Swept Into The Rich Man's World. Katrina Cudmore
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truth was giddiness was fizzing through her veins at the prospect of seeing his tall, muscular body, the darkness of his hair, and his lightly tanned skin which emphasised the celestial blue of his eyes.
Showered and dressed, she was about to open the bedroom door when she spotted a note pushed under it. Picking it up, she read the brief words.
Aideen,
I will drive you back to your cottage. Help yourself to breakfast in the kitchen. I will meet you in the main entrance hall at nine.
Patrick
It was a generous offer, but she needed to face the cottage on her own. It was her responsibility. She had taken up enough of his time as it was.
And then she studied the note again as an uncomfortable truth dawned on her. Was he offering to take her as a way of ensuring that she left? Humiliation burnt on her cheeks.
She checked the time on her phone. It was not yet eight o’clock. She would get changed and then go reassure him that she was leaving and was perfectly capable of making her own way home.
Thirty minutes later she had searched for him throughout the house but there was no sign of him. Her search in this exquisite house, as she’d gasped at the beauty of the baroque ballroom, with its frescoed ceiling, mirrored walls, and golden chandeliers, had brought home how different their lives were.
She was writing a note for him in the kitchen when the cloakroom door swung open.
Over off-white jodhpurs and black riding boots he was wearing a loose pale green shirt, the top three buttons open to reveal a masculine smattering of dark hair. His skin glistened with a sheen of perspiration.
He came to a stop when he spotted her at the table.
‘Good morning.’ He moved across the kitchen in long strides while adding, ‘Help yourself to breakfast. I’ll have a quick shower and be ready by nine.’
His manner was brusque, and she was left with no doubt that he just wanted to get the business of taking her home over and done with. Embarrassment coiled its way around her insides and she wanted to curl up into a protective ball against his rejection.
But instead she gave him a sunny smile. ‘Thank you for the offer, but there’s really no need for you to drive me. I’ve taken up enough of your time.’ He turned to her with a frown and she added, as way of explanation, ‘I’ll collect my car down by the bridge. I could do with a walk anyway.’
‘I’m coming.’
Didn’t he trust her? Was he always this insistent?
‘No, honestly—you’ve done enough.’
He leant against the island unit at the centre of the kitchen. ‘Aideen, there’s no point in arguing. I’ve made up my mind.’
His cool composure set her teeth on edge. ‘I want to go to the cottage by myself.’
‘Why?’
Oh, for crying out loud. ‘Because I can manage. The cottage is my responsibility. And I have no doubt that you are an extremely busy man. I can’t take up any more of your time.’
‘I’m taking you. End of story.’
She was leaving. Why wasn’t that enough for him? She gave a small laugh and said jokingly, ‘You don’t have to personally escort me off the estate, you know.’
He obviously didn’t enjoy her joke as annoyance flared on his face. ‘Do you really think that is why I want to drive you to the cottage? That I want to make sure you leave?’
Thrown by his anger, she challenged him back. ‘What other reason could you possibly have?’
His blue gaze held hers for a long time, and then, with a deep inhalation, he said in a quiet voice, ‘Why can’t you just accept that I want to help you?’
He moved beside the table and hunkered down beside her. Heat coursed through her veins at having his powerful body so close by, at seeing the movement of the hard muscles of his thighs beneath the thin fabric of the jodhpurs, the beauty of his lightly tanned hand and forearm which rested on the table beside her.
He didn’t speak again until she met his determined gaze. ‘Let me help you.’
Why wasn’t he listening to her? She was able to look after herself—she didn’t need any help.
‘I appreciate the offer, but I can manage by myself.’
He stood, his jaw working, and eyed her unhappily. ‘As you wish.’
With that, he strode out of the kitchen without a backward glance.
* * *
For the second time in less than twelve hours Aideen knocked at Patrick’s front door. If she’d hated to ask for help the first time around then it was ten times worse now. Talk about having to eat humble pie...
As she waited for her knock to be answered she looked back towards her car. Thankfully it had started immediately, and although the floor was a little damp, the files and office equipment piled on to the back seat and in the boot had escaped the storm and flood waters.
Unlike her cottage.
She needed to think straight, but her mind was ping-ponging all over the place. Work. Deadlines. Insurance claims. Where would she even start in finding a reputable builder to carry out the necessary repairs?
She turned to the sound of the door opening.
A middle-aged woman stood there, a puzzled look on her face. As though she was surprised to find someone standing at the door. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Can I speak to Patrick, please?’
The woman looked totally taken aback. To assure her that she wasn’t some random stranger, Aideen quickly added, ‘I’m Aideen Ryan. I live in Fuchsia Cottage, down by the lough. Your estate manager was at the front gates, repairing them after last night’s storm. Patrick had told him how my cottage flooded last night and he let me in when I said I needed to talk to Patrick again.’
‘Oh, you poor thing. Of course—come in. Sure, half the village is flooded. I never saw anything like it in my life.’
The woman led her to a large reception room off the entrance hall, chatting all the way.
‘You took me by surprise. We don’t tend to get many visitors. Make yourself comfortable and I’ll let Patrick know you’re here.’
It took Patrick so long to arrive that for a while she worried that he was refusing to see her. He marched into the room, his brow furrowed. He was wearing a light blue formal shirt, open at the neck, fine navy wool trousers and expensive tan-coloured shoes. It all screamed expensive Italian designer and he looked every inch the successful billionaire that he was.
She gave him a crooked smile. ‘I’m back.’
His frown didn’t budge an inch. ‘So I see.’
She took a deep breath. She had to focus on work. A little bit of humility had never killed anyone. ‘My cottage is uninhabitable. The insurance company is sending out an assessor tomorrow. I tried to go to Mooncoyne, but Foley’s Bridge is still impassable.’ Trying not to wince at his deepening frown, she said in a rush, ‘I was wondering if it would be possible for me to work from here...until the flooding subsides.’
His head tilted forward and he pinned her with a look.
‘It’s just that I have a commission I need to complete by the end of today and I need access to the internet.’
‘What condition is the cottage in?’
Her stomach lurched, but she clenched her fists and forced herself to speak. ‘There’s still floodwater in both the cottage and the studio. Most of my furniture and all the fitted furniture will probably need to be replaced. At a guess, and after speaking to the insurance company, I’ll be