“Ella?” He stopped her as she turned for the door.
He caught the ready, tense set of her body, as though she were preparing herself for a battle. She turned back to him, her expression carefully closed, cool.
“Yes, James?” She kept her voice well modulated, soft yet not simpering.
“Am I allowed to come out of my room if I’m a very good boy?” James kept his voice low, teasing. There was no way in hell he was going to get close to her if she didn’t loosen up a little.
She was wary, almost frightened of him, and she almost succeeded in hiding it. Almost. He knew her better than she knew herself in some ways. She stiffened further, her perfectly arched brows snapping into a frown.
“I’m not in the mood for your games.” Her voice was non-confrontational, but the flush along her cheekbones warned him of the coming storm. Damn, he loved pissing her off. Watching her eyes glitter in ire, her pale cheeks flushing so prettily. It gave him a glimpse of what she would look like in passion.
He tilted his head curiously. “Shame. Tess assured me you would welcome my company. I’m feeling as though I’m putting you out, Ella. Perhaps I should stay in a hotel until the house is ready.”
For a moment—a very brief, infuriating moment—satisfaction glittered in her eyes, until she remembered Tess and her promise to make James comfortable. Her lips thinned as she drew in a deep, careful breath. The smile that she pasted on her face had little to do with warmth; it damned near caused frostbite.
“You’re perfectly welcome, James. Tess’s little friends are always welcome in my home, you know that.”
Ouch. Little friends? He chuckled silently. She was finding every opportunity to remind him that he was several years younger than she was. The six years made little difference to him. As a matter of fact, it seemed perfect. An older man would never keep up with the passions he knew ran beneath that cool exterior.
He allowed a smile to curve his lips as he stared at her intently. “Little friends? I’m hardly that young, Ella.”
“Not far from it,” she grumbled. “I have work to do, James. Make yourself at home, and perhaps I’ll talk to you later.”
But not if she could help it.
“What type of work?” He stopped her again. “I was unaware you worked. Jase should have given you a very healthy settlement from the divorce.” By God, if he hadn’t, James would be talking to him about it.
“That’s none of your business.” She frowned again. “What I do, James, I do for my own pleasure and how Jase decided to pay me for the divorce is none of your concern.”
Pay her for the divorce? James was damned well aware that she was much less than happy in that marriage, yet she sounded bitter, rejected. Had she cared more for Jase than he had once thought? That idea didn’t set well in his mind, or in his heart.
“Ella, you weren’t happy, and neither was Jase,” he said softly.
“I refuse to discuss this with you.” She straightened her shoulders majestically, her lips thinning as her anger grew. “I don’t mind your presence here, James, but I don’t have time to entertain you. You’ll have to find your amusements elsewhere.”
“But you said no women.” She stopped again as she turned to leave.
“No women.” She shook her head tightly, her voice strained. “Not in my home, James. Never again in my home.”
Chapter Three
“You know, you need a housekeeper or a cook.” James’ voice early the next afternoon had her jumping in startled awareness as she finished filling the coffeepot. She turned, facing him, thinking what a shame it was that one man would have such sexual presence.
He stood propped against the doorway, dressed in dark blue silk slacks and a lighter blue silk shirt. His jacket was held at his shoulder by the crook of his finger, and his green eyes regarded her with lustful secrets.
“I’m perfectly capable of cooking my own meals and cleaning my home.” She shrugged. She had been raised to do for herself, and cleaning gave her something to do, a way to occupy her hands when her body was filled with restless energy.
He straightened from the doorframe, walking to the table with a casual male grace that threatened to take her breath. She turned quickly from him, moving to the cabinet to retrieve her coffee cup. She fought to still her shaking hands, the nervousness in her stomach that wouldn’t seem to go away. She felt immature, like a quaking child before him. It was…unbalancing.
“What if you became busy? Or found a lover?” he asked her then.
Ella fought back her panic. She felt aged, past the time when she could have worried about the future, or a man in her life.
“I’m not looking for a lover, James.” She poured her coffee, moving with what she hoped was casual unconcern to the work isle in the center of the room.
She leaned her hip against it, lowering her head as she concentrated on stirring cream and sugar into the dark liquid. She was aware that he was watching her, his eyes dark, intent. She was well aware of his desire for her; a desire she knew wouldn’t last beyond the moment. She had no illusions about herself. She was growing older, and her body was slowly showing the signs of it. It wasn’t something she worried much about, until she was faced with James. He made her feel young, made her feel desired, and it was dangerous to allow herself to be convinced that it could go further. Too dangerous for her heart.
She watched as he laid the jacket over the back of a chair then moved to the cabinet and snagged a cup for himself. His arm reached up, muscles bunching in his shoulders and back. She shivered, her hands itching to touch him, to feel the strength of motion beneath his flesh.