‘Like I said, I thought we’d eat casual.’
Kay sat up straighter. There had been something in his voice… ‘Where’s there?’ she asked again, her voice firmer.
‘My place,’ he said evenly.
‘Your place?’
‘But don’t worry, you won’t be all alone with the big bad wolf,’ he said mockingly. ‘I have a housekeeper who’s second to none and who provides a gourmet feast at the drop of a hat.’
Kay stared at him. ‘Is she residential?’ she asked at last.
‘Of course.’ His mouth twisted in the way she was beginning to recognise. ‘I’m offering dinner, Kay, not bed and breakfast. I told you, I don’t operate like that.’
She wasn’t so naive as to believe there weren’t men who said one thing and meant another; she’d married one, hadn’t she? But it was too late now, she would have to make the best of this evening, besides which she didn’t think Mitchell Grey was the kind of man who would force his attentions on a woman. He wouldn’t have to, for one thing, she thought ruefully. They were probably queueing for the privilege.
It was just a minute or so before they turned off the main road they’d been travelling on and into a more dimly lit avenue, one where large houses were set in spacious grounds from what Kay could see, and it was right at the end of this road that Mitchell pulled up in front of two big iron gates set in a high stone wall. He opened the gates from the car by remote control, closing them again once they’d passed through, and now the beautifully landscaped gardens were lit here and there by means of small lights laced in the trees and larger ones discreetly hidden in flowerbeds and ornamental bushes.
The drive was a long one, and by the time Kay caught sight of the house some moments later she had realised it was set in the sort of lovely woodland setting most people would give their eye-teeth for.
She swallowed hard before she said carefully, ‘What a lovely place. Have you lived here long?’
‘Eight years.’ He drew to a halt on the gravel drive in front of the house, turning to face her in the car as he draped one arm along the back of her seat. ‘I got it for what the estate agent described as a ‘song’ at the time because it was filthy inside and neglected, and the grounds were just an impassable thicket beyond a boggy field. It had belonged to folk whose ancestors had once been the lord-of-the-manor type aristocrats, but for decades there’d been no money. The ‘song’ cost me every spare penny along with a hefty mortgage at the time,’ he added wryly, ‘but I gambled that the business was taking off and that within twelve months I’d be sitting pretty.’
Kay nodded. Narrow-waisted and lean-hipped as he was, his broad shoulders and considerable height made his presence all encompassing in the confines of the sports car, the dark magnetism at the heart of his attractiveness intensified a hundredfold. ‘It clearly paid off,’ she managed breathlessly.
Mitchell smiled. ‘All that was needed was imagination, creativity, bags of energy and some tender loving care,’ he said quietly, the last few words causing a fallout in her already jangling nerves. ‘I did some of the work myself but it was the army of carpenters, builders, plumbers, gardeners and others who really made the difference. I decided I wanted to start off by enlarging the kitchen and adding bedrooms and bathrooms and went from there. Come and have a look round.’
Immediately Kay stood on the drive she was struck by the mellow silence. They could have been in the middle of the country for the lack of traffic noise.
They were only on the bottom of the circular stone steps leading from the drive to the front door when it opened to reveal a tall and distinguished-looking man, his white hair gleaming in the shaft of light from the hallway at the back of him.
‘Mr Grey, I thought I heard the car.’
Mitchell didn’t reply to this but what he did say was, ‘Henry, this is the young lady I was telling you about, Kay Sherwood. Kay, meet my housekeeper, Henry.’
His housekeeper? She’d expected a buxom, bustling little woman for some reason, but the man in front of her was the epitome of an upper-class butler. And then this image was shattered somewhat when Henry said, his top-drawer voice holding a touch of glee, ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs Sherwood. I’ve been waiting a long time to see a woman put Mr Grey in his place but I think you accomplished it magnificently this afternoon, if I may say so.’
‘No, you may not, Henry.’ In spite of the words Mitchell sounded mildly amused. ‘Mrs Sherwood needs no encouragement from you, believe me.’
Kay hoped she didn’t look as surprised as she felt. She wanted to glance at Mitchell standing at the side of her but resisted the impulse; instead, stretching out her hand to the housekeeper who was clearly a friend too, she said, ‘Thank you for the vote of confidence, Henry. I’ll try to live up to it.’
‘I have no doubt you will, Mrs Sherwood.’ Blue eyes were twinkling at her and as Kay stared into the good-looking face she saw Henry wasn’t as old as the shock of white hair would have led her to believe. His face suggested he was somewhere around fifty or so, maybe fifty-five, but not much older, and his handshake was firm and dry. She decided she liked Mitchell’s housekeeper.
‘I’m going to show Mrs Sherwood round first, Henry, then we’d like cocktails in the drawing room.’ Mitchell had obviously decided the tête-à-tête had gone on long enough because now he took her elbow, pressing her forward into the house.
Kay found herself in a high ceilinged entrance hall, the fine ash and oak panelling on the walls and light timber floor creating an immediate feel of light and spaciousness. And it was this same airy, stylish look, enhanced by strategically placed mirror and glass, gleaming timber and clean lines, that she found all over the large eight-bedroomed house.
The gracious drawing room with its muted background colours and clever use of texture and Indian wall hangings, the family sitting room, breakfast room, dining room and huge kitchen were all both graceful and modern, with strong richness of colour and warmth married to wood and aluminium.
All eight bedrooms were ensuite and each with their own individual colour scheme, but it was the enormous master bedroom in coffee and cream that caused Kay to feel distinctly uncomfortable. It was unashamedly masculine, the huge billowy water-bed the biggest she’d
ever seen and clearly custom-made, and the stunning bathroom with its corner shower and whirlpool hydrotherapy bath unit, separate sauna and steam room, a sensual experience all in itself. Pictures of Mitchell lounging on the bed with some naked, voluptuous beauty or indulging in sinfully enjoyable skirmishes in the shower or bath positively cavorted in her head, and she was hot and breathless by the time he escorted her down to the drawing room again. And it made her thoughts all the worse, somehow, because Mitchell had behaved circumspectly throughout, his voice mild and pleasant as he’d shown her around, and his attitude cool and even distant. Whereas she…
Kay forced herself to breathe deeply and steadily as Henry served them cocktails in the drawing room, but she knew from his moment-too-long glance at her face that her cheeks were still burning, even before he said in an undertone to Mitchell, ‘I’ll turn the heating down a little, Mr Grey. And dinner will be served in twenty minutes.’
‘Fine, Henry.’ Mitchell sat back in his chair opposite Kay’s, utterly relaxed and apparently at ease with the world. He seemed to feel no pressure to make conversation, Kay thought as she searched for a safe topic to take her mind off the big, lean body in front of her. He had discarded the leather jacket to reveal a midnight-blue shirt undone at the neck and open to reveal the first hint of a hairy chest, the blueness of his piercing eyes accentuated by the rich colour. He looked tough, brooding and infinitely male.
‘You didn’t say that Henry was a man.’ As soon as she’d spoken she realised how silly it sounded, adding quickly, ‘What I mean is, I thought your housekeeper would be a woman.’