This was the one place he could focus without distractions. A week working here was worth a month in his busy London office. He liked the solitude, the peace and tranquillity of being alone, without people needing him to fix something, do something or be something.
Here he could let his shoulders down and relax. Here he could think. Clear his head of the stress of managing a company that was still suffering the effects of his father’s mishandling of projects and clients.
Lochbannon was also one of the few places where he could escape the intrusive spotlight of the press. The repercussions of his father’s profligate lifestyle had spread across his own life like an indelible stain. The newshounds were always on the lookout for a scandal to prove their theory of ‘like father, like son.’
Even before he turned off the engine he heard the sound of Bonnie’s welcoming bark. He smiled as he walked to the front door. Maybe his mother was right about her precious dog being too sensitive to leave with strangers. Besides, he had to admit there was something rather homely and comfortable about an enthusiastic canine greeting.
The door opened before he could put his key in the lock and a pair of wide grey eyes blinked at him in outraged shock, as if suddenly finding a prowler on the doorstep instead of the postman. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
James’s hand fell away from the door. His body went stiff as if the snow falling behind him had frozen him to the spot. Aiesha Adams. The infamous, lethally gorgeous, impossibly sexy and outrageously wild Aiesha Adams. ‘I believe that’s supposed to be my line,’ he said when he could locate his voice.
At a casual glance there was nothing outstanding about her features. Dressed in a loose-fitting boyfriend sweater and yoga pants and without make-up, she looked like your average girl next door. Midlength chestnut hair that was neither curly nor straight but somewhere in between. Skin that was clear and unlined apart from a couple of tiny scars that were either from chickenpox or the site of a picked pimple, one on the left side of her forehead and one just below her right cheekbone. She was of average height and of slim build, the result of lucky genes rather than effort, he surmised.
For a moment—a brief moment—she looked fifteen years old again.
But look a little closer and the unusual colour of her eyes was nothing short of arresting. Breath-snatching. Storm and smoke and shadows swirled in their depths.
The shape of her mouth had the power to render a man speechless. That lush, ripe mouth was pure sin. The bee-stung fullness, the youthfulness, and the vermillion borders so beautifully aligned it physically hurt to look and not touch.
What was she doing here? Had she broken in?
What if someone found out she was here...with him? His heart galloped ahead a few beats. What if the press found out? What if Phoebe found out?
Aiesha’s chin came up to that don’t-mess-with-me height James had seen her do so well in the past, her body posture morphing from schoolgirl to sultry, defiant tart in a blink. ‘Your mother invited me.’
His mother? James’s frown was so tight it made his forehead hurt. What was going on? His mother’s rushed text message hadn’t mentioned anything about Aiesha. Not. One. Word. Why would his mother invite the girl who’d caused so much heartbreak and mayhem in the past? It didn’t make sense.
‘Rather magnanimous of her under the circumstances, is it not?’ he said. ‘Has she locked up her jewellery and all the silver?’
Her eyes flashed gunmetal-grey fire at him. ‘Is anyone with you?’
‘I hate to repeat myself, but I believe that’s what I’m supposed to be asking you.’ James closed the door on the chilly air but, in doing so, it made the sudden silence and the space between them far too intimate.
Being intimate—in any sense of the word—with Aiesha Adams was dangerous. He dared not think about it. Would not think about it. Being in the same country as her was reputation suicide, let alone in the same house. She oozed sex appeal. She wore it like a slinky coat, slipping in and out of it whenever she felt the urge. Every movement she made was pure seductress. How many men had fallen for that lithe body and that Lolita mouth? Even with that smoky glower and that upthrust chin she still managed to look sex kittenish. He could feel the thrum of his blood in his veins, the sudden rush of sexual awareness that was as shocking to him as it was unwelcome.
He bent down to ruffle Bonnie’s ears to distract himself and was rewarded with a whimper and a lavish licking. At least someone was pleased to see him.
‘Did anyone follow you here?’ Aiesha asked. ‘The press? Journalists? Anyone?’