Bonnie lifted her golden head off the carpet at James’s feet and gave a soft whine. ‘You want to go outside, old girl?’ he asked. ‘Come on. It looks like your babysitter’s walked off the job.’
The snow was already up to his calves and the wind was howling like a dervish but fortunately the dog didn’t take too long about her business. James dusted the snow off his shoulders as he came back in the back door leading off the kitchen. The back of his neck prickled when he saw Aiesha leaning in an indolent manner against the kitchen counter, her lushly youthful mouth curved upwards in a mocking tilt. ‘I hope you’re not expecting me to cook dinner for you.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of putting you to the tedious inconvenience of doing something for someone else.’
He opened the fridge and inspected the contents. The usual suspects were there—eggs, yoghurt, milk and cheese, vegetables in the crisper and Bonnie’s meat in a Tupperware container.
‘You can feed the dog now you’re here,’ Aiesha said. ‘And you can walk her. I’m not going to freeze my butt off just because that overweight mutt needs to take a leak every five minutes.’
He closed the fridge to look at her again. ‘So how are you going to earn your keep?’
Her grey eyes glinted as the tilt of her lush mouth went a little higher. ‘Any suggestions?’
A rocket blast of blood slammed into his groin at her saucy look. His mind filled with images of his body rocking against hers, pumping, thrusting, exploding. He clenched his teeth, fighting the demons of desire that plagued him whenever she was within touching distance. She knew the effect she had on him. Knew it and relished it. But he wondered if it was not so much a game now but a tactic to get rid of him.
The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed. She had hidden herself away from the press in the last place anyone would think to find her. His coming here had jeopardised the safety of her hideout.
He had no time for the press, especially since his father’s exploits had sullied the family name so lamentably, but his own profile had attracted a fair bit of interest over the years. He had been in the gossip pages more than he wanted to be, but that came with the territory of being considered one of Britain’s most eligible bachelors. The announcement of his engagement would bring a storm of interest his way, which was clearly something Aiesha was keen to avoid while she was holed up here with him.
James curled his top lip at her. ‘You think I’d get mixed up with a cheap little two-bit tramp like you?’
She sent her smoky eyes over his body from head to foot, lingering on his groin for a heart-stopping, pulse-thundering pause, before re-engaging with his gaze with a mischievous twinkle of her own. She lifted the smartphone she was holding in one hand, tapping one of her slender fingers on the screen. ‘You might want to check in with your fiancée. Fill her in on your current location and choice of company before she hears it from another source.’
James felt every hair on his scalp tighten at the roots as if being tugged out by tiny elves. But, before he could get his mouth open to speak, his phone started to ring. He took it out of his pocket, his stomach dropping as Phoebe’s image came up on the screen. ‘Hi, Phoebe, I was just about to—’
‘You bastard!’
‘It’s not what you think,’ he said, thinking on his feet and not doing a particularly good job of it. ‘She’s practically my...er...adopted sister. My mother is supposed to be here but she got called away at the—’
‘Oh, for God’s sake. Don’t take me for a complete and utter fool. It’s all over social media. You’re having a fling with a—’ the disgust and incredulity was starkly apparent in Phoebe’s tone ‘—a Vegas lounge singer?’
James blinked. His heart thudded. His brow broke out in a hot prickling sweat. The Sherwood project flashed before his eyes. All the tricky negotiations he’d gone through to nail the pitch, all the work he’d done—hours and hours, weeks and weeks, months and months of his time—would be for naught if the ultra-conservative Howard Sherwood heard about this before he could explain the circumstances. ‘Listen, I can explain everyth—’
‘It’s over,’ Phoebe said. ‘Not that I was going to say yes if you ever happened to get around to proposing to me. Daddy was right about you. He said the apple never falls far from the tree and your family tree is particularly rotten. You’re just like your jailbait-slavering father. I don’t want my name to be dragged down to that level. Goodbye.’ Click.