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Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
512 Forest Lake Drive
Warner Robins , Georgia 31093
His Convenient Affair
Copyright © 2007 by Tricia Jones
Cover by Scott Carpenter
ISBN: 1-59998-542-X
www.samhainpublishing.com
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner
whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied
in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: August 2007
His Convenient Affair
Tricia Jones
Dedication
For Dad—my very first hero.
Chapter One
If she looked up once more and he was still staring at her, she was going to march right
over there and ask if he’d like a photograph.
Of course, she wouldn’t know he was looking if she weren’t doing the same thing.
Which was beside the point. He might be the best specimen of manhood she’d seen in a
long time, and certainly at Cleeve Bay’s monthly business luncheons, but the man
watching her from the opposite table was far too blatant for her liking. It was unnerving.
Except she was unnerved anyway. Signing your life—well, stability—away with a nod
and the flourish of a ballpoint would have that effect on most people. The fact that her
stomach was tumbling around like a gymnast, making her wonder quite how she would
manage to get down any of what appeared to be a most excellent lunch, had more to do
with the prospect of potential financial ruin than the piercing dark gaze and strong
warrior face of Mr. Subtle over there.
Didn’t she have enough to worry about right now without engaging in some seriously
disturbing eye contact? Apparently not, because their gazes locked again.
She shot him what she hoped was a disparaging look, but amusement sparked in the dark
depths of his rather magnificent eyes, and his mouth curved ever so slightly and… Oh
Lord, heat was creeping up her throat, over her jaw and…
Stop it, stop it, stop it!
Chloe smoothed a shaky hand over her neat little chignon. She couldn’t remember the
last time she had blushed. It was mortifying. She was a grown woman, for heaven’s
sake, with the ability to summon enough control so that men, gorgeous or otherwise, did
not make her insides do weird and wonderful things.
Usually.
“Will you stop worrying?” The soft voice of reprimand brought her out of her reverie,
and Chloe turned to face the woman who was both her solicitor and dearest friend. Pam
Harris was possibly the only person in the world who understood how the morning’s
events had unsettled her.
“I should have stopped bidding.” Chloe worried her bottom lip. “I know I should have
stopped bidding.” Especially when every vulnerable little part of her had screamed at her
to stop.
She stared at the smoked salmon the waiter slipped in front of her. “I’m in over my head,
Pam. I really wish I could put the clock back a few hours.” The palm she stroked over
hair the colour of chestnuts was decidedly clammy now, but she managed to tuck a few
wayward shoulder-length strands back in place.
Staring at the salmon was not helping to allay the queasiness, but instead of diverting her
attention to something less dangerous for her jittery stomach, her treacherous eyes found
his again.
Chloe had no idea who he was, which wasn’t unusual. Since plans for the new marina
complex had been given the go-ahead, the small town on the English Rivera had enjoyed
an influx of prospective businessmen and women, each of them sussing out the
possibility of expanding or relocating their business to the area. Many used these
luncheons to network, and even rumors of scandal and embezzlement within Poseidon
Holdings had little effect when weighed against the latent opportunities for business
growth.
She wasn’t exactly immune herself, which was why, since its acquisition at auction a
couple of hours ago, she was now the proud owner of additional premises. According to
the executive director of Poseidon Holdings, the retail shop positioned at the edge of the
marina development virtually guaranteed her sole agency to sell the new waterside
apartments.
Acquisition of the new premises doubled her estate agency empire—and stole her
appetite.
“Everything will be fine.” Gently, Pam nudged Chloe’s elbow with her own, then
nodded in the direction of Chloe’s untouched plate. “Now eat your lunch.”
Chloe pushed at the salmon on her plate before turning to Pam. “As my solicitor, you’re
supposed to caution me against making risky business decisions.” She swallowed, then
shook her head. “I went far too high with my bid. Now I’ve no choice but to sell the
cottage, unless I want to be saddled with a huge bank loan and no money to refurbish the
new premises.”
Pam’s teeth flashed brilliantly against a copper tan. “It makes sound business sense to
sell the cottage, and Poseidon has offered you a really good price for it.” She gave
Chloe’s hand a reassuring pat. “The sole agency contract to sell the new housing
development will really set you up.”
“I’ve nothing in writing from them yet.” Chloe nibbled at her lip. “Perhaps I should just
hold off selling them the cottage. It will be tight, but if I really pull my belt in I could
maybe keep my home for a while longer.” She wasn’t normally so negative, but then
she’d never before put her future security in the lap of the gods, had she?
The thought of having to sell her cottage made her stomach roll with apprehension, guilt
and regret. She had grown up there, as had her mother. It was home. It was refuge after
her beloved parents were killed, when she had been taken in by devoted grandparents
and embraced into a life of warmth and love. It was there she grieved for them, too. Now
she had put herself in a position which made it difficult, or rather impossible, to keep her
cottage. Suddenly she was that vulnerable, frightened eleven-year-old again, whose
world was shattered one harsh, storm-ridden night fourteen years ago.
“You need to sell the cottage.” Pam tucked into her own salmon. “You might have bid
higher than you’d planned for your new premises, but it’s a sound business proposition.
Trust me, I’m your solicitor.”
“So why does it feel like the rug’s been pulled out from under me?”
“Because change is always scary.” Pam put down her fork. “It’s time to move on. Your
grandparents would understand. They’d want you to sell the cottage to expand your
business. There’s a good, roomy flat above the place you’ve just bought, which will do
nicely for you.”
Unconvinced, Chloe shrugged. “If the price hadn’t gone so high, I could have handled
the bank loan and been able to keep the cottage.” She knew she was whining, yet she
had so much to be grateful for. “You’re right, though—my grandparents would
understand.” Hadn’t they left her that small financial legacy with the proviso that she
use it to set up her own business? Chloe suspected they’d been saving for years with just
that in mind. They knew it was her dream. They understood her need to build a secure
future for herself.
“There’s no reason to feel insecure,” Pam said in that uncanny way she had of reading
Chloe’s mind. “Expanding your business is the best way to stay in control of your own
destiny, and people always need homes to live in.”
Chloe returned Pam’s smile. It was true, of course. This insecurity was unwarranted.
That frightened little girl had no reason to feel vulnerable anymore, because now a
twenty-five-year-old woman kept guard over her heart and had very solid plans to
protect her future. She’d wanted to sell houses for as long as she could remember.
Appreciating the value of “home” herself, she revelled in helping people find theirs. Her
reputation for personal service was well known, and her success ensured her ability to
expand.
“As usual, you’re right.” Chloe sat back as the waiter whisked away her uneaten starter.
“It will be financially tight until I sell the cottage, but I’ve got some savings to tide me
over.” Her new property was in a bad state of repair and needed a major overhaul. She
knew a couple of local builders she could trust, one of whom was at the luncheon today,
and she made a mental note to grab a word with him.
“That’s the spirit.” Pam picked up her knife and fork. “That cottage needs a growing
family to care for it, not an independent businesswoman with little time to do anything
but give it the odd tidy and vacuum.”
Chloe laughed. “Don’t you ever tire of being right?”
“Nope,” Pam said around a mouthful of chicken. “Especially not when my best friend’s
happiness is at stake.”
Feeling better, Chloe managed a couple of sautéed potatoes and a few slivers of chicken,
but was relieved when coffee arrived and the obligatory speeches began. She wanted to
get back to her office. There were phone calls to make before the weekend, checks on
contracts and completion dates, and a couple of assisted viewings.
As the speeches continued, she sipped her coffee and, steadier after Pam’s pep talk, let
her gaze drift to the table opposite. He was no longer watching her, her appeal obviously
usurped by the more interesting, and no doubt more profitable, rhetoric of the speaker.
That little shift inside her was merely relief. She couldn’t care less that he’d lost interest
in her.
With his attention diverted, she could indulge in some staring of her own. She took in
the strong profile and chiselled features, the dark hair cut short to emphasize a solid neck
and big shoulders. His healthy, outdoors tan highlighted a strong jaw and emphasized
the magnetic quality of his eyes. An immaculate dark grey suit covered a body
undoubtedly as tough and firm as the aura of power and command surrounding him.
There was no hierarchical structure at these business luncheons, and the circular tables
ensured no designated head. If there were such a nomination, he would be it—with
“leader of the pack” invisibly stamped on his forehead.
Her stomach gave one long, unsteady roll.
Stupid, she chastised herself. She had no time for this, and even less inclination.
Before she could return her own attention to the podium, he turned, his gaze locking
onto hers with the force of a scud missile. It held there, steady and unrelenting, as her
stomach hitched and danced and her skin heated. The force of that look hit right down to
her toes and made the room tilt a little.
Mortified he had caught her staring, Chloe dragged her gaze away and refocused on the
speaker, who was reassuring the business community that the rumors about the
imminent collapse of the marina project were just that—rumors. She should be listening
intently to the speeches and making sure her business was protected in light of those
rumors, not concerning herself with the chiselled features of some dark stranger.
Apparently some malevolent force had other plans, because their gazes locked once
more.
“Hmm.” Pam’s purposeful murmur brought Chloe’s attention snapping back.
She turned, aiming a mock-innocent look at her friend. “‘Hmm’, what?”
“Very nice.” Pam aimed a nudge at Chloe’s ribcage. “Can’t seem to keep his eyes off
you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Very nice, indeed. You’ve just returned from honeymoon. Which
reminds me, how come you managed to get such a fabulous tan?”
It was Pam’s turn to bat off the teasing. “We didn’t spend all our time in bed. We
managed to sample some of the delights of Spain. Though I must say I wouldn’t blame
you if you thought of sampling some of his delights.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Chloe gathered up her bag. “I’ve just signed for a dilapidated
property that’s going to take every penny I own, and almost all of my time, to get into
any sort of shape, and here you are trying to get me off with someone who thinks he’s
God’s gift to women.”
“I, for one, wouldn’t argue with him.” Pam gave an appreciative hum. “But if you’re
sure.”
“I am. Now, I’m going to find me a builder and then get back to my office.”
“I need to get back, too. Don’t forget supper tomorrow, and bring a friend—” Pam
tipped a nod in her subject’s direction, “—if and when you decide to admit he’s the
yummiest specimen you’ve seen in a long time. Might be just your type, too. You know,
just here temporarily, so there’s no chance of getting involved and, heaven forbid,
enjoying a relationship.”
Chloe ignored the reproach in Pam’s voice. She knew her friend had her best interests in
mind, except Chloe knew those interests were best served by keeping men at a nice, safe
distance. No shocks, no surprises, no broken hearts.
They exchanged a hug, and Chloe smiled as her friend bounced toward the exit. Pam
had her fair share of man troubles over the years, and Chloe had picked up the pieces of
her bruised heart, just as Pam did for her all those years ago when the sea had shattered
hers.
Chloe fastened her navy suit jacket, shouldered her bag and, unaware the file clip had
popped open, hitched the portfolio containing the details of her new premises under her
arm. In a theatrical flurry, the papers floated to the floor.
“Allow me.”
Even as she bent to retrieve the papers, Chloe knew it was him. “It’s all right, thank you.
I’ve got them.”
He dropped down beside her anyway and picked up the photograph of the shop’s shabby
exterior. “Interesting building.” He handed her the document as their knees bumped.
“Looks like it’ll need a lot of work.”
Forcing her attention from his solid thighs, Chloe straightened and shoved the papers
back into the file. “That doesn’t bother me. I’m not afraid of hard work.” She looked at
him, tried to act like he didn’t make her knees weak. He did, of course, for some
ridiculous reason, but she wasn’t about to broadcast the fact. Especially not to him.
Lord, the man was tall, towering over her, even in her heels. Six-two, three even—and
those shoulders…
“I didn’t mean to imply that you were.” His dark eyes, charcoal with hypnotic shards of
blue, glinted. “Look, let’s start this again. Nathan Fitzgerald.”
Chloe slipped her hand into his. He had big hands and a solid grip. She trusted a man
with a solid grip. What she didn’t trust was his sheer physicality and the way he exuded
power from every pore.
“Chloe Greenwood.” She tugged her hand from his.
“Ah. Cleeve Bay’s ‘Business Person of the Year’. I’m impressed.”
Arrogant too, she decided as the strength returned to her legs.
“Impressed?” She tilted her head. “I have to wonder if you’d say that if I were a man.”
“I doubt I would, but let me clarify that before you have me up on charges.” His gaze
whisked down the length of her and back again. “Let’s just say I wasn’t only referring to
your business acumen.”
“Well, let’s just say I was. This is a business lunch and I’m a businesswoman. I’m not on
the menu.”
His mouth curved. “I probably deserved that.”
Heat stirred her blood. That was one killer mouth he had. “You probably did.” She tested
a polite smile. “Now if you’ll excuse me. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Fitzgerald.”
“Nathan, and have dinner with me.”
The polite smile had obviously been a bad idea. “I don’t think so.”
“We can discuss that property you bought this morning.”
“No.” About to turn away, she swiveled back to face him. “How do you know I bought it
this morning?”
“I was at the auction, watched you in action.” His smile was easy and slick. “You’re one
cool operator. Not a hint of panic showed on your face when the competition kept
knocking the price up, but you could work on your body language. It’s not a good idea
to let the competition sense any kind of desperation.”
“I beg your pardon.” Ripe indignation pumped in her chest. Who on earth did he think
he was? “What do you mean, my ‘body language’?”
“Started to flick back the corner of the auction details.” He nodded toward the file she
clutched like a lifeline. “Subtle, almost nonexistent, but it was there. A real tension
giveaway. Then when you started bidding beyond your ceiling figure, you kept
swallowing.”
“I did not.” Her throat convulsed before she could stop it. “You don’t miss much, do
you?” Neither did she, she realised, noticing the small scar just above his left eyebrow.
“What are you, anyway, an expert on human mannerisms?”
He shook his head. “Just an interested onlooker. Now about that dinner?”
She gave him her very best “for the man who won’t take no for an answer” look. “Let
me afford you another opportunity to interpret my body language.” She thrust out her
hand. “Goodbye, Mr. Fitzgerald.”
He grinned as she walked away, enjoying the haughty sway of hips beneath that business
suit. The cool Ms. Greenwood wouldn’t prove much of a problem. She’d pushed her
limits at the auction, which meant all he had to do was a little pushing of his own, if
required. She was obviously ambitious, and part of him wondered why she hadn’t put in
a tender for the sole agency contract to sell the new marina apartments, especially given
the waterside location of her new premises. Not that she’d stand much of a chance
against the big boys, but still.
His business with her should be over with soon enough.
Nathan swallowed back the metallic taste in his mouth. He didn’t enjoy doing business
this way, and he’d never once had to sink to blackmail. He didn’t intend to start now, but
if he was to salvage the mess his wretched cousin had left him, he might need to offer a
few incentives. Not that she’d lose out on the deal; he’d see to that.
He watched her chat with a couple of people, with more affability than she’d granted
him, and wondered when she’d notice the second button of her blouse had popped
undone. It afforded him a nice glimpse of white lace, and some rather inappropriate
physical discomfort.
Oh, yes. The delectable Ms. Greenwood would be a piece of proverbial cake and, if
circumstances were otherwise, he’d take the time to enjoy every mouthful. He was due
some R & R, and could think of no better way of indulging himself than with a
challenging brunette with eyes like warm cognac, but this time around he had other
priorities. Not the least of which involved protecting the hitherto exemplary reputation
of Poseidon Holdings, reassuring jumpy investors and sharpening up timescales.
His only business with Chloe Greenwood involved getting her to sign on the dotted line,
and with a bit of luck that would be accomplished in the time it took to slip a mooring.
Then he’d sort out the rest of this damn mess and get the hell back to the Cote d’Azur
where he belonged.
The sun did its best to herald the coming of spring, but the March air still had a vicious
bite to it. Chloe tugged a couple of weeds from the small patch of garden at the front of
the cottage, dropped them into the recycler bin and pulled the front edges of her old
denim jacket together.
After the luncheon yesterday, she’d called Poseidon Holdings to tell Ryan Richards the
good news about her purchase of the new premises and that she’d decided to sell her
cottage to his company after all. Ryan had been unavailable but his assistant confirmed
she would pass on the message. Later, Chloe received a call confirming a visit on
Saturday morning to finalise details.
The middle of a flank of three nineteenth-century cottages right on the mouth of an
enclosed bay, her home offered glorious views of the Solent, with the added advantage
of a pretty backdrop of hills. The property to her left was empty, while to her right lived
old Mrs. Rawlins, who had been there as long as Chloe could remember. No other
properties cluttered the bay, which was separated from the main town by a preservation
area.
Chloe speared the trowel into the damp earth and stood. Inhaling a deep lungful of sea
air, she let it out on a sigh. She really had to let go of this inappropriate anxiety. It made
perfect sense to sell the cottage. Her business was thriving and it was insanity not to
capitalise on the potential the new marina complex promised. She was on her own now.
Providing a secure future for herself meant grabbing opportunities when they arose.
Earlier, she had worked out her finances for the hundredth time and she could just about
manage the bank loan for the new premises. Money for the refurbishment would have to
come from the sale of the cottage. She had no option but to sell. Her grandparents would
understand. “Speculate to accumulate,” her grandfather would say.
She missed them. They had sacrificed so much for their only daughter’s child—not that
they ever admitted as such.
Guilt pressed on her chest. She was selling their home. Her home. Yet she could almost
hear her grandmother’s voice. “Home is where you make it,” she’d say, which of course
was true. That wonderful couple would be mortified if they thought she’d missed out on
an excellent business opportunity by hanging on to the past. They had always
encouraged her to look to the future, to leave her grief behind and move on.
She would miss her home, she realised, letting her gaze skim the old grey walls with
their sash windows. The pretty red roof and slanting chimney. The wooden front door
with its lovely stained glass window.
Chloe tucked her hands into the waistband of her old working jeans and followed the
flight of the seagulls as they shot over the roof of the cottage and out to sea.
The sea sparkled in the midday light. It looked calm, benign. A wolf in sheep’s clothing,
and it didn’t fool her, not for a minute. That was something she wouldn’t miss, a
constant reminder of what had been taken from her. If she never saw the ocean again it
would be fine by her.
The rumble of tires on the old track road behind the cottages had her glancing at her
watch. Early, she thought, whispering a curse. No time now for a quick change to at
least make herself look presentable. It was probably just as well. Ryan Richards needed
little encouragement.
She was tying her shoulder-length hair back as the black convertible swept around the
corner, sending pieces of bark and gravel and a tiny wild rabbit flying into the hedgerow.
