The Millionaire's Rebellious Mistress - By Catherine George Page 0,38

hand to lead her to the sofa, and slid a document from his pocket. ‘I’ve sorted out storage for your furniture, so would you check the inventory Greg took this afternoon?’

‘Oh—right. Thank you.’ Sarah ran her eyes down the list, and nodded. ‘That’s the lot. Will you bill me?’

‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘This is a personal arrangement between you and me, Sarah. So indulge me. Accept the storage rental as a gift from a friend.’

She smiled ruefully. ‘I can hardly say no when you put it like that. Thank you, Alex.’

He leaned back, long legs outstretched. ‘I could have stored it at my place, but I thought you might not go for that.’

‘Harry pointed out the Merrick house to me on our way to Westhope. What I could see of it from the road was impressive. Is that where you live?’

‘Not for years. When I was growing up we all lived there, but my grandfather and Aunt Isabel are the only occupants these days. I’ve got a place of my own a few miles from here. I moved out of the family home when my mother left.’

‘Do you see her often?’

‘Yes, of course. She lives near Stratford-upon-Avon. I spend Christmas and New Year with her, and she comes to stay at my place quite a lot.’

Sarah turned her head to look at him curiously. ‘Doesn’t your father ever want you to spend Christmas with him?’

‘Not since he’s remarried. He takes his wife to a five-star hotel in a ski resort for New Year as her reward for enduring Christmas Day with my grandfather.’

‘But you never stay home to endure it, too?’

‘Old Edgar respects my wish to spend it with my mother. He doesn’t care for her successor.’

‘Do you like her?’

‘We rub along.’ Alex took her hand in his. ‘Where do you spend Christmas?’

‘It’s not something I’ve looked forward to since my mother died. Oliver used to take Dad and me out to Christmas dinner at some hotel, rather than risk my cooking, and he still does the same now it’s just the two of us.’ Sarah smiled brightly. ‘But let’s change the subject. I’d much rather hear your views on quick-drying membranes for my barns.’

Alex threw back his head and laughed. ‘Not a topic of conversation I’ve discussed with any other woman!’

‘But one very dear to my heart right now. So, are you privy to any trade secrets I might find useful?’

For a while, only too happy to have Sarah hanging on to his every word, Alex obliged her with everything he knew on the subject—which was considerable. ‘But now,’ he said at last, ‘let’s talk about the weekend. I’ll be back by then, so have lunch with me on Sunday. At my place, not the Pheasant.’

‘Can you cook, then?’

‘I was Stephen’s sous chef often enough in the old days to learn a thing or two,’ he assured her.

‘In that case, thank you. I’d like to.’

‘Good.’ Alex took a card from his wallet. ‘Here’s my address. I’ve drawn a rough map on the back.’

Sarah eyed him narrowly as she took it. ‘You were sure I’d come, then?’

‘No. I lived in hope.’ He got up with a sigh. ‘I must go. Early start in the morning.’

‘Are you staying with your father?’

He shook his head. ‘When I’m in town I put up at the flat over the group offices.’

Sarah walked with him to the door. ‘Thank you for this evening.’

‘My pleasure—literally. Come about midday on Sunday—or I can drive over to fetch you?’

She shook her head. ‘I’ll enjoy the drive.’ And could leave any time she wanted to.

Alex moved closer, smiling down at her. ‘I’ve been very good. I deserve a goodnight kiss, Sarah.’

‘In what way have you been good?’ she asked lightly.

He took her in his arms. ‘By not doing this again until now.’ His lips met hers in a kiss which started off gently and then ignited into something so hot and intense Sarah was breathless by the time he released her. ‘A goodnight kiss is allowable between friends,’ he informed her, and kissed her again. ‘Two, even,’ he said not quite steadily. ‘Goodnight, Sarah.’

‘Goodnight.’ She pressed the release for the outer door, and Alex smiled his crooked smile and went out into the hall, closing her door softly behind him.

CHAPTER EIGHT

NEXT DAY Sarah had nothing to do except think far too much about Alex Merrick’s kisses. Until she heard from the building inspector there could be no progress at Westhope Farm. But in the meantime she would stop daydreaming