else.
Chas rubbed his temples while he waited. A couple of late-night scotches had kept his mind off Sam while he organized the files they’d need to catalogue the estate, but they’d done nothing to help him sleep. If anything they’d added fire to the flame and he’d woken with a splitting headache that even Evelyn’s extra strong coffee couldn’t cure.
A discreet clearing of the throat alerted him to Sam’s presence. “Come in.” He got to his feet carefully. Despite his dark mood, he couldn’t deny the rush of warmth he felt seeing Sam in one of his old school shirts. “You’re looking very elegant this morning, Miss Redfern.”
“Thank you.” She acknowledged the compliment, her voice so cool and composed they might as well have been in the showrooms at Burton-Porter.
All of which was fine with him.
“I thought we’d make the library our headquarters,” said Chas drawing another chair up beside his own. “Cushion?” he asked, holding up a needlepoint pillow. At Sam’s nod, he positioned it on the seat for her. They were back in the safe and comfortable world of work. He had his laptop open at one end of the oak table and when she had arrived, he had just begun to pour over the haphazard collection of documents they would need for listing the items he considered saleable when she arrived.
Keeping his tone guarded, Chas asked how she was feeling.
“Tender, but fine,” said Sam, gingerly lowering herself into the chair. She did her best to make her answering smile nothing more than a polite acknowledgement, but oh how she wanted to lean in toward him, casually touch the strong forearm that was pulling the files closer to her. She wanted those wonderfully sensitive fingers to smooth across her aching back and shoulders, easing away the knots in her muscles as they untangled the knots in her emotions. Instead she leaned back, flipped open the notebook she carried and looked at Chas calmly.
Chas fought the impulse to slide his chair closer to Sam. The distance between them felt wrong, but it was necessary. In a few days, they would be heading back to the reality of London and their careers. She would remain the perfect Burton-Porter agent and, assuming there were no other disasters ahead of them, resume her personal life. It occurred to him then, that he had no idea about her personal life. Was there a boyfriend? He fought down a surge of jealousy. There couldn’t be a lover or she would never have kissed him the way she did – there was too much honesty in those green eyes to be playing fast and loose with anyone…and besides he told himself ruthlessly, it was none of his business if she had ten lovers. She was his employee, his valued employee. Nothing more. Once they returned to the city, he would reclaim his solitary existence, invite a suitable woman out to dine and forget all about Samantha Redfern.
The idea was utterly depressing. It would be nigh impossible to forget Sam. Her very scent was enough to have him quivering with desire. No other woman had ever affected him this way. He shifted in his seat. He should be furious with her, not lusting after her.
“So where do we start?” Sam asked.
Her business-like manner ended his flight of fancy. He handed her a copy of the original architect’s drawing of the manor and a family tree. He spoke while she scanned the documents. “There are three reception rooms, a study, library, and conservatory, six principal bedrooms and a warren of storerooms. After that we begin on the record books, loose receipts and an itemized list from my grandfather’s estate.” He gestured toward the dusty stack of folders and documents spread out on the table. “Inheritance taxes changed everything. And cost the estate a fortune.” Not to mention his grandfather’s inept handling of the land and philandering ways. “A lot of the best art was sold off. The smaller holdings were sold to tenants who could afford them. And needed repairs were left
Chas rubbed his temples while he waited. A couple of late-night scotches had kept his mind off Sam while he organized the files they’d need to catalogue the estate, but they’d done nothing to help him sleep. If anything they’d added fire to the flame and he’d woken with a splitting headache that even Evelyn’s extra strong coffee couldn’t cure.
A discreet clearing of the throat alerted him to Sam’s presence. “Come in.” He got to his feet carefully. Despite his dark mood, he couldn’t deny the rush of warmth he felt seeing Sam in one of his old school shirts. “You’re looking very elegant this morning, Miss Redfern.”
“Thank you.” She acknowledged the compliment, her voice so cool and composed they might as well have been in the showrooms at Burton-Porter.
All of which was fine with him.
“I thought we’d make the library our headquarters,” said Chas drawing another chair up beside his own. “Cushion?” he asked, holding up a needlepoint pillow. At Sam’s nod, he positioned it on the seat for her. They were back in the safe and comfortable world of work. He had his laptop open at one end of the oak table and when she had arrived, he had just begun to pour over the haphazard collection of documents they would need for listing the items he considered saleable when she arrived.
Keeping his tone guarded, Chas asked how she was feeling.
“Tender, but fine,” said Sam, gingerly lowering herself into the chair. She did her best to make her answering smile nothing more than a polite acknowledgement, but oh how she wanted to lean in toward him, casually touch the strong forearm that was pulling the files closer to her. She wanted those wonderfully sensitive fingers to smooth across her aching back and shoulders, easing away the knots in her muscles as they untangled the knots in her emotions. Instead she leaned back, flipped open the notebook she carried and looked at Chas calmly.
Chas fought the impulse to slide his chair closer to Sam. The distance between them felt wrong, but it was necessary. In a few days, they would be heading back to the reality of London and their careers. She would remain the perfect Burton-Porter agent and, assuming there were no other disasters ahead of them, resume her personal life. It occurred to him then, that he had no idea about her personal life. Was there a boyfriend? He fought down a surge of jealousy. There couldn’t be a lover or she would never have kissed him the way she did – there was too much honesty in those green eyes to be playing fast and loose with anyone…and besides he told himself ruthlessly, it was none of his business if she had ten lovers. She was his employee, his valued employee. Nothing more. Once they returned to the city, he would reclaim his solitary existence, invite a suitable woman out to dine and forget all about Samantha Redfern.
The idea was utterly depressing. It would be nigh impossible to forget Sam. Her very scent was enough to have him quivering with desire. No other woman had ever affected him this way. He shifted in his seat. He should be furious with her, not lusting after her.
“So where do we start?” Sam asked.
Her business-like manner ended his flight of fancy. He handed her a copy of the original architect’s drawing of the manor and a family tree. He spoke while she scanned the documents. “There are three reception rooms, a study, library, and conservatory, six principal bedrooms and a warren of storerooms. After that we begin on the record books, loose receipts and an itemized list from my grandfather’s estate.” He gestured toward the dusty stack of folders and documents spread out on the table. “Inheritance taxes changed everything. And cost the estate a fortune.” Not to mention his grandfather’s inept handling of the land and philandering ways. “A lot of the best art was sold off. The smaller holdings were sold to tenants who could afford them. And needed repairs were left
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