But then he wouldn’t need to.
She tried to refute the sobering thought, but was unable to. Better to face it and plan a strategy.
No matter how much he attracted her she wasn’t the type who could make the first move, so she should be relatively safe from her own impulses.
But suppose he turned up the heat?
Well, if he showed any sign of it she would just have to freeze him off, keep her defences intact and give no hint that she was vulnerable…
‘Hot chocolate?’
Charlotte hadn’t heard him coming, and she jumped.
‘Sorry if I startled you.’ He was wearing a wry expression and a short navy-blue towelling robe that showed five inches of wrist, strained across his wide shoulders, gaped at the chest and was only kept decent by a belt tied tightly around his lean waist.
Seeing her eyes widen, he explained, ‘Unfortunately Ben is barely five feet seven and built like a jockey, so this is the only thing I can get into.’
It looked so ludicrous that she gave a little choke of laughter.
‘You might well laugh,’ he said grimly.
‘I’m sorry.’ The apology was spoiled by another irrepressible chuckle.
His face relaxed into a grin, and a moment later his low, attractive laugh joined hers.
She was pleasantly surprised. Most of the men she knew hated to be laughed at, and certainly wouldn’t have been able to laugh at themselves.
Holding out one of the mugs he was carrying, Simon suggested, ‘Perhaps you’d like to take yours? If I bend over or make any sudden move, I will almost certainly offend your maidenly modesty.’
Feeling the colour rise in her cheeks, she accepted the steaming mug, and, heeding the timely warning, stared resolutely into the leaping flames.
The chocolate was good and hot and relaxing, and she rocked gently as she sipped, while Simon drank his leaning decorously against the stone mantel.
‘Warm enough?’ he asked.
‘Yes, thank you.’
Stifling a yawn, she glanced up at him. His hair, towelled back to its normal corn-colour, was attractively rumpled and the beginnings of a golden stubble adorned his jaw.
Fighting back a mad urge to rub her cheek against it and put her lips to the strong column of his throat, she stared fixedly at his broad chest.
As he flexed shoulders that must have been uncomfortably restricted his robe gaped even more, and, fascinated, she watched the ripple of muscles beneath the smooth, tanned skin.
Suddenly becoming aware that he was watching her watching him, she dragged her gaze away with an effort and looked back into the fire.
There was silence, apart from the sound of the wind and the rain beating against the windows, and the contented ticking of an old-fashioned carriage clock.
A log settled and broke and a small piece of burning wood fell into the hearth close to where he was standing.
As her eyes were drawn to the glowing ember, she saw that his bare feet were well-shaped with neatly clipped nails, his legs firm and straight with a light fuzz of golden hair.
Becoming aware that the robe barely reached his knees, and the front edges were parting company, she looked hastily away once more and, face burning, gulped the last of her hot chocolate.
He turned what might have been a laugh into a cough, before enquiring solicitously, ‘I hope it was to your liking?’
Determinedly ignoring any possible double entendre, she answered, ‘Yes, it was fine, thank you.’
‘It proved to be a choice between that and black coffee, and I thought coffee might keep you awake.’
He collected the empty mugs, and, taking her wet clothes from the stool, added, ‘Now the heater’s lit, if I spread these over the airing rack in the bathroom they’ll dry much faster.’
The warmth of the fire was soporific and in spite of everything she was practically asleep by the time he returned carrying clean sheets and pillowslips and a maroon and cream duvet.
Forcing open eyes that felt as if they were full of sand, she looked up blearily, smothering a yawn.
‘Tired?’
‘Yes,’ she admitted. It had been a long, emotionally draining day.
‘As soon as I’ve made up the bed I suggest we both get some sleep.’
For the first time the full reality of the situation struck her, and she froze.
Then after a moment, relaxing somewhat, she recalled that when Simon had described the cottage he’d said two-up, two-down, so presumably there were two bedrooms.
But would there be another bed?
As though reading her thoughts, he said, ‘I’m afraid there’s only the one bed, so unless you want to share it…?’
‘I don’t!’ Her voice had risen in alarm.
‘In that case I’ll take the couch.’
Her feeling of relief was elbowed aside by guilt. ‘But you said there were no blankets.’
‘Don’t worry, I can manage with a coat. And at least there are plenty of pillows. Ben must sleep propped up.’
Sounding quite sanguine, he added, ‘The bathroom is just along the passage, the first door on the left. There should be some warm water by now, but I very much doubt if there’s enough for a shower.’
She got to her feet and, very conscious of his gaze on her bare legs, made her way along the lamplit passage to a small bathroom, where the white porcelain fittings, though antiquated, were gleaming and spotlessly clean.
A gas lamp over the sink bathed the place in yellow light and threw out a halo of warmth, and the boiler, with its little row of blue and gold flames, popped and gurgled cheerfully. The only real snag was a cold draught coming under the door.
Seeing her stockings and undies hung tidily over a slatted airing-rack alongside Simon’s silk boxer shorts gave her a strange feeling. It was almost as if they were an old married couple.
Soap, towels, a face-flannel, a tube of toothpaste and a bottle of shower gel had been laid out ready on a green painted shelf.
Bearing in mind Simon’s warning, she washed at the sink rather than risking a shower, and in the absence of a brush used a finger to clean her teeth as best she could.
When she returned to the living-room the bed was made up, and Simon was putting more logs on the fire.
‘Finished?’ he asked.
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Then the bed’s all yours. I’ll go and wash before I turn out the lights.’
The big bed looked more than inviting and she climbed in with a sigh, plumped up a couple of pillows and closed her eyes.
However, her sojourn in the bathroom had turned her feet into blocks of ice, and, as she knew that the settee would be much too short for him and was bound to be terribly uncomfortable, a combination of cold feet and guilt prevented her from sleeping.
But it would be madness to share the bed with him, and she knew instinctively that he was too much of a gentleman to let her take the settee…
She was still wide awake, thoughts buzzing round in her brain like bees, when he returned wearing nothing but a towel knotted around his lean hips. He was carrying a couple of coats over his arm and a blue rubber hot-water bottle.
He turned towards