One Summer At The Lake. Susan Carlisle
The tipping point was probably the bouncy castle. After that Zoe had stopped even trying!
The only thing she could do today was stay on top of things and make damned sure that the grounds were returned to pristine condition once the day was over. She had an army of volunteers lined up for the task.
But right now what she had to do was get rid of this man—not as easy as it sounded because he made no effort to move as she stood back to let him pass—then check nobody else had wandered into the house.
‘If you were looking for the toilets, go past the tombola and the refreshment tent and follow your nose.’ In his case the nose, narrow and aquiline, was just as impressive as the rest of him. As she made a conscious effort not to stare their glances connected, only briefly but long enough to make all her deep stomach muscles contract viciously.
Seriously shaken by the extent of her physical response to this man, she huffed out a tiny breath from between her clenched teeth to steady her nerves and focused on a point over his left shoulder.
‘You can’t miss it.’
He still didn’t take the hint. Instead he set his broad shoulders against the panelled wall and looked around the room.
‘You have a beautiful home.’
Zoe folded her arms, hugging tight to hide her involuntary shiver. He had the sexiest voice she had ever heard and the faint accent only added another fascinating layer to it.
‘No, yes…I mean it isn’t mine.’ It crossed her mind that he was being sarcastic. ‘As I’m sure you can tell,’ she murmured, flashing him an ironic grimace before extending a trainer-clad foot and laughing.
His hooded stare made a slow sweeping survey from her extended foot to her face. ‘I try not to judge by appearances,’ he drawled.
Her eyes narrowed. ‘That’s not always easy.’
Like now it was hard not to judge this man by the faint sneer and the innate air of superiority he exuded. She supposed arrogance was natural for someone who looked in the mirror each morning and saw that face looking back…and his body, from what she could see, was not exactly going to give the owner any major insecurities! Her gaze moved down the lean, hard length of his long body. Not only did he look fit in every sense of the word, he was supremely elegant in an unstudied, casual sort of way.
Her smooth cheeks highlighted by a rose tinge, she brought her lashes down in a protective sweep. If there was a time to be caught mentally undressing a stranger, this was not it.
‘Actually I just work here…’ The sweep of her hand encompassed the elegant room with its warm panelled walls and antiques. ‘It is beautiful, though, isn’t it?’ A cross between a museum and a very expensive interior designer’s heaven, the place, in her view, lacked a lived-in-look. There were no discarded newspapers, open books or sweaters draped over the backs of chairs, no sign at all that anyone lived there—it was just too perfect.
But then essentially no one did live here. It amazed her that anyone could own such a beautiful place and barely spend any time here at all.
The staff had been more than happy to fill her in on the many houses owned by their elusive boss, and the many cars and private jets…Isandro Montero obviously liked to buy things whether he needed them or not. Zoe had always suspected that people who needed status symbols were secretly insecure. Mind you, having a bank account that hovered constantly just above the red made a person feel insecure too. Zoe knew all about that sort of insecurity!
His mobile ebony brows lifted in response to the information. ‘So the owner has allowed his home to be used for this…event?’
Zoe felt her cheeks heat.
‘How generous and trusting.’
If he had been trying he couldn’t have said anything that made her feel more terribly guilty. Her eyes fell. ‘He’s very community minded.’
If he could hear me now, she thought, swallowing a bubble of hysteria as she imagined the expression on the face of the billionaire who didn’t want to rub shoulders with the locals.
Her blue eyes slid to the wall lined with valuable books. Did he spend his time here reading the first editions on the shelves or were they, like the cricket pavilion, just for show…part of the entire perfect English Country Home?
What was the point in restoring a cricket pavilion if you never intended to use it? What was the point in buying books you were never going to read?
‘The house is out of bounds today.’
He did not comment on the information. He was staring with what seemed to her far too much interest at a painting on the wall.
She went pale as for the first time she realised how vulnerable the house was. If he could just walk in here, how easy it would have been for someone to wander in—still was, and…not just someone! Her blue eyes suspicious, she turned to look at the tall stranger who continued to stare at the painting. God, she had been so sidetracked by physical awareness of him that it hadn’t even crossed her mind that his presence here might not be accidental!
‘There is an excellent security system in place, and security guards.’
He heard the nervousness in her voice, saw the sudden alarmed dilation of her pupils and smiled slowly, without feeling any sympathy. Well might she be worried, he thought grimly. The odds were that some of his valuables were even now in the pockets of light-fingered visitors. His security team would be lucky to come out of this with jobs.
‘So I couldn’t just pick up…’ He made a show of looking around the room, then reached out and picked up a gilt-framed miniature from its stand. It was one of a pair he had outbid a Russian oligarch for six months earlier. He did not begrudge the inflated price, as he liked the sense of continuity—the miniatures were coming back to where they had been painted. ‘This?’
The casual action made her tummy muscles flip. When she had first arrived she had literally tiptoed around the place, seriously intimidated by the value of the treasures it housed and scared witless of damaging anything. Though she had relaxed a bit now, seeing this valuable item treated so casually was alarming.
She gave a nervous laugh and thought, Calm down—no genuine thief would be this obvious…would they?
‘No, you couldn’t…’ She sucked in an alarmed breath and fought the impractical urge to rush forward and snatch it from him. She didn’t have a hope in hell of taking anything away from six feet five inches of solid muscle. She looked at his chest and swallowed, her tummy giving a nervous quiver as she pressed a hand to her middle where butterflies continued to flutter wildly.
‘Is it genuine?’ he asked, holding the delicate gilt frame between his thumb and forefinger.
‘A clever copy,’ she lied, nervousness making her voice high pitched. ‘All the valuable stuff is locked away in the bank.’ I wish!
‘So that’s why you’re not concerned about stray visitors putting a souvenir in their pocket and walking out.’
Zoe swallowed as she watched the miniature vanish into the pocket of his well-cut jeans, but was able to maintain an air of amused calm as she returned his wolfish grin with a shaky smile of bravado and shook her head. What did it say about her that even at a moment like this she had noticed how rather incredible his muscular thighs were?
‘We’re not actively encouraging it, but if anyone’s tempted we have a very strong security presence.’ She saw no need to explain that this presence was at the moment helping out with directing people in and out of the parking areas. She felt extra bad about that because she had pretty shamelessly taken advantage of the absence of the head of the security team to persuade his deputy to relax the rules. She had used every weapon, including moral blackmail and some mild but effective eyelash fluttering.
‘So I would be stopped before I left the building…?’
Even though she positioned herself strategically in the