you, boy?’ Sophie crooned as she made a fuss of Dorcha. ‘Can you smell your dinner?’ she asked the wolfhound. She glanced at Nicolo. ‘I’m cooking a steak for him and stuffed baked trout for us. You really shouldn’t eat too much red meat—it’s bad for your digestive system and is probably the reason you’re so grouchy.’
Nicolo’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is that so?’ No way was he going to admit that the aroma of warm trout was tantalising his taste buds. Truthfully, he was sick of eating steak every night, but he had not realised it until now.
‘I bought lots of fresh vegetables as well as store cupboard essentials,’ Sophie continued brightly. ‘The lady in the village shop said that you used to employ a cook, but since Mrs Pearson retired a couple of months ago you live here alone.’
‘I like being on my own,’ Nicolo said pointedly.
Sophie apparently did not hear him and prattled on. ‘Although the shop lady said you have a cleaner come in twice a week. I knew that anyway. Your cleaner is the farmer’s wife’s sister, isn’t she?’
‘I haven’t a goddamned clue who my cleaner is related to. How the hell do you know?’ Nicolo strode across the kitchen. ‘Dio, do you ever stop talking, Miss Ashdown?’ He swore beneath his breath. ‘What do you want?’
‘You know what I want. Christos asked me to talk to you—’
‘Perhaps he hoped you would bore me to death.’
‘—about the shareholders’ meeting.’ Sophie ignored his jibe. She turned her head and gave him a direct look that for some peculiar reason made Nicolo feel uncomfortable. ‘I’m simply trying to do my job,’ she said quietly.
Sophie stiffened as Nicolo strode towards her. ‘If you’re planning to use brute force to throw me out of the house again, I’d better warn you that I am perfectly capable of defending myself. It was just that you took me by surprise earlier.’
Nicolo skimmed his gaze over her petite frame. ‘I’m a foot taller than you. What do you intend to do—bite my ankles?’ he asked sardonically.
Sophie’s hazel eyes flashed dangerously and she folded her arms across her chest. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m a black belt in—in tae kwon do.’
It was true that she had never sparred with an opponent as physically imposing as Nicolo, but she wasn’t going to admit that to him. ‘I’ll make a deal with you, Mr Chatsfield.’
‘You’re hardly in a position to make a deal, Miss Ashdown.’
Despite himself, Nicolo was intrigued by Sophie. When he’d walked into the kitchen he had been shocked to find that she had returned to the house after their previous encounter. She had guts, he acknowledged grudgingly.
Irritatingly, he was also forced to admit that attractive did not adequately describe her classical beauty. She had changed into jeans and a plain white T-shirt. There was nothing remarkable about her clothes but he could not help noticing how the denim moulded her pert bottom and the clingy cotton shirt revealed the upwards tilt of her breasts. Her long hair was caught up in a ponytail, with a few feathery strands framing her face, and the transformation from sophisticated secretary to a look that was both wholesome and yet sexy stirred a purely masculine response in Nicolo.
‘What deal?’ he growled.
Sophie felt a surge of triumph that she seemed to be getting somewhere with Nicolo but she was careful not to reveal her satisfaction in her voice. ‘If you will allow me to stay and try to persuade you to attend the shareholders’ meeting, I’ll cook for you.’ She smiled. ‘Without wanting to boast, I’m a very good cook.’
Nicolo shrugged. ‘I have to warn you that you’ll be wasting your time, Miss Ashdown. I have no intention of being Christos Giatrakos’s puppet.’
‘All I’m asking is that you listen to me. Also, Christos wants me to stay for a few days and sort through some of the files that your father kept here.’
Sophie took Nicolo’s silence as agreement. ‘Which bedroom should I sleep in?’ she asked breezily. ‘As we are going to be housemates, maybe you could drop the Miss Ashdown and call me Sophie?’
‘Housemates!’ Nicolo’s eyes glinted. ‘Don’t push your luck—Sophie.’
Dio, he had never met a woman so determined to have her own way! For some inexplicable reason Nicolo’s eyes were drawn to Sophie Ashdown’s mouth. Her lips were soft and moist and temptingly kissable and he found himself imagining crushing her mouth beneath his own and kissing her until she was in no doubt that he was master of Chatsfield House.
Madonna, that was not a path he wanted to go down, he reminded himself. He had no interest in Christos Giatrakos’s ultra-confident, ultra-irritating personal assistant. He could physically evict her from the house again, but she would probably find a way of getting back in. She had proved herself to be surprisingly resourceful. His jaw tightened with irritation as he acknowledged that he would have to put up with her presence for a couple of days. Once she’d got the message that he would not change his mind about the shareholders’ meeting she would presumably take herself back to London.
‘You can use the room at the far end of the second-floor landing,’ he told her abruptly. ‘It has a good view of the Chiltern Hills from the window.’
‘Thank you,’ Sophie murmured. To her annoyance her voice sounded faintly breathless. She had noticed how Nicolo’s gaze had lingered on her breasts, and she prayed he could not tell that her nipples had hardened beneath her bra. She was supremely aware of his potent masculinity and dismayed by the subtle undercurrent of sexual tension that she sensed between them. The last thing she wanted was to be attracted to Nicolo Chatsfield!
Feeling flustered, she swung away from him and walked over to the range cooker. ‘If you need to carry on working in your study, I’ll call you when dinner is ready.’
He muttered something beneath his breath that to Sophie’s sharp sense of hearing sounded like ‘bossy madam.’ She could not tear her eyes from him as he shrugged off his leather coat, revealing a black silk shirt that moulded his muscular torso. He pulled the glove from his left hand and she gasped when she saw his discoloured skin. The scarring had the distinctive mottled appearance of a burn injury, covering his fingers and the back of his hand and disappearing beneath his shirtsleeve. Sophie wondered how far up his arm the scar went.
Her eyes flew to his face. Nicolo had stiffened at her reaction and his expression was shuttered so that she had no idea what he was thinking.
‘I couldn’t help noticing your hand,’ she said shakily. ‘Christos told me that you were badly hurt in a fire years ago at the Chatsfield.’
When he made no response she continued, ‘You saved someone’s life. The papers said you were a hero.’
Nicolo gave a harsh laugh and his mouth twisted in an expression of bleak bitterness that shocked Sophie.
‘You shouldn’t believe everything you read in newspapers,’ he said savagely. Spinning round, he strode out of the kitchen and across the hall to his study, closing the door behind him with a resounding slam that made Sophie wonder how the leaded-light windows had any glass panes left in them.
* * *
Hero!
