Jared laughed softly. 'And his namesake was a sucker for the female sex too, if I remember correctly. Hi, Sam.'
Going down on his haunches, he stretched out his hand towards the cat. There was a low, thunderous growl, a snarl showing sharp white canines, and next moment Jared swore violently, jerking back his hand, scarlet blood oozing from a long scratch.
'Oh, Sam—you naughty boy.' Petra gasped with horror as the cat retreated to the corner of the kitchen, his tail lashing, his green eyes blazing with hostility.
'I'm sorry, Jared.' She was hot with embarrassment. 'He's never done that before.'
And it was true. Fiercely protective of her Sam might be, but he had never conceived such an instant, violent loathing on sight for anyone before.
Even Simon was graciously allowed to pat him on occasion.
'I'm sorry,' she repeated. 'I know he doesn't like men, but —'
'As I say, he obviously prefers the female of the species,' Jared broke in caustically as he straightened up, the blood trickling down his wrist.
'Be careful or you'll get it on your sweater.'
Without thinking, she seized his arm and towed him across to the sink, where she thrust his hand under the cold tap. It was a strange sensation to be standing there, so close to him that their hips and legs were brushing against one another, his warm breath on her bent head, the cold water spurting over their joined hands. It sent strange little prickles running all over her body.
'It should be all right now,' she said finally in a brisk, nurse's voice, and, snatching up a clean tea-towel, padded his hand dry. 'I'll put a plaster on it.'
He watched as she fetched down a first-aid box from the cupboard. 'Maybe he knows it's thanks to me that he spent last night outside.'
'Oh?' She glanced up questioningly from fixing the plaster, very carefully so that her fingers did not actually come into contact with his skin.
'Yes. I thought I felt something brush past me when I let myself in. On the other hand, maybe he just doesn't like the idea of me moving in next door.'
There was a subtle provocation in his voice now, but she resisted the obvious rejoinder, merely agreeing woodenly, 'Maybe he doesn't. But really he isn't that keen on most people. He was cruelly treated, you see, before I got him.'
'How do you mean?'
'I was down on the beach one day and I saw this bag, tied up, just below the tideline. I thought I heard something, and when I opened i t . . . ' her voice trembled at the memory ' . . . there were five kittens inside.'
'You mean, some swine was too yellow to put them down painlessly, and left them there to drown?'
She nodded unsteadily. 'Four were already dead, and I thought the other one was. But then he moved a paw and sneezed, so I—I buried the others and brought him home with me. So—well,'
she looked up at Jared from beneath her lushes, 'I think perhaps he feels sort of protective towards me.'
'Mmm, probably.' The two males regarded one another coldly for a long moment, before he remarked casually, 'You know, you have eyes just like that darned cat—stunning emerald, the pair of you.'
Petra, who had begun to relax her guard just a fraction, tensed again, but then, transferring his gaze to the table, he went on smoothly, 'Now that's what I call a real neighbourly welcome. How did you know I like muesli and orange juice and,' he picked up the jar, 'home-made lemon marmalade for breakfast?'
'Actually, it's my—' she began, but stopped abruptly, her lips tightening as quite deliberately he pulled out a chair and sat down.
She had to be careful—very careful. If he was going to be living next door for two or three weeks then the battle lines would have to be clearly defined—right now. He was arrogant and overbearing—yes, but he also possessed, when he chose to switch it on, a million-mega-volt charm. One flutter of those devastating black eyelashes, and his new neighbour would be getting him three square meals a day if she didn't watch out.
'Make yourself at home,' she said, ramming another two slices of wholemeal bread into the toaster. 'After all, you used to be welcomed with open arms at every house in the village, didn't you? By the women, at any rate.' What demon had driven her to add that? She broke off, but then, at his lazily reminiscent smile, she went on, even more recklessly, 'And not only in the kitchen.'
'If you say so, Petra.'
'Oh, I don't say so, Jared. The whole village did. Mum—'
'Your mother?' he prompted as she stopped abruptly.
'Oh, nothing.' This time, belatedly, common sense prevailed and she clamped her lips shut on her mother's ten-year-old warning, 'You keep well away from that Jared Tremayne, my girl. He's nothing but trouble for any woman who's fool enough to get mixed up with him . . .'
'Your mother,' he repeated. He was leaning back in his chair, watching her, almost as though, Petra thought, the words really had been spoken aloud. 'How is she?'