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'Hmm.' He was still regarding her narrowly. 'And what's happened since—'
'Well, I've built up a chain of local delicatessens that I supply regularly, but most of my business lately has been through mail-order. I was featured last month—just a snippet—in one of tin-Sunday supplements,' she couldn't entirely keep the pride out of her voice, 'and the phone's hardly stopped ringing since. But I'm nearly through now—I got the last of the Christmas cakes and Stollen off last night, and,' she gestured to the table, 'these are the last Dundees.'
'And you do all this here?'
She didn't quite like his tone. 'Of course. The Aga copes perfectly.'
'Yes, but do you?' Without warning he caught hold of her by the elbows, turning her round to the window and studying her intently until her own gaze fell. 'Mrs Pearce was right—you do look tired. Bloody exhausted, in fact.' He really did sound angry now. 'Do you have any help?'
'No—I think it's the personal touch in my cooking that people like.'
'Maybe. But what about the rest—finance, advertising and so on?' He was still standing too close to her, the faint tang of him—sweat and warm male body—teasing her senses, and, running the tip of her tongue round her l i p s , she edged even further down the tabl e.
'Oh, no. I haven't had time to think about that sort of thing.'
'Well, you should do.' He gave a derisory snort. 'My dear girl, you may be a wonderful cook, but you're obviously one hell of a lousy businesswoman. Here you are, on the verge of a major breakthrough, and—'
'No!' she broke in loudly. 'I don't want to get any bigger. I'm perfectly happy as I am.'
'Running a small-time one-woman business from this kitchen table, you mean?' He smacked his hand down on it.
'Yes. And I don't need any advice from you.' There was more hostility in her voice than she'd intended—after all, he was only taking a genuine interest in her cakes. Which Simon doesn't, a sneaky little voice whispered in her ear. And that's what's making you a bad-tempered little bitch, isn't it?
She took a deep breath, then said slightly more calmly, 'Please, Jared, let me run my affairs my way.'
He lifted one shoulder. 'Suit yourself. But I've got this friend who's head of a marketing firm in London. I'm sure—'
'I told you—no. In any case, I'll probably be giving it all up soon when I—I get married.'
Unsure of exactly what he had heard earlier, she could not quite meet his eye.
'Ah, it's like that, is it?' His lips thinned, and Petra flared instantly.
'I don't know what you mean—and no, it isn't.'
'Simon Polruan's wife is to be just that—model wife of a model teacher.'
The biting edge in his voice made her wince inwardly, but she sprang to Simon's defence.
'You don't know what you're talking about. Being a headmaster's wife is a full-time job.'
Even so, she'd already secretly made up her mind that, once she'd settled in to her new role, Petronella's Cakes would be poised for a re-launch. But Simon was in happy ignorance of this, so she certainly wasn't about to tell Jared.
'OK, OK.' He held up his hand, as though he was bored with the whole subject. 'But look, are you quite sure you don't want me to get Sarah to give you the once-over?' He smiled—to himself this time. 'She'd do it for free, as a favour for me, I'm sure—'
'Oh, yes, I'm sure she would.'
That secret little smile rasped on her nerves, though why she should care in the slightest what memories lay behind that narrow, sensual smile she preferred not to imagine. He gave her a long, considering look. 'Can I help it if I'm irresistible to women?'
She drew in a sharp breath—Jared Tremayne really was everything she loathed in a man.
'You arrogant, complacent swine!'
Another casual half-shrug. 'I'm sure you're right, Petra.'
'Oh, I am!' Caught up by the tide of her anger, she was swept helplessly on 'But just because women have always thrown themselves at you—'
She broke off with a little gasp and looked up, to see him regarding her, that tiny smile still playing round In thin lips. There'd always been a hint of cruelty in him, of course—she'd known that since childhood . . . And then, even though the kitchen was warm, she shivered as she remembered Sam stalking that helpless sparrow, with exactly the same intent, predatory expression which she now glimpsed in Jared's eyes.
