Never Too Late Read online

  “Oh yes, Molly will be perfect,” Francine said. “She can help you with the changes you want to make.”

  Molly frowned. “Changes?”

  “The house hasn’t been renovated in decades,” he drawled, his eyes hooded now, watching her every expression. “I’m planning on bringing it into the modern world.”

  “Of course.” She barely hid her dismay.

  He was going to be the new owner of Barrowdene, and it was up to him what he did with it. Visions of steel and glass structures like those on a city skyline rose in her mind, and her heart wept for the beautiful Georgian house that had stood proud for centuries.

  “You’ll want to see the rest of the grounds,” Francine said to him. “Molly, could you show Jake around please?”

  Spend time alone with him? She stood a second too long debating the many different ways of saying no.

  But he smiled. “I’d like that.” And in that second he was by her side.

  “Wonderful.” Francine turned to leave them. “I’ll see you later at dinner, Jake.”

  He was so close, Molly’s lungs filled with the scent of him, an intoxicating mix of cedar and spice and something else, something him. A shiver ran through her. He was nearly a foot taller than she was and she tipped her head back to look up at him, meeting his twinkling gaze.

  Great, a too-hunky-for-his-own-good playboy all to herself.

  Resigned, she aimed a stiff smile at him and indicated the garden path she’d come through. “This way, Mr Hennessy.”

  “Jake.”

  “Sorry?”

  “It looks like we’ll be spending a lot of time in each other’s company, and all this Mr Hennessy-ing will get tiring.”

  Huh. That’s what he thought. She turned away in scorn. He wouldn’t be seeing hide nor hair of her after this. “I doubt I’ll be much help in your plans for Barrowdene, Mr Hennessy.”

  And head high, she stalked off down the runner bean path.

  She hadn’t taken more than a few steps when her foot snagged on an errand bean tendril and she pitched forward with a tiny yelp, heading face-first to the ground. At once, a strong arm banded around her waist and hauled her back against a rock-solid body, the dull thud against her back knocking the air clean from her lungs. She gasped for breath and as her feet steadied on the ground again, stared back into bright eyes.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  This close, the thin black rim circling the amber-green of his irises was clear and it intensified his gaze into the slightly feral lion look she’d come to associate with him. His clean, male scent enveloped her, and she couldn’t move, even if she’d wanted to. He held her trapped against him, the heat of his body searing through her thin suit jacket and silk camisole into her already burning skin.

  “Thank you…?” he murmured, his head was lowered, his lips inches from hers.

  “Jake…”

  “There. That wasn’t so hard.” His grin had her heart thundering to the stars.

  He released her then and a sudden, cold emptiness overwhelmed her. Avoiding his gaze, she edged away and made a show of straightening her jacket to hide her confusion.

  Jake stepped back.

  Damn, she’d felt good. Too good.

  The temptation to scoop her back into his arms was overpowering.

  Those luscious curves, today showcased to maximum impact in the thin suit she wore, had fitted against his body as if she were cut just for him.

  She was fussing with her jacket now, nervous, as affected by this strange pull between them as he was, and all he wanted to do was to rip those clothes off her and press her full softness to him once more.

  Heat rose in his loins, and he groaned inwardly.

  His reaction to her yesterday should have been a warning. She was inexperienced. It was in her every move. All his logic had yelled at him to leave this backwater without a second glance. Hell, Damon would have been the first to tell him to walk away. To not dip his toe in those murky waters again. But he’d wanted to see his little fairy again. Hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind all day and night. And here she was, neatly delivered into his hands and at his beck and call.

  How was this supposed to work?

  Barrowdene was a brief escape, a couple of weeks in no-man’s land where the scavenging media couldn’t hunt him and the dead past couldn’t haunt him. The last thing he needed was a repeat of the complication that had landed him here in the first place.

  And he owed Damon. His best friend and business partner of fourteen years had asked no questions, merely picked up the slack on their big-name projects this past month as Jake suffered through a private hell he wouldn’t wish on any living creature. The unwanted media attention had pushed their successful architectural and development company even further into the limelight, and the storm over his love-life had threatened to eclipse everything he’d built so far.

  Barrowdene had come as an opportunity to lie low for a while, until the fickle media forgot him and found a new target. And since he hated having nothing to do, renovating the old Georgian family home had been a chance to flex his creative muscles at something new.

  This intense pull he had for Molly would be nothing but trouble. He should leave her, and now. But his body refused to do what his head insisted was right.

  Hell! How many lessons did he need?

  The women of his world knew what they wanted, and knew not to cling when his interest inevitably waned after a few weeks. That’s how he liked it, and he’d stepped off that well-worn path only once, and paid the heavy price.

  Now here was Molly. She was a bag of nerves around him, her every conscious movement yelling keep away, yet it merely fuelled his fascination.

  What did she do to him?

  He hadn’t felt so whole in so long, so vibrant, so alive.

  Maybe he was going about this the wrong way. Maybe what his scarred heart needed wasn’t to withdraw, but everything Molly had to offer. She wanted him too and was doing a lousy job of hiding it, her words saying one thing but her body telling him an entirely different story. In fact, his little diversion in Barrowdene could be stimulating for both of them.

  But this time he’d do it right. His lust wouldn’t rule his head. They’d have the fun they both wanted, a brief entanglement, and he’d make sure this pull between them didn’t live beyond his time in Appleby.

  Molly finally found her composure.

  Never again. She’d keep her head around Jake Hennessy if it killed her. She’d stop making a royal fool of herself in front of this man, but most of all, she’d give him such a wide berth they might as well be on opposite sides of the planet.

  She turned to him with as much dignity as she could muster in the face of the amusement in his eyes. “Sorry about that, I’ll show you around.”

  And this time, her gaze riveted on the path before her, she led the way safely out of the kitchen garden.

  5

  She was firmly back in professional mode as they walked around the side of the house towards the stables.

  “The immediate grounds are maintained as gardens, but the fields, on three sides, also belong to Barrowdene.”

  He nodded. “Around twenty acres, I believe.”

  “Yes. The south field, at the back of the estate, was planted as a mixed orchard. There’s apples, pears, and cherries, and it leads down to the stream, which is also part of Barrowdene. The west field ends in small woods.”

  He glanced around at the manicured hedges and trimmed lawns. “The gardens are well maintained. I wasn’t expecting the place to be in such good condition based on what Francine told me in London.”

  “Francine doesn’t stay here that often. We’ve always maintained it.”

  “We? You work here too?”

  “No, but I help Nan with whatever she needs. She’s been Barrowdene’s housekeeper since she was sixteen years old, and my grandfather was already the groundsman here when they first met.” Her voice dropped. “He planted the gardens
and orchards, pretty much everything you see.”

  “Sounds like you’re very close to him.” He watched her with keen amber eyes.

  “We were close. He died a year and a half ago, not long after Francine inherited Barrowdene. Nate is our groundsman now.”

  “You must miss your grandfather a lot.”

  She nodded. She did miss her grandad. He’d taught her so much, and one of those things was to look after those closest to her.

  She looked at Jake. “I hope you’ll forgive Nate’s behaviour yesterday. He’s a good worker and a fantastic groundsman. He really is. But he was drunk, and I know there’s no excuse for that, but—”

  Jake laughed, a deep rich sound that warmed her. “It’s nice of you to defend him, but I already spoke to him today.”

  She bit her lip. “Oh?”

  “You’re right. He’s not such a bad guy when he’s sober. He’s invited me around to try his cherry wine later.”

  “No! Don’t do that.”

  “The cherry wine’s not a good idea?”

  She shook her head. “It’s a hobby Nate started when he came to Barrowdene. He uses the overripe cherries from the orchard. I don’t know what else he puts in the stuff, but it’s strong enough to fell an army.”

  “It’s that deadly?”

  “Well, it’s not poisonous. He’s actually developed quite a following for it in Appleby, and Nan sings its praises, but anyone new really shouldn’t be drinking more than a thimbleful at a time.”

  “Sounds like you tried it.” Merriment filled his eyes.

  “I was one of his first guinea pigs,” she said with a grimace. “I drank a glass of his first perfected batch and was clean knocked out for the rest of the day.”

  Jake laughed. “Here’s hoping he’s improved the formula since then.”

  “I doubt it. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  They walked past the stables and went to lean against the wooden post-and-rail fence enclosing the east field where the children’s riding lessons were taking place.

  “Those horses.” Jake nodded towards the five horses out in the field. “Do they belong to Barrowdene?”

  Molly watched the well-behaved animals trotting one after the other, their little riders sitting proud on their backs. “No, they belong to the riding school, but the school has rented the stables and east field for as long as I can remember. I suppose they’re a part of Barrowdene in that way. It wouldn’t be the same here without them.”

  He looked at her. “Do you ride, Molly?”

  “It’s been a while,” she said with a shrug. “I fell off a horse when I was eleven. Nothing hurt except my pride and backside, but I flat refused to get on one again after that. Now, I just like coming here to watch them.”

  “I prefer motorbikes, myself.” His eyes twinkled. “I think you might like that more than horses.”

  She looked away, heat stinging her cheeks as a sudden vision of herself on the back of his bike sprung to her mind. But in her version, she didn’t look anywhere near as sexy as his girlfriend had.

  His girlfriend. She’d do well to remember that little detail.

  She shot him a cool look. “I don’t think so. I’m not very adventurous.”

  “I think you haven’t given yourself a chance,” he said softly. “You’ll like it when you try it.”

  It was nigh on impossible to ignore the fluttering inside her when he was so close, and with a quick glance at her watch she pushed away from the fence. “Isn’t Francine expecting you for dinner? Maybe we should be heading back.”

  That bike ride wasn’t going to happen in this lifetime, and definitely not with him.

  He merely smiled and fell into step beside her as they walked back the way they’d come.

  She shot him a covert glance. “Um… What are your plans for Barrowdene?”

  “It used to be a proper family home, didn’t it? That’s what your grandmother told me.”

  “She did?”

  “Yes. I want to keep it as a family home, but modernized.”

  How modern was modern? Was Martin right about him? She pursed her lips. “But why Barrowdene? I heard you work mainly in cities. This seems out of the way for you.”

  “And what else have you heard about me, Molly?” he murmured.

  Hot blood rushed to her face again and she ducked her head. “I… nothing.”

  But his steady gaze pinned her. “I dislike being at a disadvantage. I’d like to know as much about you, if not more.”

  “There’s not much left to know,” she mumbled, looking away. He already knew way more about her than she liked. Why had she told him so much?

  After a moment’s pause, he spoke. “I needed a change, and I seem to have found it. This is different and I want to see what I can do with it.”

  She glanced back at him and he was watching her like a cat watches a mouse. “Yes, Barrowdene is different.”

  He laughed, amusement replacing the intensity in his gaze. “So, tell me about the house, Molly, since I now have it on good authority you know more about it than anyone else.”

  She willed the heat in her cheeks to subside, knowing she looked like a ripe tomato. Was he mocking her? But his expression revealed nothing. Well, why not seize the opportunity and talk up Barrowdene’s case anyway.

  “I know it hasn’t been updated, but Barrowdene is rare. It still has so many of its original Georgian features. You must have seen the beautiful fireplaces in the rooms, the panelling, the wood floors. Much of the furniture is also original, hand-made. You won’t find many other houses like this.”

  But he didn’t look impressed. “The structure is sound, but it would hardly suit a family in its current state. The larger bedrooms need en-suites, the kitchen needs an overhaul, and though there’s plenty of light, the whole house still feels drab.”

  He was talking about the light from the large ceiling-to-floor sash windows in every room. She pushed her point. “Well, even though a few of the upstairs rooms are small, there’s so much light they don’t feel cramped. Besides, you could easily join some of the smaller rooms together or convert them into en-suites without much affecting the house. And Barrowdene is not really that drab. A touch of polish and paint, and the whole house would be as good as new.”

  He grinned at her. “I think if you had your way, you’d leave the entire house untouched.”

  They’d reached Rose Cottage, and she turned to him. He would renovate Barrowdene and he would sell it on, just as Martin had said, but she wasn’t going to let the beautiful house she loved lose its identity without a fight. “I realize it needs work, but maybe not as much as you think. It would make a wonderful and unique family home, Jake, just don’t destroy its heart.”

  He regarded her in silence for a moment. “How about I let you take the lead in this? You work with me, and I’ll update Barrowdene to your standards.”

  “Take the lead?” She looked at him cautiously, unable to believe her ears. “You mean… like… have a say?”

  He nodded. “So, we have a deal? I get you by my side throughout this.”

  A chance to have her voice heard on how Barrowdene was redone? A smile of pure delight welled from her. “Yes!”

  Jake stared.

  When she smiled like that, the sheer joy and unaffected beauty of her nearly knocked him off his feet. His mouth curved into an answering grin. The chase was on.

  This was going to be interesting.

  Molly burst into the cottage, a huge grin on her face as she shrugged off her suit jacket and hung it on the round staircase post.

  He’d been indulging her. No way would Jake Hennessy allow her to hijack his plans for Barrowdene, but he’d given her a small opening, and she’d make damn sure as much of the original house was preserved as possible.

  Nan came out of the kitchen. “My, don’t you look happy. Anything to do with a certain handsome young man visiting today?”

  Molly’s grin snapped to a frown and her cheeks burned ho
t as she gathered herself. “Jake Hennessy, you mean?”

  “What did you think of him?”

  “What should I think? Francine seemed keen to impress him.”

  Nan chuckled. “Yes, and hence a restaurant dinner. My simple home cooking wouldn’t be doing much impressing, would it?” She turned and headed back in to the bright kitchen.

  “I love your cooking,” Molly said, following her. “But since you have the evening free, why not put your feet up and let me make dinner for you.”

  “Now that sounds nice.”

  The remains of lunchtime’s roast lamb rested beside the stove, and washing her hands, Molly picked at it. “How about super-speedy hotpot? I’ll cook the vegetables first.”

  “Pass me those onions then, and you can get on with the rest.” Nan took a chopping board over to the round oak table. Reaching up to the old radio on the shelf behind her, she pushed a button, and the melodic strums of B.B.King’s guitar floated into the kitchen.

  Slipping Nan’s pink frilly apron over her silk camisole and trousers, Molly got to work washing carrots and potatoes in the white ceramic sink.

  “So you weren’t much impressed?” Nan asked, peeling the onions without shedding a single tear.

  “What does it matter what I think of him? He’s buying Barrowdene and that’s that.”

  “Well, I thought him a nice, polite young man, and good looking too. Always a welcome combination.” Her eyes twinkled as she glanced at Molly. “It’s no wonder Francine’s fluttering around him. Many a woman would. Though, I didn’t think younger men were her type, seeing as he’s only thirty.”

  Francine and Jake. Sudden jealousy knotted Molly’s stomach, and she forced the image from her mind, frowning. “How do we know what her type is? What with all the talk.”

  Nan tutted as she chopped onions. “Absolute rubbish. I’ve known Francine since she used to visit Barrowdene as a little girl. She married so young. He was an Indian doctor, much older than her. I met him once, a quiet, well-mannered man. I think he made Francine’s world a little more peaceful after the fall-out of her parents’ divorce.”