Page 12 of Enemies Under One Roof

He gripped the back of his neck. He hadn’t expected to see her in the kitchen this morning, holding a cup of coffee like her life depended on it. Devoid of make-up, hair tousled and wearing a dressing gown that looked as old as the Manor, it was the only time he hadn’t seen her dressed to kill. She should’ve looked a mess but instead had been far too enticing and real…and he’d liked that version far more than made him comfortable.

Just like the unwelcome moment of shared connection when she’d laughed. It had flowed through him, revving him up more than the coffee he’d drunk, as an answering laugh had bubbled inside him until he’d slammed it down.

He. Would. Not. Be. Distracted. By. Her.

The ever-reliable grandfather clock chimed the hour and, right on cue, Ivy arrived, wearing a red dress with a high slit, revealing tantalising long legs. It wouldn’t keep her warm, although it certainly had heat coursing through him.

He’d expected a movie star entrance, along with a complete lack of regard for timeliness. He was wrong on both counts.

Belatedly he realised she carried a tray laden with a silver tea service and two fragile-looking cups and a plate of biscuits, and he moved aside the antique candelabra for her to place the tray at the head of the gleaming dining room table which seated eighteen.

‘I know you’re a coffee drinker, but I thought we’d start the meeting with tea, just like Ruby would have done. And I made some Anzac biscuits—something I always did when visiting her,’ Ivy said quickly.

Ivy had baked?

In a clingy red dress and matching heels more suited to an afternoon on the French Riveria? Without any fanfare or camera crew?

What was she playing at?

‘They’re a staple in Australia. I hope you like them.’

A hint of vulnerability pushed through her words. Why was she nervous?

‘Thank you.’ Ethan cleared his throat and opened his laptop after he and Ivy both sat and had a cup and biscuit in front of them. ‘Let’s get down to details.’

Thirty minutes later they’d amicably gone through all the staff, agreed on a sizable pay rise and given them all paid leave for the next six weeks, with the exception of the cleaner and groundskeeper, who lived together in a cottage on the edge of the estate.

Ivy leant forward and once again that hint of something fresh and inviting, reminding him of springtime, wafted over him. Instinctively he inhaled, wanting to store it forever.

He winced and rubbed a hand over his head, because it had obviously been deprived of oxygen during his punishing morning run and round of push-ups that had had his muscles screaming and sweat blurring his vision. He’d smelt nice perfume before and seen women wearing red dresses and matching lipstick. But the combination on Ivy short-circuited his brain.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, but it didn’t change anything. He wouldn’t let her get under his skin. Moving his chair back, he stretched out his legs, creating a bigger barrier between them, needing to bring his A game to their first brainstorming session. Nothing less was acceptable.

‘Now, on to WillowGlen,’ she said.

Exactly, because the sooner they got started, the quicker they could make a decision and then they wouldn’t need to spend their remaining time here jammed together. Hardly an accurate description of the two of them sharing an end of the enormous mahogany table, but distance from her was proving to be a necessity. He refused to acknowledge that being apart didn’t seem to have made a difference, since she’d haunted his dreams last night in a totally unacceptable X-rated manner.

The space between them pulsated. Endless seconds ticked by. Until she blinked, looked down, then back at him, her expression now all business.

‘Problem?’ she asked.

He dug his fingers into his shoulder blade. Yes, there was a problem! He ached to brush his fingers through her hair, burnished by the chandelier, to see if it was as soft as he recalled. Press his lips against her glistening ones to see if she tasted as good as his memory insisted. Instead, he tore his gaze away from hers, cleared his throat and refilled their teacups.

He. Would. Not. Be. Distracted.

‘Not at all,’ he said after giving himself a mental uppercut and getting back to the matter at hand.

She gave a small nod. ‘Let’s start with the obvious. What would be your number one idea?’ Ivy asked.

Instinctively he opened his mouth to say turn it into a hotel except suddenly it felt wrong. Instead he pressed his lips together.

‘You don’t know? Or you don’t want to tell me? It’s hardly in the spirit of what we need to do.’ A flash of hurt crossed Ivy’s face, quickly replaced by anger.

‘A hotel,’ he responded with an assurance that was far from real. His original idea had been to turn WillowGlen, combining all the skills he’d learnt over the years, into the best luxury hotel in the world. Not for any accolades, but rather to honour Ruby’s cherished home and fill it with people, just as she’d loved. But the thought soured for reasons he couldn’t quite grasp.

‘Okay. Do you see yourself living here?’ she probed.

‘I…’ But once again he couldn’t finish his thought and shrugged noncommittally, unable to articulate his hesitation.