The Bride Wore Red At The Ladies Club: Arabella's Story

"Some might say so, but living alone isn't easy..."

Jack shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He didn't want that sort of interest from his lawyer, and not just because Ms. Dash wasn't his type. Thin as a pin, with no flesh on her body, he had no desire to cuddle up to a Rottweiler at night. He kept everyone at arm's length. If there was one thing life had taught him, it was that most people couldn't be trusted, and those he should be able to trust, well, they had to be handled with caution.

"If she doesn't know anything about her husband's intention to sell the house then let's keep it that way," he said. "At least until we get some more information under our belt."

"We could meet at the café next time?"

Ms. Dash's brown eyes were hopeful.

Ignoring her suggestion, he glanced across the road, but the redhead had gone.

"Is that it?" he pressed, glancing at the door.

"For now—"

"Thanks for your work on this. I'll be in touch." He was already starting the engine. She got the message and left his car without another word.

The house he intended to buy could be classified as a stately home, though it needed a major upgrade. The work didn't worry him. The property sat right in the middle of the country estate he'd bought up piece by piece from the various owners. At one time, both the land and house had belonged to the same estate, Ms. Dash had told him, but Harold Frost had been steadily disposing of the land to pay his debts.

Jack's main home overlooked Central Park, but it was an impersonal space, full of meaningless belongings. He was looking for a change of pace, and the Old Hall would give him that.

Putting the state–of–the–art engine into smooth, purring life, he moved into the light, small town traffic. The rain was still pelting down. He increased the speed of the windscreen wipers. He was still looking for the redhead. He stopped at the lights. When they changed he set off at a snail's pace. She couldn't have gone far—

"What the—"

He stamped his foot on the brake as some idiot banged their fist on the hood.

The redhead?

He stared at her in disbelief. Switching off the engine, he powered out of the car.

Arabella flinched as the hunk with a scowl got out of the car. He did not look pleased, so she went on the offensive before he had a chance to.

"Didn't you see the sign? SLOW DOWN," she spelled out pedantically, like a schoolmarm addressing a class of delinquents. She tried very hard not to register the fact that the man with the scowl was the most incredible specimen of God–given brazen masculinity she'd ever seen in her life. "Do you always drive like an idiot?"

"Do you always cross against the lights with an old lady in tow?" he countered in a lazy drawl that made her toes curl.

Admittedly, she should have waited for the lights to change, but she had seen the bus coming down the street, and as both she and the lady she was helping were loaded down with shopping and had rainwater dripping off their chins, barging across the road hadn't seemed such a bad option.

As she waved to her elderly companion, the man said, "Why don't you get in the car and keep warm while I pick up your scattered shopping?"

The last thing she had been expecting was concern from him, and she was speechless for a moment—until she glanced at the spilled vegetables, and at the party favors glittering bravely on the road. "Oh no!"

"Get in the car," he insisted as she started scrabbling about on the road, trying to rescue all the stuff for Miranda's party before it disintegrated.

She looked up into the most stunningly attractive dark blue eyes...eyes that were smiling wickedly. And then she came to her senses. Did he seriously think she was going to get into the car of a complete stranger?

Don't pretend you're not tempted.

Are you kidding? He was the type of man with the body and rugged good looks that made it impossible to get close to him and not imagine what that body would feel like, or what those big hands could do. But she had a clear mental image of the type of woman a man like him would want to get close to, and she wasn't it.

"Get in the car," he urged with more force as the rain pelted down. "I'll take it from here,"

As he spoke he gave her a smile that touched places she hadn't thought about in years, a smile that only proved his strong white teeth were as perfect as the rest of him.

His ruggedly handsome face with its thick coating of stubble, his tan, and the sheer size of him—all of it was impressive. The spread of his shoulders took her breath away, and that iron–hard frame beneath his clothes, and beneath jeans rain–welded to his body—

What was wrong with her? She wasn't judging a horse at the country fair.