Captive In The Millionaire's Castle. Lee Wilkinson
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was absolutely delicious. I can quite see why you like to stop here—’
All at once she broke off, flustered, wondering if he’d thought her greedy.
She was trying to find some way to change what had become an uncomfortable subject when the landlord appeared to clear away the dishes and bring the coffee, sparing her the need.
‘A grand meal, Amos,’ Michael said heartily.
He sounded sincere, and, realizing that he too had enjoyed it, Jenny relaxed. Perhaps, because of what she saw as the newness and possible fragility of the relationship, she was simply being over-sensitive.
‘I haven’t tasted anything as good as that since I was here last.’
‘I’ll tell Sarah,’ the landlord promised. ‘She’ll be pleased.’
For a little while they sipped their coffee without speaking, and, a quick glance at her silent companion confirming that he was once again in a brown study, she seized the opportunity to watch him.
His dark hair was thick and glossy, still trying to curl a little in spite of its short cut, and, though he lacked either charm or charisma, his face was interesting, lean and strong-boned, with a straight nose and a cleft chin.
It was the kind of face that wouldn’t change or grow soft and flabby with age. At sixty or seventy he would look pretty much as he looked now.
His eyes were handsome, she conceded, long and heavy-lidded, tilted up a little at the outer edge, with thick curly lashes. His teeth too were excellent, gleaming white and healthy, while his mouth had a masculine beauty that made her feel strange inside.
Dragging her gaze away with something of an effort, she studied his ears, which were smallish and set neatly against his well-shaped head. A far cry from the large, sticky-out ears Laura had predicted.
Jenny was smiling at the remembered picture when he glanced up unexpectedly.
As he watched the hot colour rise in her cheeks, pointing to her guilt, she saw his eyes narrow.
He obviously thought she had been laughing at him, and, knowing how fragile a man’s ego could be, she braced herself for an angry outburst.
But, his face showing only mild interest, he suggested blandly, ‘Perhaps you’d allow me to share the joke?’
Seeing nothing else for it, she drew a deep breath and admitted, ‘I was smiling at the mental picture my flatmate had painted of what you, as a successful author, ought to look like.’
‘Oh? So what should a successful author look like?’
She repeated as near as she could remember word for word what had been said that morning.
His face straight, but his green eyes alight with amusement, he said quizzically, ‘Hmm… Large, pointed, sticky-out ears… So how do I compare? Favourably, I hope?’
She smiled, and, relieved that he’d taken it so well, dared to joke. ‘Not altogether. After seeing some old reruns of Star Trek, I’ve developed a passion for Mr Spock.’
Her lovely, luminous smile, the hint of mischief, beguiling and fascinating, hit him right over the heart, and for a moment that vital organ seemed to miss a beat.
Striving to hide the effect her teasing had had on him, he pulled himself together, and complained, ‘Being compared to Mr Spock and found wanting could seriously damage my ego.’
‘Sorry,’ she said, with mock contrition. ‘I wouldn’t want to do that.’
‘So you weren’t suggesting that my ears aren’t as exciting as a Vulcan’s?’
‘I wouldn’t dare.’
‘I should hope not.’
His sudden white smile took her breath away and totally overturned her earlier assessment that he lacked either charm or charisma. Obviously he had lashings of both, hidden beneath that cool veneer.
All at once, for no reason at all, her heart lifted, and she found herself looking forward to the days and weeks ahead.
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