she muttered, avoiding eye contact, as a deep flush crept up her neck. What on earth was happening to her? She didn’t know what it was but she had to get a grip. Take control of the situation. Or at least try and control something – starting with the hurricane of lust that was swirling around her. She tilted up her chin and met his gaze. Bad idea! No sooner had she looked into his eyes than she immediately wished she hadn’t. They were exactly the same shade of navy-blue as his T-shirt, framed by long dark lashes and sparkling with humour. The devastating combination set off a swarm of butterflies in her stomach.
‘Look, maybe we should start again,’ he said, holding out his hand to her. ‘I’m Jake. Jake … Sinclair.’
Annie gawped at the large tanned hand. The thought of touching it made her dizzy. But she couldn’t just stand there like a plank.
‘Annie Richards,’ she said, aware of her blush deepening and a strange swirling sensation sweeping over her the moment she placed her hand in his. So light-headed was she, she thought she might swoon. Not that she made a habit of swooning. She had never swooned in her entire life. But perhaps that was because she’d never met such a devastatingly drop-dead gorgeous male in her entire life.
‘I’m an old friend of Jasper’s,’ he continued. ‘He offered me the use of the manor.’
Did he now? Well, trust Jasper to forget to tell her. Not that Annie was surprised. While Portia verged on the academically brilliant, her brother – despite an education costing more than the national debt of some countries – had never been the brightest bulb in the many Pinkington-Smythe chandeliers.
‘Have you, um, duelled with many burglars lately?’
Had she duelled with many burglars? Was that an attempt at humour? Because Annie really wasn’t in the mood for humour. She was too busy wading through her pit of mortification, searching for the exit sign. ‘Um, not many, no,’ she mumbled, tucking a wayward curl behind her ear.
‘So, if you’re the caretaker, you must live nearby,’ he continued.
Annie nodded. ‘In the gatehouse.’
‘Right. Nice and handy then.’
‘Very handy. Yes. Thanks.’
Thanks? Why was she thanking him? And why was he standing there looking so … so … gorgeous? And so … cool? While she felt like a complete turnip. She glanced longingly at the door. She couldn’t just make a bolt for it. She’d have to make some attempt at conversation. She cleared her throat.
‘How long are you staying?’
She held her breath hoping it was just overnight. Or a couple of days. Or even until mid-week. She could cope with that. Probably.
‘Six weeks or so.’
Six weeks! Yet again Annie’s legs almost caved. She made another grab for the bannister. Six weeks. That was what? … forty-two days. Which would be – she did a quick mental calculation – approximately one thousand hours. Good lord. It was like … forever. He might as well have said “a whole month and a half”, because that’s what it equated to.
As if attempting to justify his presence, he added, ‘Jasper told me the place would be empty for a while. I’m … trying my hand at writing a book.’
Annie raised an unimpressed eyebrow. ‘Writing a book’ sounded exactly like something Jasper’s rich, spoiled friends might dabble in; a ‘little project’ to while away the time between parties. Still, on the positive side, it could mean he’d be holed up with his computer for as long as the whim lasted. Which would be fine. Perfect, in fact. Well, perhaps not perfect. Perfect would be if he wasn’t here at all. And her dignity hadn’t been through the shredder – twice.
‘Right.’ She forced her lips into some semblance of a smile. ‘I’d better let you settle in. Do you need anything?’
Oh lord. Please, please, please let him say no.
She watched as his mouth stretched into a disarming smile, causing a bolt of desire to flash down her spine.
‘Thanks. I think I have everything I need.’
I just bet you have, Annie resisted saying. She quickly checked herself and attempted to dredge up something of her usual professional manner. ‘Good. Well … I’ll just tidy up these things and get out of your hair then.’
Out of his hair? An image of her in his hair, threading her fingers through it as he trailed a stream of kisses down her- A hastily summoned mental boulder crushed that treacherous image. Heavens! She’d never felt so out of control. She had to put some distance between her and this man. Quickly. Willing her hands not to shake, she replaced the helmet on the suit of armour, then re-hung the sword and shield, aware of Jake’s eyes on her. Honestly, did he have to stand there watching her? Couldn’t he just go away? Like, back to wherever he’d come from. All the items in their rightful places, Annie turned around and had taken one step towards the door when it burst open. In marched Sophie wearing pink spotted pyjamas and carrying Pip.
‘Mum, are you okay? You’ve been ages.’
Annie couldn’t resist a smile at her daughter’s concerned face. ‘I’m fine, sweetheart. I’m coming back over now.’
‘Why is your face all red?’
Annie pleaded with the ground to swallow her up. It didn’t. ‘I’m just a bit … hot. I’ve been talking to this gentleman.’
Sophie turned to Jake. ‘Hello, I’m Sophie Richards. Who are you?’
‘Sophie!’ exclaimed Annie. ‘Don’t be so rude. This is Mr Sinclair. He’s going to be staying at the manor for a few … weeks,’ she said, attempting to banish all signs of panic from her voice. ‘He’s writing a book.’
Sophie’s eyes grew wide. ‘Ooo. Is it about dragons?’
Jake chuckled. ‘I’m afraid not. Although, come to think of it, a couple of dragons might liven it up a bit. At the moment it’s just about a boring old castle.’
Sophie wrinkled her little nose. ‘Oh well, someone might like it. We’ve been dipping strawberries in chocolate. Do you like strawberries and chocolate?’
‘They are amongst my two favourite things in the whole world.’
‘We’ve loads left, haven’t we, Mum?’
Annie’s heart plummeted. She had a strong feeling of what was to follow. She opened her mouth to forestall her daughter, but was too late.
‘Would you like to come over to our house and have some? And I can stay up and chat to you because I’m allowed to stay up until eight o’clock on a Friday.’
Annie held her breath. Surely he wouldn’t. At the very thought her stomach twisted itself into impressive knots.
‘I’d love to,’ replied Jake, raking a hand through his wet hair in a way that, given her fantasising just a few seconds ago, made Annie bite back a gasp. ‘But I’m afraid I have lots of work to do.’
‘But it’s Friday,’ pointed out Sophie. ‘And Mum always says Friday evenings are for relaxing. So Mr Sinclair should relax too, shouldn’t he, Mum?’
‘I don’t think Mr Sinclair-’ began Annie. But before she could finish, Sophie strode over to Jake, thrust a wriggling Pip into his arms, and began tugging him by the elbow towards the door.
Rooted to the spot, Annie watched the unlikely trio make their way down the steps of the manor and wondered what on earth she should do now. Should she invent some mythical appointment? Say she’d just remembered she and Sophie were supposed to be at the dentist? At this precise time. On a Friday night? But no – unlike Lance, Annie was no good at lying.