Swept into the Rich Man's World(18)

Giddy relief mixed with her trepidation, causing nervous energy to flow  through her veins. She inhaled a shaky breath. 'I guess I'm waiting for  an argument.'

'Is that what would have happened with your ex?'

'Yes.'

A tense silence settled between them. A quick glance told her that he was still studying her.

'How about we leave him in the past and you assume that I'm an okay guy?'

He said it with such quiet forcefulness that her stomach and heart did a simultaneous flip. God, he was right.

She lifted her head and met his gaze. 'You're right. And you're more than an okay guy.'

He gave a wry smile. 'I guess I don't have to worry about getting a big ego around you.'

With a cheeky grin she said, 'I compliment where it's deserved.'

'Are you telling me I have to work harder to earn your compliments?'

'Possibly.'

His eyebrow rose slowly and sexily and at the same time his eyes  darkened. In a low, suggestive voice he said, 'I'll have to remember  that.'

No! That wasn't what she'd meant! And why was she blushing? And why was  her heart hammering in her chest? And did the couple next to them have  to look so in love?

They spent the rest of the meal chatting about the countries they had  visited, the movies they loved, the books they adored, but beneath all  that civility a spiralling web of deep attraction was growing between  them all the time. In every look, in every smile.

And the intimacy was only added to by her excitement at the amount of  new books and places she had to try, based on his enthusiastic  descriptions. It was as though a whole new and exciting world was  opening up to her because of him.

'Mademoiselle, would you care to follow me to the kitchen?'

Confused, Aideen looked at their waiter. She'd only just noticed he was standing there, and said, 'Sorry...?'

'The chef is waiting for you.'

Perplexed, she looked towards Patrick, in the hope that he might understand what was going on.

With a sexy grin, his eyes alight with mischief, he said, 'Remember how  you said you wanted to learn how to make a soufflé? Well, this  restaurant is world-famous for them. You'll find no better place to  learn.'

Dumbstruck, she stared at him. She leant towards him and whispered,  'What if I mess up? You've seen the way I work in the kitchen. This is a  professional kitchen, for crying out loud. I might set off the fire  alarm or something like that.'

'Maybe the chef will teach you how to work tidily as a bonus?'

She gave the waiter a quick smile and whispered impatiently, 'Patrick, I'm serious.'

He shook his head, amused. 'Go and have some fun. You're the one saying  all the time that we both need to be spontaneous. Well, now's your  chance.'

She sat back and took a deep breath. 'You're right.'

The waiter held her chair as she stood. She moved to the side of the  table and leant over and kissed Patrick's cheek. 'This is the best  surprise ever. Thank you.'

* * *

A while later Aideen returned to their table, triumphantly holding the  biggest soufflé Patrick had ever seen, and smiling so brightly that the  people at the tables around them burst into spontaneous applause. She  took a playful bow, then sat and looked at the dessert, enraptured. The  woman at the next table leant across and admired the creation, and  Aideen enthusiastically described her experience in the kitchen.

He could not stop watching the delight dancing in her eyes, the warmth and humour with which she spoke to the other woman.

Two things hit him at once. First, the realisation that tonight wasn't  just about helping Aideen and giving her support. He genuinely wanted to  be in her company. He wanted to get to know her better. For the first  time in years he had met someone he could talk to-a woman he deeply  admired for her optimistic and determined take on life. And secondly the  realisation came that he wanted her in his life as he'd never wanted a  woman before.

Both things left him absolutely confounded.





CHAPTER EIGHT

ALL THE WAY home in the car they had chatted, and Patrick had teased her  when she'd got Bernard to switch on the radio and then sang along to  the old-time hits playing. He had declined her dare to join in, but  Bernard had been a more willing singing partner, and by the end even  Patrick had been humming along.                       
       
           



       

But now they were home that ease had vanished, and tension filled the  air as they stood in the chateau's marble-floored entrance hall.

Silence wrapped around them and her stomach did a frenzy of flips when  she looked up into the bright blue of his penetrating gaze. Dressed in a  slim charcoal-grey suit and white shirt, he looked impossibly big and  imposing.

Her insides went into freefall when his hand reached out and a finger trailed lightly against her forearm.

'I enjoyed tonight.'

Her body ached to fall against the hard muscle of his. To feel the crush  of his mouth. But she didn't want to ruin what they had. Their  blossoming...dared she say it?...relationship felt so fragile she was  worried that taking it any further, complicating it, might pull it down  like a house of cards.

So instead she gave him a big smile and said, 'It was fun. I don't think I've laughed so much in a long time.'

'Would you like a nightcap?'

She should just go to bed. They were on dangerous territory. She could  see it in his blistering stare. This need for one another was a two-way  street. Much as it pained her to do so, she needed to create a  diversion-to call a halt to the chemistry fizzling between them.

'A nightcap sounds good. And I have a surprise I want to show you. I'll go and fetch it from my studio.'

'Now I'm intrigued. I'll fix us some drinks in the lounge.'

Walking towards the orangery, Aideen marvelled once again at the sheer  scale of the chateau. What Patrick casually called 'the lounge' was a  room at least five hundred feet square, with priceless parquet on the  floor, littered with modern designer sofas and rugs, and with work from  world-famous artists on the light grey walls.

As she reached for the surprise she had made for him on the trestle  table, she hesitated and looked at it warily. Would he even like it? He  could afford something encrusted in priceless jewels. Would he think  this was laughable? Would he hate it? Her ex would have made some barbed  comment that would have made her feel small and insignificant.

What was she thinking? She knew Patrick wasn't like that. He never  intentionally hurt people. He was a kind man, with integrity. She had to  stop letting her ex colour her judgement.

* * *

He watched her over the rim of his glass, desire flooding his veins, as  she walked across the lounge floor to where he was sitting on a sofa;  she looked incredibly beautiful. Over cream wide-legged trousers she  wore a vibrant lilac blouse, tucked into a thick band that displayed the  narrow width of her waist.

Her hair was pulled back and twisted into a low coil at the back of her  head, and he had spent the entire meal wondering what it would be like  to press his lips to the pale column of her throat.

It was only as she drew nearer that he realised she was carrying something.

She stopped before him and gave him an uncertain smile before holding  out a rectangular box. Then with a nervous frown she changed her mind  and placed it on the beaten bronze coffee table in front of him before  sitting opposite.

Covered in a pale blue and dark green silk fabric, in which the two  colours ran into one another in layers, and the size of a shoe box, the  box was too tempting not to open.

He sat forward and placed it on his lap. What could possibly be inside?  He opened it up, fascinated. Inside it was lined in a rich dark navy  velvet. And it was empty.

Confused he asked, 'What is it?'

'A memory chest for Orla's baby.'

He pulled the chest closer and made a pretence of inspecting it, his  heart twisting at the reminder that he wouldn't be part of their lives.

In the periphery of his vision he could see Aideen's hands clasp her knees, her knuckles growing whiter and whiter.

'I was down in the village today and I saw the box in the little antique  shop. It was originally lacquered on the outside, but I reckon too much  handling and love over the years had damaged it beyond repair. When I  saw it I thought it would be the perfect size for a memory chest for a  baby. And it felt fitting to use a box that had been loved by someone  before. The material I used to cover it was inspired by the sea and the  land around Mooncoyne. I thought you might like to give it to Orla's  baby...as a reminder of Mooncoyne, but also to keep up the tradition  your dad started.'                       
       
           



       

He winced at her words, and she must have seen it, because at once she said with dismay, 'You don't like it.'

Seeing the chest had brought home just how much he hated the prospect of  not being a part of his nephew's or niece's life. Anger towards Orla,  and anger that they had lost their parents so young, had him saying  crossly, 'It's not that. You shouldn't have bothered. It was a waste of  your time. Orla will never accept it.'