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If so, he could think again. Desperate situations required desperate solutions, but Sasha couldn’t believe her situation would become so desperate she would consider marriage in any circumstances to Nathan Parnell.
The more Sasha pondered her position here, the more it seemed to her that it didn’t matter whether Seagrave Dunworthy was an authentic person or not. All she had to do was believe in him implicitly and esteem him so highly that no one could ever fault her on that score. The terms of his will not only allowed her to live here cheaply, but also independently of Nathan Parnell’s good will or humour. As long as she paid her rent within the required time on Fridays, Nathan Parnell could have nothing to complain about.
The percolator boiled.
There was a knock on the door.
‘Come in,’ she called, wondering what Mrs Bennet had forgotten to tell her this time.
Sasha poured coffee into her cup, heard the door open; then realised several moments passed without a word being spoken. Surprised into looking for the reason, Sasha lifted her head and was abruptly jolted out of her complacency. Marion Bennet was not her visitor at all. It was Nathan Parnell.
He stood by the opened door, apparently as transfixed by the sight of her as Sasha was by him. He was dressed in navy trousers and a white shirt, yet Sasha was instantly assailed by a sense of dangerous intimacy and a heart-choking awareness of dangerous virility.
Her mind registered shirt buttons left undone, a deep V of tanned chest with a sprinkle of dark curls, rolled-up shirt-sleeves, muscular forearms, the damp sheen of hair freshly washed, electric blue eyes that sent sizzling sensations pulsing to sensitive places.
She was suddenly, flamingly conscious of her nakedness under the silk of her robe. Her skin sprang alive with awareness. Her nipples tightened. She searched frantically for something to say, anything to disrupt the current of serious sexuality flowing between them.
‘I thought it was Marion Bennet.’
He didn’t seem to hear. She needed something less obvious, more earth-shaking. Nothing came to mind.
‘How striking you look in that vibrant blue.’ His deep baritone voice seemed to throb through her. His mouth slowly curved into a whimsical smile that was somehow loaded with sensuality. ‘I don’t suppose you’re wearing it for me.’
‘No.’
‘What a waste.’
Sasha desperately gathered her wits, determined not to be drawn into anything she didn’t want. ‘I have to thank you for suggesting this accommodation,’ she said, trying for a neighbourly attitude.
His smile broadened. ‘Your gratitude would be better directed to Seagrave Dunworthy. I was merely the intermediary. A cup of coffee will be repayment enough.’
‘I was getting ready for bed.’
‘So was I.’ The blue eyes twinkled wickedly. ‘And I thought of you.’
‘As an afterthought of the day’s activities?’
Sasha laughed. It was the only way to break the tug of his attraction and hopefully lift the conversation to a
lighter note.
‘The day’s activities concerned you. I went to see Hester Wingate.’
‘Is that someone else who’s left some kind of marvellous will from which I can benefit?’
‘No, but she’s working on it. And she wants your services.’
‘In what capacity?’
‘Marion told me your profession was finding things. Hester is eager to employ your expertise.’
‘You got me a job?’
‘To make sure you could pay the rent.’
And keep me here, Sasha reasoned. Nathan Parnell was irrepressible, and probably ten steps ahead of her. She had no doubt that behind the twinkling eyes was a determined will to have his own way. He was not shy of playing any trick to get it, either. What have I let myself in for? Sasha wondered, then tried again to assert some control over the situation.
‘Don’t you think it’s rather improper to visit me in my bedroom? Is this what I’m to expect?’
