Jane Linfoot - The Right Side of Mr Wrong

So. Now she had the measure of him – to be handled with extreme care, keeping boobs and bottom out of his sightline if at all possible – she could afford to introduce herself. Let’s face it, someone had to make the first move here, and it didn’t look as if it was going to be him.

‘Hi, I’m Shea. Shea Summers.’

She checked the brightness of her smile, extended a slim hand towards him, giving it a little rub in passing to make sure she’d got the mud off.

He tilted his head slightly, slid those dark-lashed, lingering eyes off her chest, and up to her face. And dammit for the way that made her stomach lurch. But otherwise he didn’t move.

A strange confidence, founded on familiarity, was seeping through her, filling her with warmth and strength.

Wealthy, and reluctant?

Brilliant. Something she encountered on a daily basis, apart from the flagrant sexuality obviously, which frankly she couldn’t remember meeting anything like, ever. Dealing with that disarming and alarming trait was something she’s have to think about hard. Later. A lot later. But she’d cut her teeth on stroppy Manchester footballers, regularly won over billionaires who had more attitude than sense, loved nothing more than the challenge of a recalcitrant businessman. Here was someone she could handle without a problem. In theory. So long as she got his out of control libido into line. She noted the sullen curl of his far too sensuous lip, and couldn’t help smiling more. Stamping on the tiny part of her brain that asked what it would feel like to be snogged by a guy with a mouth like that, she wondered where the hell her professionalism had gone. Probably left beside the helicopter, along with her self-respect, when she got dragged off by a caveman.

‘I’m Shea,’ she carried on, infusing her voice with a cheery ring of confidence, ‘that’s S-H-E-A, as in day. And I’m here to help!’

She could hardly keep the laughter out of her voice now, as she noted his left eyebrow arch in surprise above his deepening scowl. She readjusted her expression to hide her delight. Boy, was she going to have fun here. She gave her mouth-obsessed brain another sharp kick. It was all too much to keep in line here; this guy, his illegal body, not to mention her own totally out of character reactions.

He leaned nonchalantly on the elegantly turned newel post at the bottom of the expansive staircase now, rubbing a thumb absently across his chin. Quite why that made her think of stubble rubbing across the tender skin of her inner thigh was beyond her. At least he couldn’t see her thought bubbles, although from the way he was scrutinising her, she couldn’t be one hundred percent sure of that. When he made no move to greet her, she forced herself to push on, airily.

‘You’re Brando, I presume? I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other in the next few days.’

She waited, watching to see his reaction, and saw a wicked grin spread across his face, obliterating all traces of bad temper, simultaneously doubling up on the lust. ‘Whatever you say, Miss S-H-E-A-rhymes-with-day! I’ll look forward to that, very much, especially bearing in mind that some of us have seen quite a lot already, by way of a preview!’

His left eyebrow shot up, and he gave her a meaningful nod, and another blast of undiluted lust. Men who were this hot shouldn’t be allowed out in public. She was usually impervious, but this was something else.

Shea felt the flush burn across her cheeks as she mentally rewound, flashed back to see her skirt flapping around her elbows. Damn. She’d walked into that one.

She whipped her brain into gear, searching desperately for a snappy reply, but before she’d found one, he’d sprung forward, and seized her hand, his strong, broad fingers wrapping around her own for a second.

‘No worries!’ His hand landed on her arm for a fleeting, searing moment. ‘What’s a stocking top between friends, after all?’ His grin had spread, and he was laughing now, showing beautiful, not-quite-perfect teeth, but along with the laughter there was something else brooding in those dark, sooty eyes.

Shea reeled, as she took in the smoulder. Pure unadulterated desire, if ever she’d seen it, oozing, from each and every delectably rugged pore. Then she reeled again, as an electric aftershock zigzagged up her arm where he’d touched her hand.

‘So, I’m here to … ’ Before she could claw herself out of the cavernous hole she was in, he interjected.

‘We all know why you’re here.’ He sounded almost belligerent now. ‘I wasn’t sure you were going to be needed, but given what I’ve seen thus far, I’ll make an exception. That’s if you’re up for a couple of days of play before you leave?’

The way he growled the word play sent a shower of anticipation down her spine. Anticipation? She wasn’t an anticipator, dammit, because she didn’t participate. Full stop. In fact the merest thought of participating sent an undertow of guilt to tug at her stomach. So what the heck was going on? Something in the way he narrowed his eyes as he waited for her reaction, told her he was pushing her. She blocked out the messages in her brain that were urging her, or rather commanding her, to hurl her body straight into his arms. Instead she watched him carefully, sizing up the opponent, knowing he’d already twisted this into some sort of game. One she wasn’t completely sure she was winning right now.

‘So, let’s get this straight. I’m here to tidy – tidy and organise. That’s all. And from what I hear there’s a lot to go at. As I understand it, that’s what I’ve been engaged to do … ’ She noted the tiniest flinch of his cheek as he heard the word ‘engaged.’

Perhaps it was that flinch, that miniscule indication of weakness that made her do what she did next. That, combined with her instinct for reading difficult men, and her ability to bring them, whimpering, to heel, in record time. Mr Intense Hunk here was so far outside her experience she didn’t feel confident to lump him in that manageable category, but whatever, there was no other explanation for what happened next. She heard her voice, loud, confident, and resonant, echoing around the hallway before she even knew she was going to speak.

‘And of course, I’m also here to try out to be your wife!’

Where that lie had come from, she had no idea.

Wham!

She watched in triumph as his face jack-knifed as he heard the word ‘wife.’

And she’d got him! That was the body blow. Manageable after all, perhaps. Phew! She’d located his Achilles heel in record time, though it hadn’t been difficult, given it was one shared by most of the other thirty-something males she’d come across in his socio-economic bracket.

So, the man was entirely allergic to the idea of a wife, was he?

This suited her perfectly, given that the last thing she was looking for was a husband. She relished the power this scrap of insight gave her. It was useful ammunition, should she need to defend herself. But best of all, goading him gently was going to be very enjoyable.

Bring on the fun!

She rubbed her cheek, adjusted her glasses, and tried to hide her smile, as she waited for his reaction.

‘Mrs McCaul! Come and meet Shea.’

Shea jumped at his unexpectedly hearty shout. Beyond him a straight woman with a softening smile was coming towards her, pulling a briefcase on wheels.

‘Mrs McCaul is our housekeeper here at Edgerton.’ The curl of his lip suggested that he would have happily added ‘and resident pain in the behind,’ as he extended his arm in a half-hearted presentation.

‘Shea rhymes-with-roll-in-the-hay Summers, meet Mrs McCaul. Shea, by the way, is hell-bent on finding herself a husband, and has apparently set her heart on a spot of gold-digging here at Edgerton.’ He flashed a mocking look at Shea, who inwardly shrank at this blistering introduction, but held her head high.