The Forbidden Mistress. Anne Mather
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agenda and she gave Grace a sulky glare. It probably meant she wasn’t going to get much work out of her later, thought Grace irritably. Why couldn’t Tom keep his big mouth shut?
‘I’ll speak to you later, Grace,’ he announced, and she resigned herself to the fact that she would have to go with him now. If she didn’t, Gina would be offended, and she didn’t want to undermine Tom’s authority.
At coffee time, when Gina went over to the florists’ workroom to gossip with the girls who were preparing the displays, Grace slipped out and drove back to the house. She borrowed Tom’s car to speed things up as she’d walked to work as usual.
Parking outside the detached cottage Tom had bought when he and Sophie got together, Grace grabbed her bag and hurried inside. If she was quick, she could be back before anyone missed her.
But what to wear? Surveying her limited wardrobe, Grace was undecided. She seemed to have a predominance of jeans and tee shirts and sweaters, with not much between them and a couple of skimpy dresses more suitable for the evening. Most of her clothes were still at her parents’ home in London. She hadn’t expected to need power suits for this job.
She eventually plumped for a V-necked black sweater and narrow-legged khaki trousers that flared slightly at the ankle. Teamed with a pair of heeled boots, they would look reasonably smart. Smart enough for The Crown, anyway, she decided, stripping off her tee shirt and jeans and regarding her hips critically. Why did she always think her bottom was bigger than anyone else’s?
Did she have time for a shower? She glanced at her watch and assured herself that she did. She could leave what little make-up she wore until later. She’d pop her eye shadow, eyeliner and mascara into her bag.
She was drying herself after her shower when she thought she heard something. Or someone, she reflected nervously, wrapping the towel sarong-wise under her arms. Despite the fact that Tayford was a fairly safe place, Grace had spent enough time in New York and London to feel an immediate sense of anxiety. Had she locked the door when she came in? She suspected she hadn’t. But, dammit, surely a thief would see the car and realise that someone was at home.
Opening the bathroom door, she stepped out into her bedroom. Her clothes were still laid out on the bed where she’d left them, together with a clean set of underwear she’d taken out of the drawer. She wanted to put on her bra and panties, but she was loath to shed the towel. She felt absurdly vulnerable without clothes and she was considering dressing in the comparative safety of the bathroom when she heard footsteps on the landing.
Immediately, her heart leapt into her throat. There was somebody else in the house. But who? Could it possibly be Mrs Reynolds, Tom’s housekeeper? she wondered hopefully. She didn’t usually come in on Fridays, but perhaps Tom had asked her to. He didn’t discuss his cleaning arrangements with her.
There was only one way to find out and, deciding that clothes were unlikely to deter a confirmed attacker, she opened her bedroom door a crack. And caught her breath weakly. Tom was outside, on the landing, gazing at her with obvious satisfaction.
‘So you are here,’ he said, smiling, and she knew at once that this was no coincidental encounter. He must have returned to the office and discovered that both she and his car were missing. It would have needed no great leap of intelligence to guess where she’d gone.
Anger overcame her previous apprehension. ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded, and he was left in no doubt she resented his intrusion.
‘This is my house,’ he said mildly, his smile slipping into a sickly sort of cajolery. ‘Come on, Grace. Don’t be like that. I’m entitled to come home if I want to.’
Grace’s lips tightened. He had a point. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said stiffly. ‘But I got a shock when I heard someone else in the house.’ She took a steadying breath. ‘Did you forget something?’
‘I thought I might take a shower, too,’ he said, and Grace’s feelings of frustration stirred anew.
‘You had a shower this morning,’ she reminded him, and Tom shrugged.
‘Now I need another,’ he said. ‘It’s dusty at the site. You know that. I don’t want to turn up at the pub smelling of cement.’
Grace shrugged. ‘Okay.’ She withdrew back into her own room. ‘I’ll see you back at the office.’
‘Or we could drive back together,’ he suggested as she was closing her door. But Grace chose not to answer him.
It took her exactly four minutes to get dressed. It wasn’t until she’d snapped the fastener on her trousers that she felt able to breathe easily again. It was ridiculous, she knew. She slept in the house, for God’s sake, and Tom had never intruded on her privacy in the past. Perhaps he did feel grubby after visiting the site. There was a lot of brick dust flying around.
Her hair took slightly longer. She hadn’t washed it, but she did brush it out and plait it again. Then, content that she looked as neat as possible, she put her make-up in her bag and left the room.
She was hurrying down the stairs when the doorbell rang. Now what? she wondered grimly. She wanted to get back to the garden centre before Tom reappeared. Wrenching open the door, she prepared to give whatever salesman was on the threshold short shrift, and then felt a hollowing in her stomach at the sight of the man who was standing outside.
Why Oliver Ferreira should have this effect on her, she didn’t know. It wasn’t as if he’d shown any particular interest in her. After all, as soon as his ex-wife had appeared, he’d forgotten all about her.
Yet, just the sight of his lean dark face and muscled body and she was struggling to control feelings she hardly recognised. A navy blue shirt under a dark blue suit complemented his brooding sensuality, and she knew the craziest need to reach out and touch him, as if she couldn’t quite believe that he was real. But he was real enough, she knew, as dark eyes shaded by sinfully long lashes appraised her in a way that made her nerves tingle. Oh, God, she thought, feeling her skin moisten in response, he was even more attractive than she remembered.
‘Grace,’ he said, in obvious surprise, and although she was flattered that he remembered her name, the frown drawing his dark brows together was hardly encouraging. And, instantly, she knew what he was thinking. Thank goodness he hadn’t arrived any sooner and found her only half dressed.
‘Hi,’ she said. She sounded breathless, she thought unhappily. She hoped he wouldn’t attribute that to his sudden appearance. ‘Um—have you come from the garden centre?’
‘I was looking for Tom, actually,’ he said, without really answering her. Then his eyes moved past her to the stairs behind her.
‘And you’ve found him,’ declared Tom, and she glanced almost disbelievingly over her shoulder. Tom was coming down the stairs, clad only in a towel. ‘Come in, Oliver,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Did Bill tell you we were here?’
Grace perched on a stool at the bar sipping her iced tea through a straw. Tom and Oliver were standing nearby, each holding a glass. Tom’s lager, Oliver’s Diet Coke. Oliver had hardly touched his, she noticed. He’d only agreed to have it to be polite, she was sure.
For her part, Grace would have loved to order a Bacardi and Coke, just to lift her spirits. The day had been going downhill ever since she’d made that crack about Tom bringing Gina to the pub. Now she was here at The Crown, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow her. Oliver had hardly spoken a word to her since Tom’s embarrassing entrance. And who could blame him? The implications of that ‘we’ and the fact that she and Tom had been at the house in the middle of the day were too gruesome to contemplate.
She hunched her shoulders, feeling humiliated. She’d had no conception that Oliver might come to the house looking for his brother. Or that Tom would appear, half naked, giving weight to any suspicions Oliver might have. He probably hadn’t known she was still sharing Tom’s house. Though that was one little titbit Sophie would have loved to share.
Perhaps