Her Secret Pregnancy. Sharon Kendrick
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a hot bath at the end of a long, hard day. ‘Running a restaurant, actually,’ she answered serenely.
‘Where?’
‘Right here in Winchester.’
His interest was stirred, along with his imagination. It was far too close to home to be mere coincidence, surely? The same business, in the same town.
So why?
Was she seeking revenge for what had happened all those years ago? Or was her extraordinary decision to come back based on a far more basic urge? Had that last night left a dark, demon blot on her memory, as it had on his?
Did she want…? Marcus felt the sweet, slow throbbing of sexual excitement begin…Did she want to play out that scene once more—only this time with a far more mutually satisfactory ending?
‘Well, you really must have come along by leaps and bounds, Donna,’ he mused, ‘if you’re planning a capital venture on a chambermaid’s salary.’
If the remark had been made in order to inflame, then it served its purpose. ‘Do I look like a chambermaid?’ she demanded.
His groin ached. No. Right now she looked as he had never imagined she could look. Beautiful and proud and refined and, well…classy.
‘Do I?’ she persisted.
‘No,’ he growled. ‘But that’s what you were the last time I saw you.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘It makes me wonder what you’ve been doing in the intervening years to put you in the position of being able to buy a restaurant.’
‘What do you think I’ve been doing? No—don’t bother answering that! I’ll tell you! I happen to have worked extremely hard since you kicked me out on the street!’
‘Spare me the Victorian imagery,’ he sighed. ‘I gave you a generous pay-off and a job in London to go to. You were the one who decided not to accept.’
‘I didn’t want anything more to do with you!’ she said bitterly.
He shrugged. ‘That was your prerogative—but I refuse to be cast in the role of unfeeling bastard just because it suits your story!’
Donna glared. ‘I managed very well on my own, thank you. I travelled to New Zealand and cooked on a sheep station. I worked in a bar in Manhattan—and on a cruise-liner! I know the hotel and restaurant industry inside out. I worked hard and saved hard—’
‘And played hard, too, I imagine?’ he cut in.
‘That’s something you’ll never know!’ She stared at him curiously across the table—expecting him to show some kind of reaction. But there was none. Just that barely interested, faintly bored expression.
‘Well, I shan’t be losing any sleep over it,’ he offered drily, as he stirred his coffee. ‘It’s a precarious profession. I see new restaurants going under all the time.’
‘Thanks for the few words of encouragement!’
‘That’s a fact, not a scare story. You know what they say—if you can’t stand the heat then get out of the kitchen!’ He gave a slow smile. ‘Want to tell me all about it, Donna—or are you worried about industrial espionage?’
‘No, my only worry is that I might lose my temper!’
He laughed, enjoying the hidden fires of conflict, and his smile sent her blood pressure soaring. ‘Feel free,’ he murmured.
Ignoring the sultry innuendo, Donna paused for effect. ‘I’ve bought The Buttress Guest House!’ she announced.
Marcus narrowed his eyes. So. Not just in the same town, but on the same street. Neighbours as well as rivals? He hid a smile. Not really. No one in their right mind would dream of comparing a run-down boarding house to a five-star hotel! ‘You’re opening up a guest house?’
‘That’s not what I said,’ she contradicted. ‘I’ve bought it and converted it.’
Of course she had, thought Marcus, as all the facts began to slot into place.
The Buttress Guest House had gone bankrupt a couple of years ago and no one had wanted to touch it. It was small and it was tired—with tiny, impractical rooms and, more importantly, no parking facilities.
But recently the house had seen a plumber’s van parked outside it for the best part of a month. Painters and decorators and French-polishers had been employed to work there. Hammers and drills had been heard as you walked past. Interesting pieces of furniture had been seen disappearing into the beautiful old house.
Marcus, along with most other people in the town, had assumed that the house was being converted back to a private residence before being put on the property market again. Now it seemed he’d been wrong.
‘You’ve converted it,’ he breathed, and stared at her assessingly. ‘Into what?’
‘A tea-room, actually.’
‘A tea-room?’
‘That’s what I said!’
He very nearly laughed, but something in the proud way she’d said it stopped him. ‘How quaint,’ he murmured.
‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’
‘It wasn’t supposed to be a compliment.’ He frowned, and instead of feeling angry he felt a maddening rush of the protectiveness she’d always used to bring out in him. ‘Have you taken any business advice, Donna? Seriously?’
‘If only you knew just how insulting that question sounded! Or maybe you do! Of course I took advice! And I did accounting at night school!’ Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘Why?’
‘Because there’s no parking for any cars, that’s why!’ he exploded. ‘Didn’t it occur to you to ask why the place had been on the market for so long? Or did you think it was a bargain, just waiting for you to breeze along and buy it?’
‘For your information, I don’t need any parking!’
‘Oh, really?’
‘Yes, really! The property happens to be on the route of at least two official Winchester Walks. The tourist office know all about me. They’re going to help get me started and I’m hoping that word of mouth will do the rest. People won’t need cars—and that’s the kind of customer I want! People who are interested in history and sightseeing, and can be bothered to walk down the road for a cup of tea and a piece of cake instead of polluting the atmosphere in some horrible gas-guzzling machine!’
There was silence.
‘You’re crazy!’ he said at last. ‘Crazy and impetuous!’
‘What’s the matter?’ She gave him a steady, cool look. ‘Do you think that being my own boss is too good for someone of my pedigree?’
‘What your mother did for a living didn’t concern me,’ he said coldly. ‘But the fact that you deceived me did. But then our whole relationship was built on a tissue of lies, wasn’t it?’
‘Relationship?’ she scorned. ‘Oh, come on, Marcus! To describe what we shared as a “relationship” is not only inaccurate—it’s insulting to relationships!’
He sat back in his chair and studied her, the ice-blue eyes as cool as she had ever seen them. ‘So tell me—is this whole enterprise of yours some naive plan for revenge?’
Donna blinked at him in genuine astonishment. ‘Revenge?’
‘It’s a natural progression, if you stop to think about it,’ he mused. ‘You striking out, in a primitive kind of way, to make me pay for what happened between us.’
For a moment she was dumbfounded, and it took a few incredulous seconds before she could speak. ‘Marcus—please credit me with a little more intelligence than that. I’m not stupid enough to set myself up to be miserable—and pursuing