Separate Rooms. Diana Hamilton
more to do with the way the rain had slicked his hair to his head, was dripping off the hem of his stuffily styled shortie car-coat and soaking his trousers than any of her numerous—to him—shortcomings. Because his tone was conciliatory in the extreme as he peered into her bristling brown eyes and told her, ‘I’ve come to bury the hatchet, old thing.’
‘Wow! Make my day. What have I done to deserve such a treat?’ she growled, willing him to go away. All she needed right now was a hot soothing bath, a nice cup of tea and the opportunity to unknot her mind. But sarcasm was wasted because Graham stepped into the shelter of the doorway with her, stoically smiling.
‘Don’t be like that, sweetheart. That spat the other night was as much my fault as yours, I freely admit it. So let’s put it behind us, shall we?’ The film-star smile flashed again, the effect slightly diminished by the drop of rainwater on the end of his too perfect nose. ‘I’ve booked a table for two at the Crown. I would have given you more warning but when I phoned this morning that odd-job man of yours said you’d be out all day. I just dropped by on the off-chance you’d be back—otherwise I would have left a message.’
‘I don’t—’
‘I won’t come in just now,’ he cut across her, as if an invitation to do just that had been extended. ‘Must dash. But I’ll pick you up at eight.’
‘No.’ Honey recognised that look in his eyes. It meant he was about to honour her with one of his totally unremarkable kisses. She backed away, knocking into the shop door, her voice tight with temper as she spat, ‘You don’t give up, do you? I won’t have dinner with you tonight, or any other night. So why don’t you go back home and tell your father to keep his nose out? I won’t marry you, because I don’t want to. And, if you think about it, you don’t really want it either.’
But he was still smiling, as if she were a bad-tempered child who didn’t know what she was talking about. Still advancing, too. And she had nowhere to go but into the haven of her shop and she was already fumbling for the door-latch when it swung open behind her, sending her toppling into a strong pair of arms—another kind of haven.
‘You always fall into my arms so beautifully, my angel. That’s just one of the things I love about you.’ The relaxed and slightly amused tone of Ben’s voice calmed her and the strong arms around her body warmed her, dispelling the memory of the chilling rain. Graham’s face was a picture of outrage and she closed her eyes because Graham’s face was not what she wanted to see, and nestled her head into that broad, accommodating, soft-leather-clad shoulder. And heard his voice assume a cool toughness. ‘Is there anything we can do for you? The premises are about to close and, as you can see, my fiancée needs to get out of her wet things.’
Which brought Honey’s eyes flying wide open again, and she could swear her heart actually stopped beating for whole seconds. And it wasn’t a reaction to the words Ben had said, oh, no, just a frantic need to see how Graham took that ‘my fiancée’ bit.
If he actually believed she was engaged to this suave stranger then surely he would drop his own pursuit, the desire to fall in with his father’s wishes and marry the woman the cunning old man had picked out for him. It might work, it just might work, and if it did she would treat Ben to the best meal the Crown could offer, the best champagne too, by way of celebration.
But luck wasn’t riding with her because Graham’s face had gone black with temper and his voice was more incisively confident than she had ever heard it before as he bit out, ‘As you said yourself, Honey—’ he invested her name with a kind of disgust ‘—I don’t give up. And there’s no way I’m going to let some smooth-talking Yank take my woman.’ His eyes snapped with a ferocity she wouldn’t have believed him capable of as he swung on his heels and delivered his parting shot, ‘And you’d better believe it. Both of you.’
‘Oh, heavens!’ Honey’s bright head burrowed more deeply into Ben’s wide shoulder, the tangle of her damp curls brushing his tough jawline. She might well have stayed there forever had he not gently put her aside, she recognised with a grumble of self-disgust when he brushed drops of water from his jacket and said wryly,
‘Quite a determined guy you’re up against there.’ Then, his eyes taking in the rain-darkened corkscrew twists of her hair, her dripping raincoat and sodden boots, he told her crisply, ‘Time to get out of those wet things,’ and closed the shop door behind them, flicking the ‘Open’ sign to ‘Closed’ and dropping down the latch.
‘Any luck today?’ Fred ambled through from the rear of the premises, his craggy face bright with interest because usually, after a sale, they drank mugs of tea together and discussed the treasures she had found. But not today.
‘No, nothing.’ Honey shook her head regretfully. ‘The big boys from London were there en masse. I didn’t stand a chance.’
And Ben put in from right behind her, ‘Just as well. You couldn’t cram another teacup into this place and still have room for customers to browse.’ He edged past her, making a production of it as if to prove his point. ‘Get those wet clothes off and take a hot shower while I brew coffee. We’ll lock up, Fred, if you want to call it a day.’
Bossy, she thought as she watched him stride to the twisty staircase at the back of the showroom. But there was no resentment there, just an unusual willingness to allow someone else to take charge for once. Someone? Or just this one man?
She shrugged unconsciously and lifted long sweeping lashes to meet Fred’s twinkling eyes.
‘There goes a man who’s used to getting his own way. It comes naturally, and it shows,’ he said with the same lack of resentment.
In fact, Honey noted, his expression was thoroughly approving and she brushed wet, wrinkled hair out of her eyes and asked weakly, ‘Just how long has he been here?’
‘Long enough to get the business straightened out.’ Fred was already reaching for his ancient sheepskin coat. ‘He thinks you should move out and make your flat over to extra display areas. Forget the idea of buying up the next-door premises—the structural alterations to throw the two properties into one would totally destroy the character of both. I agree with him.’
‘Really.’ Honey’s voice was withering as she watched her right-hand man shrug into his coat. Ever since they’d heard that the adjacent property was due to come on the open market they’d avidly chewed over the possibilities of acquiring it, expanding the business—always presuming she could raise the capital. And now, just because some sort of bossy nomad had wandered in off the street, Fred had, in his mind, evicted her from her cosy home. So where was she supposed to live? Move in with her mother? Heaven forbid!
She would have reminded him that this was her property, her business, and she—and no one else—would decide what was done. But her sharp little tongue was silenced by Fred’s jaunty, ‘See you tomorrow, then. Pity about the sale. Night.’
‘And goodnight to you, too!’ Honey sniped at the already closing door, then turned slowly on her heels, the damp cloth of her raincoat making her shiver. What the hell? Nothing to get in a stew about. It hadn’t been a good day, that was for sure, and the unpleasant encounter with Graham, out there in the driving rain, had been the last straw.
All she needed to recapture her normal optimism was that hot shower and a hot drink. And if Ben wanted to produce the drink why should she argue? Just so long as he didn’t offer to scrub her back!
As she went to her bedroom she could hear him moving around in the kitchen. She would have liked to ask him to leave but couldn’t rake up the energy. The long day, the frustration of the sale, the nasty knowledge that Graham wasn’t about to abandon his pursuit—even though Ben had said they were engaged—had sapped her strength.
So she wouldn’t think about any of it. Not now. After her shower, after Ben had taken himself off, would be soon enough.
Divesting herself of her wet clothes, she tugged on a short scarlet silk robe, belting it securely at the waist and padded out of her room—meeting Ben in the tiny passageway. Suddenly, for