Perhaps it was that flinch, that miniscule indication of weakness that made her do what she did next. That, combined with her instinct for reading difficult men, and her ability to bring them, whimpering, to heel, in record time. Mr Intense Hunk here was so far outside her experience she didn’t feel confident to lump him in that manageable category, but whatever, there was no other explanation for what happened next. She heard her voice, loud, confident, and resonant, echoing around the hallway before she even knew she was going to speak.
‘And of course, I’m also here to try out to be your wife!’
Where that lie had come from, she had no idea.
Wham!
She watched in triumph as his face jack-knifed as he heard the word ‘wife.’
And she’d got him! That was the body blow. Manageable after all, perhaps. Phew! She’d located his Achilles heel in record time, though it hadn’t been difficult, given it was one shared by most of the other thirty-something males she’d come across in his socio-economic bracket.
So, the man was entirely allergic to the idea of a wife, was he?
This suited her perfectly, given that the last thing she was looking for was a husband. She relished the power this scrap of insight gave her. It was useful ammunition, should she need to defend herself. But best of all, goading him gently was going to be very enjoyable.
Bring on the fun!
She rubbed her cheek, adjusted her glasses, and tried to hide her smile, as she waited for his reaction.
‘Mrs McCaul! Come and meet Shea.’
Shea jumped at his unexpectedly hearty shout. Beyond him a straight woman with a softening smile was coming towards her, pulling a briefcase on wheels.
‘Mrs McCaul is our housekeeper here at Edgerton.’ The curl of his lip suggested that he would have happily added ‘and resident pain in the behind,’ as he extended his arm in a half-hearted presentation.
‘Shea rhymes-with-roll-in-the-hay Summers, meet Mrs McCaul. Shea, by the way, is hell-bent on finding herself a husband, and has apparently set her heart on a spot of gold-digging here at Edgerton.’ He flashed a mocking look at Shea, who inwardly shrank at this blistering introduction, but held her head high.
Mrs McCaul whisked past Brando, shaking her head, and handed Shea the case with a solid smile.
‘Don’t listen to him, Shea, we know what you’re here for, and everything’s ready for you in the annex, as Bryony asked. So if you’d like to follow me … ’
Mrs McCaul’s lilting Scottish tones lapped over Shea, as she rifled through her handbag, shed her stilettos, pulled out a pair of brown suede pumps, and slipped them on.
‘Not so fast!’ Brando’s voice was biting now. ‘Shea will be staying in the Snowfield Wing with me. No arguments.’
‘But … ’ The women’s protests chimed together, but Brando chopped them short.
‘Didn’t you hear, I said ‘No arguments!’ If you want to stay at all, Shea, this is how it’s going to be. It’s non-negotiable. There’s plenty of space up there.’ He shot her a smirking that’ll teach you look. ‘No point coming to hook a husband, then hiding away from him, is there?’
Shea blanked the shiver his look sent down her back, and opened her mouth to reply – not that she had decided what to say – but found there was no chance of chipping into the battle hotting up before her.
‘Very well, Brando. Luckily for us, you’re not here often, with manners like that!’ Mrs McCaul jutted her chin at him. ‘You should take lessons from your sister. Bryony may be younger, but she’s the perfect lady!’
Wow! Shea clocked Brando’s silent grimace. One big revelation there! Bryony was more than just the TV girl. That explained a lot.
Mrs McCaul dismissed Brando with a snort, though as she turned, Shea caught a long-suffering twinkle of affection in her eyes. ‘Don’t worry Shea, he won’t be bothering you for long. He rarely graces us with his presence for more than one night at a time, so he’s already well overdue to leave.’
‘Thanks for sharing that, Mrs McCaul.’ His tone was caustic. ‘I’ll show Shea up to her room myself now. By the way, we’ll be having supper in the west wing dining room later, if that’s okay with you. I take it you’ll have time to remove the dust sheets.’
Mrs McCaul looked perturbed. ‘Perhaps not the best choice Brando. You’d be much more comfortable eating in the kitchen, as you usually do. That dining room is very … ’
He cut in abruptly. ‘Very whatever! It’s my choice, and that’s where we’ll be eating, thank you!’
Shea heard the polished oak boards creak gently as Brando turned and sauntered casually towards the staircase.
Wow! Rear of the year, or what? She let out a silent gasp of appreciation. Not that she was in the least bit interested, but a view like that could hardly go un-applauded.
‘Shoes, Brando!’
Mrs McCaul’s curt instruction flew after them, and Shea stood open mouthed and watched as Brando kicked off first one then the other sneaker, flipped them, and nonchalantly caught them as he walked.
‘Are you coming or am I going to have to wait all day?’ He was calling to her impatiently over his shoulder now, already halfway up the stairs, mounting them three at a time.
Shea wavered, chewing her thumbnail and not entirely sure what she was doing. She’d come in feet first, feeling thoroughly shaken, and even more thoroughly stirred. And she didn’t do stirred. Never. Brando was the rudest guy she’d met, and he wasn’t even supposed to be here. And now she was following this commitment-phobe up to his ‘wing,’ when he obviously saw her as some money-grubbing opportunist, who he was determined to wipe the floor with.
And just five minutes ago she’d thought this was a walkover.
‘If you don’t come now I can guarantee you’ll get lost, and I won’t be responsible if the wolf gets you!’
His gravelly words spiralled down from the landing, and sent goosebumps down her spine …
And what the heck was all this about wolves anyway?
All a million miles away from what she’d been expecting. But then …
‘I can always come back and carry you.’
Glancing up, she saw him watching her coolly over the balustrade, eyes narrowed and calculating, poised for action.
Cripes, he wasn’t joking either.
Grabbing her muddy shoes in one hand, and her bag in the other, she bolted towards the stairs.
‘It’s eight thirty pm, I hope you’re ready!’
Brando’s shout outside Shea’s door was loud enough to make the handle rattle, and it matched his mood.
Ready? Who was he kidding? When had a woman ever been ready?
He’d spent the remainder of the afternoon fuming. Fuming with Bryony for landing him in this situation, and fuming with this damned woman who’d helicoptered her way into his private domain. After years in the music business, he reckoned he was unshockable. But what kind of woman would be pushy enough to pull a stunt like this to grab a husband? And what the hell