Happily Ever After.... Jessica Gilmore
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to be...’
Of course she didn’t. And coffee at that time of night was irresponsible anyway—inviting someone in for a cup of peppermint tea was probably never misconstrued. She could have done that. But did she want to? Want that tall, confident man in her flat? Even for one innocent cup of hot herbal beverage?
Because there was one moment when he had looked down at her and her breath had caught in her throat, every nerve end pulsing with an anticipation she hadn’t felt in years. If she had stepped forward rather than backwards, if he had put his hands on her shoulders, angled his mouth down to hers, what would she have done?
Clara slumped forward. This all proved that she had taken the whole not-dating, stability-for-Summer thing just a tiny bit too far. If she had allowed her mother to set her up, just occasionally, for dinner and drinks with one of the many eligible men she had suggested over the years, then one measly hour in the pub, one small drink, wouldn’t have thrown her so decidedly off kilter.
Raff Rafferty had been a tiny drop of water after a long drought. It didn’t mean he was the right kind of water but just one taste had reminded her of what she was missing. What it felt like to have an attractive man’s attention focused solely on her.
Even if he did have an ulterior motive that had nothing to do with Clara herself.
‘That’s a fearsome frown. Planning to murder someone?’
After all that waiting she hadn’t even heard the door open.
She hoped he hadn’t seen her jump, that the heat in her cheeks wasn’t visible. ‘I exact a high penalty for unpaid bills.’
Clara had been hoping that three days’ absence had exaggerated Raff’s attractiveness. They hadn’t. He was just as tall, as broad as she remembered but the weary air she had glimpsed last time was unequivocal. He looked as if he hadn’t slept for a week.
Dark circles shadowed his eyes, unfairly emphasising the navy blue, his face was pale under the deep tan, the well-cut shirt was wrinkled.
‘I need a favour.’ He didn’t even crack a smile. ‘Just how full a service do you offer?’
Clara gaped at him. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I asked...’ he spoke slowly, clearly, enunciating every word ‘...how full a service you offer. I need a girlfriend and I need one now. Can you supply me with one, or not?’
* * *
If he hadn’t been so tired... If he hadn’t been quite so desperate, then Raff might have phrased his request slightly differently. As it was it took a while for the outrage on Clara’s face to penetrate the dense fog suffocating what was left of his brain.
‘You’re not the first person to ask me for extra services,’ she said finally, contempt dripping through her words. ‘I admit, though, you have surprised me. I would have thought you were quite capable of hiring your own special help.’
Something was wrong, Raff could dimly tell, but he fixed on the positive.
‘So you can help me?’
‘Normally it’s the bored wives that ask for something extra. Someone to help clean out the guttering, trim the borders.’ She put a peculiar emphasis on the last few words. ‘I do like to help them when I can. I usually send Dave round. He might be seventy-three but he’s steady up a ladder. They don’t ask again.’
Raff tried to sort out her meaning from her words. He was quite clearly missing something. ‘Do the gutters need doing?’ he asked. ‘Surely that’s your preserve, not mine. Do what you think best. Look, it’s been a long day, a long week. Can you help me or not?’
She looked at him levelly but to his astonishment there was a cold anger in her eyes. ‘Not. This is a concierge service not an escort service. Now please leave. Now.’
‘What?’ Raff shook his head in disbelief as her words sank in. ‘I don’t want... I didn’t mean. For crying out loud, Clara, what kind of man do you think I am?’
‘I don’t know,’ she retorted, eyes hot with fury now. ‘The kind of man who walks away from his family, the kind of man who doesn’t have to work for anything worth having! The kind of man who wants to rent a girlfriend—’
‘Yes! A girlfriend. Not an escort or a call girl or whatever your dirty little brain has conjured up.’ Now his anger was matching hers, the righteous fury waking him up. ‘If I was looking for someone to sleep with I could find them, don’t worry your pretty little head about that, but that’s not what I’m looking for. I need someone to come to a few functions with me, to gaze lovingly into my eyes and to convince an autocratic old man that I might just settle down with her. Now, is that something you can help me with?’
If he thought his words might make her feel guilty, get her to back down, then he rapidly realised he was wrong. She uncoiled herself from her seat, rising to her feet to look up into his face, her eyes fixed on his, full of righteous anger.
‘This is about fooling your grandfather? Why? So he doesn’t cut you off? I have had it up to here with poor little rich boys who live their lives according to who holds the purse strings. I wouldn’t help you if I had a hundred suitable girls working for me. Now please leave.’
Raff choked back a bitter laugh. ‘I don’t have to justify myself to you, Miss Castleton, but for your information my grandfather is ill. He’s in the hospital and I am under strict orders not to upset him. So I either start dating one of the unfortunate women on the shortlist he drew up for me, fake a relationship or be responsible for yet another dangerous rise in blood pressure.’
He smiled over at her, sweet and dangerous. ‘Tell me, Miss Know-it-all, which do you recommend?’
‘A shortlist?’
That had stopped Miss Judgemental in her tracks.
Raff didn’t want to let go of the anger and frustration, didn’t want to try and tease a responsive grin from that pursed-up mouth, coax a glint out of those hard emerald eyes.
Especially as her words had cut a little deeper than they should. No virtual stranger should have the power to penetrate beneath the shield he so carefully erected yet her words had been like well-aimed arrows piercing straight into his Achilles heel.
Whether it was the lack of sleep, the taut tension in the room or the craziness of the situation, he didn’t know but, despite his best intentions, a slow smile crept over his face.
‘Do you want to see it?’
Clara’s eyes widened. ‘You have it with you?’
‘I needed something to read on the train. Here.’ He pulled the sheaf of papers out of his coat pocket and held them out. ‘Names, pedigrees, biographies and photographs.’
She made no attempt to take them. ‘Thorough.’
‘He means business,’ Raff agreed, letting the papers fall down onto the desk with an audible thump. It felt as if he had put down a heavy burden. ‘Now do you understand?’
She still wasn’t giving an inch. ‘Couldn’t you just talk to him?’
Raff laughed. ‘No one just talks to Charles Rafferty. We all tug our forelock and scuttle away to do his bidding. Or run away. Both Polly and I took that route.’
He sighed and picked the papers up again, shuffling them. ‘I owe you an apology. It doesn’t matter even if you do know where Polly is...’ she opened her mouth to interject and he held up his hand ‘...but I’m sure you don’t. She’s covered her traces well and I don’t blame her.’
The only person he could blame right now was himself. They were so estranged she couldn’t, wouldn’t confide in him.
Concern was etched onto Clara’s face. ‘Is she okay?’
Raff shook his head. ‘I doubt it. It turns out that great profits