted caramel chocolates from the box and brushed it against her lips. Her mouth parted—and so did the lashes on her left eye.
‘No peeking,’ he said.
In return, she gave him an insolent smile and opened both eyes properly. ‘So we’re playing, are we, Mr Farrell?’
‘We are indeed, Ms Stewart. Now close your eyes.’ He teased her mouth with the chocolate and made her reach for it before finally letting her take a bite.
‘You,’ she said when she’d eaten it, ‘have just upped your game considerably. I love the caramel-filled hearts, but these are spectacular.’
‘You liked them?’ Funny how that made him feel so good.
‘Actually, I think I need another one, to check.’
He laughed. ‘Oh, really?’
‘Yes, really.’ She struck a pose.
No way was he teasing her with chocolate when she looked like that, all pouting and dimpled and sexy as hell. Instead, he leaned over and kissed her.
The next thing he knew, they were both lying full length on the sofa and she was on top of him, his arms were wrapped tightly round her, and one of his hands was resting on the curve of her bottom.
‘You’re telling me that was chocolate?’ she deadpanned.
‘Maybe. Maybe not.’ He moved his hand, liking the softness of her curves. ‘Claire. You’re...’
‘What?’
‘Unexpectedly luscious,’ he said. ‘None of this was supposed to happen.’
‘Says the man who made me close my eyes and lean forward to take a bite of chocolate. Giving him a view straight down the front of my dress, if I’m not mistaken.’
‘It was a very nice view,’ he said, and shifted slightly so she was left in no doubt of his arousal.
‘This is what chocolate does to you?’ she asked.
‘No. This is what you do to me.’
She leaned forward and caught his lower lip between hers, teasing him. ‘Indeed, Mr Farrell.’
‘Yeah.’ He was aware that his voice sounded husky. She’d know from that exactly how much she affected him.
‘So did you come prepared?’ she asked.
He
