The marina itself was separated from the working side of the operation by a stone pier. It ran out to a small lighthouse that marked the entrance to the harbour. Rows of slips provided mooring for a surprising number of vessels; small yachts and sailing dinghies rubbing shoulders with larger, ocean-going, craft.
Grace had always liked the idea of sailing. When she was younger, she used to tell her father she was going to be a fisherman herself when she grew up.
Until he’d taken her out on one of the small trawlers and the swell had made her sick.
She half smiled at the memory and exchanged a greeting with an old man sitting on one of the capstans, smoking his pipe. She’d known the man since she was a toddler, she realised. That was the thing about Rothburn: everybody knew who you were.
Resting her arms on the railings that ran along one side of the pier, she scanned the boats moored in the slips with more than a casual eye.
She refused to acknowledge she was curious about the kind of boat a man like Jack Connolly might own. Probably the most expensive, she thought ruefully. Like that gleaming cruiser, with at least three decks.
‘Looking for something?’
GRACE STARTED ALMOST GUILTILY.
Despite the quietness of her surroundings, she hadn’t heard anyone’s approach and, glancing down, she could see why. He was wearing canvas boots, their rubber soles almost silent on the stone jetty.
Taking a deep breath, she turned.
‘Mr Connolly,’ she said politely. ‘How nice to see you again.’
‘Is it?’
Jack regarded her from between narrowed lids, wondering why he’d chosen to speak to her at all. Not ten days ago, he’d been hoping he’d never have to see her or her boyfriend again.
Grace lifted slim shoulders. She was still wearing the cream shell and navy suit she’d worn for work and, compared to his short-sleeved tee and black jeans, she felt ridiculously overdressed.
‘I...was just on my way home,’ she lied and saw the way his mobile mouth turned down.
Clearly, he didn’t believe her, but she couldn’t help that. She had no reason to care what he thought of her. But she couldn’t deny that she was powerfully aware of him as a man.
Still, for the present, she had to pretend that she and Sean were still together. She’d been in danger of denying that fact when she was at Jack’s house.
‘A pity,’ he remarked now, taking up a position similar to the one she had adopted. Lean muscled arms rested on the rail only inches from the hand she’d been using to support herself. ‘I thought maybe you were looking for the Osprey.’
‘The Osprey?’
Trying to ignore the fact that his soft Irish accent stroked like velvet over her skin, Grace managed to sound amazingly bewildered. So much so that Jack turned his head sideways to look at her.
‘Yeah, the Osprey,’ he said. ‘My boat.’
‘Oh—’ Grace moistened her lips. For some reason she was feeling a little breathless and tried to hide it. ‘Of—of course.’ Did she sound convincing? ‘I’d forgotten you had a boat.’
Jack made a sound that was half groan, half laugh. ‘Yeah, right,’ he said, and suddenly she resented his mockery.
‘Yes,’ she declared tightly. ‘Or do you imagine I came here looking for your boat? Perhaps you even think I was hoping to see you.’
‘Hey...’ He sounded almost amused now. ‘What did I say? I just thought—’
‘Yes, I know what you thought, Mr Connolly,’ retorted Grace hotly. ‘I’ve met men like you before.’
‘I’ll bet.’ Jack straightened, his own expression sobering. ‘I was being polite, that’s all. Forget it.’ He straightened. ‘See you around.’
He turned to stride away along the pier and instantly Grace felt ashamed.
It was evidently her day for annoying people, she thought resignedly, and Jack had every right to be annoyed with her.
For heaven’s sake, what had he said? It wasn’t his fault that the man had a talent for getting under her skin.
‘Mr Conn—I mean, Jack!’
Cursing her high-heeled pumps, Grace hurried after him. The stonework was uneven in places and she’d ricked her ankle at least twice before he stopped and looked back.
Immediately, Grace slowed to a walk, supremely self-conscious as she approached him. He didn’t say anything. His lean dark face was closed; enigmatic. And so incredibly sensual, she half regretted giving him a second chance.
‘Um—I just wanted to say I’m sorry,’ she said, trying to sound cool and confident. ‘It’s been a long day. I’m afraid you took the brunt.’
Jack surveyed her silently. Like her, he was conscious of the fact that there was more going on here than a simple apology. He guessed she felt obliged to be civil to him because of Sean Nesbitt. If only she knew.
For his part, he was far too aware of the full breasts rising and falling rapidly beneath her silk top. The top was less revealing than the tee shirt had been, but no less sexy.
She was wearing a short-skirted suit, too, that exposed more of those long, spectacular legs. Were her legs bare? He thought so. And the notion of running his hands up them and under her skirt was as unwelcome as his reaction.
As she drew nearer the fragrance of her perfume drifted to him. It was light, flowery, with just an underlying trace of musk. No doubt her sudden exertion was responsible for the wave of heat that was rising up her throat and into her cheeks.
‘It’s okay,’ he said, when she stopped beside him, managing to sound relaxed even though he was far from it. ‘I’ve had days like that.’ He paused, and then, because something more was required, ‘How’s the job?’
‘All right.’ Grace shrugged. ‘I guess.’
The pause was significant.
‘You only guess?’
His dark brows ascended and Grace pulled a wry face. ‘Working in Alnwick is great, but I’m not sure if I’m cut out to be an estate agent,’ she admitted. ‘I’m not a saleswoman.’
Jack pushed his thumbs into the back waistband of his jeans and regarded her sympathetically. ‘You haven’t been doing it for very long,’ he said. ‘How do you know?’
Grace sighed. ‘This is my second week.’
‘So give it more time.’
‘I suppose I’ll have to.’
Jack thought he sounded amazingly reasonable in the circumstances. But, since Lisa had died, he’d considered himself immune from the opposite sex. And he had been until this girl came into his orbit. He didn’t like feeling unsure of himself, but he was.
The urge to tuck a strand of silky red-gold hair behind her ear was almost irresistible. He wanted to touch her, to feel the satin-smooth skin beneath his fingers.
His muscles tightened automatically in anticipation, but somehow he reined his feelings in.
She was waiting for him to go on, so he said deliberately, ‘What does Sean think?’
‘Oh, Sean...’
If Jack hadn’t been so sure he was attributing her with feelings she didn’t have, he’d have said she sounded fed up.
‘Sean doesn’t know,’