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‘Not the best way to greet a prospective buyer, Penny,’ he drawled with a tinge of mockery, then arched one ebony brow in silent query. ‘That is, if you have not changed your mind, and still want to unload this place?’
‘Yes. I do.’ Her innate good manners forced her to respond politely. ‘Would you like a coffee? You look cold.’ Meanwhile Penny was the exact opposite. Hot… Why did he have to be so gorgeous? She stared up at him, trying to still her racing pulse, but frighteningly conscious of the superb powerful male physique. A cream crew-necked cashmere sweater moulded his wide shoulders and every muscle of his chest in loving detail, snug-fitting black jeans followed the line of thigh and hip.
‘Ever the lady. But I would prefer a stiff whisky,’ Solo said swiftly, and, as though he already owned the whole house, he walked straight into the drawing room. ‘Your father used to keep the best stuff in here.’
‘Help yourself,’ Penny murmured to his back, following him into the room. ‘You usually do.’
‘Not always.’ Solo said with a wry twist of his lips. ‘Pour me a drink, and try to act like the lady you purport to be,’ he ordered, crossing to the fireplace and holding out his large hands to the flickering flames.
There was no answer to that, and Penny didn’t try. She simply crossed to the drinks trolley and poured a good measure of whisky into a crystal tumbler and handed it to him.
For an instant his fingers brushed hers, and sent an electric pulse the length of her arm. She snatched her hand away, and moved to sit down on her father’s old chair beside the fireplace. Thank goodness she’d had the forethought to light the open fire, and, leaning forward, she threw another log on the flames. She had thought it would make the old place look more welcoming, and perhaps distract from other more obvious faults. But at the moment she hoped he would think her face was red from the fire, and not from heated reaction to his slightest touch.
Fighting for composure, she took a deep breath and glanced up. She found Solo had slumped down in the armchair opposite, his long legs stretched out before him in negligent ease, his elegant fingers turning the crystal glass in his hand.
As she watched he lifted the glass to his mouth and took a long swallow. She saw the tanned throat move, and his tongue lick with relish around his firm lips, and she felt again the shameful pull of his physical attraction. How she was going to get through the next hour, she didn’t know, but she had to try.
‘Your father always did keep an excellent whisky.’ His cool grey eyes sought her wary green gaze. ‘Why don’t you join me?’ he queried, tipping the glass towards her. ‘You look like you need a drink.’
‘No, thank you, and when you have finished that I will give you the tour of the house,’ she said quickly. ‘You don’t want to waste time. The weather is awful, and you have to drive back to London.’ She was babbling, but she was so tense she could not help it.
‘I am in no hurry,’ drawled Solo, his silver eyes fixed on her in steady appraisal. ‘It was a slow drive down, the rain was so heavy visibility was cut to about twenty yards, and, by the look of you, you need to relax.’
Immediately she felt guilty; of course he had driven through a fierce storm. Where were her manners? She got to her feet. ‘I never thought—perhaps you would like something to eat? A sandwich, soup, anything?’
Solo finished the whisky and stood up, and, placing the glass on the mantelpiece, he came towards her, pausing only when he was within touching distance. ‘No, I’m not hungry.’ Derision glittered in his eyes. ‘At least not for what you are offering. Let’s go.’
Penny’s face turned scarlet. She should not have said anything. She was only trying to be helpful, but he obviously thought she was flirting. He could not have made it plainer he didn’t fancy her, she thought, drowning in embarrassment. But then why was she surprised? He never had, she reminded herself, and, straightening her shoulders, she swung one hand around the room.
‘Well, this is the drawing room, as you can see, nothing much has changed since you were last here except…’
‘Purple,’ Solo said incredulously, finally noticing the surroundings instead of the woman. ‘The walls are purple.’ His eyes gleamed with wry humour as he stared down at Penny. ‘When did this happen?’
‘Veronica’s taste.’ Penny said grimly ‘It matched her colouring, she thought.’ Determined to be businesslike, she ignored Solo’s soft chuckle. ‘The dining room next,’ she suggested.
‘Lead on.’ Solo placed a hand beneath her elbow. ‘But tell me, am I in for many more shocks?’
She wrenched her arm away. ‘It depends on your view of a scarlet dining room, a pink morning room, not to mention a rather virulent lime sitting room. Veronica was a colourful person.’ She slanted him a cynical glance. ‘As I’m sure you know—I seem to remember she was a friend of yours before she met my father.’
After Penny had split up with Solo she?
?d had a long time to think over the past and, from countless little digs Veronica had made, she couldn’t help wondering just what relationship Solo had had with her stepmother.
His eyes narrowed and his expression became darkly forbidding. ‘Veronica was never my friend, an acquaintance at best, but I think you better stop right there, and show me the rest of the place. That is why I am here.’
Penny gave a casual shrug, surprised to find she believed him, but refused to admit she was relieved he had denied knowing Veronica on a more intimate basis. Anyway, what was the use of raking over the past with the man? Best to get rid of him. With that in mind she led the way to the dining room.
Solo assumed the mantle of sophisticated buyer, and he asked pertinent questions as if they were two complete strangers as she showed him around all the rooms on the ground floor.
Penny told herself she was glad, an aloof, businesslike Solo she could deal with; at least she thought so, until she had to lead him upstairs.
‘I see what you mean about colour,’ Solo drawled with a touch of mockery, walking into the master bedroom and stopping at the foot of the bed.’ Knowing your father, I can’t believe this bright fuchsia and leopard pattern was very conducive to a good sex life.’
The master suite was horrendous, Penny freely acknowledged, standing a couple of steps behind Solo and glancing around with sad eyes.
A bittersweet memory of another time, when her own mother was alive, and the décor was warm almond and elegant. The bed had been a place to curl up in as a child with her parents on freezing cold mornings. There had been no central heating then.
Veronica had been responsible for installing all the mod cons and the horrendous fuchsia wallpaper, not to mention the faux leopardskin bedcover. No one with the slightest taste would like this.
