Alice Ross - Forty Things To Do Before You're Forty

As if attempting to justify his presence, he added, ‘Jasper told me the place would be empty for a while. I’m … trying my hand at writing a book.’

Annie raised an unimpressed eyebrow. ‘Writing a book’ sounded exactly like something Jasper’s rich, spoiled friends might dabble in; a ‘little project’ to while away the time between parties. Still, on the positive side, it could mean he’d be holed up with his computer for as long as the whim lasted. Which would be fine. Perfect, in fact. Well, perhaps not perfect. Perfect would be if he wasn’t here at all. And her dignity hadn’t been through the shredder – twice.

‘Right.’ She forced her lips into some semblance of a smile. ‘I’d better let you settle in. Do you need anything?’

Oh lord. Please, please, please let him say no.

She watched as his mouth stretched into a disarming smile, causing a bolt of desire to flash down her spine.

‘Thanks. I think I have everything I need.’

I just bet you have, Annie resisted saying. She quickly checked herself and attempted to dredge up something of her usual professional manner. ‘Good. Well … I’ll just tidy up these things and get out of your hair then.’

Out of his hair? An image of her in his hair, threading her fingers through it as he trailed a stream of kisses down her- A hastily summoned mental boulder crushed that treacherous image. Heavens! She’d never felt so out of control. She had to put some distance between her and this man. Quickly. Willing her hands not to shake, she replaced the helmet on the suit of armour, then re-hung the sword and shield, aware of Jake’s eyes on her. Honestly, did he have to stand there watching her? Couldn’t he just go away? Like, back to wherever he’d come from. All the items in their rightful places, Annie turned around and had taken one step towards the door when it burst open. In marched Sophie wearing pink spotted pyjamas and carrying Pip.

‘Mum, are you okay? You’ve been ages.’

Annie couldn’t resist a smile at her daughter’s concerned face. ‘I’m fine, sweetheart. I’m coming back over now.’

‘Why is your face all red?’

Annie pleaded with the ground to swallow her up. It didn’t. ‘I’m just a bit … hot. I’ve been talking to this gentleman.’

Sophie turned to Jake. ‘Hello, I’m Sophie Richards. Who are you?’

‘Sophie!’ exclaimed Annie. ‘Don’t be so rude. This is Mr Sinclair. He’s going to be staying at the manor for a few … weeks,’ she said, attempting to banish all signs of panic from her voice. ‘He’s writing a book.’

Sophie’s eyes grew wide. ‘Ooo. Is it about dragons?’

Jake chuckled. ‘I’m afraid not. Although, come to think of it, a couple of dragons might liven it up a bit. At the moment it’s just about a boring old castle.’

Sophie wrinkled her little nose. ‘Oh well, someone might like it. We’ve been dipping strawberries in chocolate. Do you like strawberries and chocolate?’

‘They are amongst my two favourite things in the whole world.’

‘We’ve loads left, haven’t we, Mum?’

Annie’s heart plummeted. She had a strong feeling of what was to follow. She opened her mouth to forestall her daughter, but was too late.

‘Would you like to come over to our house and have some? And I can stay up and chat to you because I’m allowed to stay up until eight o’clock on a Friday.’

Annie held her breath. Surely he wouldn’t. At the very thought her stomach twisted itself into impressive knots.

‘I’d love to,’ replied Jake, raking a hand through his wet hair in a way that, given her fantasising just a few seconds ago, made Annie bite back a gasp. ‘But I’m afraid I have lots of work to do.’

‘But it’s Friday,’ pointed out Sophie. ‘And Mum always says Friday evenings are for relaxing. So Mr Sinclair should relax too, shouldn’t he, Mum?’

‘I don’t think Mr Sinclair-’ began Annie. But before she could finish, Sophie strode over to Jake, thrust a wriggling Pip into his arms, and began tugging him by the elbow towards the door.

CHAPTER THREE

Rooted to the spot, Annie watched the unlikely trio make their way down the steps of the manor and wondered what on earth she should do now. Should she invent some mythical appointment? Say she’d just remembered she and Sophie were supposed to be at the dentist? At this precise time. On a Friday night? But no – unlike Lance, Annie was no good at lying. Sophie would see right through her and think nothing of exposing her for the fraud that she was. No, the only thing she could do was follow them to the cottage and hope Jake Sinclair would quickly grasp the message that he really wasn’t welcome.

As a babbling Sophie led him over the lawn towards the gatehouse, with Pip licking every square centimetre of his face, Jake bit back a smile. This was like a comedy sketch – with Annie playing the lead role. He stifled a gurgle of laughter as he recalled how funny she’d looked in that helmet, brandishing the sword. By the colour of her cheeks, she’d obviously been mortified by the incident. And was no doubt desperate to get away from him. But how could he have refused little Sophie? Not only was the child leading him, quite authoritatively, by the elbow, but she was also completely adorable: the image of her mother with her riot of honey-blonde curls and sparkling emerald-green eyes. Still, it really wasn’t fair of him. He risked a look at Annie over his shoulder. She trailed miserably behind, staring at the ground. He felt a niggle of guilt that he’d lied to her about his surname. He hadn’t intended to. It had been a knee-jerk reaction by his self-preservation instinct, ever wary of the transparency of the internet. Oh well, he mused, as he swung his head back around and Pip stuck his tongue in his ear, it didn’t really matter. So long as he wasn’t a burglar, Annie Richards probably didn’t give a monkey’s who he was. And it wasn’t as if he intended launching himself on village society. He would keep himself to himself. Which was exactly what he should be doing now. So, once at the cottage, he’d make some excuse and beat a hasty retreat.

Following Jake and her daughter across the lawn to the cottage, Annie tried desperately to keep her gaze on the ground and not let it wander to Jake’s rear, showcased perfectly in those low-slung blue jeans. What was wrong with her? She’d never been fixated with a man’s behind before. Heavens. Maybe Portia was right. Maybe she had been without a man in her bed for too long. She normally didn’t give sex a second thought these days. She was far too busy. And frankly, what was the point in thinking about it when she had no intention of engaging in it? So why, then, was she focusing on Jake Sinclair’s buttocks? She was tired, that could be the only explanation. She’d run five miles today. No mean feat and the longest she’d run in her entire life. No wonder she felt light-headed. And she was disorientated because her nerves had been on edge. She had, after all, been prepared to confront an armed burglar. Yes – that was it. She knew there must be a logical explanation somewhere for her illogical behaviour. It wasn’t Jake Sinclair who’d set her head spinning, her stomach churning and her nerves aflutter, it was a combination of the aforementioned external factors. So, now that she’d established that fact, why did she desperately hope she had no underwear drying about the place and that she’d tidied up? Because, she quickly reasoned, Jake Sinclair probably lived in some minimalist designer pad with hot and cold running champagne, gleaming stainless steel surfaces, and an army of uniformed cleaners. Well, tough. He would have to take her and Sophie as they came. And if he didn’t like the cottage, he need never visit it again. Come to think of it, it would be better if the place was a complete tip and he ran a mile. Because she really didn’t want the man in her house. Or any man in her house.