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What indeed? she thought to herself as he turned to face her.
‘Nice place.’
‘Thank you.’
He was quiet, watching her, and ingrained manners and a need to fill the silence had her offering, ‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘Thank you.’ He nodded.
‘What would you like? Tea? Coffee?’
He arched a brow. ‘At this hour?’
Heat suffused her cheeks at her own naivety. ‘Wine?’
‘Wine would be fine.’
‘Have a seat. I won’t be a minute.’
CHAPTER TWO
HER LOUNGE WAS even cosier—if that was possible—than the exterior of this country cottage had promised.
Delicate and pretty, and oh, so feminine, with soft cushions and blankets everywhere and pictures of flowers on the walls. It was cosy, homely and warm, but his mind was only half-focused on his surroundings. He was mulling over the proposition he’d come here to offer—and what he’d do if she refused.
Already he could see that Amelia diSalvo was different to what he’d expected.
Did that matter? Did it fundamentally change what he needed from her? And what she’d agree to?
His research showed that she’d been inactive in the business, not attending meetings of any kind. She was on the board but didn’t contribute; it was clear she had no interest in the day-to-day operations of diSalvo Industries.
But would she be easily convinced to sell her shares to him?
Would she recognise his name and recall the bitter rivalry that had engulfed their families? Would he then have to launch straight into his backup plan? The idea of revealing his machinations to this woman hadn’t bothered him an hour earlier but, standing in her living room, suddenly he wasn’t in a rush to reveal his reasons for coming to Bumblebee Cottage late in the evening.
Which was absurd given that he’d had an investigator searching for her for over a year. Absurd given that he’d jumped on a flight as soon as she’d been located, with scant regard for the timing of things. If he’d been patient, he could have spent the night in London and driven into the countryside first thing the following morning, catching her in the daytime rather than on a rainy summer evening.
But he was here, and he wouldn’t let himself get distracted by the fact that she wasn’t the hard and cynical heiress he’d imagined. Nor by the fact she seemed kind of sweet and funny, and lived in a house that was like a tribute to quaint history.
He had spent his adult life setting things right, avenging this feud, and now he was within striking distance. All that stood between himself and success was this one tiny woman.
She was different to what he’d expected, but she was still a diSalvo and she still held the key to his ultimate revenge.
He had to remember that.
* * *
It was impossible to say why she felt as if she needed a moment to steady herself in the kitchen, but Amelia took several, sucking in a deep breath and then another and another as she reached for a bottle of wine and a corkscrew. All the wines she’d been given as gifts had actual corks.
She lifted it out easily enough and poured a measure into two glasses—her plans for a cup of tea falling by the wayside as she thought it would give her some fortifying courage.
Wine glasses in hand, she moved back into the lounge. And froze.
He was simply standing, staring at one of the pictures of hydrangeas she’d painted in watercolours, and it was that image of him that did something completely un
expected to her insides.
He was so utterly masculine in the midst of her living space and yet there was something strangely perfect about seeing him there. She stared at him, at the harshness of his face in profile, the strength of his body, broad shoulders and a narrow waist, legs that looked strong and athletic, and her pulse began to speed and her heart was trembling.
