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He didn’t think about his grief.

He didn’t think about his anger.

He didn’t think about Neve.

There was only peace, at last.

Then someone cleared their throat delicately behind him and the peace shattered, leaving behind it an entirely unreasonable fury that felt like a volcano erupting inside him. With some difficulty he fought it down, icing it completely the way he did with every emotion that threatened to consume him. Control was the key to success in the business space, Neve had taught him, and he’d certainly found that to be true.

‘What?’ he asked gracelessly, not bothering to turn, staring instead at the steak he was cooking.

‘Oh, I hope you don’t mind,’ Liberty said hesitantly. ‘But I put my wet clothes in the laundry. I didn’t want to leave them on the bathroom floor.’

‘How did you get down here?’ He really should turn and face her, but he was still battling an unwarranted anger, and if they were going to eat together, he needed to get a handle on it.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Well, I limped.’

‘You should have asked me for help.’ He moved the steak around in the pan.

‘I did wait for a bit, but… Well, I thought I’d get out myself.’

Truth was, he’d forgotten all about her needing help, and for some reason, that only irritated him even more. ‘Go and sit in the lounge, where the fire is. You need to stay warm. I’ll let you know when dinner is ready.’

‘Dinner?’ she repeated, as if she’d never heard the word before.

‘Yes. Unless you want to starve as well as freeze?’

‘You don’t have to—’

‘What did I say about arguing?’

There was silence behind him, and then she said, ‘Thank you for the clothes.’

The clothes had been Neve’s. He’d had someone clear out most of her things, since he couldn’t bear to do it himself, but he’d kept a few items of hers. She never dressed in anything but whites, creams and soft greys, so that’s what he’d given Liberty. Neve had been tall and slender as an aspen, so they might not fit Liberty very well, but they’d fit her better than his own clothes would.

Another needle of pain went through him at the thought of seeing another woman in Neve’s clothes. He didn’t want to turn around and see her, not now, but she was staying here tonight at least, and he would have to see her eventually, so he might as well get it over and done with now.

Pain was unavoidable, Neve used to tell him. Life was pain, which meant you had to get used to it in order to live. Better to face it and harden yourself to it, than pretend it didn’t exist.

He turned the gas off, braced himself, then finally turned around.

Liberty was standing on the other side of the black marble counter. The jersey she wore had once been his favourite of Neve’s. It was dove grey, with a deep V-neck. The colour had suited Neve’s pale colouring, with her long, platinum blonde hair and ice-blue eyes.

On Liberty, though, the colour seemed more muted, like dishwater in comparison to the bright, burning gold of her damp hair curling down over her shoulders. Her cheeks were pink and dusted with freckles, her eyes the clear amber of a good Scots whiskey.

She seemed far too vivid for the paleness of the grey, overpowering it, melting it like sun on snow. And he couldn’t help noticing—or at least a long-forgotten part of him noticed—that the neckline had slipped off her shoulder, too, exposing golden skin and the luscious curve of one breast.

He shifted his gaze. It had been too long since he’d had sex, that was his issue. A whole year. And it didn’t help that Liberty was pretty.

‘No problem,’ he said, even though it was, actually, a problem.

She gave him a tentative smile, which illuminated her face in ways he didn’t want to notice, yet did. ‘Are these your wife’s? Please tell her thank you, too, if so.’

He should have just said yes, but instead he said, ‘I’m not married.’

‘Oh.’ Liberty frowned slightly.

‘The clothes were Neve’s.’ He might as well bring the subject of her up since their partnership had been well known in business circles, and no doubt Liberty had heard of her death.