The Single Mum and the Tycoon. Caroline Anderson
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fragment of his common sense.
‘I don’t know. At least two weeks. It could be a month or more,’ he said, trying to tempt her into finding room for him, and hauled his eyes back to her face in time to see a flicker of hope mingled with desperation in those beautiful soft green eyes.
‘Um—that’s fine. Well, it could be. It’s just—well, the house isn’t really ready yet and the cabin—I mean it wouldn’t take long, but in the meantime—I don’t suppose you could find somewhere else for a night or two?’
And give her a chance to talk herself out of it? ‘I’d rather not,’ he said, cutting off that avenue of escape.
She chewed her lip and he almost groaned aloud.
‘Well—I suppose you could use the cabin,’ she said doubtfully. ‘It’s got its own little en suite shower room—the water pressure isn’t fantastic but at least it’s private. I’ve had guests in there for years but I hadn’t intended to let it again until I’ve had time to decorate it, and I’ve been too busy… Oh, goodness, I don’t want to turn you away, I really can’t afford to, but…’
She trailed to a halt.
‘So—is that a yes or a no?’ he asked, tilting his head slightly and trying to keep the smile off his lips.
She hesitated for a second, then grinned again, and he felt something hot and dangerous uncoil inside him. ‘That’s a yes,’ she said. ‘If you don’t mind roughing it a bit for the first few nights until the house is ready. The attic just needs a quick coat of paint before I can put you into it—maybe not even that, really. I won’t charge you the full rate, of course—’
‘Can I see it?’
‘The attic?’
‘No. The cabin.’
A flicker of panic ran over those incredibly expressive features, and he squashed another smile. He sincerely hoped she never played cards.
‘Um—could you give me an hour? Just to sort it out a little. It hasn’t been used yet this year—I hadn’t got round to it because I wasn’t going to use it for guests again until I’d painted it. I don’t know if we can even get to the door.’
‘I could help you.’
The panic on her face dithered and fought with common sense, and the common sense won. Her mouth curved up in a smile, she let out a sigh and her eyes filled with relief. ‘If you don’t mind, that would be great. I mean, it doesn’t look anything, but it will, and it’s really comfortable. I love it.’
Oh, hell. Molly was giving it the hard sell. She obviously needed the money badly and, even though alarm bells were ringing, the thought of walking away from her now was even more alarming. Unthinkable, even. He couldn’t possibly let her down at this stage, no matter how grim the cabin was. And it was absolutely nothing to do with that enticing cleavage—
She led him round the corner and they came to a halt in front of a tired but pretty timber building set on stilts in the corner of the garden. She climbed the steps and yanked open the door, pushing the overgrown rose out of the way, and he followed her in, sniffing cautiously. It had the woody smell of a beach hut, slightly musty and reminiscent of his childhood, and light years away from the luxury of his exclusive beach front lodge in their retreat in the Daintree forest.
And if he had a grain of sense, he’d turn on his heel and run.
‘It doesn’t look much, and obviously it needs airing and a bit of a clean as well as a coat of paint, but it’s got gorgeous sea views and the bed’s very comfortable. I don’t charge a lot, and I do a mean breakfast.’
He obviously didn’t have the necessary grain of sense, because she was right. It didn’t look much. But it had its own bathroom, the views were glorious and he didn’t need luxury. Just peace.
‘I’ll take it,’ he said.
Molly felt her shoulders sag with relief.
She’d been meaning to paint it for ages, but she hadn’t got round to doing anything about it because she’d run out of money, and anyway people who wanted accommodation early in the year were few and far between so she hadn’t felt pressured. Apart from the weekend sailors, there weren’t that many visitors, but the time had dribbled by so she’d missed the window for Easter bookings, and her chance of getting any solid bookings now for the next few weeks was zilch.
So he was a godsend—not least because he was tall and strong and fit and didn’t seem to mind giving her a hand with preparing it! Not to mention downright gorgeous, but she wasn’t going to think about that. About the lean, lazy grace of his movements, the neat hips lovingly snuggled by worn denim, the way the soft, battered leather jacket gave to the tug of his broad shoulders, those hard, warm hands with strong, straight fingers that looked capable and dependable…
He was running his fingers over the paintwork in the doorway, and she was busy fantasizing about how it would feel if he was running them over her when his thumbnail flicked at a little flake of white, pinging it off. ‘It could certainly do with some work,’ he said, and her heart sank, his gorgeousness forgotten as reality thrust itself back into the forefront. With knobs on.
‘Tell me about it. The whole place could. I was going to do it but there never seem to be enough hours.’
He tipped his head, turned it, caught her eye. ‘It wouldn’t take long,’ he said. ‘Scrape it down, give it a coat of paint.’
‘There are a million and one things that don’t take long, and I have to do them all, starting with finishing the attic so I can put guests in there until I’ve done this.’ She gave a tiny, only slightly hysterical laugh. ‘Of course, in an ideal world I’d pay someone, but I can’t afford to.’
‘I could do it for you.’
She felt herself go still, and studied him warily. ‘Why would you do that?’
He shrugged. ‘Because I’m here for a while and I’ll go crazy if I don’t have anything to do but chat to the family? And I’ll charge you.’
Damn. Always the bottom line. ‘I can’t afford—’
‘An evening meal. Not every night. I’ll be out sometimes, I’m sure, but most nights. Nothing flashy. Beans on toast, bangers and mash? And in return I’ll help you out—paint things, do the garden, fix the guttering.’
‘Guttering?’
He nodded. ‘On the front of the house. The rose has pulled the downpipe off.’
‘Oh.’
‘But I can fix it. It’ll only take ten minutes.’
‘You can’t do that,’ she said, frowning at him as he turned towards her and filled the doorway, big and strong and capable. And very, very sexy—
‘Why not?’
‘Well—it isn’t fair.’
‘Why don’t you let me be the judge of that? I can do it if I want—and I want. And I’ll still pay you for bed and breakfast.’
‘But I couldn’t possibly let you—’
‘Of course you could. If I work, you feed me. If I don’t, you get to put your feet up. How does that sound?’
Wonderful. Blissful. Too good to be true. She eyed him warily and tried not to be distracted by the raw sex appeal that was nothing to do with anything.
‘I can’t afford the materials, and I don’t have any tools.’
‘Tools aren’t a problem, I’ll borrow my father’s. He won’t be needing them at the moment, he’s got better things to do. And the amount of paint you’ll need will be peanuts.’
She chewed her lip. He was right. It wouldn’t take long and it wouldn’t cost much. Feeding