didn’t think he had ever noticed before how long her lashes were or how satiny smooth her complexion.
‘But I don’t think it’s going to do any good if I try and work sitting up on the sofa,’ he pushed himself up, flexed his muscles and grimaced when his back made itself felt. ‘I should be upright. You’d probably know that if you’d done that first-aid course you never got around to doing.’
‘So what are you suggesting?’ Jennifer asked drily.
‘Well… I can use that chair over there but you might have to bring me some sort of desk. We can position it by the bay window.’
‘What sort of desk did you have in mind, sir?’
‘Would it be asking too much for you to get the one I use at the house? It’s roughly eight by four.’ He grinned and felt a kick when she grinned back at him and shook her head with an elaborate sigh.
‘I suppose I could bring down my dressing table. It’s small and light and it’ll have to do.’ She glanced down at the clothes she had brought over in the plastic bag. ‘Can you manage to change yourself?’
‘Only after I’ve had a shower, but I figure I can just about make it up the stairs myself. If you could lend me a towel…’
She did and while he showered—she could hear the water and could picture him standing under it—she cleared the little dressing table and manoeuvred it down the stairs where she set up a miniature work station for him. An office away from his office with a view of the snowy landscape.
The cottage was small and, having avoided him the night before, leaving him to watch television on his own, she resigned herself to the fact that she wasn’t similarlygoing to be able to avoid him during daylight hours. She could work in the kitchen and she would, but even stretching her legs would entail walking into the sitting room.
Far from feeling discomforted by the prospect of that, as she had the evening before, she felt as if something had changed between them. Despite her best efforts, she had stopped fighting herself and relaxed.
He had forgone the hassle of shaving and he emerged half an hour later with wet hair and just enough of a stubble so that he looked even darker and sexier. Reluctantly she was forced to admit that neither Patric nor Gerard, the erstwhile lawyer with whom she had tried to forge a relationship, were a patch on James when it came to sheer animal sex appeal.
He took himself off to the sitting room with a pot of coffee and Jennifer tried to concentrate on catching up with her emails in the kitchen. It was almost impossible. Eventually, she began reading some of her father’s recipe books, amused when she noticed a number of pages creased, dishes he had either tried or else had put on a list to try at some stage.
In the midst of trying to decide whether she should just abandon all hope of concentrating on work and start cooking something a little more ambitious for their dinner, she was interrupted by the sound of a book hitting the ground with force and she yelped and jumped to her feet.
James was standing by the window with his hand pressed against the base of his back and scowling. He turned as she entered and greeted her with, ‘Why do people resist doing something when they must know that it’s for their own good!’
Jennifer looked down at the heavy book that had hit the floor. It was her father’s gardening tome.
‘Apologies. I had to throw something.’
‘Do you throw something every time you get frustrated?’ she asked, moving to collect the book and replace it on the little coffee table.
‘My favoured way of releasing stress is to go to the gym and punch-bag it out of my system. Unfortunately that’s impossible at the moment.’ He felt a lot less stressed now that she was in the room. ‘What are you doing in the kitchen? Are you working?’
‘I’m reading a recipe book and wondering whether I should chance cooking something a little more ambitious a bit later. Shall I get you something to eat?
‘But I don’t think it’s going to do any good if I try and work sitting up on the sofa,’ he pushed himself up, flexed his muscles and grimaced when his back made itself felt. ‘I should be upright. You’d probably know that if you’d done that first-aid course you never got around to doing.’
‘So what are you suggesting?’ Jennifer asked drily.
‘Well… I can use that chair over there but you might have to bring me some sort of desk. We can position it by the bay window.’
‘What sort of desk did you have in mind, sir?’
‘Would it be asking too much for you to get the one I use at the house? It’s roughly eight by four.’ He grinned and felt a kick when she grinned back at him and shook her head with an elaborate sigh.
‘I suppose I could bring down my dressing table. It’s small and light and it’ll have to do.’ She glanced down at the clothes she had brought over in the plastic bag. ‘Can you manage to change yourself?’
‘Only after I’ve had a shower, but I figure I can just about make it up the stairs myself. If you could lend me a towel…’
She did and while he showered—she could hear the water and could picture him standing under it—she cleared the little dressing table and manoeuvred it down the stairs where she set up a miniature work station for him. An office away from his office with a view of the snowy landscape.
The cottage was small and, having avoided him the night before, leaving him to watch television on his own, she resigned herself to the fact that she wasn’t similarlygoing to be able to avoid him during daylight hours. She could work in the kitchen and she would, but even stretching her legs would entail walking into the sitting room.
Far from feeling discomforted by the prospect of that, as she had the evening before, she felt as if something had changed between them. Despite her best efforts, she had stopped fighting herself and relaxed.
He had forgone the hassle of shaving and he emerged half an hour later with wet hair and just enough of a stubble so that he looked even darker and sexier. Reluctantly she was forced to admit that neither Patric nor Gerard, the erstwhile lawyer with whom she had tried to forge a relationship, were a patch on James when it came to sheer animal sex appeal.
He took himself off to the sitting room with a pot of coffee and Jennifer tried to concentrate on catching up with her emails in the kitchen. It was almost impossible. Eventually, she began reading some of her father’s recipe books, amused when she noticed a number of pages creased, dishes he had either tried or else had put on a list to try at some stage.
In the midst of trying to decide whether she should just abandon all hope of concentrating on work and start cooking something a little more ambitious for their dinner, she was interrupted by the sound of a book hitting the ground with force and she yelped and jumped to her feet.
James was standing by the window with his hand pressed against the base of his back and scowling. He turned as she entered and greeted her with, ‘Why do people resist doing something when they must know that it’s for their own good!’
Jennifer looked down at the heavy book that had hit the floor. It was her father’s gardening tome.
‘Apologies. I had to throw something.’
‘Do you throw something every time you get frustrated?’ she asked, moving to collect the book and replace it on the little coffee table.
‘My favoured way of releasing stress is to go to the gym and punch-bag it out of my system. Unfortunately that’s impossible at the moment.’ He felt a lot less stressed now that she was in the room. ‘What are you doing in the kitchen? Are you working?’
‘I’m reading a recipe book and wondering whether I should chance cooking something a little more ambitious a bit later. Shall I get you something to eat?
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