Swept into the Rich Man's World(9)

A small part of him wanted to relent, to give in to his hungry stomach  and her chatter. To start off the day in something other than the usual  silence. A silence he now realised was somewhat lonely.

But if this was to work he needed to stand firm. Start as they meant to  go along. Better to upset her than to give her any unrealistic  expectations of what their time together would be like.

'I'm going for a shower.'

She didn't turn around at his call, just nodded her head in  acknowledgement. But when he reached the door she said, 'I was only  trying to show my thanks, you know.'

She turned from the kitchen counter and stared at him defiantly.

When he didn't speak she reddened a little and crossed her arms. 'I went to a lot of effort.'

He retraced his steps back across the room to where she stood. Her gaze  rose up to meet his. 'Firstly, I don't eat breakfast. Secondly, I think  we need to have some clear boundaries if this is going to work.'                       
       
           



       

She gave a tight laugh. 'What on earth do you mean by "boundaries"?'

Her laugh rightly mocked his stuffiness, and although he knew he  deserved it he was in no mood to defend himself. 'Aideen, I want to help  you in re-establishing your business. Nothing else.'

Her blush deepened, but her hands clenched tight at her sides. 'I was making you breakfast. That's all. What's the big deal?'

'I don't want you getting any ideas.'

She drew herself up to her full height and plopped a hand on her hip.  'Trust me-I won't. A workaholic, taciturn, controlling man is the last  thing I'm looking for in my life.'

Workaholic, he would admit. But taciturn and controlling? What on earth was she talking about?

'Right-explain to me how I'm taciturn and controlling?'

'You had the next month of my life all planned out before you even spoke to me the morning after the storm.'

'So? It was the most logical plan. Even you agreed with it.'

'Yes, I agreed with it. But not once did you stop to understand just how difficult it was for me to accept it.'

Baffled, he asked, 'What do you mean?'

'I mean I lost not only my business last year. I also lost my pride and  self-respect. Having to accept help from you made me feel like I was  failing again.'

'That wasn't my intention.'

'I know. But maybe if you'd stopped and thought about how I might  possibly feel-if you'd asked me my opinion-then you might have  understood.'

She had a point, but he wasn't going to admit it. So instead he challenged her. 'And taciturn?'

'Do you really need to ask? You have barely spoken to me in the past two  days.' Biting her lip, she studied him before she added, 'If you don't  want me around why did you invite me to stay with you?'

Her bluntness left him for the first time in his life slightly  speechless. But then anger rose up in him. 'I don't do breakfast...or  small talk. I'm not going to be your friend. Now, if you will excuse me,  I have to get ready for work.'

He marched away, down the long corridor and up the stairs to the master  bedroom, yanking off his tee shirt as he went. Irritation ate into his  bones.

As he stood in the shower he scrubbed his hair and defended himself  against what she'd said. He wasn't controlling...or taciturn. She was  exaggerating. She was saying he was wrong for being decisive. Well,  'decisive' had got him where he was today.

But as the water pounded down on his scalp the uncomfortable realisation  that her words might have some truth began to creep into his  consciousness.

Had focusing solely on work for so long numbed him to others' feelings?  Yes, he was decisive and logical...but did he sometimes steamroller over  others?

And as he dressed he began to grasp why he had been so disturbed by her  attempts to make him breakfast. Why it had irked him so much.

It had unsettled him just how good it was to arrive home to activity, to  the comfort of having another person in the house. Of course the fact  that it was Aideen, looking so happy and gorgeous, added to that  uncomfortable realisation. Because it would be so easy to fall into the  trap of enjoying her company, of wanting more with this woman.

* * *

Aideen emitted a low groan and dropped her head down on to the smooth mahogany wood of the library desk.

Could this day get any worse? First she had messed up with Patrick at  breakfast. What was supposed to have been a small gesture of thanks had  blown up in her face. Why hadn't she just let him walk away? Did it  really matter that he hadn't wanted to accept her gesture of thanks?

He had left for meetings soon after, with a curt goodbye, and she had  spent the day alone in this breathtakingly beautiful chateau, on a hill  overlooking the Seine, annoyed about their argument but having to be  cheery as she made phone calls to organise her own meetings for the  coming days.

Several times with prospective new clients she hadn't even got past the  receptionist. But she had eventually managed to organise enough meetings  to make the trip worthwhile-some with colleagues she hadn't seen since  she'd lost her old business.                       
       
           



       

Just now she had ended another call to an ex-client. The entire call had  been a tense mixture of arduous questioning and awkward silences that  had left her feeling completely flustered.

'Tough call?'

Her head jerked up and her stomach lurched as she saw Patrick standing in the doorway.

'The usual.'

She was cross with him-and hurt, and embarrassed. And she couldn't bring  herself to look at him. But when he came and sat on the table she was  working at she couldn't help but glance in his direction.

'I'm sorry for not being tidy...for taking over the kitchen. I just  wanted to say thank you for everything you have done by making you  breakfast... I guess it backfired.'

'You don't need to thank me. I suppose I'm finding it a little strange to be sharing my home with someone else.'

She'd only been here a day and he was regretting it already. She  shuffled some books and placed fistfuls of marker pens and pencils into  canisters, glad that her hair had fallen forward and blocked his view of  her face. Which was burning in embarrassment.

'I can move out, if this isn't working for you.'

The touch of his hand on her arm had her jerking back in surprise. Her  stomach flipped and her throat tightened when she looked at him, her  eyes transfixed by the perfection of his thick dark eyebrows, now drawn  into a frown, and by the length of his fingers when he drew a hand over  his cheek in a gesture of exasperation.

'No. That's not what I mean. I think we need to give each other space,  but also adapt to the other person's way of doing things. I've been  under time pressure recently, with the demands of my work. I might have  rushed to make decisions without taking how you would feel into  consideration.'

She felt stupidly relieved by his words, and without much thought said  teasingly, 'Are you apologising to me in a very roundabout way?'

His lips quirked a fraction. 'I suppose I am.'

'So, basically, I need to stop making a mess of your kitchen and you'll try not to be so grumpy?'

His gaze challenged hers playfully. 'And I'll try to eat some breakfast.'

'You have a deal.'

He pushed himself back a little further along the table, creating more  distance between them. 'Now, do you want to talk about that call? Who's  Ed?'

Her stomach flipped over. The designer had asked her bluntly why she  should use her consultancy over Ed's-her ex. She had put forward her  track record in designing, her competitive price points, but she knew  the designer was still unconvinced.

As she knew to her cost, Ed could be very persuasive and economical with  the truth. There had been little point in protesting that a lot of the  designs Ed claimed as his own were in fact hers. The designer wasn't  likely to believe her. Of course she could take Ed to the courts as a  way to claim her rightful ownership, but she didn't have the financial  resources to do so.

And Patrick had heard her conversation.

Embarrassment flamed on her cheeks. She had only told her friends and  family some of the details, too hurt and humiliated to tell them  everything. So how on earth could she be expected to tell a billionaire  that she had been so naïve and trusting? This stunning chateau alone  told the story of his incredible success and obvious business acumen.

Also, as stupid as she knew it was, it still hurt that he hadn't wanted  her breakfast. And every time she saw him she fancied him even more,  which was starting to drive her a little crazy.

She lifted a box on to the table. She couldn't speak. Hurt, attraction,  embarrassment all swirled away inside her, turning her brain to mush and  catching hold of her tongue.

She worked with her back to him, but Patrick could still see how her  fingers trembled as she scattered folders and loose cuts of material on  to the desk. It was clear that she was going to pretend not to have  heard his question. The surface of the desk was quickly disappearing  under a mountain of her belongings.