The Gold Collection: A Bride For The Taking: Distracted by her Virtue / The Lost Wife / The Brooding Stranger. Maggie Cox
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about my life, and nor am I happy about you asking all these questions. Perhaps you should respect my right to privacy a little more?’
Jarrett sucked in a breath through his teeth. ‘Maybe if you were just someone I ran into now and again—someone who meant nothing to me—then I most definitely would. But I’m sure you’ve guessed by now that I’ve become quite intrigued by you.’
His statement might have quickened Sophia’s heart if she’d been in a good place mentally and emotionally, but she knew she was far from feeling good enough about herself to accept it even for a second. The sensation of the cold ceramic sink pressing into her back added to her sense of feeling utterly chilled right then … desolate at the idea that life might never be good again, no matter how hard she prayed it would be. Now that her wonder and gratitude at her eleventh-hour reprieve of being gifted this beautiful house had started to fade a little, a sense of battle fatigue after what she’d endured had begun to seep into her bones.
‘Well, you’re wasting your time being intrigued,’ she snapped, knowing that she was only being curt because she feared him getting too close and pursuing the idea of a relationship. ‘I have nothing to offer you, Jarrett. I mean it. I really don’t … particularly friendship. I’m in no position to be a friend to anybody—even myself. If you knew my unerring ability to take wrong turns and make disastrous decisions, trust me, you’d avoid me like the plague. You’d be much better off directing your interest towards the kind of women that were at your sister’s party today … women who are completely at ease with making social small talk, who are undemanding and uncomplicated and no doubt come from the kind of comfortable world where what everything looks like is far more important than being remotely real. That way at least you’d know exactly what you’d be getting.’
Glowering, Jarrett angrily pushed away from the chair, and the ear-splitting sound of wood scraping against the red stone flags made Sophia gasp. Breathing hard, he planted himself directly in front of her. One glance up into his hot and fierce blue eyes made her head feel as if it was spinning. Above the pounding of her heart she could hardly hear her own panicked thoughts.
‘I might be materially comfortable, but I’m not superficial. Where did you get that unflattering impression from? Do you think you’re the only person who’s ever made a mistake or a disastrous decision? And, for your information, I neither want nor desire any of the women you’ve just described. They might be my sister’s friends but they’re not mine. And the fact that you’ve immediately intuited what they’re all about must surely tell you why I wouldn’t be interested in them.’
Despite her heart hammering at his nearness, and also because for one dreadful moment his action had brought back a sickening memory of Tom, furiously lashing out at her because she’d displeased him in some way, Sophia schooled herself to stay calm. The man standing in front of her wasn’t Tom. And, even though she’d obviously hit a raw nerve by describing the world of his sister’s friends as ‘superficial’, she somehow knew that Jarrett wasn’t the kind of man who would use his superior strength to intimidate or wound a woman.
The breath she exhaled was undoubtedly relieved—but then another disturbing thought struck. ‘Perhaps you’re not interested in them because you’re already involved with someone?’
‘If you were interested in my relationship status then why didn’t you ask me about it before? Do you think I’d offer to take you and Charlie to the seaside if I was involved with someone else?’ As he crossed his arms over his chest, Jarrett’s scowl turned into a perturbed frown.
Sophia heard what he said, but just then her attention was helplessly captured by the way the clearly defined muscles in his upper arms bunched and flexed beneath the loose-fitting material of his cotton shirt. The sight made her feel hot and bothered in a way that she hadn’t experienced since she was eighteen … before Tom Abingdon had crushed all her innocent hopes and dreams of a happy, loving marriage deep into the dirt with his proclivity for cruelty and licentiousness.
‘I’m sorry. Clearly my social skills aren’t what they once were. I didn’t mean to offend you.’ Turning away in a bid to hide her heated reaction to him, she gasped when Jarrett fastened his hand lightly round her forearm.
‘You haven’t offended me.’ His voice rolled over her senses like a warm sea of honey. Along with his touch, and the simmering heat in his gaze that he didn’t trouble to disguise, it completely electrified her.
‘Just so that you know, there’s only one woman I’m interested in, Sophia, and that’s you.’
‘I already told you that I can’t offer you anything. Weren’t you listening?’
‘I heard what you said. But I’m not a man who gives up easily when I sense something or someone might potentially be important to me.’
His riveting gaze made her feel as if she was diving into a molten blue lake. When he lifted his hand from her arm, Sophia knew the sensuous tingling imprint that he left on her skin would not easily vanish when he had gone. Apart from being immensely pleasurable, the thought of what it might mean … where it could lead should she succumb to his touch more fully … made her quake inside.
Putting a lit match to the tinder she’d arranged between the split ash logs in the once grand fireplace, it was with a real sense of satisfaction that Sophia watched the dry wooden limbs and scrunched-up newspaper catch fire. Her father had always loved a real fire in winter, or when the weather was sufficiently cold to warrant one, and they unfailingly reminded Sophia of home and of him. Sometimes it was too much to bear to remember he was gone and that he’d left the world believing that his only daughter was in safe hands with her new husband. But she’d often counted her blessings that he hadn’t lived to see the misery Tom had inflicted on her, because it would have broken his heart. He would also have been furious that any man would treat her with anything but the utmost respect, and would have fought tooth and nail to extricate her from a marriage that in truth had been doomed even before the ceremony.
What she would give now to have had the common sense to see it for herself. Yet her union with her husband had not been a total disaster, because it had given her Charlie … the little boy who had helped Sophia cling to hope even when times had been unremittingly dark and frightening … The depth of love she felt for her son went way beyond any love she could ever imagine. She glanced over at him now, to check that he was still sleeping. Satisfied that he was, she allowed herself a pleased smile, then returned her gaze to the fire.
Flashes of blue flame were licking hotly round the fragrant logs, denoting the fire had taken firm hold, and she rose to her feet from her kneeling position in front of it, dusted her hands over her jeans and returned to the worn maroon armchair opposite her guest. Charlie continued to slumber blissfully in his curled-up position on the couch, his plump cheeks rosy as the sweetest red apple even though the warmth of the fire had not yet permeated the room. Sophia moved her glance to Jarrett. The long muscular legs in faded black denim were stretched out in a relaxed pose as he sipped at the mug of tea she’d made him, and she couldn’t help admiring his apparent ability to be so at ease.
‘Great idea of yours to light a fire,’ he remarked, and his sinfully velvet-rich tones elicited an outbreak of goosebumps up and down her skin.
‘It’s cold enough for one,’ she said and smiled. “Cast not a clout ‘til May is out” my grandmother used to say—and it’s true. Funny how the old sayings are such a comfort … even when you’re little and don’t understand them.’
‘I know what you mean. Was the grandmother you mentioned your father’s mother or your mother’s?’
Making herself as comfortable as she could manage in the hard-backed armchair—not easy when the seat cushion beneath her was worn flat as a pancake from use and old-age—Sophia took a careful sip of her hot sweet tea, then lowered the mug to rest it against her denim-covered thigh. ‘She was my dad’s mum. My mother was an orphan. I didn’t know any of her family. And, before you quiz me about that, don’t you think it’s time you told me a little bit about yourself?’