Priceless

She moved in her seat and sighed, just as I pulled up to the garage and parked the Rover. She held out her hand and turned her body toward me.

“Shall we begin again? Gabrielle Hargreave, University of London. I’m the professional here to have a look at your art collection.” She faced me now, but I still couldn’t see her very well. I liked the sound of her voice though. It sounded…sexy.

The garage light had brightened the interior by a fraction where we sat together, and I finally got a glimpse, but could still barely make out her features. I felt surprise for the second time tonight as I closed my hand around hers for a firm shake. Gabrielle Hargreave was, again, so not what I was expecting.

Her hair was soaking wet and pulled back in a tie, but the overall impression was one of beauty. I may be a waste at social pleasantries but I do know when a woman is beautiful, and Miss Hargreave was certainly that.

I was changing my opinion about my new grad student rather quickly.

“Ahh, Gabrielle Hargreave, pleasure to meet you. Ivan Everley, inheritor of all this…and of course, shuttle driver for lost American art students.” I smiled at her.

She dropped my hand and looked down at her lap.

“That bad?” I tilted my head down to try to get her to look at me again. She seemed miserable.

“You forgot to add ‘wet and caked in mud’ to your description.”

“Not really. I remembered the ‘wet and muddy’ but figured I was pushing my luck with the ‘lost American’ part already. I’m not a complete idiot, Miss Hargreave.”

She arched a very pointed brow at me and I felt the hit right in the groin.

I reached for the door handle and got out of the Rover as fast as I could. This whole situation was getting a little awkward. We were bantering back and forth like we’d known each other for years rather than mere minutes.

But before I could make my way over to her side to open the door for her, she’d already exited and was bent over my leather seats earnestly attempting to remove the smudges of mud left on them from the backside of her jeans.

I got a very nice look at her from behind though and I wasn’t complaining. Nope. Miss Hargreave had a fine looking arse attached to those mile long legs of hers. Covered in mud or not, it was a beauty.

I cleared my throat. “Shall we?”

“Sorry about your leather seats. I can come back and clean them tomorrow.”

“No worries. Finnegan will take care of it,” I said as I pulled her bag from the backseat. “He’s the man to see around here if you want anything done. I’ll introduce you as soon as we get up to the house. On second thought, it’s late now.” I checked my watch. “He’s probably gone to bed.” I nodded. “Of which, you’re no doubt in desperate need of yourself.”

“I am exhausted,” she mumbled, while stifling a yawn with her delicate hand.

I led her forward, my hand pressed against her back as we made our way out of the darkened garage. Again, I was struck with the overwhelming feeling of something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Odd, but I kept thinking that we’d met before in some capacity.

“This doesn’t look nice at all,” I said. The rain, which had been doing steady work up to this point, decided to unleash in biblical proportions. The sound of the drops hitting every surface as they poured down in sheets to rival Noah’s flood, roared in front of us.

“Well I don’t think I can get much wetter,” she shouted over the noise.

“That’s probably a good thing, because we’re both about to find out. We’ve got to make a run for it!” I yelled, grabbing her hand and pulling her with me as I made for the safety of the house.

FIVE

BEING dragged through a deluge along a dark path in unfamiliar territory was not my favorite, but having a guide who knew where he was going was so much better than none at all. At least I wasn’t spending the night in a rental car at the bottom of a ditch.

We dashed toward a looming stone manor, Neo-Gothic design from what I could tell in the dark and streaming rain. I held onto Mr. Everley’s hand and went forward. He pulled us through puddles and small lakes until we headed up some stone steps, and finally to a door that got my attention. It was a behemoth made of oak and carved with heavy designs of flora and fauna. Fascinating. I’d get a better look tomorrow in the light of day.

We entered through the door and into a mudroom of sorts. Perfect place for me. I was covered in the stuff, and could think only about getting it off me via a hot bath. A soft bed would be welcome, too. In the morning I could figure out what kind of art Mr. Everley had stashed away in his gloomy corner of Ireland and decide if his collection merited the work or not.

“Here, allow me,” he said, taking my coat off my back and hanging it dripping on a peg.

“Thanks.”

I tried to shake the water off my hands, attempting to sort out my appearance, which must be truly horrifying by now, but it was beyond hopeless. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so soaking wet before.” I brushed at my emerald-green shirt, realizing because my poor jacket had lost to the rain, I was soaked through to the skin.

“Yeah, it’s downright evil tonight. I’m so glad you’re not out there any longer because I fear you would’ve floated away by now, Miss Hargreave.” He was busy hanging up his own coat and pulling off the ball cap he’d been wearing, when we both turned to face one another.