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Rachel forced a stiff smile. ‘That’s fine.’ Remembering her manners, she added, ‘Can I get you a drink?’ as she reached out and switched on the light.
She became conscious of several things at the same time. Jennie’s cousin was even more devastatingly gorgeous now she could see him properly. There was a touch of grey in the black hair above his ears but it only increased the male magnetism, and the golden gaze was truly spellbinding in the bright light. She had never seen another person with eyes like his. Secondly, those same eyes were surveying her with definite amusement. Thirdly, his clothes—not to mention the gold Rolex on one tanned wrist—screamed wealth and taste, and lastly—but most importantly—she looked like something the cat wouldn’t deign to drag in.
Ignoring the puddle of water that had formed at her feet, she kept the smile on her face through sheer willpower. ‘A glass of wine?’ she persevered. ‘Or I think we have a bottle of brandy somewhere. Or perhaps you’d prefer coffee or tea?’ she added graciously, the effect being somewhat spoilt when she shivered convulsively and then sneezed three times.
His voice had gentled to the tone one would use with a very young child. ‘Why don’t you go and change out of those wet clothes while I fix us both some coffee? I think of the two of us you’re in need more than me right at this moment.’
She couldn’t deny it, with her teeth chattering loud enough to wake the dead. Besides which, she wanted nothing more than to escape those lethal eyes and make herself presentable. She had never fooled herself she could compete with Jennie’s dark-eyed voluptuous beauty or Susan’s delicate blonde appeal. Her own brown hair and blue eyes were fairly nondescript in her opinion, but looking like a drowned rat was something else.
Clinging onto the shreds of her dignity, Rachel nodded brightly. He had said and done nothing wrong, not really, and she didn’t know why she had taken such an instant dislike to Jennie’s cousin, but she had. Nevertheless, he was a guest and she knew her manners. ‘Thank you. The coffee and sugar pots are on the breakfast bar and there’s a fruit cake in the cake tin in the cupboard. Side plates and mugs are—’
‘I’ll find everything. Why don’t you have a hot bath?’
Now his voice was distinctly soothing as he interrupted her and it made her want to kick him. Feeling more than a little unnerved by the strength of her own feelings and completely out of her depth, she decided retreat was the only option. ‘I won’t be long,’ she managed as she left for the bathroom. ‘Please make yourself at home.’ As if he hadn’t already.
Rachel forwent the hot bath for a warm shower, stuffing her wet clothes in the laundry basket before pulling on the towelling robe she kept on a peg behind the bathroom door and padding through to the bedroom she shared with Jennie to dry her hair. When the three of them had moved into the flat it had been agreed Susan would occupy the tiny second bedroom owing to the fact she snored—loudly.
The ravages of her make-up having been removed in the bathroom, she applied fresh eye shadow and mascara before drying her hair whilst sitting at the small dressing table. She left her thick shoulder-length hair loose, she hadn’t got time t
o fiddle with it, and quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and a warm sweater, surveying herself in the full-length mirror on the wall before she left the room.
Better, but then, anything would be better than the sight she had presented in the hall. What must he have thought? And then she answered herself sharply. It didn’t matter what Zac Lawson thought. Not one little bit. And as soon as she possibly could after dinner, she was claiming a headache and leaving the rest of them to it. Polite conversation she could do without.
She could smell coffee when she exited the bedroom and as though he had some sort of X-ray vision that could see through brick walls, Zac appeared in the doorway to the sitting room. ‘Just in time,’ he said, as though she were the guest and he was the householder. ‘Come and have some coffee and cake.’
Rachel found she was gritting her teeth as she followed him into the room, and then tried to compose her features into a more acceptable expression as he turned and indicated the tray on the coffee table. ‘There was milk and cream in the fridge so I brought both, along with a tin of coffee whitener I found.’
How thorough. Knowing she was being uncharacteristically bitchy, Rachel cleared her throat. ‘I take mine black.’
‘Really?’ He stared at her as he passed her a mug.
She’d surprised him. Good. She had the feeling women didn’t surprise Zac Lawson too often. He had the confident aura of a man who had the world in general pretty much taped.
When she cut them both a piece of cake and her slice was as large as his, she knew she’d surprised him for the second time in as many minutes. She answered the raised eyebrow with a shrug. ‘Fast metabolism.’
One corner of his slightly stern and very sexy mouth twisted. ‘I bet the other girls love you when they’re chomping on lettuce and you’re tucking into the full McCoy and still looking like a model, fast metabolism or not.’
Looking like a model? Was he being sarcastic? She stared at him. He had the sort of face it was impossible to read. Coolly, she said, ‘Hardly.’
‘They don’t mind?’
He was definitely being deliberately obtuse. ‘I meant I hardly look like a model,’ she said even more coolly, taking a bite of cake and hoping he’d take the hint and leave well alone.
He settled back in the comfy armchair that faced the sofa where she sat, arms stretched out along the back of the seat and one leg crossed over the other knee. It was a very masculine pose. He was a very masculine man. The tawny eyes moved over her face. She could feel them even though she was concentrating on the plate on her lap.
‘You look perfect model material to me,’ he said mildly.
Was he teasing her or flirting or what? Whatever, she so wasn’t doing this. Regretting that she’d let him see he’d got to her and wishing she’d just let it go in the first place, Rachel forced a smile. ‘Well, I haven’t been spotted by a talent scout to date and I’m perfectly happy with the day job.’ Even to herself she sounded overly facetious. A little desperately now, she added, ‘What is it you do, by the way?’
He didn’t comment on the clumsy change of conversation. Demolishing half his slice of cake with one bite, he chewed and swallowed at leisure before he said, ‘I work in the family glass-making business back home in Canada. Have done since uni.’
Unexpected. In spite of herself, Rachel was intrigued. ‘Really? That’s a very old industry, isn’t it?’ She’d had him down as a modern whizz-kid, all bells and whistles and something mega in the city.
‘It goes back some,’ he agreed lazily, finishing his cake before he continued, ‘The Canadian side of the family have had their own business for over a century and it’s been handed down through the generations. Most glass-making firms, like other old industries, have been taken over by large manufacturing groups. We’re one of the few family businesses still going, which is the main reason my father moved us to Canada when I was a youth. He’d had a falling out with his father—my grandfather—when he was a young man and left Canada for England. My grandfather had his first heart attack when I was sixteen and my grandmother begged my father to return. There was a kind of a reconciliation and, as my father was their only child, he agreed to return permanently and take over.’
Intrigued, she said, ‘What was the falling out about?’ before blushing violently as she realised how nosy that sounded. ‘I’m sorry,’ she added hastily before he could speak. ‘It’s none of my business. You really don’t have to answer that.’
‘No problem. My father met my mother when she was holidaying in Canada and it was one of those rare instant for-ever things. My grandfather thought my father ought to marry the daughter of some friends of theirs, apparently the two sets of parents had planned it for years. The girl was willing, my father wasn’t. He’d already made his feelings plain before he met my mother, but my grandfather wasn’t used to being thwarted. He’s an irascible old man when he gets the bit between the teeth, as he often does.’
