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‘I did it,’ Ben said, without looking up from the tiny flame he was coaxing.
Luce tried to hide her surprise. ‘Well, it’s gorgeous,’ she said after a moment. Because it was—even more so, somehow, now she knew it was his own work. It wasn’t beautiful, or tasteful, or on trend. It was warm and cosy and she loved it.
As the fire caught Ben flashed her a smile—the first she’d seen since they left Chester.
‘So glad you approve.’
In that moment the cottage itself ceased to be the most attractive thing in the vicinity. Luce swallowed, looked away and said, ‘Um...so, how long do you think we’ll be stuck here?’
Standing up, Ben straightened, brushing his hands off on his jeans. ‘Until the snow stops, at least. Don’t think we’ll be going anywhere until tomorrow.’
Tomorrow. Which meant spending another night in close proximity to Ben Hampton. Another night of not throwing caution to the wind and saying, Seduce me. Just to find out, after eight years of wondering, what it would be like.
The look he gave her suggested that he’d read her mind—but imperfectly. ‘Don’t fret. There’s a spare room. It even has a key to lock it from the inside, if you’re still worried that this is some great master plan to get into your knickers.’
Heat flushed in Luce’s cheeks. She should probably apologise for that at some point. But since he was the one who’d point-blank propositioned her the night before maybe sorry could wait. Besides, just as the night before, she was more concerned that she’d need the lock to keep herself in, rather than him out.
Not thinking about it.
‘What do we do until then?’ she asked.
Ben shrugged. ‘Up to you. Work, if you like. Personally, I’m going to make myself an Irish coffee and warm up by the fire. Then, once this snow slows down, I’m going to walk down into the village and see if the Eight Bells is serving dinner. I’d invite you to join me, but I’d hate for you to get the wrong idea about my intentions.’
‘I do still need to eat,’ Luce pointed out. ‘And besides, Hampton & Sons have once again failed to make good on their promise—I was supposed to be in Cardiff by now. The way I figure it, you owe me another dinner.’
Ben raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? Seems to me that you relying on me for a bed for the night—without, I might add, any of the activities that usually make such a thing worthwhile—is becoming a bit of a habit. So, is that dinner instead of a night’s free accommodation in a charmingly rustic cottage?’
Luce considered. ‘Maybe we could go halves on dinner?’
‘Good plan.’ Ben moved into the kitchen area and pulled a bag of coffee from the cupboard. ‘So, do you want the grand tour?’
Luce spun round to smile at him and nodded. ‘Yes, please.’
‘Right, then.’ Waving an arm expansively around the living, dining and kitchen space, he said, ‘This is the main room. Bathroom’s over there. That’s my room. That’s yours.’ He pointed at the relevant doors in turn. ‘Back door leads out to the mountain. Front door leads to the car and a lot of snow. That’s about it. Now, how Irish do you want your coffee?’
She should take advantage of the afternoon to work, really. But her laptop was still in the car, and she was cold and tired and stuck with Ben Hampton for another night. She deserved a warming drink and a sit by the fire, didn’t she?
Luce perched on a kitchen stool and watched him fill the coffee maker. ‘Make sure it’s at least got a decent accent.’
Ben grinned at her. ‘Will do.’
* * *
Ben had been more concerned with getting in and getting warm than studying Luce’s expression when they arrived at the cottage. But now, watching her sink into the sofa, coffee in hand and feet stretched out towards the fire, he smiled to see her looking so at home there.
It wasn’t an impressive cottage. He knew that. None of the homes in a ten-mile radius had more than three bedrooms; anything bigger would have been ostentatious. Ben wanted to fit in here. So when he’d bought the tumbledown stone building he hadn’t extended it, just rebuilt it as it would have been. And it wasn’t the most expensive of his properties—not by a long stretch. But it was his favourite. Not least because it was the only one that was really his. Bought with his own money, chosen by himself, decorated by himself. The penthouse in London, impressive as it was, belonged to the company and had been decorated by their interior designer. And the château... That still had his grandmother’s favourite rose print wallpaper all over it. He really needed to get out there and start sorting that place out.
