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He looked so ready to bite her head off that Honor decided she would be unwise to say that she found his mother very entertaining. He was bound to take it the wrong way.
‘So...welcoming.’
He glared, as if he knew that she had mentally edited her reply. Just to needle him, she added, ‘She seemed to think that we’re heavily involved with each other.’
‘I wonder where she got that impression?’ he snarled sarcastically. ‘What the hell did you have to mouth that cliché about being “just good friends” for? You must have known the interpretation she’d put on it.’
‘Well, what did you expect me to say when you just stood there stammering like an idiot?’ she demanded. ‘If you knew you were going to have to lie you might have at least had the sense to cook up a good one before we got here. I was just trying to help you out.’
‘The hell you were! You said it purely to make trouble. I was going to tell her that you were a new secretary here to do some work for me—’
‘You could still tell her that,’ Honor said, feeling guilty at the truth of his accusation. At the time she hadn’t been concerned with anything but petty point-scoring.
‘She knows I don’t play around with my secretaries,’ he gritted.
‘Uh—I’m glad to hear it,’ said Honor in a weak attempt to lighten the atmosphere.
‘And certainly no secretary of mine would bring a damned cat to work with her!’
Honor’s eyes narrowed. Even guilt had its limits. ‘You can’t blame that on me. I didn’t want to come here in the first place. And your mother seemed awfully anxious to whip up a passionate affair out of nothing. I wonder why that is?’
He ignored her, picking up the suitcase that he had hastily dropped in anticipation of having to rescue his mother from Monty’s temper and indicating the stairs to their left with a sharp inclination of his blond head. The overhead light revealed reddish glints hidden among the gold. An incipient redhead. No wonder he had a healthy temper, Honor thought as she followed him silently up the wide wooden staircase. Actually, he could do with a haircut. The lighter blond ends which brushed the crew neck of his sweater were uneven, frosted and split by exposure to the sun. She also noticed that although the black trousers and sweater sported expensive designer motifs the sweater was worn thin on one elbow and the trousers had a frayed back pocket. Obviously not a man who put a lot of emphasis on sartorial elegance. Maybe he didn’t worry about dressing to impress because he knew he was all too impressive whatever he wore. Her eyes fell further and widened. He was wearing odd socks: one dark grey, one black. She grinned, irrationally reassured by the absent-minded chink in his forcefully confident appearance.
‘You find my home amusing?’
She reached the top of the stairs to find Adam staring at her curving mouth with a mixture of belligerence and suspicion.
‘Your home?’ She was disconcerted. ‘I thought you lived on the North Shore?’
‘I inherited this place from Zach.’
So his brother had had no wife or children of his own... ‘Are you going to be living here from now on?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Why do you want to know?’
She squinted back. ‘I thought I might semaphore the information out the window to my criminal cohorts atop the next ridge.’
For a moment she thought she saw a quiver of amusement touch the hard mouth but his reply was hopelessly pedantic.
‘You know semaphore?’
‘I was a crack Guide,’ she lied. ‘I try always to be prepared.’
‘I thought that was the Scout motto,’ he said drily.
She looked at him in mock-dismay. ‘No wonder there was always a rush to share my tent when we went camping!’
Definitely a gr
in, but he turned away before she could fully appreciate its effect on his tanned features and strode along the hall to push open one of the pale doors.
The room was large and uncluttered, the painted cream walls and warm apricot accents in the draperies a clever contrast to the cool blues and greys that predominated in what she had so far seen of the rest of the place. A single bed covered with a billowing quilt inhabited the far corner and adjacent to it was a broad sash window which overlooked the rear of the property.
‘What, no bars?’ murmured Honor tartly, to hide the unexpected sense of welcome the room gave her. She crossed to peer out of the window, noting the irregularly shaped swimming-pool which glittered darkly in the dimly lit fenced gardens below.
‘I’m sure I can arrange to have some installed if that’ll make you feel safer, Honor.’
She spun around at the bland comment. Now the glint of humour in the brown eyes was unconcealed and Honor was perversely annoyed by his amusement. ‘That’s not what I meant—’
