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She had changed into a pair of simple black trousers and a white shirt, her damp red hair shoved back behind her ears. As she came into the light cast by the vast living room’s bay windows, he realised she wore no make-up. He could still see the freckles sprinkled across her pale skin, which he had noticed earlier. She looked impossibly young and fresh-faced, even more so than she had dripping wet. He quashed the unbidden and unwanted spurt of heat at the memory of toned thighs, slender limbs and turgid nipples clearly visible through the wet fabric of her top.
He needed to find himself a new mistress if he was now responding to teenage tomboys.
‘I don’t have time for refreshments,’ he said, leading with his impatience to disguise the inconvenient reaction that he knew had nothing to do with this fresh-faced, unsophisticated girl and everything to do with his recent sex drought. ‘I have a proposal for purchasing the stud but to access it you need to agree to the sale today.’
The plan was a good one and foolproof and fairly straightforward. It hadn’t taken him too long to figure out a better solution than dropping out of this deal—or the even more ludicrous solution Dane had outlined in Belgravia this morning—once he’d put his mind to it. He’d piloted the Puma himself to get here quickly and put the plan into action. Dane’s prior warning was all he had needed to get ahead of his father.
He had also wanted to look over the property before he made his offer. But as soon as he’d walked into the stable yard he’d known. He wanted the Calhoun stud, whatever it took, because this was exactly what he had been looking for.
‘I… I understand, Mr Khan, but I’m afraid I can’t give you the agreement you seek.’ Her eyes flickered with regret, even pain, but then she firmed her chin. ‘The liquidators are handling the sale as this business is going under.’
He nodded. ‘But you haven’t yet, and you and your sister have inherited the business and the property, is this not correct?’
He’d already had his legal team double check the details while he was flying across the Irish Sea, so it was a rhetorical question, but she surprised him with the bluntness of her answer.
‘Yes, we did, but we also inherited the debts. The property has already been remortgaged and we can’t meet the interest payments any more.’
She and her sister would be left with less than nothing from the sale, by his calculation, because their father had frittered away the family business and more thanks to a gambling habit the family had kept secret for years.
‘I understand you might want to get an even cheaper price by rushing the sale, but, believe me, you’re already getting a bargain,’ she said, the snap of pride in her voice suddenly making her seem older than her dewy skin and wide emerald eyes suggested.
‘I’m not here to get a bargain, I’m here to offer you a chance to get out of this without debts still to pay.’
‘How so?’ she asked, the scepticism in her face making him realise that, however young she was, she was no
t naïve.
‘I will pay off all your debts today, by bank transfer, a sum which is in excess of what the business is worth, by approximately five million euro,’ he said. ‘Thus leaving you free to sell the property to me, immediately afterwards, for the sum of one euro, and the liquidators will still get their cut.’
It was a fair deal, a smart deal, for her as well as for him. She and her sister would be free and clear of her father’s debts to start a new life. They would still be homeless but, as the daughter of one of racing’s first families, she would no doubt have opportunities if she was willing to work hard, and much to his surprise—because he would have expected her to be an idle, entitled debutante instead of the girl he had found mucking out a stable—she seemed willing to do that much at least.
But more importantly, the property would not be put up for auction, so his father would have no opportunity to bid against him.
He saw her shock at his proposal.
‘So, do we have a deal?’ he said, confident of her answer. She had to know it was her only chance to get out from under the mountain of debt her father had left her with.
‘No,’ she said.
‘I beg your pardon?’ he snapped, surprised by the swell of something in his gut at her stubborn expression.
Why should he be impressed by her stupidity?
‘I…’ Heat blossomed in her cheeks. ‘I… I said no. We don’t have a deal. I have a request.’
He frowned. Was she actually serious?
‘I don’t think you understand, Ms Calhoun. This isn’t a negotiation. It’s a time-limited offer. And by far the best offer you are going to get. If I walk out that door today and I am not the new owner of Calhouns, the business will be sold at auction on Saturday as already arranged by the liquidators for a great deal less money than I am offering to spend on acquiring it today.’
‘I understand that, but you need the deal signed today. Which gives me some leverage—won’t you at least hear my request?’
She was trying to appear calm, but the riot of colour that had flared across her collarbone, and was giving him more unfortunate recollections of the sight of her barely clothed and soaking wet, suggested she was far from composed. His impatience downgraded a notch. The woman was an enigma in many ways… Who would have expected to find her mucking out her own stable, sweaty from work she could get an employee to do? Or cleaning herself down with a hose? But then again, from the state of her home—the faded carpets, worn furniture and peeling paintwork—he was getting the definite impression the Calhoun stud had been struggling financially for a lot longer than anyone had realised. How many staff did they even have? He’d only met an old man called Gerry who seemed to be manning the phones and an elderly housekeeper named Maeve so far.
‘I’m listening,’ he said, surprising himself with the decision to at least hear her out.
‘I… I want a job.’
‘What job?’ he demanded, but strangely, the moment he said it, Dane’s foolish suggestion from earlier that day echoed across his consciousness.
