'Oh—do come in, please,' she said waspishly.
'Hi, Petra.'
He made no effort to come further in, just stood looking at her, but very deep inside her she felt the fear uncoil. He didn't have to do anything, she thought despairingly—he just had to stand there and she felt the raw masculine power emanating from him, the vibrant potency that he exuded from every pore of that beautiful olive-skinned body. She had to get rid of him—and fast.
'Don't let me keep you.' She screwed the top on the tin of polish and put it away.
'Keep me? From what?'
'Your guest, of course.'
'Oh, Kate, you mean?'
Who did he think she meant? Or did he have a dozen adoring slaves waiting for him next door?
'Yes, she said she'd seen you. I want going to bring her round to introduce you.' His gaze was boring into her now 'But we ran out of time. You know how it is, I'm sure.'
His careless tone caught at her raw nerves, but all she said, tight-lipped, was, 'Of course.'
'I've just taken her to catch the London train. She has a flight out to LA this evening.'
He advanced further into the room, then stood, his thumbs hooked into the belt of his white cords, smiling lazily at her from beneath the navy cap, perched at a rakish angle on his unruly black curls. There was something about that smile that got to her. It was the sleek, smug, unbearably complacent smile of a cat—a male cat—who, while just cleaning his whiskers after his last saucer of double cream, saw the next dishful coming into view . . . Well, in this case, those sleek male instincts were way off beam.
'Did you have a good Christmas, Jared?' She was pleased with the cool hauteur she'd managed to infuse into her voice.
'Yes, thanks. Did you?'
'Not really. First Mum, then Gran went down with this flu that's doing the rounds. So I had to take over and—'
'No wonder you still look like a wrung-out dish-cloth, then,' he cut in brusquely.
'Well, thank you.'
'Of course, you went off before I had a chance to wish you the compliments of the season.' He gave her a slanting glance.
'Yes—well, I was afraid the weather would close in before I got to Gran's. They were forecasting snow for the moors.'
In fact, she hadn't had the faintest idea what was forecast. Following that scene on his doorstep, she'd got up very early after a sleepless night, parcelled up the last few cake orders, packed Sam into his basket, and driven hell for leather to the safety of her grand" mother's. Snowdrifts could have been piled six feet deep and she'd have been none the wiser.
'Mmm.'
Ignoring his obvious disbelief, she went on brightly, 'I suppose you're going out for New Year?'
'No, I've got a load of food and drink in the car boot.'
'Well,' she even assembled a casual smile, 'do have a good time, won't yon?'
'Mmm,' he repeated, then stood, his thumbs still jammed in the belt of his cords, rocking gently on the balls of his feet. 'What about you? Is your fiance,' he managed subtly to make it a four-letter word, 'spending the evening with his beloved?'
All she had to do was say, 'Yes, of course he is,' get rid of Jared, then sit light. But her fractional hesitation had been too long. 'He isn't coming, is he?' He looked down at her, that faint cat and-mouse smile at his lips.
'No.' Another fatal pause. 'His mother's ill, but I'm—'
'Well, well.' He was so smooth, so damnnably at his ease. 'So we're both on our own tonight.'
'Yes,' she replied tightly. 'Although I've got Sam, of course, so I shan't be lonely. Not in the least.'
But you'll be cold.' In spite of his chunky navy sweater and that gorgeous sheepskin, he shivered suddenly. What's up with your heating, for heaven's sake?'