He put his spoon down. He couldn’t taste anything, couldn’t think of eating, because something unsettling was running through his veins, a burgeoning torrent of emotion that was skewing his senses. His eyes slid to the silk ruffles touching the milky skin along the neckline of her dress, the smooth rise of her breasts just visible.
He picked up his glass and took a sip. He’d thought lunch in a restaurant would be safe, but it seemed that where Mia was concerned there was no safety. Whenever he was with her, his thoughts ran away with him. He tried to switch them off, but it was no use. He was picturing his vast, empty bedroom, the king-size bed, Mia cocooned in acres of white bed linen, hair tumbling around her face.
‘What are you thinking?’
Her face came into focus, clear brown eyes locked on his. He sipped his water, put down his glass. He’d have to go for a white lie. ‘I was thinking about my house...thinking that you might be able to give me some advice about what to do with it. You write about interiors?’
‘I do.’ She put her spoon down next to her empty dessert glass. ‘Are you remodelling?’
He nodded. ‘At the moment it’s a shell. I have an interiors guy but some of his ideas are...’ He shrugged. ‘I just can’t seem to decide on anything...and you have a flair for it. I like what you’ve done with the barge, the feel of it.’
She smiled. ‘It’s easy to make a barge feel like home. For one thing, it’s very small. I’m assuming your house isn’t...’
He laughed. ‘Not small, no, but not massive either. It’s a canal house—four floors and an attic, which is my observatory.’
Her eyes widened. ‘I remember! You have a telescope.’
‘Yes. The observatory’s the only space that’s finished.’
‘Now why doesn’t that surprise me?’ Her eyes were full of mock consternation.
He grinned. ‘It’s not a “toys for boys” thing, honestly! It’s also my office. It’s a functional space. Everything in it is there for a reason. The rest of the house is...a challenge.’
She tilted her head and shot him a little smile. ‘Well, if you give me your address I’ll come by some time, take a look.’
‘What about now?’
Damn! What was happening to him? He might have been thinking it, but he hadn’t meant to blurt it out. It sounded too eager...pushy. Controlling. His heart clenched. Maybe she’d think he was pressuring her. That was the last thing he’d ever do. That wasn’t the kind of man he was. White noise was buzzing in his head. What kind of man was he? He’d spent his life trying not to be his father’s son, but in that moment, trapped in Mia’s warm, steady gaze, he wasn’t entirely sure who Theo Molenaar was. He cleared his throat quickly. ‘Or...just whenever.’
She considered for a moment, then she smiled. ‘I’d like to see to your house, and since you’ve taken the day off maybe now’s as good a time as any.’
Her smile filled him with light. ‘Only if you want to. I mean, I wouldn’t want you to feel—’
‘I don’t. Whatever it is that you’re worried about.’ She grinned. ‘I’m just hoping that you have a kettle and a cafetière.’
Theo pushed open a set of double doors. ‘This is one of the sitting rooms...’
Thankfully, it was very large—unlike his dark-blue sports car. Maybe it was the rain streaming down the windows that had made the atmosphere in the car so very intimate, or maybe it was the way he’d caught her eye, the way he’d smiled. Whatever it was that had electrified the atmosphere within that plush leather interior, she was relieved to be out of it, glad that he was walking to the opposite side of the room. It was easier to breathe when he wasn’t beside her.
He stopped at the fireplace, rested his hand on the broad, empty mantelpiece. One side of his face was in shadow, the other was washed by the grainy wet weather light spilling from the two tall windows which overlooked the canal. He looked like a painting of a lonely man. She turned away, gazing at the exposed brickwork in a corner recess. She’d thought lunch would be safe. She hadn’t expected him to invite her back. Why had she come? Her eyes slid over white walls that were peeling in places. No skirting boards. When he’d told her that he’d taken the day off for her, she’d felt a rush of happiness because he’d laid down a cornerstone, something they could build on.
How quickly their conversation had deepened after that, or at least her conversation had. She’d opened a door into her past, told him about her parents, because she’d wanted him to see that he wasn’t the only one who’d had a difficult childhood. She’d been trying to lead him into talking about his father, his family, but she’d tripped, inadvertently opened the Hal door. At least he’d had the sensitivity to see it, hadn’t pursued her about it, but then he’d changed tack, started talking about his house...
She dropped her gaze to the wide, wooden floorboards. They were mostly sound. They’d benefit from sanding and sealing, then they’d need something to draw out the tones... Wax would do it, well-buffed.
When he’d told her that he liked the barge, she’d considered how it reflected her, filled as it was with all the things she loved: her treasured books, photos, plants. Everything she owned told a story. And she’d got the idea into her head that his house would tell her his story. That was why she’d come, but she was looking at a blank page. He’d said the house was a shell but for some reason she’d thought he’d been exaggerating.
Her eyes settled on the two cream armchairs brazening it out in the middle of the room, a pale rug on the floor in front of them. The
