of choler, she’d end up with a world class bout of indigestion.
‘It doesn’t matter whether it can sing and dance and do the sodding dishes, let alone go with the food.’ She glared at him over the bar as he retrieved a bottle from the chiller and placed it between them. ‘Seeing as I can’t imagine being able to swallow down even a single mouthful.’
That must have been the first time they’d been in agreement on anything. And it would probably kill her to know it. Pulling two champagne flutes from the uniform ranks lining the shelves, he placed them alongside the bottle. ‘All the more reason for you to have one, then. In case you choke.’
It looked for a moment as though she might reach across the bar and choke
him
. Maybe it was the fierce gleam of anticipation in his eyes as he silently willed her to do it that warned her off.
‘Fine!’ she said with a sharp exhalation. ‘If it’ll get us off the riveting subject of drinks, and onto why the hell you’re here, I’ll have water.’
‘That doesn’t sound very exciting.’ Aidan ripped away the foil, took a hold of the cork and started twisting the bottle.
Those ruby-red lips pursed and her delicate nostrils flared as she breathed in. ‘Not that it’s any of your business but I have a rule never to drink at work.’
‘Ah. Another rule.’ He paused as the cork eased out with a soft pop and a fizzle of air. ‘But not one you’ll have to break because, technically speaking, Ms Frost,’ he lowered his voice as though confiding a secret, ‘it’s your day off.’
He could almost hear her counting slowly in her head for patience as he began to pour.
‘Water,’ she repeated through gritted teeth. ‘And tell me why you are here.’
Relenting, he filled only the one flute and grabbed a bottle of mineral water and a tumbler. ‘The reason Richard Landon sent me in his place,’ he said, unscrewing the cap and filling the glass while keeping half an eye on her for her reaction, ‘is because he was calling on the bonds of family ties to help out in an emergency. I’m his nephew.’
Honestly, the poor woman couldn’t have looked more winded if she’d taken a medicine ball to the solar plexus. Her mouth dropped open slightly. God help her if she started with the fish thing again. With the way the morning’s dream had left him wired, he didn’t think he’d be able to stop himself from pushing something between those lips – his fingers, his tongue, his stirring erection.
It would have to be his tongue, he decided. He hadn’t been able to stop wondering how that red-painted mouth would taste – if Annabel Frost would be as sharp and tart as she seemed.
‘But …’ she managed to say, ignoring the tumbler he pushed towards her, brow creased in confusion. ‘You’re Irish.’
He couldn’t quite smother his smile in reaction to that nonsensical observation. ‘I am. So is my aunt, Bronagh – Richard’s wife.’
It didn’t take long for all the pieces of the puzzle to fit together. A look of appalled comprehension flashed across Annabel’s face and without a word she reached out, picked up the full flute of prosecco and drained it in several gulps.
‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ she snarled, banging the empty glass back down. Behind the furious glare she gave him he could see flickers of worry as she no doubt considered the worst-case implications that came attached to that bit of news. But in typical Annabel Frost fashion, she tried to hide whatever fear or vulnerability she might be feeling by staying on the attack. ‘There’s no way I can get rid of you now, is there?’
Wanting to reassure her that he was no threat to her professionally, Aidan picked up the bottle and tipped it over the empty glass. ‘Annabel—’
‘Oh, don’t bother with a refill,’ she interrupted. ‘There’s no way I’m sticking around for this farce. I refuse to stay in the same room as you, let alone sit at the same table and eat.’
She
‘It doesn’t matter whether it can sing and dance and do the sodding dishes, let alone go with the food.’ She glared at him over the bar as he retrieved a bottle from the chiller and placed it between them. ‘Seeing as I can’t imagine being able to swallow down even a single mouthful.’
That must have been the first time they’d been in agreement on anything. And it would probably kill her to know it. Pulling two champagne flutes from the uniform ranks lining the shelves, he placed them alongside the bottle. ‘All the more reason for you to have one, then. In case you choke.’
It looked for a moment as though she might reach across the bar and choke
him
. Maybe it was the fierce gleam of anticipation in his eyes as he silently willed her to do it that warned her off.
‘Fine!’ she said with a sharp exhalation. ‘If it’ll get us off the riveting subject of drinks, and onto why the hell you’re here, I’ll have water.’
‘That doesn’t sound very exciting.’ Aidan ripped away the foil, took a hold of the cork and started twisting the bottle.
Those ruby-red lips pursed and her delicate nostrils flared as she breathed in. ‘Not that it’s any of your business but I have a rule never to drink at work.’
‘Ah. Another rule.’ He paused as the cork eased out with a soft pop and a fizzle of air. ‘But not one you’ll have to break because, technically speaking, Ms Frost,’ he lowered his voice as though confiding a secret, ‘it’s your day off.’
He could almost hear her counting slowly in her head for patience as he began to pour.
‘Water,’ she repeated through gritted teeth. ‘And tell me why you are here.’
Relenting, he filled only the one flute and grabbed a bottle of mineral water and a tumbler. ‘The reason Richard Landon sent me in his place,’ he said, unscrewing the cap and filling the glass while keeping half an eye on her for her reaction, ‘is because he was calling on the bonds of family ties to help out in an emergency. I’m his nephew.’
Honestly, the poor woman couldn’t have looked more winded if she’d taken a medicine ball to the solar plexus. Her mouth dropped open slightly. God help her if she started with the fish thing again. With the way the morning’s dream had left him wired, he didn’t think he’d be able to stop himself from pushing something between those lips – his fingers, his tongue, his stirring erection.
It would have to be his tongue, he decided. He hadn’t been able to stop wondering how that red-painted mouth would taste – if Annabel Frost would be as sharp and tart as she seemed.
‘But …’ she managed to say, ignoring the tumbler he pushed towards her, brow creased in confusion. ‘You’re Irish.’
He couldn’t quite smother his smile in reaction to that nonsensical observation. ‘I am. So is my aunt, Bronagh – Richard’s wife.’
It didn’t take long for all the pieces of the puzzle to fit together. A look of appalled comprehension flashed across Annabel’s face and without a word she reached out, picked up the full flute of prosecco and drained it in several gulps.
‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ she snarled, banging the empty glass back down. Behind the furious glare she gave him he could see flickers of worry as she no doubt considered the worst-case implications that came attached to that bit of news. But in typical Annabel Frost fashion, she tried to hide whatever fear or vulnerability she might be feeling by staying on the attack. ‘There’s no way I can get rid of you now, is there?’
Wanting to reassure her that he was no threat to her professionally, Aidan picked up the bottle and tipped it over the empty glass. ‘Annabel—’
‘Oh, don’t bother with a refill,’ she interrupted. ‘There’s no way I’m sticking around for this farce. I refuse to stay in the same room as you, let alone sit at the same table and eat.’
She
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