“For heaven’s sake, Finn!”

Harriet protested, struggling to escape from his iron grip. Unfortunately, the more she twisted and turned, the more she found herself becoming entangled with the rumpled sheet. “Has it ever occurred to you that there might be some women who don’t fancy you?”

“Well, now—let’s see….” Finn murmured, his lips twitching with suppressed laughter as he pretended to be giving serious consideration to the subject. “There was my first teacher at primary school, of course. Miss Wallace. She definitely didn’t like me—always claimed that I was easily the naughtiest boy in the school!”

“Let’s hear it for Miss Wallace!” Harriet muttered grimly. “Come on, Finn—please be sensible. What’s the point of playing these sorts of silly games?”

“I don’t think this comes under the heading of silly games,” he murmured softly, pulling her closer to his bare chest.

The streets of London aren’t just paved

with gold—they’re home to three of the

world’s most eligible bachelors!

London, England: a city of style, sophistication—

and romance! Its exclusive Notting Hill district is

the perfect place to fall in love. Sparks fly as

three sexy, single men meet—and marry—three

lively, independent women….

This fabulous new miniseries features the talents

of Sara Craven, Mary Lyons and

Sophie Weston: three hugely popular

authors who between them have sold more

than 35 million books worldwide.

Other books in this series are:

Reform of the Playboy #2083 by Mary Lyons

The Millionaire Affair #2089 by Sophie Weston

MARY LYONS

Reform of the Playboy

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

‘SO, TELL me more about this party tonight?’

‘What’s to tell?’ Finn Maclean spun the wheel of his large Mercedes to avoid a taxi, doing an illegal U-turn in the middle of Notting Hill Gate. ‘It’s just going to be the usual media shindig. Lots of champagne; loud music; not enough food—and everyone yelling at the top of their voices.’

‘Any gorgeous-looking girls?’ Tim asked hopefully.

‘No problem—there’ll be plenty of them!’ Finn turned to grin at his old friend. ‘But whether they’ll have anything inside their beautiful heads—apart from an interest in the size of your wallet, of course—is highly unlikely.’

‘That’s OK by me. I’m not fussy!’ Tim laughed as Finn deftly slotted the vehicle into a parking space and switched off the engine.

‘Well, good hunting! But you may have to find your own way home—because I’m not intending to stay very long,’ Finn warned him. ‘In fact, I wouldn’t have bothered to turn up if I hadn’t arranged to meet someone who knows of an apartment I can rent.’

‘But I thought you’d just bought that amazing penthouse in Holland Park?’

‘Yes, so I have. But unfortunately it needs a total refit,’ Finn said as he opened his car door. ‘And with carpenters, plumbers, and goodness knows who else crawling all over the place, it makes sense to clear out and leave them to it.’

‘How long is it going to take?’

‘About six months. And that’s the problem,’ Finn explained. ‘Because I need to live in this area—if only to keep an eye on the builders. Unfortunately, it’s proving extremely difficult to find anyone willing to rent me a flat for just a few months. Which is why,’ he added, ‘I’m dragging you along to what is likely to be a dead boring party—instead of us having a quiet dinner and a good bottle of wine at the Halcyon.’

‘That’s OK by me,’ Tim assured him. ‘But how come someone who’s had more girls than I’ve had hot dinners should be sounding so unenthusiastic about the prospect of wine, women and song? Which reminds me,’ he added with a grin. ‘What’s happened to the lovely Linda?’

‘I imagine that she’s still as lovely as ever,’ Finn drawled coolly. ‘However, I can’t give you an up-to-date report, since Linda and I split up well over six months ago.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Tim murmured. ‘What happened?’

‘Nothing very dramatic.’ Finn shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘She wanted to get married—and I didn’t. End of story.’

Climbing out of the car, Tim found himself wondering why his old friend—who was not only amazingly good-looking, but also a very wealthy and highly successful man—hadn’t yet found the right woman. Maybe it was something to do with the guy being almost too attractive?

Such an idea would never have occurred to him if his older married sister, Susie, after comforting one of Finn’s tearful ex-girlfriends, hadn’t bluntly stated, ‘That man is far too attractive and sexy for his own good. As far as I can see, he only has to turn those amazing blue eyes on a girl—and she’s a goner!’

However, when Tim had said that he wouldn’t mind having the same problem, his sister had merely given a caustic laugh before telling him to count his blessings.

‘You may be a boring old stick, Tim, but at least when a girl comes on to you it’s because she really likes you, and finds you interesting. Can you imagine the sheer boredom of having women throwing themselves at you—morning, noon and night?’

‘I reckon I could hack it,’ he’d retorted with a grin, before changing the subject. But it had since occurred to him that there might well be something in what his sister had said, after all.

While there was no doubt that his old friend was a genuinely nice, upright sort of guy—good with children, kind to old ladies and all that jazz—he was definitely spoilt as far as the female sex were concerned. Why, even now, as they entered the bar and restaurant which had been taken over by the film company for the evening, Finn’s appearance was instantly greeted with cries of delight by practically every woman in the place.

Way to go! he told himself, shaking his head ruefully as his friend was immediately surrounded by a crowd of nubile blonde nymphets, leaving Tim to make his own solitary way to the bar.

‘I can’t think why I let you drag me here…’ Harriet muttered, casting an apprehensive eye at the long line of expensive limousines double-parked outside the large white building. ‘This type of ultra-glamorous function really isn’t my kind of thing.’

‘Don’t be so stuffy! Besides, this is definitely one of the “in” places, at the moment,’ Sophie retorted as the large plate glass doors flew open at their approach.

‘But I’m not a sort of “in” person,’ Harriet protested weakly. ‘In fact, most of the time these days I’m feeling decidedly “out.”’

‘That’s only because you insist on going out with that boring banker of yours,’ Sophie told her, before giving their names to the doorman.

‘He’s not boring!’

‘Oh, yes, he is,’ her friend retorted bluntly. ‘For heaven’s sake, Harriet—can’t you see that he’s cast a complete blight over your love life? If you’re not sleeping with the guy—and I don’t blame you, since I reckon he’s about as attractive as a bowl of sheep’s eyes for breakfast—why waste your time with him?’

‘Kindly leave my private life out of this discussion!’ Harriet hissed, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Not for the first time, she found herself bitterly regretting the fact that, having drunk too much wine one evening, she’d found herself telling Sophie the truth about her current relationship with George Harding.

‘While you’re stuck with boring George, how on earth can you hope to meet “Mr Wonderful”?’ her old friend continued, clearly determined not to leave the subject alone. ‘Which is why it’s definitely time you traded him in, for a much more attractive, sexy sort of guy.’

‘George is a very nice man,’ Harriet retorted as they waited for their names to be checked off the list of guests. ‘And besides, I’ve known him for ever.’

Sophie gave a snort of grim laughter. ‘Which is precisely why it’s time you had a new boyfriend. Someone with a bit of life in them; someone reasonably good-looking and with a sense of humour. In fact, all the qualities that George totally lacks!

‘Yes, I know,’ she continued quickly as Harriet opened her mouth to protest. ‘I know your parents think he’s great. And that you regard him as a nice, safe escort—who’s not going to give you any hassle. Believe me,’ Sophie added with a laugh, ‘I’ve absolutely nothing against rich bankers. The more the merrier, as far as I’m concerned! But George really is heavy. And a lovely girl like you could do a whole lot better.’

Harriet glared down at her old schoolfriend. ‘Have you been drinking? I’m only asking,’ she drawled sarcastically, ‘because I’ve noticed that you always start having a go about poor old George when you’ve been lunching at one of those expensive local restaurants—supposedly chatting up your clients.’

Sophie giggled. ‘Yes, as it happens, I did have a very good lunch at 192,’ she agreed cheerfully.

But, while she probably had drunk far too much wine at lunch, she was still totally convinced that her oldest and dearest friend badly needed rescuing from George Harding. Unfortunately, despite explaining until she was blue in the face that if Harriet had decided she was frigid it was definitely George’s fault, not hers, she couldn’t seem to get her friend to listen to the message.

I know that I’m right, Sophie told herself, gazing up at the girl who towered over her own diminutive figure. With that luminous, pale alabaster skin, surrounded by a thick mane of deep red hair, Harriet could have stepped straight out of one of those Pre-Raphaelite paintings by Burne-Jones or William Morris. It was a crying shame that such unusual, startling beauty should be thrown away on her current, extremely dull boyfriend.

‘Well, I don’t think either of us are likely to meet “Mr Wonderful” at this sort of party,’ Harriet muttered as they entered the large room.

‘You never know who’s going to turn up—especially at a function which is being hosted by a film company,’ Sophie told her impatiently. ‘I gather they’re throwing a post-production party for everyone who’s been helping them on the movie. So relax—OK?’

It’s very far from being ‘OK,’ Harriet told herself, grimly eyeing the interior of the large space as Sophie began steering an unsteady course towards the bar.

She had no problem with the restaurant’s avant-garde decor—which had clearly been designed on the theme of a modern chemist’s shop: its windows outside lined with rows of pharmaceutical products, and the white-topped tables and stools in the shape of aspirins. But, after having to deal with builders all day, Harriet had been looking forward to a quiet evening, chatting over a bottle of wine with her old friend. Not mixing with a crowd of highly fashionable and glamorous strangers, all dressed up to the nines—and shouting at one another at the top of their voices.

Well over an hour later, Harriet had been given little cause to change her mind. Pinned in a corner of the room by a highly unattractive man, she found herself looking desperately around for an avenue of escape.

There was, of course, no sign of Sophie, who was probably busy chatting up some exciting film star, Harriet told herself glumly, bitterly aware that both her own height and colouring placed her at a distinctive disadvantage.

This bar and restaurant might be absolutely the ‘in’ thing at the moment—but so also, it seemed, were petite, stick-thin blondes. Which meant that no one was likely to be interested in a girl who stood six foot in her stockinged feet, possessed a reasonably slim figure but with curves in all the right places, and whose head was crowned by a mass of thick fiery-red hair.

Ignoring the drink in her hand—an evil-looking blue cocktail, which was probably highly toxic—Harriet stared over the shoulder of the man, who was still droning on about ‘camera angles’ and ‘light meters,’ towards a group in the far corner.

Well, at least they seemed to be having fun, she thought glumly, viewing the clutch of amazingly beautiful girls, all gaily laughing their heads off and flicking their long blonde hair—clearly trying to catch the notice of a man in their midst.

The lighting was far too dim to make out his features, but if he was attracting that amount of attention there was a good chance that he was likely to be drop-dead gorgeous. Which was definitely not the case with the man who’d now got her pinned her in the corner—and who seemed determined to bore for Britain.

‘Ah, there you are!’ Sophie cried, suddenly materialising from the thick crowd around the bar. ‘Come along—there’s someone I want you to meet.’

‘That’s the best news I heard all evening,’ Harriet muttered, thankfully allowing herself to be dragged away from the corner where she’d been trapped. ‘I’d just about given up all hope of rescue, and was getting ready to go home.’

‘Oh, come on—loosen up! That man you were with didn’t look all that bad,’ Sophie said, charging up to the bar and ordering two glasses of champagne.

‘Are you kidding? He had all the attraction of a dead fish!’

Sophie giggled. ‘Well, I’ve managed to chat up one or two quite handsome guys.’

‘Good for you,’ Harriet muttered, taking a sip of champagne. ‘As far as I can see, most of the men here seem to be either fat, rich and boring—or slim, gay and unavailable.’

‘I know what you mean, but I guess that’s show business,’ her friend agreed with a sigh. ‘Still, the man I want you to meet is definitely into women. In fact, not only is he absolutely gorgeous and as rich as Croesus—but he’s not married! How about that?’

‘Oh, yeah? So, what’s the catch?’

‘There isn’t one,’ Sophie assured her earnestly. ‘He’s just about perfect.’

‘Do me a favour!’ Harriet retorted with a grim laugh. ‘No one is that perfect! There must be something wrong with him. So what is it? Has he got the Mother from Hell? Is his current girlfriend the Fiend from Outer Space? Is he a transvestite, or…?’

‘Absolutely not!’

‘Well…?’

‘No, honestly—I’m not kidding,’ Sophie protested. ‘He’s really great.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ Harriet snorted with derision. ‘If this guy is so “great”—why haven’t you snapped him up? It’s not like you to be backward in coming forward, is it?’

‘Thanks!’

Harriet laughed. ‘Come on—spill the beans.’

‘I am telling the truth,’ Sophie assured her earnestly. ‘And he really is currently available. Which is why I think I might be in with a chance. Well, I probably will be…just as soon as he moves into that second-floor flat of yours.’

‘What…?’ Harriet gazed at her in disbelief. ‘You must be joking.’

‘No, really—it’s a great idea.’

‘For heaven’s sake, Sophie—are you out of your mind? You know the builders only moved out today. I mean…’ She gave a helpless shrug. ‘Quite apart from anything else, the paint hasn’t even had time to dry.’

‘But I’ve worked it all out, and— Oh, my goodness! There’s Declan Malone, the famous TV reporter, and his new wife Olivia,’ Sophie exclaimed excitedly. ‘I must just try and have a quick word with him,’ she added, slipping off her high bar stool. ‘If I can maybe persuade them to sell their house, I’ve got at least two clients who’d be willing to snap it up straight away.’

Harriet sighed and shook her head. She was having difficulty getting used to her old schoolfriend’s metamorphosis into ‘Little Miss Fix-It.’ In fact, when introducing Sophie to the estate agent who’d been handling the sale of her aunt’s house in Lansdowne Gardens, Harriet had no idea that the other girl’s new career would prove to be such a success.

After living a butterfly existence, flitting from job to job and never staying in any position for more than a few months, it now seemed as though Sophie had at last discovered her true vocation.

As her friend had explained, only the other day, ‘It’s just the same as introducing friends at a party. Only instead of hoping that they’ll like one another—I’m hoping that they’ll fall in love with a house, instead.’ And, since Sophie possessed an address book practically bulging at the seams, it seemed very likely that she would be ‘introducing’ her friends and acquaintances to various properties in the area for some time to come.

Although Harriet had doubts about the wisdom of renting the lower ground flat in her own house to Sophie, that too had proved to be a great success. With its own private entrance out on to the street, it meant that the two girls, while remaining close friends, had no problem in living their own separate lives.

But, now that Sophie seemed intent on introducing a strange man into her house, Harriet couldn’t help thinking that things were going to change—and not necessarily for the better.

‘No, Declan and Olivia aren’t interested in selling their house,’ Sophie said, forcing her way through the crowd as she joined Harriet at the bar. ‘Still, it’s always fun to meet new people, and you never know—they might just change their minds and give me a call.’

‘Do you ever stop networking?’ Harriet enquired, the slightly caustic note in her voice going completely over her friend’s head.

‘Absolutely not,’ Sophie told her seriously. ‘After all, you never know when the bread you’ve thrown on the water isn’t going to be gobbled up by a nice fat duck—right? Which reminds me…we were talking about your new second-floor apartment.’

Harriet shook her head. ‘No. You were talking about it,’ she told her friend firmly. ‘The builders may have moved out today, but I’m still waiting for the fridge and cooker to be delivered—and they won’t arrive until next week. So this crazy idea of yours that—’

‘Hey—relax! There’s no need to get your knickers in a twist,’ Sophie assured her quickly. ‘Believe me—this guy is really desperate to find somewhere to live. But only for the next six months. So there’d be no problem about getting rid of him. Right?’

‘Why does he want to rent somewhere for only such a short time?’

‘Because he’s already bought himself a large apartment in Holland Park. Unfortunately, he can’t live there at the moment. Not until he’s got rid of the builders who are currently tearing the place apart.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Come on, Harriet! You know what it’s like trying to convert a flat…dust and mess everywhere. So it’s not surprising the poor guy needs to rent another flat while all that work is going on.’

Harriet gave a reluctant nod of agreement.

‘Of course, once it’s finished, his apartment will be absolutely fabulous!’ Sophie told her enthusiastically, waving her glass airily in the air, quite oblivious of the fact that she was spilling champagne over the expensive smart Armani suit of the man standing next to her. ‘A huge penthouse…enormous-sized rooms…terrific view…security like you wouldn’t believe, et cetera, et cetera. And—since I’d have been so helpful in finding him temporary accommodation—if he ever decided to sell it, he’d be bound to ask me to deal with the sale, wouldn’t he?’

‘Has your boss put you up to this?’ Harriet asked her sternly.

Sophie shook her head. ‘Absolutely not. He’s gone away on holiday for a few days, and has left me in charge.’

‘More fool him!’ Harriet muttered under her breath. Sophie was her oldest and dearest friend. But anyone willing to risk his business by leaving her in charge of anything—even a photocopier—clearly needed his head examined.

‘OK, I’ve got the picture,’ she told her friend. ‘But why pick on me?’

‘Because the arrangement’s going to suit the three of us down to the ground,’ Sophie told her bluntly. ‘He needs a place to rent. You have just finished doing up that second-floor apartment, of yours. And as for me…well, living down in your basement, I get to see the man of my dreams every day.’

‘I’ll admit it all sounds fine—as far as you and this man are concerned,’ Harriet agreed grimly. ‘I just can’t see why I should have to go along with this crazy scenario.’

‘Because he’s willing to pay a really huge amount of lovely money to rent your apartment. And there’d be absolutely no problem about getting rid of him in six months’ time,’ the other girl told her with an encouraging smile. ‘Quite honestly—it really is the perfect arrangement for all three of us!’

‘Hmm…’ Harriet murmured sceptically. She very much doubted whether Sophie—who changed her boyfriends almost as fast as she changed her clothes—would be likely to stay interested in this guy, however sexy he might be, for as long as six months.

On the other hand, her old friend was quite right. It would suit her down to the ground to have a tenant straight away. Especially since, having budgeted as best she could, the bills for doing up her house in Lansdowne Gardens were becoming astronomical. Not to mention the enormous amount of hassle from her parents, who’d both thoroughly disapproved of her plans of converting the large, derelict house which had so unexpectedly been left to her by her great-aunt Jane.

‘Think of a number—and then double it,’ had been her father’s grim warning. And, while she’d have died rather than admit the truth, he’d unfortunately been quite right. So, maybe immediately finding a tenant for her newly designed second-floor apartment might not be such a bad idea, after all?

Besides, if this man was really as rich and as desperate for a roof over his head as Sophie seemed to think he was, she might be able to charge a high rent for the next six months. All of which would help her depleted finances more than somewhat.

‘Well…I might be prepared to consider this man,’ Harriet told her friend. ‘But I’m going to need some very good references—and an iron-clad contract.’

‘No problem,’ Sophie assured her quickly. ‘I can guarantee to arrange a good contract for you. And, as far as I can see, references won’t be a problem, since this guy seems to know practically everyone.’

‘So do most con men!’ Harriet murmured dryly. ‘By the way—what’s his name? And what does he do for a living?’

Sophie shrugged. ‘I did take his card—but I seem to have left it at home. To be truthful—’ she grinned ‘—I was so gobsmacked when he strolled into the office today that it took me some time to come down to earth! But I know he’s something to do with this film company.’ She waved her hand around the room. ‘So I guess that he’s probably some sort of producer.’

Harriet shrugged. ‘OK, I’m willing to meet him. But I’m not promising anything,’ she added warningly as Sophie gave her a wide, beaming smile. ‘And if he turns out to be a scriptwriter—you can forget the whole idea. Because absolutely the last thing I need is someone who works from home, cluttering up the house all day.’

‘I’m sure there won’t be a problem. And besides,’ Sophie laughed, ‘you won’t see too much of him—I’ll see to that!’

‘I just bet you will!’ Harriet grinned, gazing down at her friend. Small, dark and bubbly, Sophie never had any problem in attracting men. Even now, despite looking slightly hungover and not too steady on her pins, there was no doubt that Sophie had bags of sex appeal.

Harriet gave a sigh of pure envy, before resolutely pulling herself together. ‘OK. I’m willing to talk to this man. But until I’ve met him that’s as far as I’m prepared to go.’

‘Just wait till you see this guy. You won’t be able to believe your eyes!’ her friend told her, before leading the way through the tightly packed throng of people towards a group on the other side of the room.

Sophie was quite right.

Harriet simply could not believe her eyes—or her bad luck—as she watched the other girl breaking into a circle of women surrounding the tall, dark man in the corner, whom she’d viewed across the room earlier in the evening.

‘Here we are!’ Sophie trilled, deftly elbowing a small blonde out of the way as she grabbed hold of the man’s arm, dragging him out of the crowd towards Harriet, who was standing rooted to the spot, almost paralysed with shock and dismay.

‘I just know that you two lovely people are going to get on like a house on fire!’ her friend continued, blissfully unaware of a highly embarrassed flush spreading over Harriet’s cheeks, or the sudden stiffening of the man’s tall figure.

‘Let me introduce you. This is my friend Harriet Wentworth, and—’

‘I’ve already had the pleasure of meeting Miss Wentworth,’ he drawled sardonically. A tight-lipped, grim smile of amusement flickered over his handsome features as he viewed the dawning consternation in the tall, red-headed girl’s green eyes.

‘Oh, that’s good!’ Sophie burbled happily.

No, it isn’t—it’s a bloody disaster! Harriet wanted to scream out loud. Although, considering the horrendous amount of noisy laughter and shouting going on around them, no one would have taken any notice if she had suddenly started yelling her head off.

Life was just so damned unfair! Of all the men in London—why did it have to be this particular man who was now wanting to rent a flat in her house? she asked herself incredulously. But—as much as she wanted to tell him to get lost—she simply didn’t have enough nerve to cause a scene.

‘Well, actually…’ she began, desperately trying to pull herself together. ‘I’m sure that Mr…um…’ What was the guy’s name? ‘That Mr—’

‘My name is Finn Maclean,’ he interrupted curtly.

‘Oh, yes…er…sorry…’ she mumbled, suddenly hating both Sophie and this awful man for putting her in such a difficult position, and desperately wishing that she’d never—absolutely never—agreed to come to this awful party. ‘The fact is…’

‘The fact is, you apparently have a flat to let. And I need to rent one, almost immediately,’ he told her in a firm let’s-have-no-nonsense tone of voice, which immediately raised her hackles.

‘I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that Sophie has jumped the gun,’ she told him quickly. ‘I’ve only just got rid of the builders, and—’

Busily intent on explaining just why it was not possible for him to rent her new apartment, Harriet was startled to find herself abruptly cut off in mid-sentence, the man quickly grasping her arm and towing her determinedly towards the back of the room, before opening a door and issuing her into a dimly lit small office.

‘Now, just a minute!’ she protested, rubbing the top of her arm where he’d gripped her so fiercely.

‘I’m sorry. But we were hardly able to hear ourselves think—let alone hold a reasonable conversation,’ he said, perching himself down on the edge of a large partners desk and stretching his long legs out in front of him.

‘I’ve bought this new flat, in Holland Park,’ he continued, before explaining the problem he was likely to have with so many workmen, and his need for alternative accommodation for anything up to six months. ‘And so, when your friend told me that you’d completed the conversion of the second floor in your house, it seemed the perfect solution to my problem,’ he added with a warm, engaging smile.

While Harriet would normally admire a guy who was prepared to take decisive action in pursuit of his goal, she’d already had dealings with Finn Maclean—and it had not been a pleasant experience.

So, it was no good him trying to turn on the charm—which he clearly possessed in abundance. Or trying to smooth-talk her into allowing him to rent her flat, she told herself grimly. Because he was definitely not the sort of tenant she’d had in mind.

‘I’d be at work in the City all day—and I’m out quite a lot in the evenings,’ he was saying as she stared mulishly back at him, determined to stick to her guns. ‘So, most of the time you’d hardly know I was there.’

‘What do you do? I mean,’ she added quickly as he looked at her in surprise, ‘Sophie seems to think that you are some kind of film producer.’

He gave a deep chuckle of laughter. ‘No, I’m afraid not. I work in the City as a lawyer,’ he explained. ‘In fact, my only contact with the film company giving this party concerned drawing up a contract for some work they were doing recently, on location.’

‘Oh, right,’ Harriet murmured, feeling somewhat relieved to know that if she was going to let her flat to this man—which, of course, she wasn’t—he would be unlikely to be throwing wild parties full of weird people, and disturbing her neighbours in the early hours of the morning.

However, Finn Maclean was obviously a very successful lawyer, if that wafer-thin Cartier gold watch on his wrist was anything to go by. So there seemed no point in mentioning that she, too, was a lawyer—albeit having worked as a very junior solicitor in a large, multinational firm.

‘Come on, you gorgeous girl—give me a break!’ He grinned engagingly at her. ‘I really am desperate to find somewhere to live.’

Easily able to discard his outrageous flattery—‘gorgeous girl’ indeed!—and frantically searching her mind for a good excuse to avoid renting him her apartment, Harriet was nevertheless finding it very difficult to concentrate on the problem.

Even though she was still relatively sober—mostly because she hadn’t liked the look of those peculiar-coloured cocktails—she was finding it extraordinarily difficult to ignore the amazing good looks, heady attraction and all-persuasive allure of this man.

Despite being perched on the desk, a few feet away from her, the magnetic force of his personality—not to mention the staggering effect of so much sheer naked sex appeal—was causing her to feel confused and breathless. The warm sparkling glints in those large blue eyes of his seemed to contain an almost seductive enticement; the atmosphere between them now was so thick that she could practically cut it with a knife.

‘Well…?’

‘I don’t know…’ she muttered weakly, realising that it would be no good saying that, since he hadn’t even seen the house, it was far too soon to take any sort of decision. Because not only did he know her house very well—but he’d also been extremely angry when she’d refused to sell it to him, all those months ago.

Unfortunately, it seemed that Finn Maclean—alongside all the other gifts with which nature had clearly endowed him—was also quite capable of reading her mind.

‘You may not want to rent me that flat of yours, Harriet. But I reckon you owe me a favour,’ he told her bluntly, the icy-cold, forceful determination in his voice sharply at variance with the warm, soothing tones he’d been using only a few seconds ago.

‘You were responsible for the fact that I wasted a great deal of time and money,’ he continued grimly. ‘Which is why I feel it’s not asking too much for you to now help solve my current difficulty.’

‘Yes, well…maybe I did…but…’

‘So, we’ve got a deal—OK?’

‘That’s great!’ Sophie cried, bursting into the room just in time to catch his last words. ‘And there’s no need to worry, Harriet. I’ll get my boss to draw up a really iron-clad contract. No problem!’

‘Oh…all right,’ Harriet sighed helplessly, well aware that she was being somehow railroaded—by these two highly persistent and determined people—into agreeing to have this awful man in her house for six months.

But, of course, it was very far from being ‘all right.’ In fact, she barely needed to glimpse the icy-cold gleam of triumph in those startling blue eyes, to know that Finn Maclean was Bad News.

Not to mention a feeling of total certainty, now settling like a hard stone in her stomach, that this was one decision she was going to bitterly regret.

CHAPTER TWO

DESPITE the fresh, early-summer breeze rustling the thin gauzy curtains of her bedroom, Harriet felt hot and sticky as she tossed and turned in the darkness, desperately trying to seek oblivion in sleep.

Eventually giving up the unequal fight, she threw back the bedclothes. Slipping on a light dressing gown and padding barefoot through into the large sitting room, she made her way towards the large French windows on the far side of the room.

Was she stupid—or what? How could she have been such an idiot? Why had she allowed herself to be thrown so completely off base by that totally unexpected encounter this evening with Finn Maclean?

Right from the moment they’d first met, all those months ago, she’d taken an instant dislike to the man. Although when she tried to work out exactly why she’d felt so instinctively aggressive and antagonistic towards someone whom she had never met—Harriet had absolutely no idea.

It was all Great-Aunt Jane’s fault, she told herself glumly, before giving a rueful shake of her head at her own foolishness. How could she even think such a thing? Talk about being ungrateful! Although it was true that if her aunt hadn’t died, and left her both this wonderful house and access to its adjacent and utterly enchanted garden, she would never have met Finn Maclean.

So what’s new? Nasty bugs could always find a way of invading even the most glamorous, expensive apartments, Harriet reminded herself grimly, unlocking the glass doors and stepping out on to the small balcony.

Taking a deep breath of the soft night air, fragrant with the scent of jasmine, lilac and early-flowering roses, she could immediately feel herself beginning to relax and unwind. Sitting down on one of a pair of small white, iron garden chairs, Harriet gave a contented sigh as she leaned back and stared up at the stars, twinkling in the dark sky high above her head.

It was a private fantasy of hers that she was somehow the sole possessor of this half-acre of lawn, trees, secluded walks and flowerbeds, vibrant with colour all the year round. And she knew, from talking to many of the other occupants of the houses surrounding this ‘secret’ garden, that they felt exactly the same way.

Little known outside the immediate area, the Ladbroke Estate, covering much of Notting Hill and Holland Park, contained sixteen of these very rare, very private and totally secluded gardens.

What made them so special was the fact that they were totally inaccessible to anyone other than those living in the houses which completely encircled the private gardens. And they were, indeed, a hidden secret known only to a few. Even she hadn’t realised, despite regularly visiting this house over the past few years, that such a luxurious green oasis lay at the back of her aunt’s home.

In fact, it hadn’t been until after her great-aunt’s death last year, when, as one of her cousins had so accurately put it, ‘Harriet’s numbers came up on the lottery,’ that she’d realised just how very lucky and fortunate she was.

‘The lottery’ wasn’t, in truth, any form of gambling. Her cousin’s remark had merely referred to the fact that her great-aunt Jane—a highly eccentric, imperious old lady—had made a habit of regularly changing her will in favour of one or another of her many great-nephews and nieces. And thus it had been that, following the unexpected death of her aunt, late last year, Harriet—to her utter surprise and total amazement—had suddenly found herself the proud possessor of the enormous house in Lansdowne Gardens, together with some money, currently locked away in stocks and shares.

‘Lucky old you!’ her cousin Martin had exclaimed on hearing the news. ‘I was at the top of the list last year. So I guess I must have done something to blot my copybook. Maybe deciding to throw up work and go on the stage might just have had something to do with it?’ he added with a rueful laugh, before giving Harriet a hug and wishing her the very best of luck with her inheritance.

‘It’s a dreadful old house, full of cats and dusty furniture. What are you planning to do? Sell it?’

Harriet shrugged and agreed that the house had always appeared to be in a dreadful state. So, probably the best thing would be to clear it out, and then put it up for sale. A course of action which received enthusiastic support from her parents. Especially her mother.

‘It’s absolutely the only thing to do, darling,’ her mother announced firmly. ‘What on earth do you want with a huge old house in an extremely unfashionable part of London? You must try and sell it as best you can, and then buy a nice little mews house. Somewhere fashionable, like Knightsbridge or Sloane Square, would be just about perfect.’

Although she seldom saw eye to eye with her mother, Harriet had to agree that the older woman had, for once, given her some good and practical advice. However, neither Harriet, at that time renting a small flat in Islington, nor her mother—living deep in the country, in Gloucestershire—could have guessed that the Holland Park and Notting Hill Gate area of London would suddenly become so extraordinarily fashionable.

Harriet had no way of knowing whether it was the many ‘private’ gardens which had proved to be the main attraction—particularly when contrasted with the hot dusty streets and high-rise buildings of central London—or if it was just some inexplicable movement of people from one area to another. However, it seemed that as soon as some wealthy pop stars and highly paid executives in the advertising and entertainment business ‘discovered’ Holland Park and Notting Hill Gate, everyone else suddenly appeared to want to live there, too.

All of which went some way to explaining why, on her approach to a local estate agent, he was visibly pleased at the thought of selling her aunt’s house. When he explained that she could expect to gain close to a million pounds for the property, Harriet’s legs suddenly felt as though they’d turned to jelly. Collapsing down into the chair before his desk, she gazed at the man in utter disbelief.

‘I had no idea…I mean…you must be kidding?’ she gasped, feeling quite faint and dizzy for a moment.

‘Oh, no,’ Mr Evans told her confidently, impatiently clicking his fingers at his assistant as he called for a glass of water, since the girl looked as though she was about to pass out any minute.

‘After you gave me the keys, I had a good look around the property,’ he continued. ‘It’s an absolute shambles, of course, but there’s no reason why—when you’ve cleared out all the mess—you shouldn’t get something very close to that sum.’

‘I…I just can’t believe it!’ Harriet mumbled helplessly, shaking her head in bemusement. ‘Are you absolutely sure…? I mean…I don’t want to be rude—but that really is such a huge amount of money!’

‘That’s nothing!’ He waved his hand dismissively in the air. ‘Why, only the other day I was approached by a young couple—looking for a house just like yours—who were quite happy to pay two or three million for a property in good condition. You would be able to get a much higher price if your aunt’s home had been looked after,’ he confided. ‘But, all the same, I think we ought to be able to get you at least a million—no problem.’

A million pounds! Such a sum was absolutely ridiculous, Harriet told herself as she drove slowly back to her small rented apartment in Islington, which she’d chosen originally because of its proximity and ease of access to the law courts in The Strand.

Having studied law at university, she was now working as a very junior member of a large firm of solicitors. Unfortunately, it hadn’t proved to be the job of her dreams. In fact, she’d come to see that the dry, dusty world of lawyers was definitely not for her. It was only the problem of trying to decide exactly what she did want to do with her life—plus the need to earn a decent living, of course—which had, so far, prevented her from resigning her job and looking for work elsewhere.

However, despite repeating the words ‘a million pounds’ to herself over the following weeks, she still couldn’t somehow make it seem any more real.

Although, in a moment of total euphoria, she thought about giving up work and living on the proceeds of the sale of her aunt’s house, it didn’t take Harriet very long to see that wasn’t the answer to her problems. Lying around doing nothing all day might seem an attractive idea. But she was fairly certain that she’d soon get bored with such an idle, lazy existence.

Her parents were, of course, delighted at her sudden change of fortune. And as for her boyfriend, George—for once in his life he actually looked visibly excited.

‘I say, Harriet, that sounds a pretty useful sum!’ he exclaimed, giving her a much warmer smile than usual. ‘And there’ll be no need to worry your pretty little head about investing the money. Because I know several clever men in the City who’d definitely be interested in dealing with a nice little nest egg like that.’

In fact, Harriet told herself, it was amazing how everyone was busy spending the money she had yet to get. Her mother seemed determined that she should buy a small, bijou house in a highly fashionable area: ‘So handy, darling, when I want to do some shopping.’ Several of her friends thought she ought to blow the lot on travelling around the world until the money ran out, while someone else suggested that she open a trendy restaurant.

Even an old friend, Trish Palmer, had come up with the idea of Harriet buying the empty property next to her own antiques shop in Ledbury Road.

‘Hang on, Trish!’ she muttered sleepily, at six-thirty one morning, as she helped to lay out small pieces of antique jewellery on the stall her friend operated on Saturdays in the nearby Portobello Road Market.

‘While I enjoy lending you a hand with the stall every now and then,’ Harriet continued, warming her cold hands on a mug of steaming hot coffee. ‘I know absolutely nothing about old furniture and objets d’art. Quite honestly, the idea of me buying a shop and suddenly becoming a successful antiques dealer is absolutely daft!’

‘It doesn’t have to be that sort of shop,’ Trish pointed out. ‘You could sell anything you liked—clothes, flowers, or jewellery. I mean, just look at the terrific success of that girl who has an amazing shop at the other end of the road, selling nothing but gorgeous purses and handbags.’

‘She’s so talented,’ Harriet agreed with an envious sigh. ‘Unfortunately, I have a horrid feeling that I don’t have a creative bone in my body!’

However, it was Trish who eventually provided the answer to all Harriet’s problems.

Offering to lend their friend a hand one weekend, cleaning the house ready for viewing by prospective buyers, Trish and Sophie were both amazed at the sheer size of the place.

‘It’s looking great, now that all that broken-down, dusty old furniture has been carted away,’ Sophie said, leaning on a broom and gazing up at the ornate cornice of the large, high-ceilinged first-floor sitting room.

‘You wouldn’t know the place,’ Trish agreed, lifting a grimy hand to brush the damp hair from her brow. ‘It’s a pity you have to sell the house after all this effort. If it had been left to me, I’d try and find a way to hang on to it.’

‘Even if I did—I could never afford to live here,’ Harriet pointed out, before throwing down her mop and declaring that they’d all earned a tea-break.

Making her way down to the antiquated old kitchen on the lower ground floor, Trish continued to lament the fact that her friend was having to sell such a lovely old house.

‘Come off it!’ Sophie laughed, waving a chocolate biscuit around the high-ceilinged kitchen, which surprisingly seemed full of light, ‘What on earth would Harriet do with herself, living all alone in a place like this?’

‘Who says she has to live on her own?’ Trish retorted. ‘She could easily split a house of this size into flats—one to each floor. Or she could always let out rooms to her friends, or…’

‘What? Run a boarding house?’ the other girl scoffed. ‘Do me a favour! Can you honestly see Harriet cooking breakfast for everyone in the house before rushing off to work? Get real!’

‘I’ve definitely got better things to do with my time!’ Harriet agreed with a laugh, before reminding her friends that there was still a lot of work to do, and not much time left in which to do it.

However, as she walked slowly around the clean and empty building a week later, while waiting for the estate agent to call with a client who wished to view the house, Harriet had to agree that Trish had been quite right.

In fact, if there was some way in which she could manage to retain ownership of the house—and also to live here herself—she’d willingly do so. If only for the sheer pleasure of opening the tall, curved glass French windows in the large ground-floor room and being able to stroll out into the extremely peaceful and beautiful garden.

A moment later her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell, and she hurried through into the hall. Opening the door, she found the estate agent on the doorstep, introducing the tall man standing beside him as a Mr Maclean, who was very keen to see over the house before it was formally put up for sale.

She stood back to allow the men to enter the house, gaining only a brief impression in the dimly lit hall of a tall and slim dark-haired man.

However, as she led the two men through the large empty rooms, Harriet found herself beginning to think that ‘Mr Maclean’ didn’t seem at all keen on the house—or anything else, for that matter.

There was no doubt that he was tall, dark and handsome. In fact, as Harriet led the two men into the brightly lit, large main room on the ground floor, she found herself temporarily stunned into silence as she realised that the stranger wasn’t just a good-looking guy—but clearly quite extraordinarily handsome.

Viewing the man dressed in casual, but immaculate weekend attire, as he appeared to be gazing with complete disinterest around the room, Harriet was suddenly conscious of the fact that she, herself, must appear boringly conventional.

Never having done this sort of thing before, she’d spent some time earlier in the day trying to work out the right sort of ‘uniform’ for showing people around the house. Not that it was desperately important, of course. However, the estate agent had stressed the fact that first impressions were very important—which was why he’d also warned her to make sure the rooms were as clean as possible.

‘Ideally, of course, you should have bowls of flowers in every room,’ he’d told her. ‘In fact, I always tell my ladies that it doesn’t hurt to have the smell of fresh roasting coffee, or newly baked bread, issuing from the kitchen,’ he’d added with a conspiratorial wink, as he’d revealed some of the tricks of his trade.

However, since she obviously had no way of providing any of those items, Harriet had been forced to concentrate on making sure that all the rooms were sparkling clean—arranging for a window cleaner to call had worked wonders—and trying to dress as if she was the sort of person who normally lived in a house this size.

Which was why she’d discarded a short leather mini-skirt—obviously totally unsuitable when leading the way up a flight of stairs—and her favourite dress of floaty chiffon in autumn shades of brown and green—too frivolous. Hesitating over one of the sharp navy suits which she normally wore to the office—possibly too serious?—she’d eventually plumped for boring but safe: dark blue jeans, tight white T-shirt and a smart navy blue blazer.

But why she should care what she was wearing, when this man was stalking silently behind her as she led them in and out of the many upstairs bedrooms, she had no idea. Even when Harriet opened the large glass doors off the vast, first-floor drawing room, she found his total silence extremely off-putting.

She led the way out on to the balcony overlooking the garden, and expressed the hope that the men would enjoy the sight of such lush greenery as much as she did. But Mr Maclean merely glanced blandly at the view, before muttering noncommittally, ‘Very nice,’ before turning back into the house.

The man’s nothing but a philistine! she told herself grimly, closing the French doors angrily behind him.

Unfortunately, one of the security locks was rusty and stiff from disuse. As she struggled to turn the key, which stubbornly refused to budge, the tall stranger came over to give her a hand.

‘Here, let me help you,’ he murmured, suddenly materialising by her side and taking the key from her hand.

Thinking about the episode later, Harriet still didn’t understand why, as his hand brushed over hers, she should feel what seemed like a sudden electric shock, causing her to give a sudden yelp and a slight jump backwards, the key falling down with a clatter on to the hard wooden floor.

Highly embarrassed, and conscious of the deep flush rising up over her pale cheeks, Harriet was also bitterly aware of the man’s lips twitching with amusement as he bent to pick up the key.

So, he’s outrageously handsome—so what? Harriet told herself firmly, quickly putting as much distance between herself and Mr Maclean as possible before leading the way down into the lower ground floor kitchen area.

But she was still feeling distinctly unsettled, totally unable to explain the slightly sick feeling in her stomach as she moved over to the far side of the room. Turning around to lean against the sink beneath the large window, she listened as the estate agent began explaining the benefits of possessing such a large, semi-underground area in a house of this size.

‘…and, of course, if you’re still thinking of making this into a separate flat,’ he was saying, ‘it’s clearly ideal for what you have in mind. Lots of light and space, and—’

‘But you can’t do that!’ Harriet was astonished to find herself saying with some vehemence, suddenly upset to think of her aunt’s house being split up into apartments.

‘Oh, really…?’ Mr Maclean drawled sardonically, turning slowly around to face the girl standing on the far side of the room.

Almost as if he was clearly viewing her for the first time, he stared at the tall, slim figure, bathed in a warm glow from the light streaming in through the window, her long red hair, tied at the back of her neck by a dark blue ribbon, seeming to burst into fiery life beneath the strong rays of the late-afternoon sun.

Still astonished at her instinctive outburst, Harriet found herself feeling even more confused as the tall man began moving slowly and determinedly across the room towards her.

‘And exactly what makes you think that I can’t convert this basement—or any other floor of this house, for that matter?’ he asked in a cool, bland voice as he came to a halt in front of her nervous figure.

Having been virtually ignored during his tour of the house, Harriet felt distinctly flustered to find herself subjected to the full force of this man’s attention. The strong, intelligent gleam in his large blue eyes, which seemed to be boring into her skull, was not only highly disturbing but was also having a strange effect on her legs, which suddenly felt weak and wobbly.

Leaning for support back against the hard white porcelain sink, she struggled to pull herself together. Why on earth was she behaving in such a stupid, infantile way? She must have met hundreds of other guys, almost as good-looking as this one. So why let him get to her? It was still her house, wasn’t it? So, as far as she was concerned, he could take a running jump, she told herself firmly, before taking a deep breath and lifting her chin aggressively towards him.

‘I’m selling a house. Not a block of flats,’ she told him, dismayed to hear her normally firm, clear voice sounding unusually shrill and defensive. ‘I’m sure my aunt would hate to think of her old home being cut up into small apartments and sold off piecemeal—like you seem to be thinking of doing.’

There was a long silence as he stared at her intently for a moment, his expression giving no hint of what was going through his mind.

‘Correct me if I’m wrong, Miss Wentworth,’ he drawled sardonically, at last breaking the oppressive silence which seemed to have settled on the large room. ‘But I wasn’t aware that I’d discussed my plans with you…?’ he added with heavy sarcasm.

‘No, of course you haven’t,’ she retorted, deeply resenting being treated as though she was an impertinent child, daring to question her elders and betters. ‘But I’m not prepared to sell my aunt’s home to anyone who’s intending to cut it up and sell it off in bits,’ she added stubbornly.

‘Well, I don’t really see what you can do about it,’ he told her in a slightly amused, condescending tone of voice, which set her teeth on edge. ‘In fact—since this building was granted full planning permission for sub-division into apartments only three years ago—I fail to see how you can stop any purchaser from doing exactly as they want with the property.’

‘What…?’ Harriet stared past him at the estate agent, who’d been standing nervously across the room while this acrimonious exchange had been taking place. ‘I never knew my aunt had thought of splitting up this house. Why didn’t you tell me about the planning permission?’ she demanded angrily.

‘I didn’t know myself. Not until the other day, that is,’ Mr Evans told her with a slight shrug. ‘It was only when I was checking up on any possible boundary disputes that it came to light. Still, there’s no need to worry,’ he added, clearly in an attempt to pour oil on troubled waters. ‘It will, after all, make this house far more saleable.’

‘But…but it’s not just a house—it’s a home!’ Harriet wailed, not caring if she sounded childish. ‘I thought that there would be a family living here, enjoying the garden and…’ Her voice trailed away as she realised that she was succeeding in doing nothing but make an utter fool of herself.

‘Well, there you go.’ The estate agent shrugged, before brightly asking whether Mr Maclean would like to look over some of the rooms once again.

However, as Harriet trailed disconsolately behind the two men up to the raised ground floor, before leaving them to explore the rest of the house on their own, she only had one thought in her mind. She would never—under any circumstances—sell this house to that totally hateful man, Mr Maclean. She didn’t yet know how she could put a stop to his plans. But, come hell or high water, she was going to make damn sure that he never managed to get his hands on this house.

Unfortunately, despite cudgelling her brains, and coming up with a hundred and one highly impractical ideas over the next two weeks, Harriet had completely failed to find a solution to her problem.

Since her aunt—maybe because she’d been feeling lonely in her old age?—had gained permission to turn her home into apartments, there seemed no sensible explanation why Harriet should care what happened to the house, one way or another.

However, the fact was that she did feel very strongly about the subject—and also about that loathsome man, as well. Who in the hell did he think he was? Probably just some rotten property developer, who clearly took pleasure in destroying beautiful buildings merely for profit, she told herself, a heavy weight of depression filling her mind one night, as she slowly slipped off to sleep.

She had no idea what caused her to wake up some hours later, in the middle of the night. But, as she found herself sitting bolt upright in bed, it seemed as though her brain had been working overtime. Because, entirely without any effort on her part, Harriet suddenly realised that she’d found the answer to all her problems. She wasn’t going to sell the house. She was going to live in it herself!

Scrambling out of bed, she ran barefoot through into the small adjoining sitting room, which could have easily fitted four times into the large drawing room of her aunt’s house. Grabbing a piece of paper and a pencil, she immediately sat down and started working on some figures.

If she converted the ground and first floor into a maisonette for herself, it would enable her to live in the house and—just as important—give her direct access into that wonderful garden. However, she could only afford to do that if she converted the basement, second, third and fourth floors into four separate flats.

So…OK…she would being doing almost the same as that horrid man Mr Maclean had planned to do. But the difference was that in her case she was going to be personally living in the house, and looking after it. So, providing she could find enough money to convert and rent her first apartment, it should be possible for her to afford to do the other remaining floors in the same way.

After scribbling furiously for some minutes, she stared down at the figures. Yes! If she was very careful, and watched every penny of her expenditure, she could just about do it. And, of course, the scheme did have one quite outstanding bonus: it would enable her to give up her job, which she’d come to thoroughly dislike, while she took a year off from work to see to the conversion. By that time she was bound to have decided what she really wanted to do with her life. And, with any luck, her home would prove to be at least self-supporting, if not bringing in some useful funds.

Excited by her new idea, she talked the idea over with her old schoolfriend, Sophie. The other girl not only agreed that it looked as if it might be the solution to all her problems—but she also astonished Harriet by asking if she could rent the lower-ground-floor flat.

‘I’m sick and tired of the dump I’m living in at the moment,’ she explained. ‘And when we were down in the basement, having a break while clearing up the house, it did just occur to me that it would make a great pad. I mean, there seemed bags of room, and it was very light. Besides, those ceilings have to be about eleven feet high—right? And with its own front door out into the street, I reckon it will make a perfect flat!’

Encouraged by Sophie’s enthusiasm for the project, Harriet immediately telephoned the estate agent. To her surprise, Mr Evans was remarkably understanding.

‘I can see you love that house,’ he said with a heavy sigh. ‘However, if you can live there and make it pay for itself—the best of luck to you.’

Which, since he’d just lost a hefty amount of commission on the sale, was really very generous of him, she told herself. Although she subsequently found herself taking a rather more jaundiced view of the estate agent, when she discovered that he’d been guilty of foolishly—or, perhaps, merely carelessly—giving her phone number to a very angry Mr Maclean.

‘You damned girl!’ he rasped down the phone. ‘Not only have you put me to a great deal of time and expense, checking the planning permission and laying on surveyors, but I never had any intention of turning that house of yours into a block of flats.’

‘Oh, yes, you did!’ she snapped. ‘I quite distinctly heard you discussing with the estate agent your proposal to make the lower ground floor into a separate apartment.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! That was simply to provide a home for my younger brother, Jack, who works abroad most of the year. I wanted him to have somewhere—a piece of his own space, if you like—when he returns to this country on vacation,’ he told her, his voice tight with exasperation. ‘I fully intended to retain the rest of the house for myself.’

‘Well, I’m sorry if you’re disappointed—’

‘You don’t sound at all sorry!’ he ground out angrily, clearly able to sense the wide grin on her face, even if he couldn’t see it in person. ‘In fact, if I didn’t believe in non-violence, I’d cheerfully wring your damned neck!’ he added grimly. ‘I really wanted that house.’

‘Well, that’s just your tough luck, isn’t it?’ she retorted, before quickly putting down the phone and putting an end to the acrimonious conversation.

And that, if there was any justice in this world, should have been the end of any contact between them, Harriet now told herself with a heavy sigh, gazing out over the lawn and trees of the moonlit garden. Trust Sophie—who always had been accident prone—to introduce a snake like Finn Maclean into her Garden of Eden!

As she rose to her feet and walked slowly back through the large sitting room into her bedroom, Harriet realised that she now had no choice. She was just going to have to tough it out. After all, Finn was only going to be renting the upstairs apartment for six months. So, with any luck—and a firm contract—she should be able to make sure that she saw as little of him as possible.

CHAPTER THREE

IF SHE had hoped to see virtually nothing of Finn, once he’d moved into her second-floor apartment, Harriet very soon realised that she’d been badly mistaken.

It could just be that men, on the whole, were far more demanding than women. Certainly she’d never had any problems with Sophie, whose occupancy of the lower-ground-floor flat now seemed angelic, when compared to the almost daily hassle and problems she experienced with Finn Maclean.

In fact, having taken a great deal of time and trouble over converting the second floor into a bright and cheerful one-bedroom flat—containing just about every modern convenience—she was now totally fed up with the constant stream of queries and complaints from the damned man.

No sooner had he moved in—and that alone had been a four-act play!—than he’d been down banging on her door and complaining that the washing machine and dishwasher weren’t working.

‘What do you mean “not working”?’ She’d frowned. ‘They’re brand-new, for heaven’s sake!’

Finn had merely given a cool shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘Whether the machines are new or old isn’t the point,’ he’d informed her flatly, before insisting that she do something—right away.

After ringing a plumber, who’d charged an arm and a leg just to call at the house, the problem had been very quickly sorted out.

‘The next time you want to use one of these machines in the kitchen—try putting in a plug and switching on the electricity,’ she’d stormed, refusing to see the funny side of the situation as she’d glared at Finn and the plumber, both doubled up with laughter.

‘Reading the instructions might not be a bad idea, either,’ she’d added, throwing the booklet on to the kitchen counter, before stumping furiously out of the flat behind the plumber, who had still been chuckling with amusement as he’d made his way down the stairs and out into the night.

But that had only been the beginning of what seemed like one long nightmare of continuous hassle, all emanating from the second floor.

There had been the case of the blocked sink—another visit from the plumber; the blown fuse—the electrician; an accidentally broken pane of glass in one of the windows—ditto the glazier. Not to mention the bath overflowing which, as Finn had confessed with a grin, had occurred while he’d been talking on the phone to a girlfriend.

‘I couldn’t care less about your private life!’ she’d ground out furiously. ‘Except that—thanks to you—this house seems to be paying for the plumber’s next Caribbean holiday.’

‘No problem,’ he’d assured her with a careless, dismissive wave of his hand. ‘Just have the bills sent to me.’

The fact that he’d cheerfully paid all the huge invoices presented by the tradesmen, didn’t seem to make up for the sheer inconvenience of having to arrange for them to call and sort out the various problems. Nor had she been amused by a huge consignment of champagne, arriving with no notice in the middle of the day and totally blocking the hallway. With the delivery man claiming to have a bad back, no prizes for guessing exactly who had found herself hauling the cases up the stairs, to the second-floor flat.

But those minor annoyances were as nothing to the constant noise and disturbance caused by a stream of beautiful female visitors, all laughing and chatting at the top of their voices as they made their way up and down the stairs to the second floor.

If Sophie fancies her chances with this man, I reckon she’s way out of luck, Harriet had told herself grimly, while letting in yet another young, slim, highly glamorous blonde, who’d pressed Harriet’s doorbell by mistake.

However, it had been Finn’s birthday party, last week, which had been just about the last straw.

‘You’ve got a lot to answer for!’ Harriet told Sophie accusingly, as she and Trish joined her for breakfast at Cullens, in Holland Park Avenue, the following Sunday morning.

‘Oh, Lord—what have I done now?’ Sophie grinned, ordering a cappuccino and a pain au chocolat before sinking down on to the red leather seat beside her.

‘It’s not you.’ Harriet gave a deep sigh. ‘It’s that damned boyfriend of yours. He’s driving me absolutely up the wall!’

‘Hmm…?’ Sophie muttered, her attention distracted for a moment as the waitress placed a cup of coffee in front of her. ‘That’s funny. I didn’t know that you’d met Rodney?’

‘Rodney?’ Harriet frowned in puzzlement for a moment, before giving a slight shrug. ‘I’m talking about Finn Maclean. Not only is he turning into one long headache—but after that birthday party of his, the night before last, I could cheerfully murder the awful man!’

Sophie laughed. ‘Oh, I’m not interested in Finn any more.’

‘What…?’

‘I went off him ages ago,’ Sophie told her airily, before taking a large bite of her chocolate croissant.

‘Do you mean to say…?’

‘I’ve got this new boyfriend now, called Rodney Granger. Not only does he own a travel agency, but he’s promised to take me off to the south of France in two weeks’ time. How about that?’

Harriet could only glare at her, almost speechless with fury.

‘I simply don’t believe it!’ she eventually managed to grind out through clenched teeth. ‘Are you seriously telling me that, after twisting my arm—and virtually forcing me to let my newly done up flat to that foul man, Finn Maclean—you’ve already chucked him and got yourself a new boyfriend?’

‘Now, Harriet—calm down!’ Sophie muttered hurriedly. ‘I did fancy him, for a while. Which is not surprising, since you have to admit that he’s a real case of “sex on legs”—right? But I soon realised there was no point in having to compete with all those other women, who seem to surround him like a swarm of flies.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Finn may be diabolically attractive,’ Sophie admitted. ‘But I like a man to run after me—not the other way round. And besides,’ she added with a giggle, ‘who wouldn’t prefer to spend two weeks sailing around the Mediterranean in a huge yacht—with a guy who’s crazy about you—rather than queuing up for a chance to go out on the town with Finn? What do you reckon, Trish?’

Trish, who’d been buried in the Sunday papers, gave a quick nod of her head. ‘I’d take the yacht, every time,’ she agreed, before becoming absorbed in reading her horoscope for the coming week.

‘Well, thanks a bunch!’ Harriet grated angrily, before quickly grabbing a cigarette from the packet on the table in front of Trish. ‘You’ve really messed up my life—big time!’

‘Hey!’ Sophie frowned. ‘I thought you gave up smoking last year?’

‘Yes, you’re right—I did. But I really need one now. All right?’

‘OK…OK,’ the other girl murmured soothingly as Harriet glared angrily at her. ‘Look—I’m sorry if it hasn’t worked out with Finn. But you must admit that it really did seem a good idea at the time,’ she added with a shrug. ‘Besides, you couldn’t expect me to stay home every evening, just waiting for him to call.’

Harriet gave a heavy sigh. Stubbing out the cigarette, which had tasted foul, she realised that she had no one to blame but herself.

Sophie might be her oldest and dearest friend—but she ought to have known that the other girl had all the attention span of a newt. Which had to mean that the chances of her remaining interested in one man for any length of time were just about zero.

‘So, what happened at Finn’s birthday party?’

‘Don’t ask!’ Harriet groaned, burying her face in her hands for a moment, before giving another deep, heavy sigh.

‘Come on—tell all!’ Trish grinned. ‘It can’t have been that bad, surely?’

‘Oh, yes, it was,’ Harriet told her friends gloomily, before explaining that she’d had no warning of the proposed bash. ‘Although I suppose I ought to have guessed something was in the air—especially when he had all that champagne delivered,’ she admitted glumly.

‘Well, it all sounds fairly harmless, so far.’ Sophie shrugged. ‘What went wrong?’

‘The brand-new door entry system. Although I didn’t know anything about it at the time, of course.’

Harriet sighed heavily, before relating how she’d been to the Gate Cinema, to see a French film with some friends. After a late supper at Kensington Place, she’d returned home at about half past eleven—to find all the lights in the house on and the front door wide open.

‘I nearly had hysterics! I mean…it was nothing more or less than an open invitation to any passing burglars. What’s more, it clearly wasn’t an accident, since the front door had been deliberately propped open by a heavy case of champagne.’

‘So, what did you do?’

‘Exactly what any other sensible person would have done,’ Harriet retorted. ‘I stormed upstairs and told Finn Maclean precisely what I thought of stupid men like him. Especially those who were not only aiding and abetting the local criminals but also, if we had been burgled, would have been responsible for invalidating my household insurance policy.’

‘That’s a good point, you know,’ Trish told Sophie. ‘Insurance companies are getting very tough nowadays. A friend of mine forgot to lock all her windows when she went out shopping one day. She returned to find her place had been vandalised by some teenage hoodlums, and the insurance people refused to pay for the damage.’

‘That’s really bad,’ Sophie agreed, before adding impatiently, ‘So—what happened next?’

‘Well, as you can imagine, we had an almighty row,’ Harriet muttered, her cheeks flushing as she realised there was no way she could possibly explain what had happened in Finn’s apartment that night. Especially when she didn’t even understand it, herself.

‘Anyway,’ she continued hurriedly, ‘the long and the short of it was that, completely unknown to me, the doorbell entry system had given up the ghost. And, although Finn swore blind that he’d stationed a guest downstairs, to let everyone in, all I can say is that they sure as hell weren’t there by the time I came home.’

‘So…?’

‘So, I was over a barrel, wasn’t I?’ Harriet sighed, explaining that, with guests coming and going well into the small hours of the night, someone had to open the door. Because, as that rotten man had so graphically pointed out, it hadn’t been his fault that his doorbell and the front door release system weren’t working properly.

‘Oh, dear!’ Sophie exclaimed with a grin, before she and Trish collapsed with laughter.

‘It wasn’t funny!’ Harriet moaned. ‘I had to sit down there in the hall—practically propping my eyelids open with matchsticks—until God knows what hour. You’d think people would arrive at a party at the stated hour, wouldn’t you?’ she added indignantly. ‘But not Finn Maclean’s guests. Oh, no! As far as I could see, at least half of them had already been at other parties, and were decidedly the worse for drink by the time they arrived at the house.’

‘Poor Harriet!’ Trish murmured, clearly trying to keep a straight face.

‘Well, “poor Harriet” is just about right,’ she agreed grimly. ‘You should try letting tipsy people into the house all night, and see how much you like it,’ she added grumpily. ‘Just about the last straw was when a strange man actually patted me on the head, called me a “good girl”—and tried to give me a tip. Honestly, it was a complete nightmare!’

‘Have you managed to get the door entry system mended?’ Sophie asked, thankful that she had her own private entrance down in the basement.

Harriet nodded. ‘I called the engineers out first thing yesterday morning. Apparently, it was something to do with the wiring. But I told them that I’d be suing the socks off them if it ever happened again.’

‘That’s interesting,’ Trish murmured. ‘Since his birthday is in June, it looks as if Finn Maclean must be a Gemini.’

‘Believe me, there’s nothing “interesting” about Finn Maclean,’ Harriet told her with feeling. ‘A few adjectives like “difficult,” “maddening” or even “bloody-minded” would be much nearer the mark.’

‘That’s a Gemini man for you,’ Trish agreed with a grin. ‘Still, you’re Aquarius, which means you shouldn’t have any problem in coping with him. In fact,’ she added with a slight laugh, ‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you two didn’t end up together!’

Harriet gave a shrill, incredulous laugh. ‘You must be joking! I wouldn’t fancy him—not if he were the last man on earth.’

‘Hmm…’ Trish murmured, smiling to herself as she noted the deep flush rising up over her friend’s face. ‘Maybe I ought to lend you a few of my crystals. They’re a great help in bringing harmony to a relationship.’

‘I don’t want to be rude, because I know you’re into all that New Age stuff, but it’s definitely not my scene,’ Harriet told her firmly. ‘What I really need is a lawyer who’s clever enough to break that damned contract we signed. Unfortunately, it seems forged in chains of iron—so I’m well and truly stuck with the awful man.’

Sophie gave a helpless shrug. ‘I really am sorry that it’s all turned out so badly. But as far as the contract is concerned, you did say that you wanted it to be unbreakable, and so…’

‘I know I did. It’s all my own fault,’ Harriet admitted with a heavy sigh. ‘So, it looks as if I’ll just have to find enough patience to survive the next five months without slaughtering the rotten man!’

The contract wasn’t Sophie’s fault—and Trish meant well, of course, Harriet told herself as she waved goodbye to her friends, who’d arranged to play a game of tennis in Ladbroke Square. But no amount of crystal beads, lighting joss sticks or chanting Buddhist mantras would be likely to do anything towards bringing ‘harmony,’ or any other calming influence, into the difficult relationship between herself and Finn Maclean.

Slowly making her own way home, and out into the blessed peace of Lansdowne Gardens, Harriet sank down on to a bench beneath a lilac tree, heavy with fragrant white blossom, as she tried to clear her mind of what Trish would undoubtedly call ‘negative thoughts.’

Unfortunately, try as she might, it was proving almost impossible not to recall, in hideous Technicolor, the disturbing scene which had taken place two nights ago.

After bursting into Finn’s apartment, accosting him in the hallway and telling him, in no uncertain terms, exactly what she thought of anyone stupid enough to leave the front door of a house open to all and sundry, she’d found herself being roughly dragged into the small kitchen.

‘Let me go—you foul man!’ she protested angrily, desperately trying to pull away from the strong grip of his hand on her arm.

‘Of course I will—just as soon as you stop screaming like a fishwife!’ he retorted grimly, before kicking the door closed behind them.

‘Don’t you dare call me a fishwife!’ she ground out furiously.

‘Why not, when you’re behaving like one? Now, for God’s sake—shut up!’ he added impatiently as he finally let her go. ‘And give me a chance to explain exactly why the front door would seem to have been left open.’

‘There’s no “seem” about it.’ She scowled up at him, rubbing her arm where he’d gripped her so tightly. ‘It’s a definite fact. I saw it with my own eyes.’

‘OK…OK, I believe you,’ he muttered, before explaining about the malfunction of the bell and the door release system. ‘And I’m sorry if the guy I stationed down there, with a bottle of wine to keep him company, appears to have abandoned his post. But I did my best under the circumstances.’

‘Well, your “best” simply wasn’t good enough,’ she retorted angrily. ‘In fact, you’ve been nothing but a rotten nuisance ever since you took over this flat. Why on earth I was such a fool, and allowed you to set a foot over the threshold of my house—or so stupidly locked myself into that contract between us—I’ve absolutely no idea!’

‘What is it with you?’ he growled. ‘Do you hate all men? Or is it just me that you can’t stand?’

‘Of course I don’t hate men,’ she snapped, instinctively moving backwards as he began advancing grimly towards her.

‘Ah! So, all this is directed against me, personally?’

‘Well, what do you think?’ she demanded breathlessly, feeling oddly nervous of the tall figure now looming over her.

Ever since entering the apartment she’d been acutely aware of the sheer length of his long legs in the pair of tight-fitting, stone-washed jeans, of the casual blue denim shirt hugging those broad shoulders, and displaying the strong, tanned column of his throat.

But, with the atmosphere in the small kitchen suddenly becoming tense and strained, she found herself wishing that she hadn’t lost her temper and rushed up here without thinking of the consequences. Because Finn was now looking both disturbingly formidable…and very dangerous.

Unfortunately, she was also considerably shaken to find herself instinctively responding to this man’s diabolical attraction. Although she was doing her best to conceal her sharp, quivering reaction to his aura of dark sensuality, Harriet wasn’t at all sure that she was succeeding. Not beneath the searchlight beam of those glinting blue eyes, now gazing down at her so intently.

So, what was wrong with her? How could she be so stupid as to feel this way—especially about a man whom she acutely disliked and wouldn’t trust further than she could throw him?

‘What do I think…?’ he drawled slowly, breaking the long, tense silence between them. ‘I think that you’re a very attractive girl. Unfortunately, you seem to have a serious hang-up about men.’

‘Nonsense!’

‘Particularly those you can’t push around—or who won’t lie down and let you walk all over them,’ he continued blandly.

‘What rubbish!’ She gave a short burst of contemptuous laughter. ‘If anyone has a problem—it’s you! Because it’s obvious that you find it impossible to believe that a woman—any woman—is capable of finding you unattractive. Well, let me tell you…’

But whatever she had been going to tell him seemed to fly out of her mind as he smoothly slipped an arm about her slim waist and pulled her slowly towards him.

‘You know what you need, don’t you?’ he murmured.

‘Oh, please! Not that old cliché about “needing a man”…?’ Harriet gave a shrill, high-pitched laugh as she tried to push him away. ‘I’ve got a perfectly good boyfriend—thank you very much!’

‘Really?’ he lifted a quizzical dark eyebrow as he grinned sardonically down at her. ‘So, why are you obviously nervous, and trembling like a leaf in my arms?’

‘I’m not!’ she snapped. ‘But…but, even if I was, it’s only because I’m…er…I’m still very angry with you,’ she added, bitterly aware that she was sounding breathless and flustered.

You’ve got to get a grip on the situation, she told herself urgently. So…OK…Finn was a highly attractive and sexy man. But if there was one thing about which Harriet was quite certain, it was that she had absolutely no intention of being just another notch on this guy’s bedpost!

‘This is a stupid waste of time,’ she muttered, staring fixedly at the top of his open-necked shirt, and carefully avoiding the startling blue eyes now gazing down at her so intently.

‘Hmm…you could be right,’ he agreed in an amused tone of voice. ‘But, as it happens, I can’t think of anything else I’d rather be doing at the moment.’

In tricky situations like this it was obviously important to keep one’s cool, she told herself firmly, desperately trying to ignore the intoxicating scent of his cologne, mingling with the musky, masculine aroma of the hard body now lightly touching her own. And there was clearly no point in continuing to try and push him away. Especially since the arms now closing around her body appeared to be made of tungsten steel. So, a strong dose of reason and logic ought to be the answer. Right?

‘What…what about your friends?’ she queried breathlessly.

‘They seem to be doing fine without my help,’ he pointed out. A truth clearly evident from the noise and laughter outside the small kitchen.

‘But you can’t just leave them to fend for themselves,’ she retorted quickly. ‘And…um…there’s the problem of the front door. Who’s going to let in any late arrivals? So, why don’t you do us both a favour—and stop this nonsense, right now?’

‘Talking of favours…’ he drawled, completely ignoring her remarks about his guests as his arms closed even tighter about her slim figure. ‘You seem to have forgotten that it’s my birthday.’

‘How can you forget something you never knew?’ she muttered, desperately trying to ignore the warm, seductive tone in his deep voice. The hard pressure of his firmly muscled thighs against her own didn’t seem to be doing much for her peace of mind, either.

‘You haven’t even wished me Many Happy Returns,’ he said in a plaintive voice. Which didn’t fool her for a moment, since she was perfectly well aware that the damned man’s shoulders were shaking with amusement.

However, as his grip tightened ominously about her, she quickly gasped, ‘OK…OK…’ before swiftly rattling-off in a sing-song voice, ‘Happy Birthday to you; Happy Birthday to you; Happy Birthday, dear Finn—Happy Birthday to you. Now,’ she added grimly, ‘can we please stop playing these stupid games?’

‘But what about my birthday present?’ he murmured, still keeping her firmly clasped to his tall, hard figure with one hand, while the other began moving slowly up over her spine. The touch of his warm fingers through her thin silk blouse caused shivers of excitement to flash like forked lightning through her quivering body.

‘A present? Hah! You should be so lucky,’ she snapped nervously.

He gave a low, husky rumble of laughter. ‘I think you could be right,’ he murmured, lowering his dark head, his mouth firmly possessing her trembling lips and effectively preventing her from making any further protest.

Well, you had to hand it to the awful man, Harriet told herself glumly, as she now leaned back on the garden seat, staring blindly up at the canopy of leaves overhead. There were kisses—and then there were kisses! And, while Finn Maclean might be a lousy individual, he definitely rated alpha plus in the Devastatingly Sexy Kissing stakes!

In fact, she told herself with a heavy sigh, she honestly couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt so totally shattered and disorientated as when he’d finally released her from his embrace.

Even recalling the brief episode was enough to make her break out in a cold sweat. Although possibly the utterly feeble, humiliating way in which she’d found herself so enthusiastically and wantonly responding to the overwhelming seduction of his lips and tongue—not to mention the feel of his tautly muscled, hard male body pressed so closely to her own—might have had something to do with it.

The long silence following his kiss had seemed never-ending. Desperately struggling to pull herself together, she’d found it doubly mortifying to realise that he’d been merely amusing himself at her expense.

‘Hey, relax—it was just a birthday kiss!’ Finn had murmured sardonically, gazing inscrutably at the girl as she’d leaned, dazed and helpless, against one of the kitchen cabinets.

Harriet’s embarrassment had increased a hundred-fold when he’d given her a casual, friendly tap on the nose with his forefinger, murmuring, ‘Now, be a good girl and keep an eye on the front door, hmm…?’ before going off to join his friends.

‘I hate him…I hate him. I really hate Finn Maclean!’ she’d muttered to herself as she’d staggered out of his flat, quite determined that any late arrivals at his party could wait until doomsday before she’d bother to let them into the house.

But eventually—simply because she hadn’t been able to stand the racket of constant, heavy banging on the front door—she’d given up the unequal fight.

Which had done nothing to improve either her temper or her fervent determination to keep well out of his way in future.

And if he ever refers to that dreadful episode upstairs in his kitchen—I’ll kill him! Harriet promised herself grimly.

However, as the days and weeks progressed, it seemed as if Finn had also decided to avoid her as much as possible. Certainly there were no more ‘complaints’ from the second-floor flat. And if they ever accidentally bumped into one another—on the stairs, or going in and out of the front door, for instance—he’d merely give her a cool nod in passing.

All of which helped Harriet to put the embarrassing episode into its proper perspective. As Finn had said at the time—it had only been a birthday kiss, which had clearly meant absolutely nothing to him. Especially when she thought about the many glamorous women-friends who would have undoubtedly been quite happy to leap into bed with him.

Although, it could be that he was currently working hard on one of his legal cases. Because Finn definitely seemed to be having fewer visits from his normal horde of attractive female visitors.

In fact, if Harriet hadn’t been faced, every day, with the sight of his huge black Mercedes parked right outside her front door—she might well have been able to completely forget the whole incident.

Besides, she had far more important things on her mind. With her builders suddenly finding themselves unexpectedly free—thanks to a large project which had been cancelled at the last moment—Harriet realised that she could now proceed with altering the third floor of her house,

Unfortunately, it seemed that it would involve far more structural alterations than she’d originally planned. And, with a lot of plaster and brick debris to be disposed of, the foreman had suggested that she ought to hire a skip.

‘Yeah, I know it’s expensive,’ he’d agreed, when she’d groaned at the cost. ‘But you’ll only need it for a few days. And it will mean we can get rid of all the rubbish very quickly, instead of it piling up in bags outside the house, waiting to be carted away.’

‘OK,’ she’d sighed, not thinking any more about it, until the man delivering the bulky yellow skip complained about the large car parked immediately outside her front door.

‘It’s past five o’clock, and we can’t hang around much longer, darlin’. You’ll just have to move that fancy motor. ‘Cos I’ve gotta get the skip as near the front door, as possible. Know what I’m sayin’?’

Only too clearly, she thought grimly, biting her lip with indecision as she stared at the huge black vehicle.

Obviously someone was going to have to move Finn’s car to the other side of the road. However, with no idea of his office address or telephone number, Harriet realised that she had no choice. She would just have to get hold of Finn’s car keys—always supposing that he’d left them at home—and do the job herself.

Harriet really didn’t like the idea of entering someone else’s personal space without their permission. However, Finn was sure to understand that she’d had no alternative, she told herself, nervously inserting her master key into the lock of his apartment.

Operating within a strict budget, Harriet had decided to adopt a fashionable, minimalist approach when furnishing and decorating the new flat. Concentrating on the bare essentials, she’d had the interior painted white, with plain white linen curtains at the windows, and invested her money in good quality wooden flooring in the sitting room and in the plain, Shaker-style kitchen—only the bedroom and en suite bathroom floors being covered in plain beige carpeting. The same philosophy had been carried through in the furnishings, with a simple cream-coloured sofa, two armchairs and a pine dining table and chairs beside the French windows, which opened out on to a small balcony overlooking the street.

However, as she now cautiously and tentatively entered the apartment—which she hadn’t visited since their quarrel and confrontation in the kitchen, some weeks ago—Harriet realised that although Finn had brought very little furniture and furnishings with him he’d made subtle changes to the original decoration. Even the arched spray of the white orchid plant on the hall table seemed to add an unexpected, exotic touch to the plain decor.

Taking a deep breath, and trying to concentrate on the job in hand, Harriet decided to start her search for Finn’s car keys in the kitchen, before attempting to check the rest of the apartment.

Luckily, it seemed that Finn, like herself, believed in keeping his keys all together in one place: in his case, on two hooks above the stove. And, even more fortunately, she had no problem in locating the distinctive Mercedes emblem on the leather tag attached to a bunch of oddly shaped keys.

Emboldened by her success in locating the keys to the vehicle, and consumed by curiosity, she drifted down the hall towards the main sitting room.

Leaning against the open doorway of the sitting room, she gazed in awe at the huge, antique Venetian cut-glass mirror over the plain white marble fireplace, reflecting the two large oil paintings by David Hockney either side of the window. Such a juxtaposition of the very old and the ultramodern ought not to have worked, but it clearly did. Just as the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves containing leather-bound volumes in colours of deep crimson and dark green—enhanced by a large crimson leather-topped walnut desk and matching chair—added a heavily sombre, masculine atmosphere to the room.

Despite being deeply ashamed of herself, Harriet couldn’t resist having a quick peek in the bedroom. But if she’d been expecting to discover a scene of recent debauchery she was surprised to see that, once again, it was an immaculately tidy room, decorated in the severely male colours of navy and cream.

Not only was there no sign of any female apparel, but she was stunned to discover that his bedside reading consisted of a well-thumbed Bible, a recently published biography of a well-known politician, and a small leather-covered volume of Shakespeare’s sonnets. While even the silver-framed photographs on the dressing table contained what she could only assume to be various pictures of his family.

All in all, it was quite a shock to realise that what had once been a rather boring, anonymous-looking apartment was now the comfortable if temporary home of a serious, thoughtful and well-read man—clearly light years away from the frivolous, if charming, womaniser that she’d originally assumed him to be.

Deeply buried in thought as she struggled to mentally reevaluate Finn’s character, Harriet was startled out of her deep reverie by the strident, impatient sounds of a horn.

Oh, Lord—she’d forgotten all about the man with the skip!

Quickly spinning on her heel, she ran out of the apartment, swiftly locking the door behind her, before speeding down the stairs and out on to the street.

Five minutes later, seated in the plush leather driving seat of Finn’s huge black Mercedes, Harriet forced herself to take a deep breath and calm down. It was only a car, after all, even if it was miles bigger than anything she’d ever driven before—not to mention the added complication of automatic gears. And, while it was sandwiched like a sardine between two other vehicles, she was quite used to getting her own little Fiat out of far tighter spots than this.

Gazing down at the gearstick, she realised that it didn’t need a high IQ to work out how to drive an automatic: D clearly stood for Drive, with N for Neutral and R for Reverse.

Switching on the engine, she slipped the gearstick into Drive, gently easing off the handbrake as the powerful Mercedes rolled slowly forward. So far, so good, she told herself bracingly. In fact, since it only seemed to need an amazingly light touch on the wheel, steering this big monster out of the tight space now looked as if it was going to be a breeze.

Inching carefully back and forth, Harriet was just congratulating herself on her achievement, and about to finally pull out into the road, when she suddenly heard an angry shout—accompanied by a series of rapid, loud blows on the roof at the back of the vehicle.

Much later, when trying to explain what had happened next, Harriet would only assume that, almost startled out of her wits by the sudden, horrendously loud banging on the roof—deafening within the confined space of the car’s interior—she must have panicked, and mistakenly jammed her foot down on the accelerator instead of the brake.

Whatever the reason, the net effect of her action was that the huge car seemed to leap backwards; there was the sound of a large ‘thump’—almost immediately followed by a ghastly howl of pain.

Her eyes flying instinctively to the driver’s mirror, she saw to her utter horror that someone appeared to be trapped between the Mercedes and the car behind.

In a total panic, and desperately anxious to release the person trapped behind the car, she jammed the gearstick into Drive and, stamping her foot down on the accelerator, drove smash, bang, into the vehicle in front of her. Gasping for breath, her heart thudding like a sledgehammer—and totally convinced that she might have killed someone—she pulled hard on the handbrake and switched off the engine.

Fumbling with the door handle, she practically fell out of the car in her haste to offer help and succour to whoever it was she had injured.

‘I’m sorry…I’m so very sorry…’ she wailed helplessly, before recognising the tall figure lying across the bonnet of the car behind.

There was a long silence as Finn slowly turned his head to face her, before struggling to prop himself up on one elbow and staring incredulously down at his legs. Following his gaze, she saw that one limb appeared to be bent out at a very strange angle.

Overcome with horror, Harriet could only stare despairingly down at Finn’s torn and ragged trousers, before suddenly feeling violently ill and dizzy at the realisation that she was totally responsible for such a dreadful accident.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘PULL yourself together, Harriet—right this minute!’ Finn rasped, grimly eyeing the girl’s chalky white face, and the way her tall, slim figure was beginning to sway ominously back and forth.

‘Yes, I…I’m sorry…’ She gulped, taking several deep breaths as she struggled to combat her nausea. ‘It…it’s all my fault,’ she moaned. ‘I’m terribly sorry…’

‘Never admit that it’s your fault,’ he snapped. ‘Surely you know that’s the first rule in traffic accidents? Leave it up to the insurance companies and the court to decide who’s to blame.’

Harriet gazed at him in confusion. ‘You…you mean that I wasn’t responsible for this accident, after all? Oh—thank God! I was so afraid…’

‘Don’t be so damn silly—of course it was your fault!’ Finn growled menacingly. ‘What in the hell did you think you were doing with my car? Playing dodgems?’

‘No…no! You don’t understand,’ she told him hurriedly. ‘I had to move it out of the way of the skip.’

‘And…?’

‘Well, you obviously weren’t around, so I got hold of your car keys, and then I…’

‘My car keys?’ he growled. ‘You mean that you had the nerve to break into my apartment? Terrific!’

‘No, of course I didn’t break in. I’ve got a pair of spare keys to your flat, in case of any emergency,’ Harriet explained hurriedly. ‘But that’s not important,’ she added, frowning as she brushed a worried hand through her hair. ‘I mean…surely you ought to see a doctor? Or maybe I should take you off to the nearest hospital?’

‘Oh, yes…? And just what are you planning to use for transport?’ he grated, wincing with pain as he tried to move his leg.

‘Well…’

‘We certainly can’t use my car,’ he pointed out grimly. ‘And I don’t suppose the guy who owns the vehicle in front—the one you’ve just bashed into—will be too keen to lend us his, either. Well done, Harriet!’

‘But…but we must get you some help, straight away!’ she wailed, staring helplessly at the damp locks of hair stuck to his wide brow, and the beads of sweat trickling down over his tanned cheeks. Finn was clearly in agony. So, what on earth did he think he was doing—lying there on the car bonnet and arguing with her, when he so obviously needed medical attention?

Lowering her gaze, Harriet caught a glimpse of something white, like bone, protruding from the blood-spattered torn and jagged material of his trousers, just below the knee. Quickly sapping her eyes shut, she struggled to combat the waves of nausea threatening to overcome her once again.

‘Don’t you dare faint on me!’ he growled.

‘No…no, of course not,’ she protested, taking a deep gulp of air. Opening her eyes, she kept them firmly on his face. ‘It’s just that… I’m sorry, I should have asked before now. Are both of your legs hurt?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ he muttered, giving a muffled gasp of pain as he tried to look down at his limbs. ‘It looks as though you’ve only managed to crush one of them.’

‘Oh, that’s good,’ she muttered, biting her lip with indecision as she tried to think what to do.

‘Good? What in the hell do you mean?’ he ground out savagely. ‘There’s nothing good about this situation!’

‘No, you don’t understand…I only meant…’

‘I don’t give a damn what you meant. Get me an ambulance—right now!’

‘OK…OK. Relax! I’ll go and call one straight away. Will you be all right if I leave you here, on your own?’

‘Just go!’ he bellowed hoarsely, before gritting his teeth as waves of pain threatened to engulf him.

Racing up the steps of her house, Harriet cursed her fumbling fingers as she tried to get the keys into the door. By the time she returned to Finn, after dialling the emergency services, a small crowd had gathered around him. Recognising the man from the skip delivery van, and the nice old lady who lived two doors down, she was surprised to be accosted by a complete stranger.

‘I saw the whole thing from my house, across the road,’ the unknown man informed her. ‘Like I told the poor fellow, there—’ he gestured towards Finn ‘—I’m prepared to stand up in court and tell everyone how you deliberately ran him over. I’ve never been so shocked in all my born days!’

‘No, you’re wrong. I didn’t—’

‘Oh, yes, you did!’ the man snapped aggressively.

‘No! I mean, he’s a friend. Well…sort of a friend, anyway…’ she muttered helplessly.

‘Are you telling me that you deliberately drove straight into someone you know?’ he demanded incredulously. ‘Well! I’ve never heard anything like it. If you ask me, what we’ve got here is a clear case of attempted manslaughter!’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Harriet ground out through gritted teeth. ‘I was merely moving his car, and then he shouted and started banging on the roof, and—’

‘Oh, yes?’ the man snorted in disbelief. ‘And why would he do that?’

Harriet shrugged. ‘How should I know?’

‘I was merely trying to stop someone—person unknown—who I thought was stealing my car,’ Finn answered, sounding exhausted and worryingly weak.

‘There you are!’ the stranger pronounced triumphantly. ‘I knew it! You’re nothing but a common thief.’

Harriet was saved from any further attempt to explain the situation as one of the builders joined them. ‘Give over, mate,’ he said sternly. ‘This lady was only shifting the Merc so we could put a skip in the space.’

Rescue, in the form of an ambulance with sirens blazing, quickly cut short any more argument. As two paramedics jumped out and began calmly assessing the situation, a police car drew up. Harriet hurried across the road, telling the policemen the full story of how the accident had occurred—and freely admitting that it was entirely her fault.

She’d just finished giving details of her name and address to the policemen, when Finn called out her name. Turning, she was relieved to see that he was now lying comfortably on a stretcher, and being carried into the back of the ambulance.

‘Come here,’ he called out imperiously.

‘What’s the problem?’ she asked, quickly running to his side. ‘Can I fetch you anything from your flat. A dressing gown and pyjamas…?’

‘What?’ He frowned up at her. ‘Why on earth would I need pyjamas?’

‘Well, you know…er…something to wear in hospital.’

‘My dear girl,’ he murmured with a twisted, wolfish grin. ‘I’m not exactly a pyjama sort of man!’

‘No, I don’t suppose you are,’ she agreed, annoyed to feel her cheeks flushing under his sardonic gaze. ‘So, what do you want?’

‘You.’ His hand shot out and gripped her wrist firmly. ‘You’re coming with me!’

‘Oh, no…no, I can’t possibly. I mean, you don’t realise…I simply hate this sort of thing. Hospitals make me sick.’

‘Tough!’

‘Believe me—you’re in the best hands now,’ she assured him earnestly, trying to pull away from his grip. ‘You really don’t need me. I’d only get in the way.’

Harriet was perfectly well aware that, as far as the ambulance staff and policemen were concerned, she was obviously coming over like a Hard-Hearted Hannah. But she didn’t care. Not if it meant she could escape from having to go to the hospital with Finn.

‘You’re coming along, whether you like it or not!’ he told her, his fingers tightening over her wrist as he turned his head towards a young policeman. ‘I’m taking her with me, OK? You know where she lives, and I think the keys are still in the ignition, if you need to move the car.’

‘Yeah, sure. No problem.’

‘How about if I contact a relative of yours? Or maybe someone from work?’ Harriet asked hurriedly. ‘In fact, I’m sure that you’d much prefer to have a glamorous blonde girlfriend putting her cool hands on your fevered brow. So, why don’t I just give one of them a ring, and—’

‘Forget it!’ he growled, not letting go his grip for one second.

‘But…but you simply don’t understand!’ she cried shrilly, her voice wobbling as she tried to explain the problem. ‘I’m not just being bloody-minded. I really do have an absolute phobia about hospitals!’

The journey by ambulance was a nightmare.

Harriet tried explaining to Finn that, when suffering from some childhood complaint which had had her local doctors puzzled, she’d been dumped in a hospital for two weeks. Although only aged seven at the time, she could still vividly recall being prodded by painful needles, being made to drink disgusting potions, which had only succeeded in making her dreadfully sick, and being desperately, desperately lonely.

‘That was in the bad old days, of course. Nowadays, you can visit someone in hospital any time of the day or night,’ she told him, having to raise her voice over the noise of the siren.

‘I only saw my parents twice while I was in that foul place,’ she continued, as he lay silently beside her. ‘And even now, if I close my eyes, I can still smell that dreadful odour of carbolic soap and disinfectant, which seemed to hang over the old Victorian building like a black cloud. Honestly, Finn,’ she added earnestly, ‘I’m not kidding. Hospitals really do make me feel extremely ill.’

‘I expect things have changed,’ Finn muttered, not bothering to open his eyes, and clearly not particularly interested in her problems.

Which was perfectly understandable, of course, she told herself swiftly. Not only was the poor man obviously in considerable pain, but she was totally responsible for the situation in which he now found himself. So, it was no wonder he was showing not the slightest amount of sympathy for her feelings.

All the same…I’ll just see him into the casualty department—making sure that he’s being looked after properly—and then I’m off, she promised herself as the ambulance finally came to a halt.

Following behind Finn’s stretcher, she found herself facing a barrage of questions. Name? Date of birth? Blood group? GP’s address and telephone number?

‘I’m afraid that it’s no good asking me,’ Harriet tried to explain. ‘I hardly know anything about him.’

‘Oh, so you’re not his girlfriend?’

‘Certainly not!’ Finn growled. ‘She’s merely the girl who drove a car at me—and caused this accident,’ he added cruelly, before giving the nurses the details they required.

‘There’s no need to make me out to be Public Enemy Number One,’ she hissed as they waited in a cubicle for a doctor to see him.

‘They all seem to think that I deliberately tried to kill you!’ Harriet continued glumly, resenting the black looks she’d been getting from some of the pretty nurses, flitting in and out of the cubicle, taking Finn’s temperature, and trying to make him more comfortable.

‘Now, Mr Maclean, I’m afraid that we’re going to have to cut off this trouser-leg,’ a nurse announced as she entered, carrying a bowl with a large pair of scissors.

‘That’s OK—go right ahead,’ Finn told her with a charming if exhausted smile, which brought a blush to the girl’s cheek as she began cutting through the material at the top of his thigh.

Harriet, from across the small room, quickly turned her head away, feeling deeply ashamed of being so feeble as she tried to avoid looking at his wound.

‘This just so happens to be one of my favourite suits,’ Finn told her accusingly, clearly irritated at her inability to face up to the sight of blood.

‘I’m very sorry,’ she mumbled helplessly.

‘No problem—I fully intend to take the price of a new one off the next few months’ rent,’ he informed her grimly.

‘I suppose that’s only fair,’ she agreed with a sigh, although it only needed a quick glance at his suit jacket, now hanging on the back of the cubicle door, for her to realise the custom-made garment must have cost hundreds and hundreds of pounds.

‘And that’s not all…’ he continued grimly. ‘There’s going to be the price of a new suit, an enormous bill for repairs to my car—and the other vehicle which you damaged, of course—as well as…’

‘OK…OK. I’ve got the message!’ she muttered grimly.

‘And let’s not forget my personal injury claim. Nor the large bill for my loss of earnings.’

‘Loss of earnings…?’

‘Oh, yes.’ He gave a harsh, caustic laugh. ‘Believe me—that’s going to be a really huge item!’

It was obvious that Finn was deliberately trying to needle her. Probably in an effort to take his mind off the pain he must be suffering, Harriet told herself firmly.

So, there was absolutely no point in overreacting to anything he might be saying at the moment. All she had to do was to keep very, very cool, calm and collected—until they took him away to set his broken bone. At which point she would be able, with a good conscience, to leave this awful place and return home.

‘In fact, I shouldn’t be at all surprised if the final bill doesn’t run into many thousands of pounds,’ Finn announced with grim relish.

‘Ah, well. I’ll just have to worry about that later,’ she said as calmly as she could, before trying to change the subject. ‘But if you have to be off work for a time, at least you’ll be able to enjoy sitting outside in the garden.’

‘You’re obsessed with that damned garden!’ he growled irritably. ‘So it will serve you right if you now have to sell me the house, just to clear your debts.’

‘Sell my house…?’ Harriet stared at him in horror.

‘How else will you be able to raise the money?’ he rasped, before giving a muffled groan as the nurse was forced to move his leg. ‘Besides, it’s only poetic justice,’ he added grimly. ‘Because you should have let me buy it in the first place,’

‘Look, I know you’re in pain, and you probably can’t help trying to wind me up. But let’s be clear about one thing,’ she told him firmly. ‘I’ll never let you get your hands on my house!’

He gave a cruel laugh. ‘You won’t have a choice in the matter. Not when you’re bankrupt—and I’m your largest creditor.’

‘I’m damned if I’ll pay you one penny!’ Harriet exploded, completely forgetting the sage advice she’d just been giving herself, only moments before. ‘If you hadn’t shouted blue murder, and banged so loudly on the roof, I would never have lost control of your rotten car. Which just goes to prove that this accident was all your fault. You…you horrible, beastly man!’

The nurse looked up from her careful snipping of his trouser-leg, gazing at Harriet with a shocked expression which left the other girl feeling instantly contrite and deeply ashamed of herself.

Oh, Lord! Why did Finn always bring out the very worst in her? Harriet asked herself miserably. She’d sounded so hard and callous. But she really wasn’t at all that sort of person. In fact, she’d never consciously injured anyone, in the whole of her life.

‘I…I’m sorry,’ she muttered helplessly. ‘But you were making it sound as if I’d set out to deliberately harm you in some way. And…and you must know that simply isn’t true?’

‘Yes, well…it clearly was an accident,’ he admitted, grimacing with pain as the nurse carefully removed fibres of material from his wound. ‘But it’s not going to be exactly a picnic, hobbling around on crutches for the next month or so.’

‘You don’t know that your leg is broken,’ she pointed out hopefully. ‘It could just be a sprain.’

‘I should be so lucky!’ He sighed heavily.

Unfortunately, all Harriet’s hopes of a speedy solution to the problem were dashed when the doctor finally arrived.

‘Oh, yes, it’s broken, I’m afraid,’ he announced cheerfully. ‘Looks like a clean break—but we’ll get it X-rayed to make sure. Then we’ll set the leg,’ he added, before turning to Harriet. ‘Are you feeling all right? You look a bit green to me.’

‘I…I’m no good in hospitals. His leg looks really awful,’ Harriet mumbled, desperately trying not to glance at Finn’s wound, now fully exposed to view.

‘Oh, this is nothing!’ the doctor laughed. ‘You’ll see far worse sights in here.’

‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ she muttered, desperately trying to control her feelings of nausea.

The doctor and nurses having left them alone for a moment, while organising the patient’s removal to X-ray, Finn asked her to hand him his suit jacket, hanging on the door of the cubicle.

‘I just wanted to check…’ he muttered as she handed him the jacket. ‘Ah, yes—here they are,’ he said, handing her his wallet and keys. ‘God knows how long all this business is going to take,’ he added with a heavy sigh. ‘So I think I’d better ask you to hang on to them, until we know how things are going to turn out.’

Staring down at Finn’s long slim figure, Harriet couldn’t fail to notice the signs of pain and exhaustion which seemed to be etched on his handsome face, now looking so pale and drawn beneath the tan.

He’s so terribly brave—while I’ve been nothing but totally feeble and pathetic, she told herself miserably, almost overwhelmed by a sudden rush of deep sympathy and compassion for the poor man.

‘I’m so…so very sorry,’ she murmured, seemingly unable to prevent the tears from welling up in her eyes. ‘If only I hadn’t tried to move that car of yours, this would never have happened. It’s all my fault,’ she added helplessly. ‘So…so, while I can’t afford to pay for a private nurse, I really will do my best to try and look after you myself.’

‘Do you know anything at all about medicine…or nursing?’

‘No…well, I’m afraid that I don’t,’ she admitted. ‘But, while they will obviously want to keep you in here for some days, I should be able to cope with looking after you when you’re sent home. After all,’ she added with a shrug, ‘I reckon you’ll be feeling much better by then. And…and if you’re still in pain, maybe we can get the hospital to provide some aspirins.’

Finn stared silently up at her for a moment.

‘That’s a kind offer, Harriet,’ he said at last. ‘So, it looks as if it’s my turn to apologise. I shouldn’t have been so unkind, and taken my pain and frustration out on you,’ he admitted with a deep sigh, his expression softening at the sight of the girl’s obvious distress. Winding his fingers through her long red hair, he pulled her gently down towards him.

‘I can’t have you weeping all over me,’ he told her softly, raising a corner of the sheet spread over his body and wiping the tears from the large green eyes only an inch or two away from his own.

‘I thought you had women crying over you all the time,’ she muttered with a tearful smile.

‘No, not lately,’ he told her softly, his fingers tightening in her hair as he pulled her head down towards him, until their lips were almost touching.

‘While it isn’t my birthday—I think I deserve a good-luck kiss before they set my leg, don’t you?’

The husky note of wry self-mockery in his low voice seemed to be echoing strangely in her ears. Almost as if in a slow motion sequence from a movie, frame by frame, the firm, hard contours of his mouth possessed her quivering lips, teasing them apart with soft, lingering pleasure. And then, as he raised his other hand and buried his fingers in her hair, holding her firmly captive above him, the wild beating of her heart seemed to be thudding like a drum in her ears, and she found herself helplessly surrendering to the sensual excitement of his deepening kiss.

It was a loud bang, as the door of the cubicle was thrown open, that suddenly broke the magic spell and brought her swiftly back to reality.

Dazed and trembling, Harriet quickly raised her head, to see a trolley being wheeled into the room by a hospital porter.

‘Oh, Lord…!’ she breathed, a deep crimson flush spreading over her pale cheeks.

Quickly straightening up, and brushing the thick, tangled locks of hair from her face, Harriet could only hope that the porter, busily pushing the trolley alongside the examination couch, would think she’d merely been straightening the sheet covering the patient’s long body.

‘Relax! It was only a kiss,’ Finn murmured, his blue eyes glinting with wry amusement at her confusion.

‘That sounds like your signature tune!’ she muttered grimly, ashamed to have fallen victim, once again, to this man’s fatal attraction.

Trying to keep out of the way as the nurse and porter transferred Finn onto the trolley, she was startled to find her wrist firmly grasped by his fingers as they began wheeling him out of the room.

‘Oh, no—I really don’t think…’ she muttered as she found herself being towed unceremoniously down the corridor, unable to prise her hand from Finn’s tight grip.

‘Too bad!’ he told her with a low, husky laugh. ‘I’ve decided, my dear Harriet, that you and I are definitely going “all the way!”’

Squeezed into the far corner of the lift as it whooshed upwards towards the X-ray department, Harriet leaned back against the wall of the stainless steel cage, trying to make some sort of sense of the situation in which she now found herself.

What on earth did she think she’d been doing? How could she possibly have allowed Finn to kiss her like that? And in a hospital casualty department—of all places! So, OK…she’d felt very sorry for the poor guy. And, let’s face it, she had also been suffering from a bad conscience. Because there was absolutely no doubt that it was entirely her fault that Finn was now suffering from a broken leg.

However, what she totally failed to understand was how she could have found herself once again kissing Finn—with, alas, absolutely no protest whatsoever. Was she out of her tiny mind—or what?

Much later, as she sat slumped on a hard plastic chair, Harriet gave a deep sigh and leaned forward, burying her head in her hands. She’d never known anything like the mortification and embarrassment of the past two hours.

The process of X-raying Finn’s leg hadn’t been a problem, of course. Mainly because she’d been unable to accompany him into such a potentially dangerous area. But when he’d insisted on her being present while his leg was being set, the doctor had hardly started the gruesome task when she’d been forced to rush from the room, before being violently sick into a bowl provided by a kind nurse.

‘I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry…’ she’d mumbled as the nurse had pointed her in the direction of the nearest washrooms. After splashing cold water on her face, and desperately trying to pull herself together, she’d raised her head to regard her reflection in the mirror.

Wincing at the sight of the pale, washed-out vision of the girl staring back at her, Harriet had tried not to think about the horrifying pain which she’d unwittingly inflicted on Finn. And, as if to compound her humiliation and disgrace, everyone would now know that she was a lily-livered coward, as well. In fact—with her stomach still churning around like a concrete mixer on full speed—she couldn’t remember feeling quite so miserable and utterly wretched in all her life.

With a deep sigh, she now straightened up and leaned back in the hard chair. After sitting out here in the corridor for some time, the turmoil inside her stomach had calmed down, somewhat—but nothing seemed to take away the shame of having behaved in such a totally pathetic, feeble way.

She’d heard of strong men fainting at the sight of a hypodermic needle. But she’d never heard of any woman behaving in such a stupid, pathetic manner, she told herself roughly. All in all, it was beginning to look as if she was an utterly inadequate, pitiful human being.

Sunk deep in gloom, it was some moments before she realised that a nurse was calling out her name, telling her that she could now join Mr Maclean.

Cautiously re-entering the small room, its walls lined with glass cabinets containing all manner of medicines, bandages and some evil-looking instruments, she saw that Finn’s leg was now wrapped in plaster of Paris, from his thigh down to his toes. The two nurses, having just completed the job, were smiling down at him and obviously enjoying his company.

‘Well, well! If it isn’t “Nurse” Wentworth—at last!’ Finn drawled, his voice heavy with sarcasm as he turned his head and saw her standing in the doorway. ‘Feeling better?’

‘Yes…er…much better,’ Harriet muttered. ‘I just want you to know, that I…I’m really so very sorry. I honestly didn’t mean to let you down…’ Her voice trailed unhappily away.

‘I hope you’re not intending to be sick again?’

‘No! Of course not,’ she protested. ‘I was just trying to apologise for…well, for not being able to stand the sight of…’ She waved her hands distractedly around the small room.

‘Well, I can’t say that you didn’t give me fair warning, in the ambulance,’ he agreed wryly as the doctor bustled into the room.

‘Right. We’ll let that dry, and then you can be fitted with crutches.’

‘Crutches?’ Harriet exclaimed in surprise. ‘Aren’t you going to keep him in bed, and suspend his leg up in the air with a sort of pulley arrangement?’

‘Good Lord, no! There’s no need for anything like that,’ the doctor told her firmly.

‘OK. So, how long will he be staying in hospital?’

The doctor shrugged. ‘I think we’d better give it another hour, to allow the plaster to dry properly, and then he can return home.’

‘Return home…?’ Harriet echoed blankly. And then, as her weary brain finally made sense of what the doctor was saying, she gave a gasp of horror. ‘But…but you can’t! He’s sick! You can’t just shove him out on to the street.’

‘I’m fine…’ Finn told her. ‘In fact—’

‘No, you’re not!’ snapped Harriet, before turning to the doctor. ‘He obviously needs professional care,’ she told him earnestly.

The doctor shook his head. ‘It was a relatively uncomplicated break. Now Mr Maclean is patched up, he can go home.’

‘Nonsense! It’s quite obvious that he should stay here, in hospital,’ Harriet retorted firmly.

‘I’m fine…’ Finn repeated irritably.

‘I’m sorry.’ The doctor shrugged. ‘I simply haven’t got any beds to spare.’

‘But…you’ve simply got to keep him here,’ Harriet pleaded. ‘I can’t possibly cope…I mean, he’s ill! Somebody needs to look after him. Please don’t send him home,’ she begged.

The doctor came over and patted her shoulder. ‘Relax—he’s only broken his leg. He’ll be whizzing around on his crutches in no time. You’ll see.’

‘I’m fine!’ Finn growled angrily, clearly fed up with the argument taking place over his supine body.

‘If you say “I’m fine” once more—I’ll strangle you!’ Harriet yelled at him, before turning to the doctor. ‘You don’t understand! I really can’t cope with him. I mean…I’m not a nurse. I don’t know what to do?’

‘There’s no need to worry,’ the doctor told her soothingly. ‘With a bit of practice, he’ll soon be able to manage most things. Although, maybe at the beginning he might need some help dressing and undressing…’

‘What on earth do you mean?’ Harriet gazed at him in horror. ‘Undress him? Are you mad?’ she added, pointing a shaking finger at Finn. ‘I can’t possibly be expected to take that man’s clothes off!’

There was a sudden silence as the doctor stared at her in astonishment, only broken when Finn suddenly burst out laughing.

‘She’s absolutely priceless, isn’t she?’ he told the other man, his shoulders shaking with amusement.

‘You can cut that out—right now!’ Harriet told him furiously. ‘This is definitely not funny!’

‘Yes, Nurse!’ Finn told her meekly, his broad shoulders shaking once again as the small room rang with the sound of his sardonic laughter.

CHAPTER FIVE

AS THE taxi stopped at the traffic lights by Lancaster Gate, Harriet leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes.

It had been, without a doubt, one of the most tiring days of her life. Not only had she been forced to wait around, for what seemed ages, waiting for Finn’s plaster cast to dry—but there been all those forms to fill in, as well; in triplicate, of course. Not to mention the search for a pair of crutches long enough to fit Finn’s tall frame.

However, they’d now left the hospital, with its ghastly disinfectant smell, well behind them—and she was going home at last.

A slight movement beside her was a forcible reminder that she was not alone.

Opening her eyes, Harriet gazed at the bare toes poking out of the plaster cast, propped up on the black London taxi cab’s fold-down seat. There was no doubt that Finn did have incredibly long legs. It had taken an enormous amount of pushing and shoving to get both the tall man and his heavy plaster cast into the taxi.

Turning her head, Harriet gazed at his profile, silhouetted against the illumination of the street-lamps and the headlights of oncoming traffic. His eyes were shut, his long thick lashes casting dark shadows on to his cheekbones.

It was maddening, of course, but she had to admit that Finn really was sensationally good-looking. Unfortunately, he was well aware of his own charms—and also clearly far too used to getting his own way.

He’d had every single one of those nurses at the hospital positively eating out of his hand. Not only had they cooed and fussed over the damned man—in a thoroughly disgusting manner—but they’d also, almost unbelievably, provided him with proper cups of tea.

Nice for some! Harriet thought glumly, recalling how she’d had to make do with tepid liquid, tasting like dishwater, provided by the drinks machine in the hospital corridor.

Fed up with all the attention and cosseting which Finn had been receiving, she’d managed to get hold of one of the nurses. Enquiring how long it would be before he could get rid of the cast, she’d been casually informed, ‘Not long. Only about six weeks.’

‘Six weeks…?’ she’d gasped, staggering back in shock, inadvertently splattering the disgusting weak tea, in its plastic cup, all down the front of her pale blue cotton dress.

Closing her eyes once again, Harriet sank lower in the leather seat. Although she’d offered to try and look after Finn, it had been a hideous shock when the doctor had refused to keep him in hospital for a few days. Surely no one could possibly expect her to look after Finn. Not for six whole long weeks! So, she was going to have to find some solution to the problem—and fast.

Temporarily distracted by a brief daydream, in which she’d mentally booked herself a nice long cruise to South America, she found herself being reluctantly dragged back to the real world as Finn stirred restlessly on the seat beside her, clearly trying to make himself feel more comfortable.

It was no good, she told herself with a heavy sigh. Because of course she couldn’t just disappear and leave the foul man to fend for himself. Not when it was all her fault that he had a broken leg. Which meant that somehow, somewhere, she must find a solution to the problem. Maybe a private nursing home was the answer?

Unfortunately, that still left the problem of what she was going to do with Finn tonight. It wasn’t just a case of having to get him up into his flat—although that was going to be bad enough. It was what was likely to happen afterwards which was chiefly troubling her. Because—if those first few weeks of his residence in the house were anything to go by—she was going to find herself running non-stop, up and down the stairs, for the next twenty-four hours.

Never mind, Harriet told herself bracingly. She was just going to have to put up with all the aggro—for tonight, at least. With any luck, she would be able to pack him off to bed as soon as they returned to the house—and work out a solution to the problem tomorrow.

Turning her head, she saw that he was regarding her out of half-closed eyes.

‘Finn…?’

‘Mmm?’

‘I just wondered…I mean, when we get home, I reckon it would be a good idea if I put you straight to bed. What do you think?’

He raised a dark, quizzical eyebrow. ‘That sounds interesting!’ he murmured. ‘What’s led to your sudden interest in my sleeping habits? Overcome with lust at viewing my bare legs…?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ she retorted, casting a quick nervous glance at the taxi driver in front. ‘I meant…I think you ought to go to bed…er…to sleep.’

‘That sounds very boring,’ he drawled sardonically. ‘I much prefer your earlier suggestion!’

‘I didn’t suggest anything!’

‘I’m not used to being propositioned like this,’ Finn continued, ignoring her protest. ‘But if that’s how you Notting Hill females normally behave—who am I to argue?’

‘Oh, shut up!’ Harriet hissed crossly, before quickly reaching forward and firmly closing the partition between themselves and the driver.

‘Unfortunately, I’m sorry to have to turn down your attractive offer. I have other plans,’ he said, raising his arm to glance down at the thin gold watch on his wrist. ‘I hope she hasn’t given up waiting and gone home.’

‘You must be joking!’ Harriet gazed at him in astonishment. ‘You don’t really expect to…to do that sort of thing? Not after all you’ve gone through? Not tonight?’

‘Do what?’

‘Well…you know…’ Harriet wriggled uncomfortably on her seat. ‘Er…making love.’

He gave a low rumble of laughter. ‘It would certainly be one way of relieving the boredom of being trapped in this plaster cast.’

Harriet stared at him incredulously. ‘I simply can’t believe that you’re thinking of having sex tonight!’

‘Ah, but I wasn’t,’ Finn drawled sardonically. ‘That was your suggestion.’

‘What…?’

‘I was merely referring to an appointment with my secretary.’

‘So…?’

‘So, the lady—who is middle-aged, by the way—was merely bringing me some papers to sign.’ He turned in his seat, his blue eyes glinting with amusement. ‘Quite frankly, I think she would be thoroughly shocked by your suggestion.’

‘It was a perfectly natural assumption,’ Harriet told him with a shrug of her slim shoulders. ‘After all, with a reputation like yours—anything is possible!’

He gave a deep throaty laugh. ‘I didn’t realise I had a “reputation.” Is it that bad?’

‘It could hardly be worse!’ she retorted in a crushing tone of voice, before turning to stare determinedly out of the window at the passing traffic.

How could she have forgotten how much she actively disliked this awful man? Harriet asked herself grimly. Trust him to turn a perfectly normal, concerned question about whether he felt tired into a whole nasty mess of double entendres.

Her annoyance was further increased as she heard him give another low, husky laugh.

‘I thought I was going to be bored out of my skull for the next few weeks. However, with the prospect of listening to your extraordinary views on men, life and sex in Notting Hill, I have a distinct feeling that they’re likely to prove highly educational!’

Saved from having to reply to such a provocative statement, Harriet was relieved to see that they were turning into Lansdowne Gardens. Leaning forward, she gave the taxi driver instructions to pull up by the large yellow skip.

After jumping out of the cab and paying the fare, she turned to help Finn, incensed to note that his broad shoulders were still shaking with amusement.

I’ll wipe that grin off his face, if it’s the last thing that I do! she vowed silently to herself. However, it soon became apparent that any retribution on her part was going to have to wait until much later. Because she and the driver were having as much difficulty getting Finn out of the taxi as they’d had getting him in.

Unfortunately, their efforts weren’t helped by the large scarlet blanket.

Since the hospital had removed Finn’s torn, blood-splattered trousers, Harriet had resolutely refused to take him home with her, while wearing nothing but an open-necked shirt and his Calvin Klein boxer shorts. But the thick hairy blanket, tied around his waist by a crepe bandage, kept getting in the way as they tried to manoeuvre his tall, rangy frame—plus the rigid plaster cast—out of the vehicle.

‘Ouch!’ Finn groaned as his broken leg banged hard against the open door.

‘Sorry…’ Harriet panted, tossing his suit jacket and tie down on to the pavement as she and the driver continued struggling with the heavy weight.

‘Watch what you’re doing with my clothes!’ Finn snapped.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake—stop fussing!’ she retorted impatiently. ‘If you don’t behave, I’ll leave you in this taxi all night.’

‘Not if I’ve got anything to do with it, you won’t!’ the driver commented grimly, giving the other man’s leg a sharp tug, which resulted in Finn suddenly popping out of the vehicle like a cork out of a bottle.

‘There!’ Harriet sighed with relief. ‘That wasn’t so bad—was it?’

‘Are you out of your mind?’ Finn roared angrily, clearly highly indignant at now finding himself lying flat on his back on the pavement. His bad temper increased as he glared up at the cab driver and that red-haired vixen, who were both struggling not to laugh at his predicament.

Finally managing to heave Finn to his feet, the driver handed him the crutches, and with a slightly ironic, ‘The best of luck, miss!’ he drove away into the night.

Scooping up his jacket and tie, Harriet ran up the steps to open the front door.

‘There’s no need to be in such a rush,’ Finn called out as she hurriedly wedged the door wide open.

‘That’s what you think!’ she muttered grimly, watching as he shuffled a few feet forward, before coming to a halt in front of the steps.

‘Damn!’

‘What’s the problem—now?’ she groaned.

‘It’s this blanket. It keeps getting in the way,’ he told her through gritted teeth. ‘It’s also proving bloody difficult to keep my balance and not fall down.’

‘Come on. It’s only a few steps, after all.’

‘I’d like to see you try!’ he grumbled, frowning as he tried to work out how best to solve the problem.

‘But I don’t understand!’ she exclaimed impatiently. ‘I thought the nurses showed you how to walk with the crutches?’

‘So they did. But they didn’t show me how to climb up and down stairs.’

‘OK, I’d better give you a hand,’ she sighed, running down the steps, removing one of the crutches and propping it up against a nearby pillar, before placing an arm about his waist.

‘Good Lord—you must weigh a ton!’ she grunted, feeling as though she was supporting all Finn’s weight as they proceeded slowly up the steps.

‘Stop fussing!’ he retorted, accurately mimicking both the words and voice which she’d used earlier.

‘Watch it! Or I’ll leave you standing out here for the rest of the night,’ she told him grimly. ‘For goodness’ sake—you’ve now only got one crutch, so why don’t you use it? You’re practically breaking my back!’ she added breathlessly as they paused for a moment at the top of the steps.

Maybe she was just feeling light-headed from so much exertion. But for some strange reason Harriet found that she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from the sprinkling of dark hair at the wrist of the arm lying so heavily across her shoulders, nor the long, tanned fingers, now firmly gripping her soft flesh.

Her mind was suddenly filled with the memory of those strong, warm hands, sliding about her trembling body and pulling her against his hard figure, before he’d given her such an utterly mind-blowing, devastating kiss on the evening of his birthday. The long fingers which had, earlier today, wound themselves into her hair, pulling her quivering lips down towards his own, and…

‘Are you all right?’ Finn asked, frowning as he turned to look down at the girl standing frozen beside him, a deep flush covering her pale face as she gazed blindly into space.

Quickly taking a deep breath, Harriet gave a slight shake of her head at such folly.

Get a grip! she shouted silently at herself. How could she have forgotten—even for a few moments—that this was the hand of Finn Maclean: the man who, according to Sophie, was known far and wide as the Casanova of Notting Hill!

‘Oh, yes—he’s definitely NSIT!’ her friend had announced with a wide grin, only a few days ago—and Harriet could well believe it. ‘Not Safe in Taxis’ perfectly summed up Finn’s devastating sex appeal.

Indeed, having witnessed the effect of his charm on the nurses at the hospital—let alone his normal horde of stunning girlfriends—Harriet had no problem in believing the stories about him.

Besides, just look at what had happened to her! She was normally a rational, sensible girl—right? And yet, despite not trusting him one inch, she’d twice found herself caught up in some extraordinary, almost enchanted spell, woven by this utterly lethal man.

Well, she had definitely no intention of joining his harem! So, the sooner she got rid of him, the better. Let’s face it, she told herself grimly, it was only a few weeks since he’d moved into her house, and already her life was in a complete turmoil. To be absolutely blunt: he was a pain in the neck, a thorn in her side—and fast becoming the bane of her life!

With a heavy sigh, Harriet told him to stand still as she ran back to fetch the second crutch, which she’d left outside the house. Handing it back to him, she watched his slow progress down the hall.

What he needed was a no-nonsense and very strict middle-aged nurse. Or maybe an old-fashioned nanny—who would give him a hard time and see through all his attempts to wind her around his little finger? But where on earth would she get hold of such paragons?

Making a mental note to ring around the agencies, first thing in the morning, she saw that he was leaning against the wall at the foot of the stairs, clearly unable to face the steep climb up to his apartment on the second floor.

Despite knowing she was a fool, and against her better judgement, she couldn’t help suddenly feeling very sorry for Finn, who was now looking totally exhausted.

‘OK…’ She gave a heavy sigh. ‘You can spend tonight in my spare bedroom,’ she told him, unable to forget that it was, of course, her fault that the poor guy was now stumping around on crutches. ‘I’ll help you to practise climbing the stairs tomorrow.’

‘I’d appreciate that,’ he murmured, looking genuinely grateful as she opened her own front door and he hobbled clumsily into her apartment.

‘You’ve got to help me, Sophie. Believe me—I’m desperate!’

‘OK—OK…calm down,’ the other girl told her quickly. ‘I’m sure it’s not as bad as you say.’

‘It’s far, far worse!’ Harriet groaned softly. ‘You simply don’t seem to understand the problem.’

Sophie gave an audible sigh down the phone. ‘I’m trying to. Honestly, I am. But you’re not making much sense. As far as I can make out, Finn Maclean seems to have broken his leg—and he’s currently staying in your apartment…?’

‘Got it in one! And that’s the problem, you see.’

‘Well, quite frankly—’ Sophie gave a gurgle of laughter ‘—I can’t see the problem. It sounds absolute bliss to me!’

‘It’s very far from “bliss,”’ Harriet hissed through gritted teeth. ‘The damned man is sending me absolutely up the wall. I’ve never been so exhausted in the whole of my life. Somebody has got to help me!’

‘All right—calm down. Keep cool,’ her friend muttered. ‘Incidentally, why are you whispering?’

‘Because he’s insisted on making himself at home in my bed, upstairs. And I don’t want him listening to this conversation.’

Sophie laughed. ‘Lucky old you! There must be thousands of women in London who’d give their right arm to have Finn Maclean in their bed.’

‘Well, all I can say is: they’re welcome to him!’ Harriet grated angrily. ‘I haven’t had a wink of sleep all night. Honestly, Sophie, I was up and down my stairs like a damned yo-yo! Someone’s got to help me—otherwise I’m going to go completely out of my mind. Please can’t you come and give me a hand?’

‘You know that I would, if I could,’ her friend told her. ‘But I’m stuck here in the office all day. Then I’ve got to rush home and do my packing, before dashing off to the airport later tonight. I’m off to the south of France with Rodney—remember?’

‘Some people have all the luck!’ Harriet groaned enviously.

‘What about Trish?’

‘I’ve already tried ringing her. Unfortunately, Trish says that she’s got to go to an antique furniture auction, in the north of England, and won’t be back for three or four days. And all my other friends don’t seem to have any time to spare, either,’ she added with a heavy sigh.

‘Well…what about Finn’s host of girlfriends?’ Sophie asked. ‘Surely at least one of them would happily take him off your hands?’

‘That’s the first thing I thought of. Unfortunately, I can’t get him to see that it’s the obvious solution.’

‘Oh, come on!’ Sophie laughed. ‘The man’s immobile, right? So all you have to do is nip upstairs to his flat, get hold of his little black book and start ringing up his girlfriends. It’s sounds easy-peasy, to me.’

‘It’s not so “easy-peasy” when the rotten man’s little black book is tucked carefully away in his wallet!’ Harriet ground out angrily. ‘And, believe me, he’s not letting go of it for one second. So, if you can think of any other ideas—I’ll be glad to hear them!’

‘Well, not at the moment, but—’

‘And, quite apart from Finn, I’ve got a host of other problems,’ Harriet muttered grimly. ‘Not only have I got to keep an eye on the builders—but my mother wants to come and stay for a while, to do some shopping. Quite honestly, it looks as if my whole life seems to be suddenly going pear-shaped!’

‘Poor old you,’ Sophie muttered sympathetically.

‘Luckily, I’ve managed to put Mother off for a few weeks, by telling her I’m up to my eyes in builders’ rubble. But she’s hardly likely to be thrilled at finding a strange man in my bed, is she?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Harriet. As soon as your mother learns how rich he is, it’ll be a case of goodbye George and hello Finn!’ Sophie told her with a caustic laugh. ‘Incidentally, how is George?’

Harriet groaned. ‘Don’t ask! When we finally got home last night, I found that he’d left a message on my answer-machine. Apparently he’s arriving back from New York tomorrow—and wants to take me out to dinner. Believe me, he’s not going to be too happy about finding Finn in my bed, either.’

‘Oh, dear…’ Sophie muttered, before dissolving into gales of laughter.

‘It’s not funny!’

‘I’m sorry,’ her friend giggled. ‘I know I shouldn’t laugh, but it really is dead funny! I wish I could be there to see Boring George, his eyes out on stalks at the sight of Finn making himself at home in your bed! What a hoot!’ she added, once more giving way to peals of laughter.

‘Thanks, pal—for absolutely nothing!’ Harriet ground out angrily, before slamming down the phone.

What on earth had happened to female solidarity? Because clearly Sophie was a broken reed. And if you couldn’t rely on your oldest and dearest friend to help you out—who could you trust? Certainly not, as it turned out, her own doctor.

‘Give me a break!’ she begged, after insisting that he come to look at the patient whom she’d had unexpectedly thrust upon her. ‘Can’t you arrange to put him in a local nursing home for a few weeks?’

But Dr Morris merely grinned and shook his head. ‘There’s nothing wrong with the chap, other than a broken leg,’ he pointed out. ‘A few days’ quiet rest to recover from the trauma, and—’

‘What “trauma”?’ she demanded angrily. ‘I’m the one who’s becoming traumatised! It’s nothing but, “Come here—go there—fetch this—take that…”’ She shook her head wearily. ‘There must be something you can do?’

‘Yes, I must admit that he does seem to be slightly hyperactive,’ the doctor agreed slowly. ‘I could prescribe a sedative for a day or two. That might help him calm down, and come to terms with his accident,’ the doctor added, quickly writing out a prescription before going on his way.

With a heavy sigh, Harriet realised that something was better than nothing. Although she couldn’t help feeling ‘hyperactive’ barely came near to describing the man upstairs in her bedroom.

Right from the moment he’d hobbled into her apartment, yesterday evening, Finn had been nothing but a thumping nuisance.

‘I remember this as being a wonderful room,’ he’d commented, leaning on his crutches as he’d gazed around what had originally been the main ground-floor sitting room. ‘I see that you’ve now made it into a sort of dining-cum-general purpose area.’

She nodded, walking past him to open a pair of folding doors, beyond which lay the small kitchen. ‘And I put in a small staircase—’ she nodded to the other side of the room ‘—which leads up to the original main drawing room, with a balcony overlooking the garden. But I’ve got a nice, large guest room, which I also use as a sort of office,’ she added, turning to open a door which led into a large room, overlooking the street.

Finn just nodded, looking exhausted as he shuffled past her, before collapsing full-length down on to the large bed.

‘Oh, God! That’s better,’ he groaned with relief. ‘And now, if it’s not too much trouble, Nurse Wentworth, I really could do with a drink.’

‘What would you like? A glass of water? Or maybe a nice hot cup of tea?’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ he drawled. ‘But I was actually thinking of something a good deal stronger than tea or water.’

She frowned. ‘Well…I do have a bottle of whisky…’

‘That’ll do nicely!’

‘But…but what about the painkillers which the hospital gave you? Surely you shouldn’t mix them with alcohol?’

‘I don’t give a damn!’ he growled, raising himself up on one elbow and glaring at her. ‘I need a drink—right now!’

‘OK…OK,’ she muttered, quickly leaving the room and going into her small kitchen.

She was almost certain that she was right, and that he really shouldn’t be having strong liquor. And particularly not with the pills prescribed by the hospital. Still, she was simply too fed up with the whole situation to bother with the effort of defying the awful man.

Returning with a weak whisky and water, Harriet handed him the glass, dismayed to see him toss it down his throat in one go.

‘Thanks—I think I’ll have another. And kindly don’t drown it this time!’

Harriet stared at him grimly for a moment, before giving a shrug and doing as she was told. However, when he’d tossed down the second glass just as quickly as he’d finished the first—and asked for his glass to be filled for a third time—she refused point-blank to give him any more alcohol.

‘Besides,’ she told him firmly, ‘I think you’re being very silly.’

‘Oh, really…?’ he drawled, a note of menace in his voice.

Harriet glared at him, refusing to be intimidated.

‘With all the tea you drank in the hospital, plus those whiskies, I’m surprised that you aren’t worried about running to the bathroom all night,’ she told him bluntly. ‘Although you aren’t going to be running, are you? Which is precisely why, for someone who hasn’t yet mastered the use of his crutches, I really do think that you’re being very silly.’

‘Well…you may have a point there,’ he admitted slowly. ‘Where is the nearest bathroom?’

‘Just on the left, as you come in my front door, off the hallway.’

‘Humph,’ he grunted. ‘Isn’t that a bit inconvenient for your guests?’

‘Well, I haven’t had many people to stay, so far, and—’

Finn gave a bark of sardonic laughter. ‘I’m not surprised—if this bed is anything to go by,’ he muttered, grimacing as he bounced up and down on the hard mattress, before lying back and closing his eyes.

‘Talk about being ungrateful!’ she snapped, before quickly feeling ashamed of herself, since Finn was obviously very tired and exhausted.

‘And what about you?’ he queried, ignoring her sharp retort as he lay slumped back on the pillows, his eyes still firmly shut. ‘Is your bedroom any nearer the bathroom?’

‘The question doesn’t arise. Mainly because I have a bathroom upstairs, en suite with my bedroom.’

‘Right!’ Finn propped himself up on one elbow again. ‘Well, that’s clearly where I’m going to sleep tonight.’

Harriet stared at him aghast. ‘Oh, no, you’re not!’

‘Oh, yes, I am!’ he told her firmly, sitting up and with considerable difficulty managing to swing his heavy plaster cast off the bed.

‘But…but you can’t have my room!’ she wailed. ‘It’s bad enough having to put up with you staying here with me. Why should I have to give up my own bedroom?’

He looked at her silently for a moment. ‘Well, of course you don’t have to,’ he pointed out calmly. ‘If you don’t mind getting up in the middle of the night and helping me walk to your most inconvenient bathroom, that’s entirely up to you. I suppose you could find a bedpan from somewhere,’ he added, grinning as he viewed the look of dawning horror on her face.

‘A…a bedpan…?’

‘Hmm.’ He nodded. ‘It won’t be very pleasant for you, but then that’s your problem, Nurse Wentworth! Incidentally, I hope you’ve got a bell that I can ring. Or perhaps you’re a light sleeper?’

Harriet glared at him. She had never, in all her born days, come across someone as foul as Finn Maclean. Absolutely never!

‘Oh, all right!’ she sighed helplessly, realising that he had her well and truly over a barrel. ‘I suppose I’ve got no choice. But you’re only going to use my bedroom for one night,’ she warned him grimly. ‘You’re definitely going upstairs to your own flat tomorrow—even if you have to crawl all the way.’

‘I don’t think much of your bedside manner, Nurse.’ He grinned, struggling to get to his feet. ‘This is no way to treat a sick man!’

She gave a snort of derision. ‘Rubbish! You’re not sick. The doctor said that you’d be whizzing around in no time. And, will you kindly stop calling me “Nurse.” I don’t think it’s funny.’

By the time she’d managed to push and shove Finn up the short staircase to the large sitting room directly above her ground-floor dining room, Harriet was feeling absolutely exhausted. And Finn didn’t look in any better shape, either. In fact, if he wasn’t continuing to be so bloody-minded, she’d be a lot more sympathetic, she told herself, as she gazed down at the obviously weary man now lying on her bed.

‘Are you feeling all right?’ she asked quietly.

‘Mmm…’ he murmured, sighing with relief as he lay back against the soft pillows.

‘If you’re feeling OK, I’ll just go up to your flat and fetch your wash-bag and pyjamas.’

‘That could be tricky…’ Finn murmured, his lips twitching with amusement.

‘I don’t see why?’

‘I thought I’d already told you that I’m not a pyjama sort of man…?’ he murmured, clearly trying not to laugh.

‘So, OK—what do you wear in bed? A nightshirt?’

‘Certainly not!’ he snapped. ‘I don’t wear anything at all!’

Harriet gazed at him, appalled. ‘Absolutely nothing?’

‘Not a stitch.’

‘Well, you’re definitely going to have to wear something. Because I’m not prepared to have you walking around my flat stark naked!’

‘Forget it!’ Finn told her firmly. ‘Real men don’t wear pyjamas—and I’ve no intention of changing the habits of a lifetime just to appease your pathetic sensibilities.’

‘Have I got news for you…!’ she ground out, before marching into the bathroom and returning with her pink dressing gown. ‘Either you wear this when you have to get up—or you’re going to be in trouble.’

‘Trouble?’ He grinned up at her.

‘Deep trouble,’ she told him firmly. ‘I’m not having any more nonsense from you, Finn. Either you put on this dressing gown when you leave the bed, or I’ll lock that bathroom door.’ She gestured behind her. ‘And don’t even think of trying to argue—right?’

He looked at her intently for a moment, before shrugging his broad shoulders. ‘OK, I know when I’m beaten.’

‘Hah! I should live so long!’ she muttered grimly.

‘All the same,’ he told her with a grin. ‘I can’t think why a girl with carrot-coloured hair should choose to wear a pink dressing gown.’

‘What did you say?’ she ground out in a low, dangerous voice.

However, Finn—who clearly wasn’t a fool—quickly side-stepped the dangerous abyss opening up before him. ‘A mere slip of the tongue,’ he told her airily. ‘In fact, I’ve always been crazy about your hair. It reminds me of beech woods in autumn, the fiery glow of the setting sun, or maybe even…’

But, Harriet, who wasn’t prepared to listen to any more of his nonsense, merely gave him a filthy look, before stalking angrily from the room.

Despite having the bathroom only a few feet from his bed, Finn proceeded to make a thumping nuisance of himself, all night long.

Constant demands for drinks of water, aspirins, something to read…the list was endless. And he had the nerve to make some totally unnecessary, caustic remarks about her own night attire.

‘Why on earth are you wearing that passion-killer?’ he demanded, as he viewed her long white cotton Victorian-style nightgown. ‘Your boyfriend definitely isn’t going to fancy you in that!’

‘Mind your own damn business!’ she snapped, not only cross with Finn, but also irritated with herself for having been so fuzzy from lack of sleep that she’d run up to the bedroom without remembering to put on a dressing gown.

‘Well, if I’m forced to lie here—on my bed of pain—you might at least take the trouble to put on something which is likely to cheer me up,’ he retorted plaintively as she poured him a fresh glass of water. ‘Especially since, after that kiss on my birthday, I happen to know that you’ve got a great figure hidden somewhere under that monstrosity!’

‘Why don’t you just shut up?’ she ground out bitterly. Well aware of her cheeks flushing under his amused gaze, Harriet desperately tried not to recall the night of his birthday party, and the excitingly sensual, erotic touch of his hands on her body.

Slamming the glass down on the bedside table, Harriet did her best to ignore his chuckles of sardonic laughter, before leaving the room with as much dignity as she could manage.

In fact, one way and another, she hadn’t got a wink of sleep—and just when she had managed to drop off, at about six o’clock this morning, the arrival of his secretary two hours later had been just about the last straw.

However, that sedative prescribed by the doctor did seem to have kept him quiet for a bit, Harriet told herself thankfully now, as she carried a fresh jug of orange juice up the stairs leading to her bedroom. With any luck, she might be able to put her feet up later on this afternoon.

In fact, the delicious thought of being able to recline on a lounger, outside in the garden, was just about the only thing which was keeping her going, she told herself, carefully balancing the tray on one hand as she quietly opened the door to her bedroom.

Unfortunately, far from disturbing the man—who should have been fast sleep—she saw that Finn was sitting up in bed, and looking disgustingly wide awake.

‘I thought Dr Morris had given you a sedative?’ she said, putting the tray down on the bedside table.

‘I don’t believe in taking that sort of thing.’ He waved a hand dismissively. ‘I can’t see the point.’

‘The point—just in case you’re interested—is that you are hyperactive, and I need a rest!’ She sighed, trying not to stare at his gorgeously tanned, bare chest.

‘Now that, my dear Harriet, is the first really sensible suggestion that I’ve heard you make all day!’ He laughed, putting out a hand to catch hold of her arm, and swiftly pulling her down on to the bed beside him.

CHAPTER SIX

‘FOR heaven’s sake—cut it out, Finn!’ Harriet protested, struggling to escape from his iron grip.

Unfortunately, the more she twisted and turned, the more she found herself becoming entangled with the rumpled sheet, and almost half smothered by the thick goose-down duvet.

‘Agh…! Le-meee-go…’

‘I’m sorry…? I didn’t quite catch that. Did you say something…?’ he enquired blandly, grinning at the muffled shouts of rage and fury as Harriet, arms and legs thrashing wildly, desperately tried to extricate herself from the thick mass of bedding.

‘I…s-said…’ she gasped, finally managing to break surface, sweeping the tangled mass of fiery red hair from her face with her free hand as she glared up at him with stormy green eyes. ‘I said…to let me go. At once!’

‘Now, Harriet—calm down! There’s no need to get quite so excited,’ he drawled, his shoulders shaking with amusement though he still, she noted grimly, continued to maintain a firm grip on her arm.

‘I’m not excited!’ she ground out angrily. ‘I’m just fed up to the back teeth with all this hassle, and…and…I’ve got a lot of better things to do than fooling around in here, with you.’

‘I’m sure you have,’ he said soothingly, pulling her closer to him. ‘But surely you can spare a poor, helpless invalid just a few minutes of your precious time. Hmm?’

‘You are not an invalid—and you’re certainly not helpless!’ she retorted. ‘For instance, I note that you’ve at least managed to shave yourself without my help,’ she added, glaring up at his smooth chin. ‘What did you use? My razor?’

‘I knew you wouldn’t mind.’ He grinned. ‘After all, no girl likes to be kissed by a man with a day’s growth of beard. Right?’

She gave an incredulous gasp of caustic laughter. ‘My God! Have you got a swollen head—or what! Has it ever occurred to you that there might actually be some women who don’t fancy you?’

‘Well, now—let’s see…’ he murmured, his lips twitching with suppressed laughter as he pretended to be giving serious consideration to the subject. ‘There was my first teacher at primary school, of course. Miss Wallace was a really tough old bag. And she definitely didn’t like me—always claiming that I was easily the naughtiest boy in the school!’

‘Let’s hear it for Miss Wallace!’ Harriet muttered grimly, before quickly deciding to try and apply some common sense to the situation. ‘Come on, Finn—please be sensible. What’s the point of playing these sort of silly games?’

‘I don’t think this comes under the heading of silly games,’ he murmured softly, pulling her closer to his bare chest.

The light, mocking note in his voice was acutely disturbing, as was the sheer strength of his arms as they closed about her tense figure. As for all that wonderfully smooth, honey-coloured tanned skin covering his strong arms, wide shoulders and broad, muscular chest, lightly sprinkled with dark curly hair… It was all she could do not to whimper out loud, desperately striving to resist the temptation to run her fingers over his superb body, her senses bemused by the proximity of so much erotically warm, male flesh.

As always, when in close proximity to this man, Harriet found herself becoming helplessly enmeshed in the dangerous, sticky web of Finn’s overwhelming sex appeal. Despite knowing—only too well!—that any close contact with him was absolutely fatal as far as she was concerned, she couldn’t seem to stop trembling as she stared up at his handsome face, gazing mesmerised at the lips curved into a warm, sensual smile.

The amused glint in the startling blue eyes seemed to gradually alter, becoming strangely opaque and cloudy, which prompted a sudden, instinctive clenching in her stomach. Helplessly drawn to the flame, like a moth to a candle, she seemed incapable of any protest as his dark head came down towards her, propelled to respond by a force that banished all sense and caution.

His lips brushed hers, tenderly sketching the outline of her mouth with tantalisingly soft kisses, as light as thistledown, before he pulled her roughly to him, his mouth closing possessively over hers.

Oh, Lord—here we go again…! was almost Harriet’s last despairing, coherent thought as she found herself drowning, sinking helplessly beneath the pulsating waves of some dark, sensual pool. A rip-tide of desire appeared to be raging through her body as his kiss deepened, and she clung blindly to his bare shoulders as she responded, ardently and passionately, to the invasive mastery of his lips and tongue.

Was it really her voice, softly moaning with disappointment as his mouth left hers, to trail slowly down her arched neck? The warmth of his soft kisses sent shivers of delight dancing across her skin, and she quivered helplessly as he pressed his lips to the hollows at the base of her throat. There was certainly no thought in her bemused mind of denying him as he swiftly undid the buttons of her summer dress, sensually brushing his fingers over the warm swell of her breasts, now fully exposed to his view.

‘Such wonderful, lovely skin…so soft…like velvet,’ he murmured thickly, roughly tossing aside a pillow as he pulled her urgently towards him.

The sound of his voice in the still silence of the bedroom, and the sharp, uncomfortable feeling of a hard object, suddenly jarring against the top of her spine, brought Harriet sharply back to cold, hard reality.

‘Oh, no…!’ she cried, her face flushing crimson with shame as she struggled to sit up.

‘Relax, sweetheart!’ he murmured huskily. ‘It was only a kiss.’

‘That…that’s what you always say!’ she groaned helplessly, before quickly scrambling off the bed.

Frantically adjusting her clothing, with fingers which seemed made of cotton wool, she found herself staring down at the lacquer box which had been pressing against her spine.

‘Wh-what…what’s that doing in my bed…?’ she muttered with a puzzled frown, still feeling utterly shattered by the effect of another sexually charged encounter with Finn. And then, as she finally managed to pull herself together, Harriet could feel her face flaming with embarrassment.

‘Oh, my God!’ she gasped in horror, quickly snatching up the box and opening it to reveal a pile of envelopes tied up in ribbon. ‘You…you must have been reading my old love letters!’

‘Well, what else was there to do?’ He shrugged. ‘There are no books or magazines up here. No TV. In fact, absolutely nothing to help me pass the time.’

‘How…how dare you?’

‘There’s no need to get so upset.’ He shrugged as she glared at him, trembling with anger. ‘I actually found them extremely boring. In fact, Harriet, it looks as if you must have been going out with some first-class drips!’

‘But…but they were private letters!’ she screamed at him, totally outraged by his behaviour.

‘Mawkish drivel!’ he drawled sardonically, clearly unperturbed by her overwhelming fury. ‘Especially those from that guy signing himself “your devoted admirer, George”—who clearly doesn’t know the first thing about how to woo a girl. Quite frankly, sweetheart, he’s obviously a complete waste of space! If I were you, I’d get rid of him as soon as possible—and then burn those letters.’

‘Well, you’re not me. And I’m most definitely not your sweetheart!’ she yelled, practically dancing with rage. ‘What’s more…from now on—you’re on your own. Because I’m not lifting another finger to help you!’

‘Now, calm down, Harriet. There’s no need to overreact like this,’ he murmured soothingly.

‘Oh, isn’t there? Well, you can rot in hell, for all I care, you…you bastard!’ she shouted, before swiftly spinning on her heels and running from the room, slamming the door loudly behind her.

Although he’d merely shaken his head in puzzlement when that crazy girl, Harriet, had flounced out of the bedroom in such a bad temper, Finn very soon realised that he had somehow managed to seriously upset her.

‘Women…!’ he muttered as he once again rang the small bronze cow bell—‘A Present from Switzerland’—with which he’d had no problem summoning her to his aid last night. But now no amount of bell-ringing or shouting for attention seemed to produce anything—other than a deadly silence.

What on earth was wrong with the silly girl? Why such a fuss about a few extremely boring letters? If they had contained any explicit, scorching details of sexual passion, she might have been justified in getting so steamed up. But those guys had sounded total wimps! In fact, why that stunningly attractive girl, Harriet, had been prepared to put up with such stupid men was completely beyond him.

On the other hand… Leaning back on the pillows as he recalled the deliciously soft lips and wonderfully warm, firm breasts of the slim trembling figure he’d held in his arms only a short time ago, Finn was forced to admit that it was encouraging to find he didn’t appear to have too much competition. Or not just at the moment, anyway, he reminded himself, his mouth tightening into a hard line.

Over the next hour or so, Finn gradually realised that he wasn’t just lying here, bored out of his mind. He also discovered, to his considerable astonishment, that he was badly missing Harriet’s company.

Throughout his short acquaintance with that feisty, highly unpredictable lady, they seemed to have spent most of the time arguing with one another. Which wasn’t surprising, since she could be absolutely maddening at times. All the same… Harriet really was very different from his usual run of girlfriends. And the fact that he found her very sexually attractive was just one more reason why she should be up here—soothing his fevered brow—and not sulking downstairs, he told himself grumpily.

However, as the long hours passed and evening approached, with no sign of Harriet, Finn was finally forced to acknowledge the incontrovertible fact: he was definitely in the dog house. And although there might have been some slight excuse for his bad behaviour—a sleepless night, his aching broken leg, and his irritation at finding himself housebound for the next few weeks—there was definitely no excuse for stupidly upsetting Harriet.

Let’s face it, he told himself with a heavy sigh, while the girl might have caused the accident in the first place, she’d certainly done her best to make him as comfortable as possible ever since.

So…it didn’t look as if he had any choice. He must, somehow, endeavour to get himself downstairs—and humbly apologise for his uncouth behaviour. Besides which, he told himself ruefully, he had a horrid feeling that if he didn’t beg her pardon, Harriet was quite prepared to leave him up here to starve to death. And, quite frankly, he was now feeling extraordinarily hungry.

It took Finn far longer than he’d anticipated to swing his leg, in its heavy plaster cast, off the bed and on down to the floor. In fact, the whole business of sorting out the crutches and getting himself out of the bedroom seemed to take an enormous amount of time and effort.

If that pesky girl, Harriet, doesn’t appreciate what this is costing me—I’ll crown her with one of these crutches, he told himself viciously, swearing violently under his breath as he stumbled against a wide armchair, blocking his way in the large, empty sitting room.

However, by the time he’d negotiated all obstacles, and found himself standing at the top of the short flight of stairs leading down to the dining room, Finn was suddenly struck by an alarming thought.

Momentarily frozen stiff with shock, he realised that this must be the first and only time—as far as he could remember—that he’d ever been forced to dance to a woman’s tune! To be truthful, it wasn’t just a bit of a nasty jolt. It was also extremely galling to have to face the fact that even if he humbly begged her pardon, there was absolutely no guarantee that Harriet would forgive him.

Never previously having had any problems with his various girlfriends, Finn wasn’t at all sure how to deal with the current situation. The only thing about which he was certain, he told himself grimly, was that any attempt to charm the socks off this particular lady was likely to be a complete waste of time.

Harriet stared moodily down at the empty plate in front of her. Determined to banish all thought of Finn from her mind, she’d spent most of the afternoon cooking this meal. But now, for some reason, she didn’t feel at all hungry. So it looked as if the whole exercise had been a complete waste of time.

She was still very angry with him, of course. Reading someone’s private letters—even those concerned with business—was just about unforgivable. And, in the case of love letters, deeply embarrassing as well. In fact, it would serve him right if she really did leave him to starve upstairs for the next few weeks.

However, there was no way she could possibly do that, of course. So, having boxed herself into a corner, how in the heck was she now going to get herself out of it? Because not only was that foul man as tricky as a cart-load of monkeys, but she had a horrid feeling that she would somehow end up apologising to him—for something that had been entirely his fault.

Deep in thought as she tried to solve the problem, Harriet was startled to hear a large thump, followed by a muffled curse from the large sitting room above.

Ah-ha! It sounded as if Finn had decided to resolve the impasse—one way or another. But, while that was good news for her, it still left the problem of what she was going to say or do if and when he managed to get himself down the stairs.

Unfortunately, Harriet hadn’t made up her mind exactly what attitude she was going to take by the time he came into sight, moving very carefully and gingerly down the stairs towards her.

‘I thought you’d agreed not to walk around my flat virtually stark naked?’ she grated, staring grimly at the man’s broad-shouldered, tanned body, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts.

Finn didn’t say anything as he clumped across the room towards her, before sinking thankfully down on to a chair by the table.

‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered, sighing with relief as he placed the crutches on the floor beside him. ‘Yes, I know you wanted me to wear that awful gown. But there’s no way I could have worn it and managed to get down those stairs—not without tripping myself up and falling flat on my face.’

He’d got a point, she acknowledged silently to herself. Especially since it was obvious that he was still finding it difficult to control the crutches.

Finn gazed at the girl, sighing inwardly as he noted the hard, stony expression in Harriet’s large emerald-green eyes. Just as he’d feared; this looked like being a very tricky situation.

‘Leaving aside my lack of…er…clothes,’ he began, ‘I really came down to say that I’m sorry—very sorry indeed, in fact—that I behaved so badly. I had no right to read any of your private correspondence. The truth is,’ he added with a rueful smile, ‘I really can’t think what came over me. And while you may not be able to forgive me—although I very much hope that you will—it’s obvious that I do owe you an abject apology.’

‘Well…’ she muttered, desperately trying to steel herself against this man’s overwhelming charm—not to mention that infectious smile of his.

‘Come on, Harriet! Give me a break?’ he pleaded. ‘How about if I promise to be really well behaved from now on?’

‘If you think that “little-boy-lost” act is going to get you anywhere—you’re sadly mistaken!’ she told him grimly. ‘It may fool some of those blonde bimbos you’ve been going out with. But it’s not going to work with me. Got the message?’

Finn nodded, his nose twitching as he desperately tried to ignore the large casserole on the table in front of Harriet. ‘Yes, Nurse,’ he told her meekly.

Before she had a chance to tell Finn that if he ever called her ‘Nurse’ again he’d find himself out on the street so fast that he wouldn’t know what had hit him, they were both startled by an extremely loud, rumbling noise, coming from his empty stomach.

‘Oh—for heaven’s sake, Finn,’ she muttered, struggling not to laugh. ‘You’re incorrigible! It would serve you right if I didn’t give you anything to eat.’

‘You’re absolutely correct, as usual,’ he muttered, before adding in a rush, ‘Come on, Harriet—be a pal. Even my stomach knows that I’m starving!’

‘Good!’

‘You’re a hard-hearted woman!’ he groaned. ‘By the way, what’s in the casserole? It smells absolutely delicious.’

‘Navarin d’Agneau à la printanière. Lamb stew with spring vegetables, to you and me,’ she told him, lifting the lid to display the pieces of delicately flavoured meat surrounded by tiny, fresh young carrots and turnips, small new potatoes and baby onions in a wonderful light brown wine sauce.

‘Mmm…’ he murmured, closing his eyes for a moment as he savoured the wonderful aroma.

‘It’s a pity you can’t have any, isn’t it?’ she murmured, grinning as she swiftly replaced the lid.

‘What…?’

Harriet shrugged. ‘I can hardly be expected to sit down to dinner with a half-naked man.’

Finn gritted his teeth, his frustration increasing as he noticed her lips twitching with amusement. Not only was he damned hungry—but now this red-headed witch was laughing at him, as well! What on earth had he done to deserve all this aggro? he thought angrily, before swiftly reminding himself of exactly why he was being so ruthlessly punished.

‘OK…’ He gave a heavy sigh. ‘If the only way I can get anything to eat is by wearing that hideous pink gown of yours—so be it.’

‘Well…I am prepared to compromise,’ she murmured, realising that although she’d definitely won this encounter it might be foolish to overplay her hand. ‘I suppose I could go upstairs to your flat and find a clean, fresh shirt for you to wear.’

‘Great!’

‘I might also bring down your razor and some toiletries, plus a dressing gown. If you have such a thing, of course. Or don’t “real men” wear dressing gowns?’

He laughed. ‘Yes, they certainly do. There should be a dark blue silk gown somewhere in the flat.’

‘Hmm…I suppose I could make an effort to find it. But only if you ask me very nicely, of course.’

‘How nicely…?’ he queried warily.

She grinned. ‘It depends on how badly you want some of this stew, doesn’t it?’

He gave another heavy sigh, before launching into a long preamble, amongst which the words ‘please’ and ‘if you would be so kind’ were heavily emphasised.

‘You’ve got me over a barrel at the moment, Harriet,’ he continued as she laughed and rose from the table. ‘But when I’ve finally got rid of this plaster cast—you’d better watch out!’ he added grimly. The only response to his words of warning being the sound of her sardonic laughter as she left the room.

‘That was absolutely superb,’ he murmured some time later, putting down his knife and fork and leaning back in his chair, totally replete. ‘Where on earth did you learn to cook like this?’

She shrugged. ‘Most people take a year off from school before university and spend the time travelling around the globe. But my father was in the diplomatic service and I’d had enough of “abroad,” if you see what I mean. So, I decided to spend my time in Paris, learning how to cook.’

‘It was definitely a good decision.’ He grinned at her. ‘Have you ever thought of opening a restaurant?’

‘No fear!’ She laughed. ‘No one knows the meaning of hard work—not unless they’ve toiled away in a restaurant kitchen. I’d much rather just cook for myself and my friends.’

‘I won’t quarrel with that statement!’

‘Would you like some strawberries and cream?’

He shook his head. ‘Unfortunately, I couldn’t eat another morsel.’ He hesitated for a moment, before leaning across the table and taking hold of her hand.

‘I really am very sorry about what happened earlier today. Not about that delicious kiss, of course—I’ve absolutely no intention of apologising for that!’ He grinned. ‘But I definitely had no business reading your private letters. I certainly never meant to hurt you. In fact, I’m ashamed to have behaved in such an utterly stupid, thoughtless way,’ he added softly, gently twining his fingers around hers. ‘Something which I now bitterly regret.’

Harriet could feel a deep crimson flush rising up over her pale cheeks. It really was a very handsome apology. So, it seemed the least she could do would be to forget that he’d ever read her old love letters. All the same…she was determined to get another factor of their strange relationship properly sorted out—once and for all.

‘OK…as far as I’m concerned the matter of my private letters is dead and buried,’ she told him, before taking a deep breath. ‘But…well, there is something else I’d like to mention.’

‘Mmm…?’

‘I know you think it’s all very amusing—and nothing more than a bit of a joke,’ she began, firmly withdrawing her hand from his. ‘But this business of…er…grabbing hold of me every now and then really has got to stop.’

“‘Grabbing”…?’ He gazed at her in astonishment for a moment, before giving a deep chuckle of laughter. ‘Oh, Harriet—you’re absolutely priceless! It’s impossible to guess what strange, weird nonsense you’re likely to come up with next.’

She glared at him. ‘It’s not funny!’

‘Er…no, of course not,’ he agreed blandly, despite the fact that he was clearly struggling not to laugh. ‘You were, I take it, referring to the one or two times when I’ve kissed you?’

Harriet nodded, her face flaming with embarrassment, desperately wishing that she’d never raised the subject. What on earth had possessed her to be so foolish? Because it was obvious that she was only succeeding in making herself look a total idiot.

‘And, you want me to cease…er…“grabbing” you?’

‘Yes, I do. And don’t say: “It was just a kiss,”’ she added grimly. ‘That phrase seems to be your usual excuse for behaving badly. And I definitely don’t like it.’

‘Really…?’ He raised a dark, quizzical eyebrow. ‘Well, you certainly managed to fool me!’ he drawled sardonically. ‘In fact, when I recall just how eagerly you responded to my “bad behaviour” only a few hours ago, upstairs in your bedroom, I’m quite astonished to hear that…’

‘Oh…shut up!’ she snapped angrily, her embarrassment increasing as she saw that he was now openly laughing at her.

‘Relax! I’ve got the message.’ He grinned, quickly holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘No more of those delightful kisses. And grabbing is definitely off the menu. All right?’

Harriet nodded, profoundly thankful when he smoothly changed the subject and began telling her about his problems with the builders in his new apartment in Holland Park.

And yet she couldn’t help wondering why—when she’d made her point, and he’d agreed to leave her strictly alone—she should now be feeling so unaccountably low and depressed.

Sipping her glass of cold white wine, Harriet gazed around at her surroundings.

One of her favourite places for meeting friends, the noisy and welcoming atmosphere hadn’t changed one iota during the years that she’d been coming here. In fact, with its baroque-style interior—all dripping candles, velvet drapes and gilded mirrors—this restaurant was definitely one of her favourite places in the Portobello Road.

However, her companion obviously wasn’t at all happy, staring about him with a grumpy expression on his face.

‘Come on, George—lighten up!’ she muttered, irritated by his stony expression of distaste at the general level of noise and laughter.

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know why I let you drag me to somewhere like this, Harriet,’ he complained. ‘Surely you must have known that it wasn’t exactly my sort of place?’

‘So, OK—it’s not the Ritz. But so what?’ she retorted. ‘Besides, you’re going to love the food upstairs. I had a wok-fried Thai Chicken Curry with coconut milk a few weeks ago, which was absolutely terrific.’

‘You know I don’t like foreign food,’ he grumbled, still feeling annoyed that she’d been too busy to see him for the past week.

Further irritated when she’d turned down his suggestion of having dinner at what he regarded as a ‘proper’ restaurant, George was now highly incensed at finding himself a place which—if he hadn’t been a gentleman—he’d have had no hesitation in describing as being decorated like a Parisian brothel!

Not that he’d ever been in such an establishment, of course, he assured himself immediately. However, when he and Harriet were married, he had every intention of making certain that they never frequented a place like this.

All the same…maybe he should have sorted things out between them long before now? Harriet had seemed such a nice, quiet and biddable girl when he’d first met her, two years ago. But just lately she seemed to have got the bit between her teeth in a thoroughly alarming manner.

There was no doubt that ever since gaining her inheritance Harriet had been slowly changing in front of his eyes. No longer so complacent and easy going, she’d developed a worrying tendency to ignore all his good advice. Principally, her outright refusal to sell the house in Lansdowne Gardens.

His lips tightening with annoyance, George recalled their first major quarrel, which had arisen over the property. As he’d pointed out so clearly at the time, she’d been guilty of making a very bad decision.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Harriet!’ he’d told her firmly. ‘Your parents are quite right. You should immediately sell the house and invest the money in some sensible blue chip stocks and shares.’

However, to his complete astonishment, the once amenable and docile girl suddenly appeared to have developed a will of iron.

Apparently deaf to all his practical, level-headed advice, Harriet had proceeded with her mad scheme of living in the house herself—and letting the basement and top floors to goodness knows what sort of undesirable people. For instance, that old schoolfriend of hers, Sophie, was clearly a thoroughly bad influence. And while he’d been away in New York it seemed that some strange man had moved into the second-floor apartment.

George had always prided himself on being a fairly cautious, prudent sort of chap. Which was why he hadn’t been in any rush to enter the state of matrimony. However, he was very fond of Harriet. She was just the sort of girl of whom his parents would approve. But maybe he ought to ‘pop the question,’ buy her a diamond ring, set a date for their marriage and get everything sorted out once and for all? In fact, the sooner he and Harriet were husband and wife—enabling him to crush this strange, independent streak of hers—the better!

Blithely unaware of the exciting fate which George Harding had in mind for her, Harriet was thanking her lucky stars that she hadn’t booked a table at the Bali Sugar in All Saints Road. It was a really fun place, of course. But the unusual combination of Japanese and South American cuisine would have really upset Boring George!

Oh, no…! Now even she was slipping into the habit of thinking about him like that. It was all Sophie’s fault!

Glancing through her eyelashes at the man as he studied the wine list, Harriet gazed at his blond hair, neatly parted and lying flat on his head. George wasn’t exactly handsome, of course. But he was quite nice-looking. Clothed in that dark suit, white shirt and claret-coloured tie, no one could say that he didn’t appear highly respectable.

Unfortunately—and only privately to herself, of course—she had to agree with Sophie: no one could accuse him of being in the slightest bit sexy. Unlike that awful man, Finn Maclean, who positively reeked of rampant sex appeal!

It was, of course, very unfair to find herself comparing George with Finn. George might not be very exciting, but he was at least predictable, faithful and undoubtedly possessed of a hundred and one virtues. None of which attributes could possibly apply to Finn—who was an extremely tricky, difficult and totally unpredictable man. Moreover, it was obvious that he’d never even heard of the word ‘faithful.’

Unfortunately, Finn was still firmly ensconced in her bedroom. In fact, Harriet had now become convinced that nothing—short of an atomic bomb—would persuade him to return to his own flat. Especially since he seemed quite content to spend much of the day in her large sitting room, dealing with urgent cases at work with his mobile phone and laptop computer, or reading quietly out in the garden.

In one respect, of course, she had achieved some success. Finding it acutely embarrassing to have him sitting around her apartment clothed only in his silk dressing gown, she had insisted on him wearing proper clothes during the day. Luckily, it was summer. And therefore there was nothing particularly odd or unusual about the fact that he was now normally clothed in his own short-sleeved cotton shirts and various pairs of summer shorts. To be quite honest—as far as she was concerned—there was still far too much of Finn’s warm tanned flesh visible for comfort. But even she could see that asking him to cover his one remaining bare leg, or those muscular arms, was probably an unreasonable request. However, if only for her own peace of mind, the sooner he went back upstairs to his own flat—the better.

‘I’d be quite happy to move back upstairs, but I can’t possibly cope on my own,’ he’d told her, with a helpless shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘I’m still having difficulty managing these crutches, and—’

‘Nonsense—you’re coming along very well.’

‘Well, better than I was,’ he’d admitted reluctantly. ‘But what would happen if I fell over and couldn’t get back on my feet? I know that you’d hate to think of me lying helpless—all alone in my flat—with no one to come to my aid.’

‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that!’ she’d told him grimly, before demanding to know what had happened to all his girlfriends. ‘That little black book of yours must be full to overflowing with women. Some of whom would undoubtedly give their right arm to act as nurse to a housebound Casanova!’ she’d added caustically. ‘So, why don’t you get one of them to look after you?’

But her words had seemed to fall on deaf ears as Finn had come up with one feeble excuse after another for remaining exactly where he was.

‘Don’t give me any of that nonsense!’ she had snorted with derision, when he’d spun some fairy story about suffering from temporary vertigo—which placed his second-floor flat out of bounds, for the moment. ‘Both you and I know that if you weren’t getting three large square meals a day, you’d be off upstairs like a shot!’

Finn had given a heavy, theatrical sigh. ‘You’re a hard-hearted woman, Harriet.’

‘Damn right!’ she’d retorted. ‘Because, as far as I can see, there’s only one way to deal with you—and that’s to use the stick and the carrot. Which, freely translated, means that if you behave yourself—and don’t give me any hassle—dinner tonight will consist of salmon and hollandaise sauce, followed by summer pudding and cream.’

‘Fantastic!’ He’d grinned, putting his fingers to his lips, before blowing her a kiss across the room.

That awful man has the cheek of the devil! Harriet told herself glumly, staring down at her plate as George related some long, involved story about a business deal which he’d just concluded in New York.

However, it was strange that, other than the odd phone call, there hadn’t been the usual, constant steam of female visitors. The only explanation which she’d been able to come up with was that most of his girlfriends must be away on their summer holidays.

However, she’d been surprised to discover that Finn was turning out to be very easy to live with. And they’d had a lot of laughs, too, of course. Principally the time when he’d begged her to help him wash his hair. Somehow or other they’d both got completely drenched, when the flexible shower hose had slipped from her soapy hands, and they’d found themselves screaming with laughter at the sight of each other’s soaking wet, bedraggled appearance.

Although, to be honest, it hadn’t been so funny a moment or two later, when there’d been a ring of the doorbell.

‘Oh, my God!’ Harriet had shrieked in dismay, on discovering that her mother was standing on the front doorstep.

‘You stay right here—and don’t you dare move!’ she’d told the startled man, pushing him back into the bathroom and firmly closing the door, before dashing downstairs to let her mother into the apartment.

She had been clearly astonished by the sight of her daughter, soaking wet from head to toe, and Harriet had been thoroughly ashamed of the outrageous tissue of lies which she’d used to excuse her appearance.

Luckily, her mother had only intended to call in for a short visit, on her way to join an old friend for lunch. So, hopefully, it hadn’t been until the slightly bewildered older woman had found herself back outside in the street, a few minutes later, that it would have occurred to her to wonder exactly why her daughter should have suddenly decided to wash her bedroom curtains in the bath—instead of sending them to the dry-cleaners like any other sensible person.

That had very nearly been a total disaster! And if she wasn’t very careful, Harriet told herself grimly, things could also be just a little bit tricky tonight.

She didn’t mind her friends knowing that Finn had taken up residence in her flat. Everyone she knew had by now got the message: she was only having to put with his presence because she’d been the direct cause of his accident.

However, she really couldn’t bear the thought of having to face long, involved explanations with her mother. As for George—who’d been so furious when she’d refused to sell the house—he could be guaranteed to kick up a hell of a fuss. So, while she might be a yellow-bellied coward…it just seemed much easier all round if she didn’t tell him that Finn had taken up residence in her bedroom.

There had, of course, been a few short, sharp words between herself and Finn over the fact that she was going out to dinner and wished him to stay hidden, upstairs in her bedroom.

‘If you want to know what I think, I reckon you’re making a great mistake,’ he’d drawled, gazing at the very short black lacy dress which clung tightly to her slim figure.

‘When I want your advice—I’ll ask for it,’ she’d retorted curtly, busy hunting through the cupboard in her bedroom for a pair of high-heeled black evening sandals.

‘I’m going to give it to you, all the same,’ Finn had continued. ‘Because—always provided Georgie-Porgie has any red blood in his veins—after one glimpse of that dress, and those sexy black stockings you’re wearing, he’s definitely going to want a lot more than a drink at the end of the evening! Which means that if your bedroom is suddenly off limits he’s not going to be a very happy man. Right?’

‘Wrong!’ she’d snapped, her cheeks flushing as she’d spun around to face the man regarding her with amusement as he lay stretched out on her bed. ‘You might find it difficult to believe—but there are some nice, ordinary people in this world who are not totally obsessed with sex!’

‘I wouldn’t bank on it.’ He’d grinned wolfishly. ‘Not if they get a good look at you in that outfit!’

However, Finn had eventually agreed to behave himself and keep well out of the way, just in case she found herself having to bring George back to the house.

By the end of the long, tedious meal, Harriet found herself forced to acknowledge that her friend Sophie had been quite right. George really was achingly boring! Unfortunately—and despite her protest that she was tired, and had to be up early the next morning to see her builders—he insisted on taking her home for a late-night cup of coffee.

Despite being acutely nervous, Harriet was much relieved on reaching the front door of her apartment to note that Finn had kept his side of the bargain. Chatting idly to George while preparing the coffee, she was just beginning to feel that she could relax, when they were both startled by a sudden ‘thump,’ immediately followed by a loud crashing sound and a heavily audible groan.

‘Good Lord!’ George jumped to his feet. ‘It sounds as if there’s a burglar upstairs in your bedroom!’

‘Oh, no! No…I’m sure it’s nothing like that,’ she assured him hurriedly. ‘It’s probably a cat…or maybe it could be…’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ George told her firmly as he turned and walked towards the stairs. ‘You haven’t got a cat. And even if you had—cats miaow, they don’t groan,’ he added, placing a foot on the bottom step.

‘No!’ Harriet cried, running across the room and clasping hold of his arm, frantically trying to think of a good excuse to prevent him from going upstairs. ‘Please stay down here, with me, George. It…um…it could be dangerous!’

‘Now…now,’ he murmured, patting her reassuringly on the shoulder. ‘There’s no need for alarm.’

‘Oh, yes, there is! I mean…um…why don’t we just ignore it? After all, I’ve got absolutely nothing worth stealing.’

‘Just leave it to me,’ he said in a lordly manner, firmly removing her hand from his arm. ‘I’m quite capable of dealing with the problem. So, you just be a good, brave girl, and stay down here.’

Trust George to be totally incapable of minding his own business, she told herself grimly, ignoring his advice as she dashed up the steps behind him. But there seemed nothing she could do, as he strode determinedly across the large sitting room, before throwing open the bedroom door and switching on the lights.

Skidding to a halt behind him, Harriet had no problem in understanding exactly why he gave a sudden gasp of shock and outrage.

Because there, lying spread-eagled on the carpet before him, was the long tall, tanned figure of a dark-haired man—wearing virtually nothing other than a pair of boxer shorts and a large white plaster cast on one leg.

CHAPTER SEVEN

HARRIET knew that her friend Sophie would have been able to cope with this difficult and tricky situation in a thoroughly grown-up, sophisticated manner. Unfortunately, any hope of maintaining inner poise and cool composure seemed to fly out of the window as she stood frozen in her bedroom doorway.

‘Don’t move!’ George cried dramatically as he marched into the room.

‘I’m not likely to be going anywhere in a hurry!’ Finn grated, wincing as he struggled to slowly lever himself up into a sitting position.

‘What’s going on? How did you get into the house?’ George demanded. ‘And what on earth do you think you’re doing, down there on the floor?’

‘That’s a damned stupid question,’ Finn retorted, leaning back against the base of the bed, grimacing as he rubbed his sore shoulder. ‘I fell over, of course.’

‘There’s no “of course” about it!’ George snapped, before turning to Harriet. ‘You’d better check all the doors and windows—and then phone for the police.’

‘The police…?’ she gasped, gazing at him in open-mouthed astonishment.

‘What’s the first thing you do when you have a burglar in the house? You call the police, right?’ he told her impatiently, as if lecturing a slightly dim-witted child. ‘Run along, now—there’s a good girl.’

‘But, George…he’s obviously not a burglar! Surely you must be able to see that?’ she protested, waving her hand distractedly towards the man still sitting on the floor, with his leg in its plaster cast stretched out in front of him.

Finn gave a snort of sardonic laughter. ‘Give him a few more minutes,’ he drawled as the other man gazed around the room in confusion. ‘Your boyfriend clearly isn’t too bright, Harriet. But I think there’s a good chance that he might eventually get the message!’

‘Are you trying to tell me…?’ George frowned. ‘Do you mean that this man isn’t really a thief?’

‘Hel-lo! It seems the penny has finally dropped!’

‘I don’t see what’s so damned funny,’ the blond man growled, as Finn’s comment, accompanied by a rumble of caustic laughter, rang around the room.

Clearly furious, George took a threatening step towards the man sitting on the floor, who was making no attempt to hide his contempt. ‘If you find a strange man in your house, late at night,’ he said truculently, ‘it’s perfectly reasonable to assume that he’s up to no good.’

‘God preserve me from idiots!’ Finn sighed, giving a weary shake of his dark head.

‘Who are you calling an idiot?’ the other man grated angrily.

‘I’m hardly likely to be cat burglar—not with this on my leg,’ Finn pointed out, gesturing at the heavy white plaster cast. ‘Nor am I wearing a black eye-mask—or carrying a large sack, labelled “SWAG,”’ he added with heavy irony. ‘All of which should help you to come to the conclusion that I’m not a thief!’

‘Well…what are you doing here?’ George demanded angrily.

That was obviously the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, Harriet told herself as Finn turned his blue eyes in her direction. Raising a dark eyebrow and giving a slight shrug of his shoulders, he was clearly leaving all explanations up to her.

‘Finn is renting the flat upstairs, on the second floor,’ she told George. ‘He’s staying here with me in my apartment because I caused his accident—and he can’t yet cope on his own. OK?’

‘Really, Harriet! Of course it’s not OK,’ George snapped irritably. ‘If he can’t look after himself he should either have a resident nurse, or have booked himself into the nearest nursing home.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘However, even if you’ve been so stupid as to allow him into this flat, I totally fail to understand what he’s doing here—in your bedroom.’ George gave a baffled shake of his blond head. ‘Why isn’t he sleeping downstairs, in the guest room?’

‘Because of the en suite bathroom,’ both Harriet and Finn answered simultaneously, before turning to grin at one another.

‘I still don’t understand why—’

‘Oh, please! Give it a rest, George,’ Harriet sighed wearily, before suddenly realising that, with his crutches lying scattered on the floor, she was going to have to help Finn to his feet.

‘I’m sorry. It really was an accident,’ he told her with a shrug of his broad shoulders as she collected the crutches, before helping him to rise and sit down on the edge of the bed.

‘But…but, I don’t see…? I mean, what made you fall over?’

‘Sheer stupidity on my part, I’m afraid,’ Finn explained, sighing with relief to be off the hard floor and sitting on the soft, comfortable mattress.

‘As requested, I turned off the lights. But unfortunately, when trying to go to the bathroom in the dark, I tripped over the shoes you were wearing earlier—which you must have forgotten to put away in the cupboard.’

Grimacing with annoyance at herself, for having been so stupid, Harriet fetched his dressing gown from the chair beside the bed.

‘I think you’d better put this on,’ she muttered. ‘It might help to…er…’

‘Help George to take a more sanguine view of the situation?’ Finn murmured softly, grinning as he shrugged his broad shoulders into the silk robe.

‘I wish!’ Harriet muttered with a heavy sigh.

‘Excuse me!’ George ground out angrily, not understanding why any conversation should be taking place between that man and Harriet—from which he appeared to be totally excluded. However, he was still quite determined to get to the bottom of this whole, utterly deplorable affair.

‘I’m not at all satisfied with the explanation which I’ve been given so far,’ he continued firmly. ‘I particularly fail to understand what you are doing in my fiancée’s bedroom.’

‘Your fiancée?’ Finn raised a dark eyebrow as he glanced quickly up at Harriet. ‘Well…well! That’s an interesting bit of news! Do I take it that congratulations are in order?’

Harriet frowned and shook her head. ‘No, of course we’re not engaged,’ she muttered irritably, still trying to think how to sort out this difficult situation.

While Finn was quite capable of causing trouble, if he felt like it, she was inclined to believe him when he said it had been an accident. He was still absent-mindedly rubbing his shoulder, which had clearly taken the brunt of his fall. And not even Finn would go to such lengths merely for the sake of being a nuisance.

As for George’s claim that she was his fiancée… Well, that was merely silly—and just the sort of rubbishy thing that the pompous man would say, in the heat of the moment. Clearly not something worth bothering about, when she had so many other problems to deal with.

However, George was obviously not satisfied, continuing to demand a full explanation from the dark-haired man as to what had been ‘going on’ since he had taken up residence in Harriet’s bedroom.

‘Have you been sleeping with my fiancée?’ he thundered.

‘Well…it all depends how you define the word “sleeping”…?’ Finn grinned, clearly enjoying teasing the other man. ‘Do you mean physically, in the Biblical sense? Which would, I’m sure, mean spending the night together in the same bed…’

He paused, clearly amused at the sound of the other man grinding his teeth with rage.

‘On the other hand,’ Finn continued smoothly, ‘if you’re referring to a more boring version—that of merely dwelling under the same roof—then I would have to plead guilty!’

‘Will you kindly stop prevaricating—and answer my question in words of one syllable?’ George shouted, his cheeks flushed with anger and looking as though he was going to explode any minute.

Finn shrugged his shoulders. ‘Why should I? I’m not answerable to you. Besides…a true gentleman never boasts about his sexual conquests. And especially not in front of a lady,’ he added piously, his self-righteous, ‘holier-than-thou’ tone of voice, distinctly at odds with the glint of laughter in his eyes.

‘My God! So you’re admitting that—’

‘I’m not admitting anything. I’m merely pointing out that this is neither the time nor the place to discuss whether I have, or have not, slept with your so-called “fiancée.”’

‘Cut it out, Finn! That’s quite enough of this nonsense,’ Harriet ground out, before swinging around to confront the other man.

‘He’s just winding you up, George. I can assure you that I have definitely not been to bed with him. OK?’

‘Oh, Harriet! How can you say that?’ Finn groaned in mock sorrow. ‘What about the time when you and I were lying on this bed, and—’

‘For heaven’s sake—belt up!’ she told him fiercely, before turning back to George.

‘I’m amazed that you’d even think I’m the sort of girl who’d tumble into bed with a strange man,’ she protested indignantly as she carefully avoided looking at Finn.

She really wasn’t lying, Harriet assured herself hastily. There had only been that one time—when he’d grabbed hold of her arm and wouldn’t let go—that she’d found herself lying on the bed with Finn.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t seem to prevent a guilty-looking flush rising over her pale cheeks as she recalled the hard, exciting strength of the arms, which had clasped her so tightly to his tanned bare chest. Nor the fierce rush of desire as his lips had touched hers, and…

‘I have a perfect right to know what’s going on,’ George was saying—his blunt, forthright statement bringing her sharply back to harsh reality. ‘As your future husband, I feel quite entitled to demand that—’

‘Just a minute!’ she interjected quickly. ‘I don’t know where you got the idea that we’re engaged to be married. But I can assure you that you’re quite wrong.’

‘Don’t be silly, Harriet!’ He waved an irritated hand. ‘Of course we’re going to get hitched. Well, yes—all right,’ he added quickly as she glared angrily at him. ‘I’ll admit that I haven’t yet bought you a diamond ring, or got around to naming the day. But we have been going out with one another for two years. So, surely you must have understood that it was only a matter of sorting out a few minor details?’

‘Oh, really?’ She gave a shrill, high-pitched laugh. ‘Well, maybe one of the “few minor details” might have included asking me if I wanted to marry you?’

‘Go for it, Harriet!’ From across the room, Finn gave rumble of caustic laughter. ‘After all—a girl’s entitled to a proper proposal. Although, I can’t quite see George throwing himself down on his knees, with a red rose clamped dramatically between his teeth. Quite frankly, I think he’s going to need all the gypsy violins that he can grab hold of!’

‘Get lost!’ she yelled, suddenly losing it as she spun around to glare angrily at him.

‘Yes, why don’t you get lost?’ George agreed, moving aggressively across the floor towards him. ‘For two pins, I’d knock your block off! In fact, it’s only because you’re obviously incapacitated that I haven’t already punched you into the middle of next week!’

‘Oh, really…?’ Finn drawled provocatively, his lips twitching with amusement.

‘Will you both please stop this nonsense?’ she groaned impatiently.

‘Don’t interfere, Harriet,’ George growled. ‘This chap needs to be taught a lesson.’

‘Oh, come on!’ Finn grinned provocatively up at the other man, now standing with a clenched fist raised threateningly towards him. ‘Let’s face it, George. You couldn’t go even two rounds with a revolving door!’

‘Why, you…you…’

‘Stop it!’ Harriet cried, running quickly across the room and grabbing hold of George’s arm. ‘This is totally and utterly stupid!’

But George—far from thumping Finn—was now standing still and staring down at the other man with a puzzled frown on his face.

‘Hang on—don’t I know you…?’

‘I very much doubt it!’

‘Um…let me think…yes, I’ve got it!’ George exclaimed. ‘You’re Finn Maclean—the guy who ran off with Sir John Simpson’s wife!’

He turned to Harriet. ‘It was a terrific scandal at the time. Sir John and Lady Simpson lived near my parents, which is how I came to know all about it. She walked out on her husband and three children one day—just like that!’ he snapped his fingers. ‘So, where is she now?’

Finn shrugged. ‘I really wouldn’t know. Somewhere in Europe, I think.’

‘There you are, Harriet!’ George sneered. ‘You see? That’s the sort of man you’ve got staying in your house. “Love ’em and Leave ’em” is obviously his motto! Right?’

‘If you say so,’ Finn drawled coolly. ‘Since you appear to know so much about my private life—who am I to disagree?’

‘I’m not prepared to judge anyone else. It’s hard enough trying to live my own life,’ Harriet told George firmly, despite being privately appalled at the way Finn appeared to have behaved towards a woman whom he had supposedly seduced.

‘You’re quite right. That’s a highly commendable attitude.’ George nodded approvingly. ‘I, myself, wouldn’t have raised the subject of this man’s utterly disgusting, depraved behaviour if I hadn’t been so concerned about your own reputation.’

‘My what…?’ Harriet gazed at him in disbelief.

There were times when she found herself wondering if George was entirely all there? Especially on occasions such as now, when he appeared to be existing on a different planet from the rest of humanity. ‘Who cares about my reputation?’

‘It’s very important,’ he told her huffily. ‘As my future wife, you can hardly expect me to be happy at the thought of this man making himself at home in your bedroom. Yes…yes,’ he added hurriedly as she ground her teeth with frustration, ‘I’m quite prepared to accept your word that nothing untoward has taken place…’

‘Good Lord—does he always talk like this?’ Finn murmured, gazing at the other man in fascination.

‘…however, I am not prepared to allow him to continue staying in this apartment—even for one more night,’ George continued, completely ignoring Finn. ‘I must insist that he returns to his own flat immediately!’

‘Don’t be so daft!’ Harriet sighed wearily, fed up to the back teeth with all the arguments and bickering. ‘He’s only here for a few more days, at the most. And besides, I can hardly chuck him out at this time of night.’

‘Nonsense!’ he snapped. ‘Really, Harriet—I think you must have temporarily lost your mind. You can’t possibly allow this man to remain in your bedroom. In fact, I’m surprised that you should be so insensitive,’ he added plaintively.

‘Insensitive…?’ she echoed incredulously. ‘What in the hell are you talking about?’

‘You don’t seem to have any thought or consideration for my feelings,’ he retorted petulantly. ‘What would people say if they heard that a notorious seducer of innocent women was making himself at home in my fiancée’s bed?’

Finn gave a snort of grim laughter. ‘Hang on! That’s a bit strong, don’t you think?’

‘If you don’t shut up, Finn, you won’t have to worry about George—because I’ll be the one to punch you into the middle of next week!’ Harriet stormed, before spinning around to confront the other man.

‘Quite honestly, George—I don’t give a damn what anyone says!’ she continued grimly. ‘Nor do I give a toss about your feelings. For positively the last time…you are not my fiancé. I am not marrying you. I’m not marrying anyone!’

‘Very well. I can take a hint,’ he muttered huffily. ‘I know when I’m not wanted. But if you think this…this Casanova is going to make you happy—you couldn’t be more wrong!’ he added, his lips curling with distaste. ‘And when you’re a bitter old maid, whom nobody wants to marry, don’t say that I didn’t warn you!’

‘Thank you, George, for those few, kind words!’ she ground out through clenched teeth. ‘Clearly there’s no cat like a Tom Cat!’ she added, spinning around and marching towards the door. ‘Quite frankly, I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole—not even if you were the last man left on earth! Get it?’

Brushing away the stupid, weak tears of self-pity, Harriet gave a heavy sigh as she leaned back on the garden bench, and made a determined effort to pull herself together.

As always, this peaceful and quiet garden—totally shrouded in darkness, save for the lights from various nearby houses casting ghostly shadows over the trees and lawns—was helping to soothe her troubled mind.

But, alas, there seemed little she could do to prevent the events of the past hour from running in a continuous loop through her tired brain.

If she was really honest with herself, the fact that George had now walked out of her life for ever was not likely to give her too many sleepless nights. All the same…even if he’d proved to be a boring boyfriend, she’d at least had someone ready at her beck and call, to escort her to parties and take her out to dinner.

You’d better face the fact, she told herself grimly, that George was quite right: there really is a prospect of you ending up your days as a withered old maid! And, although if Sophie was here Harriet knew that her friend would hoot with laughter at such a notion, George, himself, clearly believed that she wasn’t likely to interest anyone else.

And he’d been quite right about Finn, too. Getting involved with him was clearly a recipe for disaster. So, however attractive he might be—and even if she was prepared to admit to spending several sleepless nights downstairs in the guest room, fantasising about being clasped once again in his arms—she knew that he was definitely off limits as far as she was concerned.

Still…she couldn’t stay out here in the garden all night, Harriet told herself with a heavy sigh.

She’d only run out here desperately seeking some peace and quiet. However, she’d given George plenty of time to take himself out of her house, and—with any luck—out of her life for ever. Finn, too, must have retired for the night by now. So, she could safely leave any further discussion between them until tomorrow, Harriet was telling herself as she walked slowly back down the gravel path towards the open French windows.

Unfortunately, Harriet quickly realised that she must have either miscalculated the time—or badly underestimated Finn’s tendency to always insist on having the last word.

Because as soon as she stepped over the threshold of the dining room she saw his tall, broad-shouldered figure sitting at the end of the table, the small pool of light from a single lamp, softly illuminating a bottle of whisky and some glasses on the table in front of him.

‘What are you doing down here?’ Harriet asked as she entered the room. Always a firm believer in attack being the best form of defence, she added grimly, ‘If you’re wanting any arguments, or long, in-depth discussions, you’re way out of luck. Quite frankly, I’ve had about as much aggro as I can take for one night.’

‘I won’t argue with that,’ Finn murmured dryly as he sipped his drink. ‘I’ve poured one for you, too,’ he added, gesturing towards another glass of amber liquid on the table beside him. ‘I reckoned that you might need some strong alcohol!’

He was right. Her stomach was still churning nervously, and there was no way she was going to get any sleep tonight—not without some anaesthetic.

‘Has he gone?’ she asked, sitting down at the table beside Finn and lifting the glass to her lips.

He nodded. ‘I’m afraid that George is now very much an ex-boyfriend,’ Finn confirmed quietly. ‘I’m sorry for causing trouble between you. However, even if you’re not able to see it at the moment, Harriet, I have to tell you that he really was a first-class wimp.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed with a heavy sigh. ‘I suppose I’ve always known that, really. But most of the time I managed to convince myself that he was better than nothing.’

‘Rubbish!’ Finn reached into the pocket of his robe and removed a large white handkerchief, leaning forward to wipe the mascara-smudged tears from the corner of her eyes. ‘Tonight was the first and only time I’ve met the man. But it was quite clear to me that he wasn’t worthy of you. You’re a lovely girl, Harriet. So, don’t let me catch you putting up with any more stuffed shirts like George. OK?’

‘Dr Maclean’s advice to the lovelorn?’ she queried, with a shaky, slightly tearful smile.

He gave a rumble of wry laughter. ‘Absolutely right! Except that in your case you were very far from being in love with George. Right?’

‘Of course I wasn’t in love with him. But that’s not the point,’ she muttered unhappily. ‘I mean…nobody likes being told that they’re going to end up as a withered old maid. And there’s going to be an enormous amount of hassle from my parents—especially my mother, who thought George was wonderful,’ she added gloomily.

He shrugged. ‘Just tell your parents—and everyone else, for that matter—to take a running jump.’

‘That’s easier said than done,’ she sighed. ‘It’s all right for you. You’ve got women throwing themselves at you, morning, noon and night!’

‘Oh, come on Harriet!’ He laughed and shook his head. ‘That’s nonsense—and you know it.’

‘No, it’s not! I’ve seen all those girls, charging up and down the stairs to your flat. And there was George’s story about you enticing away that other man’s wife. I don’t see that you’ve exactly got what I would call a problem, do you?’

‘Ah! I thought we’d get around to that little story sooner or later,’ he muttered grimly.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry,’ she assured him quickly. ‘It’s none of my business…I’m only your landlady.’ She shrugged.

‘You’re a lot more than that—and well you know it!’ he told her firmly, reaching forward to take her hand in his.

‘The fact is…’ He was silent for a moment, staring down at the nervous, trembling fingers held securely within his warm hand.

‘The fact is, sweetheart, at the time I was just a callow youth of eighteen. I’d recently left school, and at the time was taking a year off before going up to Oxford University, when I met this woman at a party, in London.’ He gave a heavy sigh.

‘I can’t believe I was so stupid!’ he continued with a wry shake of his dark head. ‘But I thought she was the most wonderful woman I’d ever seen. An absolute goddess! And when she confided in me that she was what we would call nowadays a battered wife, and needed to run away from her cruel husband, I saw myself as her knight in shining armour. You can imagine the sort of thing,’ he added with a slightly shame-faced grin. ‘I was going to rescue her from the dragons—or the evil magician—or something of the sort. Really, you know, when I look back on that episode, I can only blush with embarrassment.’

‘Oh, Finn…’ she murmured sympathetically. ‘Adolescence is awful, isn’t it?’

‘Dreadful,’ he agreed. ‘And, of course, the wonderful love affair didn’t last. Which is hardly surprising, really, since she was considerably older and far more mature than I was. I think it foundered on a combination of common sense on her part—and the fact that she was seriously missing her teenage children.’

‘Good heavens!’ Harriet gazed at him startled surprise. With the aid of quick mental arithmetic, it was clear that the woman concerned had definitely been no spring chicken. ‘I didn’t realise…she must have been really old. At least thirty-five!’ Harriet muttered out loud, before flushing a deep crimson as he gave a bark of caustic laughter at her horrified tones.

‘There is life after thirty, you know!’ he drawled, his voice heavy with amusement. ‘Having passed that water-shed two years ago, I’d hate to think that I was now completely over the hill!’

‘You don’t look too decrepit to me,’ she muttered, before deciding to quickly change the subject. ‘What…er…what happened to the poor woman?’

He sighed and shook his head. ‘As I’m sure you know, in real life there are seldom very many happy endings. All I know is that she eventually returned to her home and children, and the family went abroad very soon afterwards. However, I imagine that her husband, having been publicly humiliated, would probably not have treated her any more kindly. On the other hand, maybe he learnt his lesson? Who knows what happened.’

‘And you…?’ she asked quietly.

‘Ah, well…’ he sighed. ‘I suppose I carried a torch for her, for a long time. But I was young, and resilient, and I had to buckle down to work at university. So, I eventually got over my “Grand Passion” and the scandal soon became yesterday’s news,’ he added wryly. ‘Although I still occasionally meet little men with long memories, like George.’

‘Actually, I think you’re quite lucky,’ she said slowly. ‘I’ve never…I mean, I wouldn’t know a Grand Passion if it got up and hit me in the face!’ She gave a self-conscious laugh. ‘And I think the whole subject of sex is highly over-rated, too.’

‘Oh, really…?’ he murmured quietly.

‘Yes, well…’ Harriet suddenly frowned, staring down at the empty glass on the table in front of her. Oh, Lord! She honestly didn’t remember drinking all that whisky—but it was obviously loosening her tongue. Why else would she be discussing such intimate subjects—and with Finn, of all people! She must stop this nonsense—right now.

Unfortunately, having been thoroughly upset by the dramatic events of the evening—and with the strong alcohol now flooding through her veins—she was utterly appalled to find herself, under his expert questioning, relating her own rather pathetic sexual experience.

‘Well, if you must know…I went to bed with someone for the first time when I was about seventeen, and it proved to be a complete fiasco. And then, a couple of years ago, I thought—what the hell? Maybe I ought to give it another go. Just in case I was missing something. But it wasn’t any better. In fact,’ she confided earnestly, ‘I reckon that all that “earth moving” business is a load of hooey.’

‘Oh, Harriet…you really are priceless!’ His shoulders shook with amusement as he raised her hand to his lips. ‘No, no…sweetheart. I’m not laughing at your lack of fulfilment,’ he quickly assured the highly embarrassed girl. ‘It’s just that I can’t think of anyone else I know who’s quite as honest and forthright about themselves. It’s a very rare quality—and one that I prize very highly.’ He pressed his lips to her fingers once more.

‘Yes, well… Oh, goodness! Just look at the time! I…er…I must go to bed,’ she cried nervously, her face flaming with mortification and shame as she jumped quickly to her feet. ‘Before…before I make even more of a fool of myself than I have already.’

‘Relax, sweetheart!’ he murmured softly, maintaining his firm grip on her hand as he pulled her down on to his lap. ‘You’re very far from being a fool. In fact, as far as I’m concerned, you are a very special person—as well as a highly amusing, generous-hearted and an extremely attractive girl. So…let’s not have any more of this nonsense.’

‘Oh, Finn…’

‘If some stupid man has told you that you’re frigid—which I suspect they may have done—then I can assure you that really is a load of hooey! Believe me,’ he added seriously, ‘it’s almost certain to be their problem, rather than yours. OK?’

She nodded, realising dimly that what he’d been saying made sense. But she couldn’t seem to hang on to her concentration, not when he’d raised a hand to gently brush a lock of hair from her brow, the touch of his fingers trailing softly down over her cheek and neck sending nervous shivers trembling through her body.

The room appeared to be suddenly so still and silent that she was vividly aware of every small sound: the faint background noise of late-evening traffic outside in the street; the rhythmic tick-tock of the grandfather clock in the hall; even the low, deep-throated croaking of frogs in the small pond out in the garden. Her lips parted; she was breathless with a strange sensual awareness which ached within her.

Gazing up at the contours of his face, which suddenly appeared pale beneath the tan, her gaze was drawn irresistibly to the hard, warm curve of his mouth. She could feel the heat of his body through his thin silk dressing gown, her stomach clenching in sudden tension as his hand began moving slowly down over her quivering skin, gently brushing aside one strap of her black dress to reveal the burgeoning fullness of her breasts.

And then, it seemed, she was lost: shuddering with a burning need that banished all thought as he slowly lowered his dark head, his lips softly touching first one corner of her trembling mouth and then the other. It was a gentle, almost provocative caress, increasing with intensity as he savoured the sweetness of her lips with an enticing, tantalising lightness of touch that left her panting and aching for more.

His mouth felt cool, continuing to move gently over hers at first, as though he was carefully controlling both his and her response. But as she trembled helplessly in his arms, her emotions whirling and reeling out of control, he gave a low groan deep in his throat, his kiss deepening and becoming more possessive.

Shuddering with excitement at the rampant sensuality as he savoured the moist inner softness of her mouth, she let her arms creep up to wind themselves about his head, her fingers burying themselves in the thick dark hair as she responded, ardently and passionately, to the invasive mastery of his tongue.

She couldn’t seem to prevent a small moan of disappointment when he finally raised his head, gently cupping her face in his hands as he stared intently down into her dazed green eyes.

‘Sweet, lovely Harriet! I’ve nearly gone mad over the past week, trying to keep my hands off you,’ he muttered hoarsely, his ragged breath quickening in response to the soft warmth of her yielding body. ‘I’ve been crazy about you—ever since that wonderful, mind-blowing kiss on my birthday. In fact…ever since then,’ he added thickly, ‘I’ve had virtually nothing else on my mind other than a fervent desire to make love to you.’

‘Oh, Finn…’ she whispered, trembling helplessly at the touch of his long, tanned fingers moving softly and slowly over the fine contours of her face. ‘I’ve told you…I’m really no good at this…er…this sort of thing.’

‘That is absolute nonsense,’ he told her sternly, carefully lifting her off his good knee before slowly rising to his feet. ‘Other than a few medical cases—or some poor, unhappy people with deep psychological problems—there’s no such thing as a frigid woman. Which means that, if you’ve had the misfortune to remain unfulfilled, the problem lies not with you but with the man concerned.’

‘Are you really sure about that…?’ she murmured, not somehow able to control her legs and stumbling in his wake as Finn, still firmly maintaining his grip on her hand, began limping across the floor towards the guest bedroom.

He gave a low, husky laugh. ‘Relax! I’m not worried about you, sweetheart,’ he assured the girl moving as if in a dream-like state as she followed him into the room.

‘To be utterly frank, my darling Nurse Wentworth…with this heavy plaster cast on my leg, it occurs to me that we could have a small problem here,’ he drawled softly, coming to a halt beside the bed and turning to place his arms gently about her quivering figure.

‘Mmm…?’ Harriet gazed at him in confusion, still bemused and dazed by an overpowering, dense fog of sensual excitement, which seemed to have paralysed her mind.

‘So, please, my darling Harriet…’ he murmured, his blue eyes glinting with laughter as he gave a heavily dramatic, theatrical sigh. ‘You will be gentle with me, won’t you?’

‘Gentle with you…?’ she echoed with a puzzled frown. And then, as his words broke through the mist in her brain and she saw that Finn’s broad shoulders were shaking with amusement as he smiled warmly and tenderly down at her, she suddenly found herself giggling.

‘You mean…we’re talking role reversal here? Oh—terrific!’ she gasped, unable to contain her almost hysterical mirth at the wildly funny, almost farcical aspects of the situation, all her nervousness and trepidation melting away as they were both overcome by gales of laughter.

Leaning weakly against his broad chest, her body shaking with barely suppressed giggles as she tried to pull herself together, even her slight weight was enough to cause Finn to lose his balance. Still firmly clutching hold of Harriet, his unsteady figure lurched helplessly back and forth, before they both fell down in a heap on to the bed.

‘Oh, Lord! I…I’m sorry. I haven’t laughed so much for years!’ she muttered, wiping the tears of mirth from her eyes as she turned her head to gaze at Finn, still chuckling as he tried to disentangle his dressing gown belt, which seemed to have tied itself around his cast.

‘What…er…what happens now?’ she murmured, realising with amazement that after all that laughter she was not only feeling totally relaxed, but also strangely languorous. ‘I mean…who does what—and to whom?’

‘Oh, I’m sure I’ll think of something…’ Finn drawled huskily.

Which, as Harriet told herself much later, was a complete understatement! Although she wasn’t quite sure at exactly what point their soft laughter gave way to a fierce tide of ever-increasing mutual excitement and passion.

He was totally unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world to savour every moment, and she found herself being slowly undressed, his brilliant blue eyes darkening as he gently removed her clothes to reveal the fine bones and soft skin of her bare shoulders, the warm fullness of her breasts. And she needed no urging to help him shrug off his silk dressing gown and briefs before trailing her fingers slowly over the warm, tanned skin of his muscular torso, revelling in her power as his breathing became ragged and he shuddered in response to her gentle, hesitant touch. It was only long afterwards that she recalled the strange, almost unbelievable fact that she felt not a moment’s shame or embarrassment as he greedily devoured the sight of her naked figure.

Oblivious of all sense of time and space, she lay as if in a trance, aware only of the heat of his tanned muscular torso, the musky, masculine scent of his warm skin, as with tantalising slowness his hands and mouth explored every inch of her trembling body. Nothing in her life so far had prepared her for the earth-shattering effect of his slow, feather-light touch, and the resulting tidal wave of sexual arousal and desire as his lips seductively caressed her body. And she suddenly realised that making love with Finn must be something akin to being an instrument in the hands of a great violinist. A maestro, expertly and skilfully drawing his bow over the strings, never failing to produce the absolutely right notes, or the perfect arpeggio.

‘So lovely…’ he murmured thickly, as his long tanned fingers moved leisurely over her pliant flesh towards the now aroused and tormented peaks of her breasts, swollen and aching for his touch. He groaned, lowering his head to bury his face in her soft, fragrant skin, his mouth hotly possessive against the deep valley of her breasts.

And then it seemed as if she was no longer capable of any form of rational thought, gasping helplessly in response to the sharp current of pleasure streaking through her body like forked lightning as he cupped her full breasts in his hands, hungrily kissing the hard, swollen nipples. She cried out at the sudden, deep clenching of the muscles in the pit of her stomach, a flood-tide of need and desire flowing swiftly through her veins as his touch grew more urgent and demanding.

It seemed as if her whole being was vibrating in response to his sensual arousal. Almost swooning with ecstasy, she could only moan with delight as he trailed his moist lips over the smooth skin of her stomach, his fingers and mouth softly caressing her inner thighs, his intimate touch producing an extraordinary, heart-stopping pleasure and ever-mounting erotic excitement that cried out for fulfilment.

‘So lovely…and unawakened…’ he whispered thickly, as the exquisite feelings mounted to an almost unbearable point, before she was suddenly swamped by an earth-shattering explosion deep within her. And then suddenly, with what seemed the speed of light, she found her slim waist grasped by his hands, his strong arms swinging her up in the air as if she was thistledown. Before she realised what was happening, he was lying on his back and inside her, and she was… Good Heavens!…was that really her own voice, gasping and moaning out loud with ecstasy and delight as he rocked her back and forth? The deep, rhythmic thrusts of his powerful body produced violent shudders which again and again seemed to scorch through her slim frame, as the whole world appeared to shatter into brilliant fragments of light and power, before she found herself slowly free-falling back down to earth within the gentle tenderness and total security of his embrace.

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘YOU’RE looking really great, Sophie!’ Harriet sighed enviously as she viewed her friend’s deep golden tan. ‘I take it that your Mediterranean holiday was a great success?’

Sophie shrugged. ‘Yes…and no,’ she said, leaning forward to pour herself another cup of coffee.

She really wasn’t looking forward to having to return to work this morning. But Harriet’s suggestion of enjoying the bright, early-morning sunshine, and joining her in the garden for breakfast, was proving to be a good idea.

‘Yes and no…?’ Harriet queried, deciding to give in to the sinful impulse of having another buttered croissant. ‘You mean that there was no yacht?’

‘There was a yacht, all right. It just didn’t belong to Rodney,’ Sophie told her wryly. ‘In fact, it was owned by some really nauseating, fat Middle-Eastern guy—who seemed to think that I was there to be served up as an aperitif!’ she added, before explaining that he’d already had a boat-load of blonde floozies, clearly intended to supplement his main meals.

‘Oh, Lord!’ Harriet giggled. ‘What on earth did you do?’

‘I told him to sling his hook, of course. And I said the same thing to Rodney, too. I mean, I just wanted a nice, quiet holiday, right? I sure as heck didn’t need all that male hassle!’

Harriet frowned. ‘Yes, but…what did you do? Where did you stay? All the local hotels must have been booked solid at this time of year.’

‘Ah…’ Sophie grinned. ‘Well, it just so happened that I was sitting in this bar in the port, thoroughly fed up, deciding that I’d really sort of had men and wondering what on earth I was going to do. When all of a sudden in walked a gorgeous tall guy.’

‘Oh, no!’ Harriet groaned. ‘Don’t tell me…?’

‘Yes—I fell on my feet again!’ the other girl laughed. ‘Jacques and I got chatting. It seemed he was staying with his uncle and some other relatives in a really huge and glamorous château, just outside Nice. And when I told him how my holiday had been ruined by those two foul men, he took me back there for lunch. The upshot was that his uncle asked me to stay—no strings attached—and I just lay beside the large pool, reading tons of mushy romantic stories, until it was time to catch the plane home. Terrific, huh?’

Harriet shook her head in amazement. There was absolutely no doubt that Sophie always came out of even the most dire situation smelling of roses! In fact, it was clear that her fairy godmother must have been working overtime at the other girl’s christening.

‘And what about you?’ Sophie was saying, taking off her dark glasses and having a good, hard look at Harriet.

Her friend definitely seemed…well, it was difficult to exactly define the change which seemed to have taken place. However, the other girl’s skin was certainly glowing with a luminous sheen; her green eyes were sparkling and she was looking more…more confident—if that was the right word?

‘So, what have you been up to while I’ve been away?’

‘Oh, nothing much,’ Harriet told her airily. ‘I’ve been very busy with the builders, of course. The third-floor apartment is really beginning to take shape, at last.’

‘What about Finn Maclean? The last I heard, you were tearing your hair out, and nearly going bananas about having to cope with the awful man. Did you find anyone to help you look after him?’

‘No…I sort of…well, you know, I seem to have been managing on my own, really,’ Harriet muttered, only too well aware of the fact that her friend’s eagle-eyed vision was unlikely to miss the hectic flush spreading up over her cheeks.

She was quite correct. After one quick glance at her friend’s blushing countenance, Sophie had immediately summed up the situation.

‘Oh, Harriet…! You haven’t…? Oh, yes—I can see you have!’ she giggled, before regarding her friend more seriously. ‘Are you…are you really sure that this is a good idea?’

Harriet shrugged. ‘If I have to be truly honest—it obviously isn’t a good idea. But quite frankly, Sophie…just at the moment, I simply don’t care!’

Watching as her friend leaned back on the garden bench, raising her face to the early-morning sun and stretching languidly like an elegant, well-fed and pampered cat, Sophie felt a sudden pang of envy. Which was quickly followed by feelings of worry and concern about her oldest and dearest friend.

‘Do take care, Harriet,’ she said quietly. ‘You’re not like me. I’m capable of flitting around like a butterfly, making sure that I don’t get too involved with anyone. And if it looks as though a situation is getting heavy—I don’t have a problem in being able to pull the plug on the relationship and buzzing off somewhere else. But you…you’re different. I really don’t want you to be hurt, kid. So, be careful, hmm?’

Harriet smiled at her. ‘There’s no need to worry. I know that getting involved with Finn is likely to lead to doom and gloom. Just like leopards—playboys rarely change their spots. Right?’

‘Absolutely right!’

‘So, our affair can only be a transitory, brief interlude in my life. However, I’ve decided that I’m just going to enjoy myself and have fun.’

‘That “go with the flow” philosophy is all very well,’ Sophie told her seriously. ‘Just make sure to keep your affair on that level. I’m not saying that fairy tales can’t sometimes come true. And I really do believe—against all the odds—that it is possible to live happily ever after. But…’

‘But…?’

‘I wish I didn’t have to say it.’ Sophie shook her head gloomily. ‘And I’m not trying to be depressing. But London is littered with women who’ve made the really bad, bad mistake of falling deeply in love with Finn Maclean. And for someone like you that could be a real disaster.’

After Sophie had gone back to her own flat, Harriet stayed out in the garden, enjoying the peaceful scene and trying to absorb her old friend’s excellent advice.

Unfortunately, she knew that if she wasn’t very careful she could find herself in deep, deep trouble. Because she was by now, of course, totally infatuated with Finn. And it really wasn’t surprising, she told herself, seeking some crumbs of comfort to excuse her folly. After all, how could she not have become ‘in lust’ if not precisely ‘in love’ with the man who’d so dramatically changed her life?

And maybe it was just overwhelming lust which she was feeling? Because their lovemaking had been a complete and total revelation! But, although Finn had exclaimed, ‘Sweetheart…you’re absolutely the best thing since they learned to split the atom!’ she hadn’t really believed him at first. After all, how could she possibly hope to hold the interest, or the attention, of such a sexually experienced, sophisticated man?

However, they had laughed and kissed, and made love together before laughing and kissing again, and it seemed as if they’d barely left the bedroom for the whole of that long, first weekend.

There appeared to be no part of her that did not respond to him, quivering beneath the electrifying effect produced by his hands and mouth as he’d sensually caressed her pliant flesh.

‘God knows what you do to me, sweetheart—but it seems I can’t keep my hands off your delicious body!’ he’d murmured early on the following Monday morning, running his fingertips down over her limbs with a tantalising, feather-light touch which left her breathless and panting with desire. And then making love to her with a gentle passion and leisurely delight, ravishing her senses until she was reduced to mindless ecstasy as he brought them both, once again, to the exquisite satisfaction of mutual fulfilment.

Afterwards, as they lay quietly entwined together, it was only when she raised a hand to tenderly brush a lock of dark hair from his forehead that she glimpsed the time on her watch.

‘Oh, no…!’ she gasped. ‘It’s ten o’clock in the morning, for heaven’s sake!’

‘So…?’ he muttered sleepily.

‘So, I should have been downstairs to let the builders in at nine-thirty!’ she moaned, quickly scrambling off the bed and feverishly hunting for her clothes, which seemed to be strewn all over the room. ‘Goodness knows what they must be thinking!’

‘Who cares?’ He grinned. ‘Probably deeply envious thoughts at my luck in bedding my landlady!’

But all good things, if not coming to an end, tended to change as time went by. And with his legal work and her need to get on with completing the third-floor apartment, real life gradually eroded their blissful contentment with one another.

She had, of course, had her doubts about Finn’s claims regarding his lack of mobility. Especially since he was so agile in bed! In fact, she’d begun to definitely suspect that he was far more proficient at handling his crutches than he was prepared to admit.

Her suspicions were confirmed when, having just left the house early one morning, to collect an item from the local builders’ merchant and realising that she’d stupidly left her change purse in another handbag, Harriet returned unexpectedly to the house.

Letting herself quietly in by the front door, she was walking across the hall when she heard a noise on the stairs.

It couldn’t possibly be burglars at this time in the morning, Harriet told herself firmly. But, all the same, maybe she’d better just check…?

Running silently up the carpeted steps, she came to sudden halt as she saw Finn ahead of her, swiftly and confidently mounting the stairs with only the aid of a small walking stick.

Possibly alerted by her involuntary gasp of surprise, he turned—a slight flush on his cheekbones betraying his guilt and embarrassment as he caught sight of both her astonished, indignant expression and the irate glint in her wide green eyes.

‘Ah, there you are,’ he said hastily, before clearly deciding to bluff it out as he added, in a plaintive tone, ‘I really do wish, Harriet, that you’d let me know when you’re going out. I’ve been looking everywhere for you, and…’

‘Keep going!’

‘No, it’s all right. I’m not in any hurry.’

Harriet gave a snort of grim laughter. ‘I said, keep going. Come on, Finn! You can do a lot better than that,’ she added as he slowly mounted the next step, trying to pretend that he wasn’t half as agile as she seemed to think. ‘You’re obviously nothing but a fraud. So don’t bother to try and fool me!’

She ran swiftly up behind him, prodding him sharply in the back and forcing him to move quickly up the stairs. ‘You ought to be thoroughly ashamed of yourself—taking advantage of a defenceless woman!’

‘You? Defenceless? Do me a favour!’ He gave a low rumble of laughter as he unlocked the front door of his apartment.

‘Aha! I thought so!’ she exclaimed, viewing the interior of his sitting room, the desk piled high with papers clearly showing signs of recent use. ‘You’ve been sneaking up here when my back was turned—haven’t you?’

‘Yes, m’Lud, I cannot deny the offence. I plead guilty as charged!’ he declaimed loudly, as if conducting a case in court. ‘I freely admit to taking advantage of this poor, weak and defenceless woman,’ he added, while propelling her swiftly in the direction of his bedroom.

‘But I must point out the extenuating circumstances in this case,’ he continued, quickly unzipping her dress and ignoring her laughing protests as he tossed her lightly down on to the bed. ‘I ask you, m’Lud—how can I be expected to resist such temptation?’ He grinned, quickly discarding his own clothes before joining her and clasping her lovely warm body in his arms. ‘God knows—I’m only human!’

‘You’re also a lying toad!’ she pointed out sternly, struggling to keep a straight face.

‘That’s just because you haven’t been kissing me enough! Otherwise I would have turned into a prince long before now,’ he told her, the smile dying on his lips as he swiftly freed her breasts from the restraint of her flimsy silk bra, before his mouth hungrily claimed hers, the sweet seduction of his lips and tongue leaving her breathless with desire.

‘My…lovely Harriet,’ he muttered huskily, slowly removing her panties and softly sweeping his hands back over her long, slim legs and quivering body to caress her breasts, now heavy and swollen with yearning for his touch, before lowering his dark head to trail his lips over their generous curves.

As always, she found herself instantly succumbing to the magic of his lovemaking, his mouth and hands instruments of indescribable pleasure as he raised her to a finely tuned, sensual pitch; she was almost drowning with ecstasy and delight as he entered her with one fierce thrust, the rhythmic movements of his powerful body igniting a mutual flame of red-hot passion, burning with scorching, ever-increasing intensity, until they climaxed together in an explosion of mutual joy and exquisite pleasure.

Later, lying drowsily replete in each other’s arms, she heard him give a small sigh of regret.

‘I suppose that I really ought to move back up here, to my own apartment,’ he murmured. ‘I really can’t pretend that I’m entirely helpless any more. But I am going to miss living downstairs with you,’ he added, with a soft, gentle kiss.

‘Well, it isn’t as if we live too far away from one another,’ she told him, doing her best to sound bright and sensible, although she knew in her heart that their relationship would never be quite the same again.

Having taken the sensible decision to maintain their two separate flats while still seeing as much of each other as possible, Harriet had begun to realise just how desperately she was missing his constant presence in her life.

In fact, in the weeks following Sophie’s return from abroad—and her friend’s dire warning about the likely outcome of their passionate affair—Harriet realised that her friend had been quite right. She wasn’t capable of remaining romantically detached, living only for the moment, with no thought of the morrow. She now knew that she’d made the greatest mistake of all—and stupidly allowed herself to fall deeply in love with Finn Maclean.

However, while she might have been totally foolish—she wasn’t a complete idiot. Harriet was well aware that it would be utterly fatal to ever let Finn guess just how much he’d come to mean to her.

Which was precisely why she must—at whatever cost to herself—keep things on a light, oh-so-casual manner. Because she was very sure that if Finn even suspected the true depths of her feelings for him he’d be likely to terminate their affair as fast as possible.

Not that he would be unkind, or wish to hurt her. But his whole history to date was that of a man irresistibly attractive to women. And, while she was pretty certain that he would remain faithful to her for the duration of their love affair—however long or short that might prove to be—she had as much chance of finding a permanent niche in his heart as she had of going to the moon.

And sadly—although she would have died rather than confess it to any of her friends and contemporaries—Harriet knew that she was basically an old-fashioned, traditional sort of girl, for whom true love equalled marriage. And, let’s face it, she told herself with a heavy sigh one day, slowly retracing her steps back through the garden towards the house, there was no way of reforming that particular playboy.

Although, to be fair, Finn wasn’t a typical member of the species, because he clearly worked every bit as hard as he played. All the same, this was one story that was never going to have a happy ending. Because, even in her wildest and most optimistic moods, Harriet had never been able to persuade herself that Finn—even if he’d professed undying love to her, which of course he never had—was capable of settling down to a life of quiet domesticity. In a nutshell: he wasn’t the marrying kind.

Walking slowly in through the French windows, her gloomy thoughts were interrupted by the urgent ringing tones of the telephone.

‘Harriet—thank goodness I’ve got hold of you!’ her friend Trish exclaimed. ‘You’ve got to help me. I must see you as soon as possible. It’s an absolute disaster!’

‘Hold on—calm down!’ Harriet murmured soothingly. ‘What’s the problem?’

‘It’s far too complicated to explain on the phone,’ Trish told her quickly. ‘I just need your help. Can you get down here to the shop, as soon as possible?’

Harriet glanced down at the watch on her wrist. ‘I’ve got to check on something with the builders, upstairs. But I can make it in about half an hour. OK?’

‘Great! See you,’ Trish added hurriedly before the phone went dead.

Parking her small car outside Trish’s shop, Harriet glanced up and down the street as she left the vehicle.

Ledbury Road had now become such a glamorous shopping area that it was difficult to remember how it had been only a few years ago. Nowadays, the street—once the location of tall Victorian houses and dusty, old-fashioned antiques and book shops—had now been transformed by the influx of glamorous jewellers, trendy boutiques and picture galleries, as well as several extremely smart restaurants. It was only just down this end of the road that a few remaining businesses either side of Trish’s shop, Something Old, remained untouched by the march of progress.

‘What’s the problem?’ Harriet asked, having been forced to wait for a few moments while Trish dealt with a smart-looking woman unable to make up her mind which of two large antique soup tureens she preferred. ‘That was a good sale,’ she added as the door closed behind the satisfied customer.

‘Yes, they go rather well, don’t they?’ Trish agreed. ‘She’s not going to use it for soup, of course. Apparently, she’s going to put it out in her small garden, as a container for bulbs and flowers.’

Harriet raised her eyebrows in astonishment. ‘In her garden? But…but that’s an antique, for which she’s just paid a great deal of money!’

Trish shrugged. ‘That’s nothing. There’s a whole lot of people who’ve just moved into this area—mostly working in the media or in the City—with a lot more money than sense. Still…’ She laughed. ‘I’m hardly likely to be complaining, am I?’

‘True,’ Harriet agreed. ‘Now—what’s the problem? You certainly didn’t sound too happy on the phone.’

‘I know,’ Trish sighed. ‘I’d just opened my post—and I suppose I sort of freaked out. However, can you have a look at this letter? Maybe I’ve got it all wrong, and there’s really no need to panic,’ she said, hunting amongst the bric-à-brac crowded on the shelves, before handing Harriet a long white envelope.

‘Well…?’ Trish demanded anxiously a few moments later. ‘What do you think?’

Harriet shrugged. ‘It doesn’t look like good news, I’m afraid. It’s a notice from the local council about a planning application which has been submitted to demolish this shop and the three adjoining premises, replacing them with a small block of apartments.’

‘Yes…yes.’ Trish waved her hand distractedly in the air. ‘I didn’t have any problem in understanding that. But what I want to know is—can they do it? Have they the right to demolish my shop, and to effectively put me out of business?’

Harriet frowned. This was obviously a serious problem as far as her friend was concerned. ‘You don’t own the premises, I take it?’ When Trish shook her head, she added, ‘Well, what about your lease?’

‘It’s just about to run out,’ the other girl told her gloomily. ‘I’ve been trying to negotiate a new lease. As have the other shopkeepers involved. Although one of the shops is already empty, of course. But I couldn’t understand why the Trust, who own these small shops, seemed to be dragging their heels and not answering my letters. It’s obvious now, of course, why I couldn’t get any joy from them,’ she added with a heavy sigh. ‘So, what are the chances of us saving our shops and stopping them from being demolished?’

‘I honestly don’t know,’ Harriet confessed.

‘But you’re a lawyer!’

‘Well…I was,’ Harriet admitted. ‘But only a very junior one, of course. I’m certainly no expert in property law. Incidentally…’ She frowned down at the typewritten letter in her hands. ‘I take it that this “Adelaide Smith Bequest” is the Trust you’ve been talking about, right?’ And, when the other girl nodded, she added, ‘So, who are the trustees?’

‘A firm of lawyers in the City. But I don’t know anything about them,’ Trish admitted. ‘However, Mark Carter, who runs the small picture gallery next door, was saying that we all form part of an estate left to a charitable trust by Adelaide Smith—apparently some old biddy who lived in the Victorian era.’

Harriet nodded. ‘There are a lot of those sort of charities. Most of them own various amounts of property, and the rents go towards supporting all sorts of different good causes.’

‘That’s what Mark was saying.’ Trish picked up the phone. ‘I’ll just give him a ring and see if he can fill you in on what he’s heard about the problem so far.’

Good heavens! Harriet blinked as the owner of the picture gallery next door joined them some minutes later.

Mark Carter might lack Finn’s sheer force of personality, and his overriding sex-appeal—which seemed to act as a magnet to any women between the age of nine and ninety. However, in all other respects, Mark was quite the best-looking man that Harriet had ever seen.

No question—he’s an absolute knockout! she told herself, gazing in amazement at the thick, curly black hair tumbling over a wide brow, the wide, dark sparkling eyes, heavily fringed by long thick lashes, and the engaging smile displaying a perfect set of sparkling white teeth.

In fact, she was so dazed by the man’s sheer physical perfection—not to mention his tall, lithe figure—that it took her some time to pull herself together.

‘As far as I can make out,’ Mark was saying, ‘I think the Trust are intending to build a block of flats—and then use them as some sort of sheltered housing, with a warden, for old people who can’t manage on their own.’

‘Oh, dear!’ Harriet murmured.

Mark nodded, brushing a hand through his dusky curls.

‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘It doesn’t look good to try and fight something like that, does it? We obviously don’t want to be seen as the bad guys, especially as this area needs more housing for the elderly. But none of us want to lose our shops, either. It’s a real Catch-22 situation, isn’t it?’

After Harriet had agreed to get together with Mark to plan a defence against the planning application, and he’d returned to his own premises, Harriet turned to stare at her friend in amazement.

‘Good Lord, Trish! I had no idea you had anyone quite so beautiful working next door to you.’

‘Hmm…he’s amazingly good-looking, isn’t he?’ the other girl agreed, before adding with a sigh, ‘Unfortunately, he’s also gay.’

‘Oh, no!’

‘Yeah—I agree. But that’s the trouble, nowadays,’ Trish told her gloomily. ‘No sooner do you meet a really stunning man than you find him going off hand in hand into the sunset—with another guy!’

Despite promising her friend that she would liaise with Mark Carter, and do her best to gather more information, Harriet wasn’t very hopeful that she’d be able to achieve anything. Maybe Finn, who was apparently a hot-shot lawyer in the City, could give her some advice?

Unfortunately, since deciding to return to work in his office last week, he was obviously very busy at the moment. Collected early each morning by a chauffeured limousine service, and returning to the house in the same way, often very late at night, he appeared to be totally exhausted.

‘You ought to take it easy,’ she’d told him one night, gazing with concern at the man whose face was grey with fatigue, and who had barely been able to eat more than a few mouthfuls of the dinner which she’d prepared for him.

However, Finn had merely given a weary shrug of his shoulders. ‘There’s nothing I can do about it. A whole lot of work has been piling up while I’ve been away, and it needs sorting out before the court cases, which are likely to take place in the autumn. I’m sorry, sweetheart,’ he’d added with a tired smile. ‘Because there’s no way I can pretend that we’re likely to see much of each other over the next few weeks.’

And he’d been quite right, they hadn’t. In fact, Harriet realised with a faint feeling of shock, she’d seen nothing of him for the past three days.

Not being able to summon up enough courage to phone him at work—always, according to Sophie, a recipe for disaster when romantically interested in a man: ‘They just think you’re as keen as mustard, and start losing interest straight away!’—Harriet left several ultra-casual messages on his answer-machine. However, not receiving any reply, it occurred to her that he might have gone away on business.

Unfortunately, this was a supposition which had proved to be false. When out in the garden the other night, it had been obvious that the lights were on in his apartment. And despite Harriet telling herself that Finn might, just possibly, have some sort of electrical timer on his lights, to deter burglars, even she found the idea highly unconvincing.

However, it was the delivery of a large parcel addressed to Finn which finally gave her an excuse to find out what was going on.

Although deeply ashamed of her behaviour, Harriet nevertheless managed to persuade herself that the parcel was far too large to leave in the hall. Which obviously meant that it needed to be taken upstairs to his apartment.

You’re just being a good landlady, she told herself defiantly as she knocked loudly on the front door of his flat. It had, of course, already occurred to her that Finn would be at work in his office—which was why she had the keys in her hand.

Receiving no reply, she inserted the key into the lock and opened the front door. The flat was clearly empty, and, after placing the parcel on the small hall table, she moved on down the hall and into the large sitting room.

‘Good heavens—what a mess!’ she gasped out loud, gazing around in bewilderment at the normally immaculate, tidy room, which now looked as if it had been hit by a bomb.

Cushions were scattered all over the floor, the greasy remains of a half-eaten meal littered the small dining table, while various pieces of clothing appeared to have been tossed over every available piece of furniture.

Automatically bending down to pick up one of the garments, Harriet had just realised the shocking fact that she was actually holding a woman’s skirt in her hands when she heard a noise in the adjoining bedroom.

‘Yoo-hoo! Is that you, darling? You’re back early!’ a female voice called out huskily, before the door was thrown open and a girl walked into the room.

‘Oh, hello,’ she murmured casually, looking around her for a moment before walking over to the table and picking up a packet of cigarettes. ‘Who are you?’

Surely that’s my question? Harriet told herself, staring in fascinated horror at the very tall, very slim and, unfortunately, very beautiful blonde now casually lighting a cigarette. What made the scene so bizarre was that the girl didn’t seem at all abashed by the fact that she wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing.

‘Ah…that’s better!’ the strange girl exclaimed, blowing a smoke ring in Harriet’s direction. ‘Now all I need is some black coffee, and I might just be able to face the day. Do you want a cup?’ she asked over her shoulder as she ambled off down the hall to the kitchen.

‘No…no, thank you. I…um…I just wanted to deliver a parcel for Finn,’ Harriet muttered helplessly, wondering how on earth to get out of this bizarre situation. ‘So, I’ll just leave it with you, and…’

‘There’s no need to rush off on my account,’ the girl told her, coming back into the room. ‘Since you have a key to this flat, I imagine you must be one of Finn’s girlfriends…?’ she added, a slight question mark in her voice as she regarded the tall red-headed visitor with interest. ‘Although I must say that you don’t look at all like the type he usually goes for.’

‘No, I’m sure I don’t,’ Harriet agreed grimly, not quite sure where to fix her gaze, since she found the other girl’s nudity—especially at eleven o’clock in the morning, for heaven’s sake!—distinctly off-putting.

‘Actually,’ she continued, doing her best to sound cool and detached, ‘I happen to own this house. So, if you’re talking about Finn’s address book, I probably come under the heading of “L” for “Landlady.”’

‘Oh, right…’ The other girl shrugged, clearly losing any interest in her visitor as she began walking around the room, picking up what were obviously her own clothes, strewn around the furniture.

Despite finding it galling to be so summarily dismissed, as if she was someone of no account, Harriet was ashamed to find herself asking the outstandingly beautiful girl whether she was intending to be staying in the flat for any length of time.

‘I just…er…I just wondered… I mean, do let me know if there’s anything you need.’ she murmured airily.

The other girl shook her head. ‘No. I’m fine. Darling Finn is away for a few days. Some boring legal case in the north of England, I think.’ She shrugged. ‘He was supposed to be joining me in Paris, for a naughty weekend. But then the swine stood me up—so he told me to make myself at home here, until his return.’

‘I see…’ Harriet murmured, turning to walk towards the door and realising that she didn’t need twenty-twenty vision to get the picture.

‘Oh—there is just one thing,’ the girl said. ‘Darling Finn has obviously got himself involved with some tiresome female who keeps leaving messages on the answer-machine. A really frightful nuisance. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to get rid of them, so my friends can ring and leave important messages for me. Any chance of you knowing how to fix the damned machine?’

‘No problem,’ Harriet told her grimly, marching across the room and pressing a button. ‘There you are. That’s taken care of the nuisance calls. I’m sure you won’t be bothered again.’

‘Thanks. It’s amazing how some women can make such awful fools of themselves, isn’t it?’ The girl laughed.

‘You’re so right!’ Harriet agreed through stiff lips, before quickly leaving the apartment.

Just as one swallow didn’t make a summer—so one blonde girl making herself at home in Finn’s apartment didn’t necessarily mean that he’d returned to his old ‘playboy’ way of life, Harriet told herself desperately, some days later. Even if the girl had been spectacularly beautiful, and clearly used to walking around in front of strangers completely stark naked.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t fool herself. She’d always known, in her heart of hearts, that her relationship with Finn couldn’t last. And, to be fair, he’d never pretended that their love affair was anything other than a delightful and pleasurable interlude in his busy life.

But, try as she might, Harriet couldn’t seem to pull herself together. There seemed nothing she could do to prevent herself from suddenly bursting into tears at the oddest times and in the strangest places—even, to her utter shame and disgust, when buying fruit and vegetables in the Portobello Road.

Prowling restlessly around her flat at night left her feeling utterly drained and washed out. And the normally soothing effect of the peaceful garden signally failed to offer any solace. Even breaking down yesterday evening, and ‘telling all’ to Sophie, had provided scant comfort.

‘Oh, Harriet! I did tell you to be careful, didn’t I?’ Her friend had sighed heavily. ‘I did warn you about believing in fairy tales, that they don’t always end in people living happily ever after. Especially when you’re basically an old-fashioned girl, and men like Finn are never in a hurry to get married and settle down.’

‘I…I d-didn’t expect him to marry me,’ Harriet muttered tearfully. ‘But was it asking too much to expect him to be faithful for more than a few weeks?’

‘It looks like it,’ Sophie told her ruefully. ‘When did he get back from his trip?’

‘A couple of days ago,’ Harriet sobbed, before loudly blowing her nose as she struggled to pull herself together.

‘I was coming into the hall and saw him going upstairs. But…but he just waved at me…and kept going on up to his apartment. Obviously in a tearing hurry to have sex with that awful blonde floozy,’ she added, the tears flowing down her cheeks once again. ‘Have I told you that she was walking around his apartment, absolutely stark naked? At eleven o’clock in the morning!’

Sophie sighed heavily. ‘Yes, you have. Several times,’ she muttered.

‘And…and then, when I thought that he might come down and see me, last night—or at least give me a ring on the phone—I heard a terrific noise out in the road. So I ran to have a look out of my bedroom window, which overlooks the street. And…and there he was, with a whole crowd of people, all screaming with laughter as they piled into some taxis!’

‘So…?’ Her friend shrugged, unable to see why the incident should have so upset Harriet.

‘Trish rang this morning. She was dining at 192 in Kensington Park Road last night, and wondered why Finn had turned up at the restaurant with a whole lot of friends who all seemed to be having the time of their lives. “It seemed strange that you hadn’t been invited along,” is what sh-she s-said!’ Harriet explained, before dissolving into a flood of tears.

Sophie, who privately thought that Trish should have kept her mouth shut, tried to make light of the incident, before urging her old friend to stop crying over spilt milk—and get a firm grip on life.

‘If you want him back—and I think you’re mad if you do!—then mooning around and feeling sorry for yourself really isn’t going to achieve anything,’ she told Harriet bluntly.

‘Yes, but—’

‘You must keep busy. That’s the name of the game,’ Sophie said firmly. ‘You’ve got the builders doing up the third-floor flat, right? So that will keep you fairly occupied. And, if you have any spare time, you can always concentrate on helping Trish with the problem over her shop. By the way, is she likely to win out in the end?’

Harriet gave a slight shrug as she wiped her eyes. ‘I honestly don’t know,’ she confessed. ‘I’m meeting Mark Carter down at the Council offices tomorrow afternoon. So I should be able to discover just how much of a fight he and Trish are going to have on their hands. But, to tell the truth, I’m not very hopeful.’

‘How about that guy, Mark? From what you said earlier, he sounds absolutely dishy!’

‘Yes, he’s quite amazingly good-looking,’ Harriet agreed listlessly.

‘Well, it sounds as if you’ve got enough to keep you busy at the moment,’ Sophie told her bracingly. ‘And I’m really pleased to hear about your new friendship with Mark. I can see that he’s going to be a great comfort, one way and another.’

‘Hmm…?’

‘Oh—come on!’ Sophie rolled her eyes up at the ceiling. ‘One of the best things about gay friends is that when your love life goes pear-shaped—and you’re into the usual “men are total bastards” refrain—they’re not only really sympathetic, but can usually top your story with even better ones of their own!

‘In the meantime, you’ve got to pull yourself together,’ Sophie continued firmly. ‘And you can start by not weeping all over the place—and getting angry, instead. Where’s your pride, girl?’ she demanded. ‘Do you really want everyone to know that you were stupid enough to fall in love with Finn Maclean?’

Harriet sighed deeply, and shook her head. ‘No, of course I don’t,’ she mumbled.

‘Too right!’ Sophie gave her a wry grin. ‘Which is where an extremely handsome new boyfriend—like Mark, for instance—could be just what you need. Yes…yes, I know he’s gay,’ she added impatiently. ‘But Finn isn’t aware of that fact, is he? So, he’s not going to be too happy if he sees that you’ve got a great-looking guy in tow. In fact, I can practically guarantee that he’s likely to be as sick as a parrot!’

Harriet remained unconvinced by Sophie’s last point—especially as it sounded just the sort of rubbish her mother usually spouted. Along with other pearls of old-fashioned wisdom such as: ‘Never phone a man’; ‘Expensive clothes are cheaper in the end’ and ‘Men never respect women who are too easy—so let them do the chasing’. All of which seemed completely irrelevant in this day and age.

However, she had no doubt that her old friend’s advice—to keep busy and not give herself time to brood over her problems—was obviously sensible, and worth following as best she could.

In fact, after meeting up with Mark Carter that afternoon, and spending some hours in close scrutiny of the charitable Trust’s planning application, Harriet was surprised on leaving the council offices to discover that she’d barely had time to think about Finn—for at least two whole hours.

‘That was really helpful,’ Mark told her as they walked towards his small, ancient sports car. ‘Do you think there’s any chance that I could persuade you to represent Trish, myself and the other shopkeepers at the planning meeting next week?’

‘Well, I don’t know.’ She frowned. ‘I’m obviously willing to help you in any way I can. But, while I am technically a solicitor, I haven’t done any law work for almost a year.’

However, Mark clearly didn’t see that as a major problem. ‘The issues are fairly clear. What we need is to have someone who lives locally speaking up for us. I reckon that’s going to have more appeal than a dry-as-dust lawyer from the City of London, who doesn’t know the area.’

Harriet had to admit that he did have a point. And when he suggested continuing the discussion over an early supper at the Sausage and Mash café in Portobello Road, she willingly agreed.

‘I’ve been wanting to go there for ages—I hear it’s good fun,’ she told him with a grin, before asking whether he minded taking her back home to change out of her navy blue linen suit into something more informal.

‘No problem,’ he agreed, driving her back to the house and admiring the garden while she quickly jumped into a casual pair of jeans and a white T-shirt.

As they were leaving the house, Harriet was just thinking that Sophie had been quite right, after all: it really was very pleasant and easy to find herself spending time with such a nice, uncomplicated man as Mark. When, to her utter dismay, she saw a familiar, large black limousine rounding the corner and coming to a halt in front of the house.

Startled by her sudden gasp of horror, Mark turned to gaze at her with concern. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, quickly putting his arm around her as she stumbled and almost fell down the steps.

‘Yes…yes, I’m fine…’ she muttered, despite feeling quite faint as she saw the chauffeur coming around to open the rear passenger door of the limousine, and helping Finn’s tall dark figure to alight from the vehicle.

‘Ah—there you are! I’ve been trying to get hold of you for the past few days,’ Finn exclaimed, before turning back to retrieve his briefcase from inside the car.

‘Yes…well…I’m going out. So I’m afraid that I can’t stop to talk to you…’ she gasped, feeling quite sick, the words tumbling out in a rush as she leaned against Mark for support, since her legs appeared to have suddenly turned to jelly.

Drawing himself up to his full height, Finn stared intently at her, before slowly turning his gaze on her companion: an outstandingly good-looking young man, with his arm placed possessively about the girl’s slim figure.

It seemed to Harriet as if time had been suspended—their three figures standing motionless until the long, fraught silence was finally shattered as Finn gave a short, harsh bark of caustic laughter.

‘Well, well! Don’t let me keep you,’ he drawled in a cold, scathing voice. ‘I’d hate to stand in the way of you both having a really good time!’ he added, the icy glare in his cold blue eyes flicking contemptuously over her trembling figure.

CHAPTER NINE

HARRIET glanced around the large committee room. Like the rest of the huge modern complex forming the council headquarters of the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea, the room was decorated in sensible if boring tones of brown and cream.

Watching as the various councillors wandered in, taking their seats at a long table at the far end of the room, headed by the Chairman of the Planning Committee, Harriet was interested to note how many members of the public had been interested enough to attend the meeting.

Of course, she reminded herself quickly, glancing down at a copy of the agenda on her lap, the Ledbury Road planning application was only one of umpteen items to be discussed that evening. So there was no way of knowing how many of these people sitting around her were here to fight their own corner—as opposed to the supporters whom Mark and Trish had brought along.

As the Chairman called the meeting to order, Harriet did her best to try and stifle her nerves. Despite trying to persuade Trish and Mark that she really wasn’t the best person to put forward their case to the committee—and begging them to try and find someone more suitable—she’d eventually agreed, after a certain amount of arm-twisting, to try and do her best.

However, it was a daunting prospect to think that she must soon stand and put the case for the shopkeepers—who were likely to lose their livelihood—especially when so many of them were here, tonight.

‘Who’s representing the other side in our case?’ Trish whispered from her seat beside Harriet.

‘I don’t know,’ she muttered, glancing along the row of seats. It could be any one of the many dark-suited, professional-looking men with their briefcases open on the floor beside them.

‘Maybe we’ll get lucky—and the Trust won’t send anyone at all?’ Trish murmured hopefully.

‘It’s possible,’ Harriet agreed. But she didn’t really believe that a large firm of City lawyers would leave such matters to chance. Not when there was a considerable amount of money involved.

However, it would obviously be some time before their case was dealt with, and although Harriet tried to remain alert and interested, she found her attention wandering.

In fact, as seemed to be happening so often just lately, she was having difficulty in concentrating on anything other than her own problems. Especially that really awful, brief confrontation with Finn outside her house over a week ago—which still burned vividly in her mind, despite all her efforts to try and expunge it from her memory.

So upset that she’d been unable to eat any of her delicious sausages and mashed potato, Harriet had been deeply thankful for Mark’s comforting presence.

‘I’m sorry…’ she muttered helplessly as the weak tears trickled down her cheeks. ‘You really don’t need a stupid woman crying buckets all over her food.’

But Mark was sweet, kind and amazingly patient. Having listened to her brief explanation of the reasons which lay behind her making such a fool of herself, both outside her house and here in the café, he smiled and told her to stop talking such nonsense.

‘I’ve got three younger sisters. So I’m well used to hearing sad stories about broken love affairs. Quite apart from my own problems with male relationships,’ he confessed with a sympathetic grin. ‘Come on—dry your eyes,’ he added, handing her a large handkerchief. ‘And let’s put our minds to thinking about the best way for you to handle this situation. OK?’

‘Yes…OK,’ she sniffed, smiling wanly at him through her tears. ‘But it’s an almost impossible problem to solve. Especially since the foul man is living in my house.’

However, Mark merely shrugged his shoulders. ‘That sounds fairly easy. Until you get your ex-boyfriend out of the house—and I suggest you do that as soon as possible—why don’t you make yourself scarce for a few days?’

Harriet glanced up at him with startled eyes. ‘What—go away?’

‘Why not? It isn’t the end of the world if you decide to leave London for a bit, is it? I certainly wouldn’t mind closing my shop and going off to spend some time in the country.’

‘Well…yes…I suppose I could go home, to Gloucestershire,’ she agreed slowly. The builders doing up the third-floor flat had just about finished their work for the time being, and there wasn’t any particularly important item in her diary. ‘But…but what about the planning application? Don’t forget—you must put in your formal opposition to the plans as soon as possible.’

‘No problem.’ Mark waved his hand dismissively in the air. ‘I’ll see to that. And if we need to keep in touch with one another all you have to do is to give me the phone number of wherever you decide to go, and I can ring you up if there are any developments.’

By the time they were drinking their cups of coffee at the end of the meal, Harriet had realised that Mark was quite right. After all, as he’d so sensibly pointed out, with she and Finn living in the same house it was almost certain that at some point they would find themselves having a major quarrel. And even if they didn’t, as Mark had said, ‘You really don’t need all the hassle of having to see him every day, do you?’

No, she certainly didn’t! Harriet had agreed. Since even the idea of a freezingly polite Finn was more than she could bear at the moment, she decided to take Mark’s advice.

Returning to her apartment, Harriet quickly threw some clothes into a small suitcase. After phoning her parents, and letting them know that she’d be joining them for breakfast, she set her alarm clock for very early in the morning—before climbing into bed and falling into a deep, exhausted sleep.

Being able to go for long, relaxed country walks was wonderful, of course. But, as she’d feared, her mother proved to be extremely tiresome.

Appalled to hear that her daughter was no longer seeing George—‘How could you be so foolish? He was such a nice, sensible, highly suitable and rich young man.’—Mrs Wentworth refused to let the subject rest. Until, provoked almost beyond endurance, Harriet threatened to leave the house and return to London if her mother didn’t shut up.

‘He may have been what you think of as “suitable,”’ she stormed. ‘But the truth is that George was dead boring, extremely insensitive—and had about as much passion as a dead fish.’

Although the older woman nervously clutched her pearls, moaning with horror at such a blunt statement, it seemed as though Harriet’s words had done the trick. Thereafter, her mother merely sighed heavily, and cast reproachful glances at her daughter when reading the ‘Engagement and Marriage’ columns in The Times.

However, if her brief visit to her family home did nothing else, it amply demonstrated to Harriet that she had been absolutely right when she’d decided not to sell her great-aunt’s house. There was obviously no way she and her mother could co-exist under the same roof for any length of time. The knowledge that she had her own home, in which to do as she liked, was an amazingly comforting thought.

Since there had been no problem in keeping in close touch with Mark and Trish, she’d been able to remain deep in the country until her return to London, late last night.

Harriet still couldn’t quite decide if the fact that she’d deliberately not left her answer-machine on was a good or bad idea. Because, however weak and feeble she knew it to be, she would have dearly loved to have heard, even if only for the last time, some message from Finn. But there had been nothing—not even a brief note acknowledging her absence.

The rotten, two-timing bastard might at least have had the good grace to say that he was sorry for his behaviour, Harriet was telling herself—when her thoughts were sharply interrupted as Trish gave her a quick nudge in the ribs.

‘What on earth is he doing here?’ her friend demanded in an urgent whisper.

‘Umm…?’ Harriet blinked at the other girl in confusion, before following the direction of Trish’s finger, which was pointing along the row of seats to a man standing in the open doorway on the far side of the room.

Staring open-mouthed with shock at the sight of Finn’s tall, commanding figure, clothed in a dark formal City suit and carrying a slim black briefcase, Harriet’s brain simply refused to function for a few moments. She was only aware of suddenly feeling both faint and sick in the pit of her stomach, hot and cold shivers feathering up and down her spine as she desperately tried to pull herself together.

What eventually helped her to return to some form of rational thought was the fact that Finn, himself, was obviously equally shocked and stunned to see her. Although it seemed that he was capable of recovering a lot faster, as he gave her a brief, tight-lipped and distinctly chilly smile before sitting down on a nearby chair.

Still breathless with shock and dismay, Harriet struggled to control the overriding feelings of apprehension and foreboding which were filling her mind to the exclusion of all else. Oh, no! Surely…surely it must be just a coincidence that they were both here at the same time? Finn couldn’t possibly have anything to do with the Adelaide Smith Bequest—could he?

Unfortunately, as the Chairman drew his colleagues’ attention to the planning application in Ledbury Road, Finn rose smoothly to his feet, stating that he was representing the Trust concerned and wished to explain more fully to the committee exactly why they should approve this particular application.

‘Did you know about this?’ Trish whispered.

‘No! Of course I didn’t!’ Harriet muttered grimly, her heart sinking into her boots as she listened to Finn, now smoothly and confidently explaining why the Trust wished to erect a small block of flats on the site of the present group of shops.

How on earth could she hope to swing the vote in Trish and Mark’s favour? Harriet asked herself with mounting dismay. Especially when Finn was so cleverly painting a heart-wrenching picture of poor, desperately impoverished old men and women, badly in need of proper accommodation in the twilight of their years?

It was a masterly performance. And by the time the Chairman called on her, to put the shopkeepers’ case, Harriet knew in her heart that, however eloquent she might prove to be, it was already a lost cause.

However, determined to do her very best for her friends, she rose slowly to her feet, desperately trying to concentrate on the arguments she had to put before the committee.

Each speaker only had four minutes in which to put their case, and when she finally returned to her seat Harriet was grateful for the way Trish caught hold of her hand and gave it a warm squeeze.

‘You did brilliantly!’ her friend told her. ‘Well done!’

But Harriet could only shake her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured. ‘You’ll have to face it. We’re going to lose.’

She was quite right. Although, as Trish said with a sigh, it had been a close-run thing, since the Trust’s application was only carried by the Chairman’s casting vote.

‘One vote is all it takes,’ Harriet told her sadly, amidst the general exodus from the public gallery by the shopkeepers and their supporters.

Busy chatting to her friends in the main reception area, and apologising once again for not being able to achieve the result that they’d wanted, Harriet was taken unawares as she felt a hand giving her a quick tap on her shoulder. Spinning around, she was startled to find herself staring up into Finn’s handsome face.

‘I didn’t want to leave the building without saying that I’m sorry you lost the vote tonight,’ he told her quietly.

‘Oh, really?’ she grated, her nerves stretched to almost breaking point, not only by the tension of the day, but also the totally unexpected appearance of the man with whom she’d fallen so violently in love.

‘Well, I hope you’re pleased with your efforts?’ she added grimly through clenched teeth, waving a hand towards the small, huddled group of dejected, worried-looking men and women. ‘Well done, Finn! You’ve just destroyed a whole lot of people’s lives.’

‘Oh, come on, Harriet! It’s an unfortunate coincidence that we should find ourselves opposing one another,’ he told her impatiently. ‘But you’ve been trained as a lawyer. So you must know that I was merely representing the interests of my clients.’

‘Nothing personal. It was just a job—right?’ she drawled scathingly.

‘Correct. That’s precisely what it was,’ he said firmly. ‘However, you shouldn’t feel too despondent. You put up a very good fight for your friends.’

‘Unfortunately, you patronising swine, it’s obvious that I wasn’t quite good enough!’ she rasped. The burning anger she’d been suppressing for so long suddenly erupted as she added grimly, ‘Which just about sums up our relationship, doesn’t it?’

‘What…?’ His dark brows drew together in a sudden frown.

‘I was just another conquest. Just one more notch on your bloody bedpost—right?’

‘That’s absolute nonsense, Harriet—and well you know it!’ he snapped.

‘Oh, yeah? So how come you dropped me like a hot potato after only a few weeks?’ she yelled.

Trembling with rage, and with her temper by now well out of control, it was a great relief to at last let rip and tell this lousy man just what she thought of him. And, quite frankly, she simply didn’t give two hoots what any of the bystanders in the small hall might be thinking.

In fact, Trish had been gazing at her friend with considerable alarm. Just about to intervene in the quarrel, she found herself being restrained as Mark Carter firmly placed a hand on her arm.

‘I don’t think we should attempt to interfere with what looks like a very high-octane, volatile relationship,’ he murmured with a grin. ‘They’re both strong, tough and intelligent people—although I’ll admit that it doesn’t look like it at the moment! However, we should leave them alone to sort out their own tangled affairs.

‘In fact,’ Mark continued with a brief snort of laughter, ‘it looks as though that’s exactly what Harriet’s boyfriend is doing!’

‘How can you be such an idiot…?’ Finn was growling angrily as he grabbed hold of Harriet’s arm, practically whisking her off her feet as he hustled them both into an adjoining, small empty office.

‘You’re absolutely right!’ Harriet agreed bitterly, so caught up in her angry, tortured feelings that she barely noticed her surroundings. ‘I definitely should have my head examined for going anywhere near a two-timing Casanova like you!’

‘For God’s sake!’ he exploded. ‘I don’t know what in the hell you’re talking about. And in any case—what about you and that oh-so-handsome guy you’ve been seeing? Giving you a good time in bed, is he?’ Finn lashed out furiously, grinding his teeth with rage as he glared down at her.

Harriet gave a screech of shrill laughter. ‘That’s rich! Accusing me of goodness knows what—when you’re the one who can’t keep his hands off women!’ she shouted, practically dancing with rage. ‘What about that naked blonde floozy you imported into your apartment—only a few days after romancing me?’

‘What…?’ He frowned, before giving a shrug of his shoulders. ‘You must be out of your mind.’

‘Aha! Isn’t that typical? You’re obviously such a dyed-in-the-wool roué that you can’t even remember a beautiful blonde, totally naked girl making herself at home in your apartment!’

‘Nonsense!’

‘According to the naked lady,’ Harriet continued, taking no notice of his interjection, ‘and I quote: “Darling Finn was supposed to be joining me in Paris for a naughty weekend. But then the swine stood me up—so he told me to make myself at home here, until his return,”’ Harriet trilled, repeating the girl’s words in a high-pitched sing-song voice.

Finn stared at her blankly for a moment, before giving a click of his fingers. ‘You must mean Angela.’

‘Do I?’ Harriet retorted curtly, suddenly feeling totally exhausted and longing to be able to run away, to bury herself in a small, dark hole and cry her eyes out—for a week. ‘Quite frankly, I’m not interested in knowing the names of any of your girlfriends.’

‘She’s nothing to do with me!’ Finn shouted angrily, clearly losing his own temper just at the moment when she was beginning to sober up.

‘For your information,’ he continued grimly, ‘Angela is the girlfriend of my brother, Jack. I’d made an arrangement, some months ago, to meet up with them in Paris—where, incidentally, Angela is a model—to celebrate my brother’s birthday. Unfortunately, I couldn’t make it, thanks to the fact that you’d managed to break my leg! So I told Angela that she could stay in my flat for a few days, while I was away, and when my brother flew in from Africa to join her we’d celebrate his birthday on my return.’

Finn paused, clearly waiting for some response from Harriet, the blood draining from her already pale cheeks as she stared blankly up at him.

‘Well…? Have you got the picture—at last?’ he demanded furiously, putting his hands on her arms and giving her a quick, rough shake, before his arms closed about her like a vice and his furiously angry, handsome tanned face came swiftly down towards her.

The mouth that possessed hers was hard and forceful. His kiss, a volatile mixture of burning anger and sensual excitement, leaving her completely shattered. Unable to move. Almost unable to breathe beneath his emotional assault. Harriet was almost fainting when he at last relaxed the cruel pressure, slowly raising his dark head to stare intently down at the slim figure lying like a rag doll in his arms.

‘Oh, Harriet…!’ He gave a deep, heavy sigh. ‘I wish I knew why such a very beautiful, clever girl should keep on looking at life down the wrong end of the telescope.’

But Harriet was by now feeling far too mentally and physically exhausted to fully comprehend what he’d been saying earlier. She was only aware that, though he seemed to have some sort of explanation for his behaviour, she wasn’t the sort of person who could cope with the Finn Macleans of this world.

‘You’re quite right. I have been very stupid,’ she told him with a long drawn-out, weary sigh as she broke free of his embrace. ‘I’ve made a lot of mistakes. And allowing you to rent the flat in my house was the worst mistake of all. I’m going away for a few days,’ she added quietly. ‘When I get back, I want to find the flat empty—with no trace of you or your girlfriends.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Harriet!’ he protested, with a grim laugh. ‘You can’t possibly expect me to uproot myself—just like that! Where on earth would I go?’

‘I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that’s your problem,’ she told him, feeling strangely calm, as if she was inhabiting someone else’s body, as she turned towards the door. ‘I may well be stupid. But you’re obviously a very clever man, Finn. Which is why I’m quite sure that you’ll think of something.’

‘Ouch!’ he grunted, wincing as he recalled his own words on the night when they’d first made love. ‘Come on, sweetheart—there’s no need to give me such a hard time!’

But Harriet, who seemed to have lost all sense of reality, made no reply as she opened the door and disappeared from sight.

The rain, which had been falling in a steady, damp stream for the past two weeks, appeared to have dried up as the weekend of the Notting Hill Carnival approached.

Always an interested spectator of the carnival procession—whose route included Lansdowne Gardens—Harriet realised that since inheriting her great-aunt’s house she now had a marvellous ‘front seat’ from which to admire Europe’s largest street carnival.

In earlier years she’d enjoyed being part of the massively huge crowd. It had been fun to find herself and her friends swept up by the tide of revellers—the numbers especially dense around the large stage in Powis Square, which provided around the clock Hip-Hop and Soul music as well as the presence of many famous international artists. But this year Harriet preferred to watch the procession from a balcony on one of the upper floors of her house. Thus choosing to protect her eardrums until she became deaf through old age, rather than the outrageously loud sound systems of the Notting Hill Carnival!

And of course there was no problem about using the balcony outside the front windows of the second-floor apartment. Especially as, after having brought in a professional firm for a ‘ritual cleansing’ following Finn’s abrupt departure, there was no longer any trace in the large white empty rooms of either him or their brief love affair.

‘Do come and join me,’ she’d begged both Sophie and Trish a few weeks ago. But Sophie had seemed to have some other plans of her own for the Bank Holiday weekend at the end of August. And Trish—along with all the other shop-owners in the area—had been far too busy arranging for the windows of her shop to be boarded up before spending the weekend in the country, far away from Notting Hill.

So here she was, all alone—and it was great! Harriet told herself defiantly. So, OK, she’d lost her heart to Finn Maclean. But, goodness knows, she was in good company. Half the women in London seemed to have been afflicted by the same disease.

However, just lately she’d been trying her utmost to take a more relaxed and, hopefully, a more reasonable view of the very brief summer romance which had left her feeling so mentally and physically shattered.

Did she wish that she’d never met Finn? No, of course she didn’t. In fact, if she was honest with herself, Harriet knew that she undoubtedly owed him a great debt of gratitude.

It was, after all, Finn who had awakened her to the realisation and understanding of what was embodied in an adult, fully satisfying sexual relationship. She’d never have found that with George—not if she’d lived to be a hundred and two! And so, even though she knew that she would never, ever again experience such happiness and joy in a man’s arms, she did at least know what it was to have been truly in love.

However, trying to take a reasonable, detached view of her brief romance was one thing. But being forced to live with the knowledge that she’d made an almighty fool of herself was quite another.

Harriet could now see that, blinded by Finn’s reputation, and confused by her own immediate response to his overwhelming attraction—as well as being desperately insecure about her own lack of sexual experience—she’d been directly responsible for destroying their brief relationship.

What had made matters seem even worse—rubbing salt into her bitter wounds—had been the phone call from Trish, only a few days ago.

Almost incoherent with excitement, her friend had explained that Finn, having investigated the land-holdings of the Adelaide Smith Bequest, had apparently asked for a meeting with the trustees. After pointing out that they had a large building needing repair in the Portobello Road, he’d suggested converting it into an antiques centre, to house the dispossessed shop-owners from Ledbury Road.

‘It’s absolutely perfect for us!’ Trish had burbled down the phone. ‘Everyone is so thrilled—and I’m absolutely over the moon. It was terrifically kind of Finn. We’re all so grateful to him. It’s wonderful news, isn’t it?’

‘Yes…wonderful,’ she’d murmured, very pleased and happy that the story now had a happy ending. But, after having fought so hard for her friends—and all to no avail— Harriet couldn’t seem to prevent herself from taking a jaundiced view of that smooth operator Finn Maclean. Who, with apparently effortless ease, seemed to have so adroitly changed sides and suddenly become one of the good guys.

He’d tried to patch up things between them, of course. However, with her answer-machine on permanently nowadays, she’d had no problem in ignoring his calls, while she’d returned his letters unread. Sophie clearly thought that her friend had taken leave of her senses. But, as Harriet had tried to explain, she simply didn’t possess whatever it took to cope with a man like Finn.

‘It just wouldn’t work,’ she’d told her old friend, with a heavy sigh. ‘I’d always care too much. I would never be able to take a cool, sophisticated attitude to any major infidelities on his part. Which is why it’s far better not to get involved with him ever again.’

Although Sophie had refused to accept her arguments, she had finally stopped nagging her about being a coward who was afraid to face life. And while Harriet might privately agree that the other girl’s diagnosis wasn’t too far from the truth, she preferred to think of it as ‘self-preservation.’

In fact, and despite weeping copious tears for what might have been, Harriet was still convinced that she had done the right thing. Therefore, while she might privately be convinced that her life, henceforth, was likely to consist of little more than dust and ashes, it was infinitely preferable to the deep misery and unhappiness which Finn would have caused her if their affair had continued.

Come on—stop being so damned gloomy! she told herself firmly as she heard the first, faint sounds of music which heralded the carnival procession. Over the past few weeks she’d made a reasonably good job of putting her life together again. And if she still occasionally awoke at night, to find her pillow wet with tears, she’d made sure that she presented a calm, smiling face to the world during the day.

Long before she actually saw the front of the procession, it was preceded by the most enormous cacophony of noise and music, growing increasingly louder and louder with every passing minute until the first float came into view.

Leaning over the balcony, Harriet gazed down at the riot of noise and colour, the dancers on the floats in their fantastic costumes, some accompanied by steel bands, waving happily at the spectators along the route.

And there were participants, it seemed, from all corners of the globe. She was particularly taken with the Voodoo ritual dancers, from Papua New Guinea, the T&T Mudders, with their red devils theme, and Callaloo, whose costumes depicted the colours of moths and butterflies from around the world, many of which were now endangered species.

The procession seemed never-ending. But, just as she was about to leave the balcony in search of a cool drink, Harriet found herself staring at a large float which appeared to be the second to last participant in the carnival procession.

‘What the hell…!’ she gasped, staggering back on the balcony, quickly clamping her hands to her face and giving a rough shake of her head as she tried to pull herself together. It simply wasn’t possible. She must be hallucinating!

But when she cautiously opened her fingers, peering gingerly down into the street once more, she realised that she wasn’t mistaken. It really hadn’t been a figment of her imagination.

Because there on a huge banner—raised up high above the float, with colourfully costumed dancers gyrating below—was painted in large black letters:

FINN MACLEAN IS MADLY IN LOVE—AND WANTS TO MARRY HARRIET WENTWORTH

‘I simply don’t believe it…!’ she gasped, not knowing whether to burst into tears or collapse with hysterical laughter as she stared uncomprehendingly down at the huge banner, surrounded by a large number of enormous, heart-shaped red helium balloons.

‘Oh, dear! I think those balloons are just a little over the top—don’t you?’ A voice suddenly spoke from just behind her shoulder.

Almost jumping out of her skin with fright, Harriet gave a yelp of shock. Swaying helplessly, she might have fallen over the balcony if two strong hands hadn’t immediately caught hold of her, pulling her trembling figure back against a tall, strong body.

‘Finn…!’ she gasped as she quickly turned, throwing her arms around his neck and bursting into loud, noisy tears as she buried her head in the curve of his shoulder.

‘How in the hell did you get in here?’ she demanded, when her storm of weeping had ceased and she was busy blowing her nose on one of his large white handkerchiefs.

‘No problem!’ He held up his hand from which jingled a bunch of keys.

‘Yes, I know that I returned a set of keys to you,’ he said, before she was able to say anything. ‘But, being a “prudent chap”—as George would undoubtedly say!—and not given to accepting defeat lightly, I had a spare set of keys cut before leaving here. I also have to confess,’ he added with a grin, ‘that I did arrange with Sophie to let me in if, by any chance, you’d decided to change the locks.’

‘That was sneaky—of both you and Sophie,’ she muttered, still desperately trying to pull herself together.

He shrugged. ‘Nothing…absolutely nothing in our relationship has been easy, Harriet. But, when faced with a difficult and intractable woman, I realised I had no alternative but to resort to low cunning!’

‘But…but I still don’t understand…’

‘It’s far too noisy up here,’ he said firmly, taking hold of her hand and leading her off the balcony, back into the main room of the deserted apartment. ‘Why don’t we go downstairs, to your flat, where we can talk without being disturbed. OK?’

‘It doesn’t look as though I’ve got any choice in the matter, does it?’ she muttered, still feeling utterly bemused and disorientated by Finn’s totally unexpected appearance.

‘No, it doesn’t.’ He grinned. ‘But I’m not intending to spend too much time talking. So I think you might spare me at least one or two minutes, don’t you?’

From having temporarily found herself in seventh heaven, Harriet felt her emotions now swoop down to hit the deck with a thump. Oh, no! Surely he wasn’t going to just have his say—and then vanish from her life once again? After all, he had obviously somehow arranged that banner over the float, and…

‘Oh, Lord! Everyone in Notting Hill is going to be seeing that banner!’ she cried in horror. ‘What on earth am I going to do?’

‘Oh, I expect that we’ll think of something,’ Finn drawled as he led the way down the stairs.

By the time they entered her apartment, and he’d closed the door very firmly behind them, Harriet was in such a state of nervous tension that she could hardly speak. It seemed to take the most enormous effort before she was able to say the few, simple words, ‘Would…er…would you like a cup of tea?’

‘Yes, that sounds a good idea,’ he drawled smoothly, walking slowly across the room to gaze out through the French windows into the garden.

Glancing quickly at his profile, Harriet could have sworn that, for almost a second, there’d been a strange note in his voice, as if he was almost laughing at her. But she decided she must have been mistaken, since his smooth tanned features seemed now devoid of all expression.

It was proving almost impossible to prevent her hands from shaking uncontrollably as she tried to put the tea leaves into the pot. Finn was continuing to gaze quietly out at the garden, but she found the lack of any conversation acutely oppressive, and the mounting, strained silence became almost too much for her to bear. She hadn’t a clue what to say. But if she didn’t think of something she knew that she was going to break down into floods of tears—yet again—and make an almighty fool of herself.

That crazy banner had stated, quite clearly, that Finn wanted to marry her. But did he really mean it? And…and even if he did, there were so many unresolved problems between them. Which meant that even allowing herself to believe that they might have a future together could prove to be a terrible mistake.

‘Er…how is your leg? You seem to have got rid of your plaster cast.’

‘Yes, it’s healed very well,’ he told her smoothly.

Harriet waited for him to say something else, but he merely turned back to gaze out into the garden.

‘OK, Finn.’ She sighed heavily. ‘What are you really doing here?’ she added, handing him a cup of tea, her nervous hands causing the cup to rattle ominously on the saucer.

‘Oh, come on, Harriet!’ He gave a rueful shake of his dark head. ‘Even a blind man wouldn’t have a problem in seeing exactly why I’m here!’ He paused for a moment, but when she didn’t reply, he added, ‘So, I reckon that the next move has to be yours, sweetheart—don’t you?’

‘The…er…the next move?’ she echoed helplessly, taking pity on her weak and trembling legs as she sank down into a nearby chair.

There was a long silence as he gazed intently down at her flushed features.

‘Well, now, I think we can both agree that I have—quite literally, in fact!—nailed my colours to the mast. Right?’

‘Oh…er…you mean that banner, over the float…?’

‘Exactly,’ he agreed with a slight grin. ‘Although I fervently hope you are going to make an honest man of me?’ He gave a short, husky bark of laughter. ‘Otherwise, I won’t just have spent a great deal of money—I’m also going to look a complete and utter fool, as well!’

With her heart tugging her one way, and her brain pulling in another direction, Harriet desperately played for time. ‘How…how on earth did you manage to find that crazy float?’

‘It’s a longish story, so I’ll keep it as short as possible.’ Finn grinned.

‘Basically, those taking part in the carnival spend all year raising money, one way or another, to pay for their costumes and the hire of the float, music, et cetera. Unfortunately, as I learned through a colleague—whose young sister shares a flat with some friends in Westbourne Grove—a group of people, having raised enough funds for their float, suddenly lost it all when the organiser ran off with their money.

‘So…I tracked them down, and offered to subsidise the float,’ he continued. ‘The deal being that they could do anything they liked—just as long as they carried that banner.’

Following his explanation there was another long, long silence as he stood looking down at the girl, who was clearly avoiding his eyes as she stared down at the nervous, twisting hands in her lap.

‘Well…Harriet?’ he said at last. ‘Will you marry me?’

When she didn’t immediately reply, Finn added, ‘If I remember the words correctly, there’s a phrase in the religious wedding service: something along the lines of “forsaking all other, keep yourself only unto her, so long as you both shall live.” And that has always summed up my whole concept of marriage. Which is why I’ve always known that I could never ask any woman to marry me—not unless I could faithfully make, and keep, that serious vow of total commitment.’

‘Oh, Finn…’ she murmured, a lump forming in her throat.

‘My dearest,’ he said softly. ‘I haven’t even looked at, let alone touched, any other woman since the very first time we kissed—in the kitchen during my birthday party, earlier this summer. And I can promise you that I’ve never—absolutely never—experienced such happiness and joy as when we’ve made love together. Quite truthfully, sweetheart, there will never be anyone else for me—not even if I live to be a very, very old man.’

The note of deep honesty and sincerity in his voice was unmistakable. But it wasn’t the here and now which so desperately concerned her, as Harriet tried to make clear. It was what lay ahead of them in the future which was her main concern and chief stumbling block.

‘I…I’m simply not cool or sophisticated enough to cope with any of your ex-girlfriends—let alone any flirtations you might conduct in the future,’ she told him sorrowfully. ‘I can’t bear the thought of either being a jealous wife or of always wondering if you’ll be faithful to me. It…well, it would break my heart!’

‘That’s rubbish!’ he retorted firmly. ‘OK. Let’s start at the beginning. Am I or am I not correct in believing that you do love me, Harriet?’ he demanded.

‘Just a minute!’ she exclaimed. ‘We’re not in court, you know? So stop trying to interrogate me like a witness!’

Finn laughed. ‘That’s my girl! I thought this strange, pale and nervous version of Harriet Wentworth wouldn’t last very long.’

‘Look—do you want an answer, or don’t you?’ she retorted grimly.

‘Yes, please, my dearest Harriet,’ he murmured meekly, his eyes dancing with laughter.

She grinned and shook her head. ‘You’re absolutely impossible. But, yes…of course I love you—you horrible man!’

‘Right—that’s a start, anyway,’ he said, immediately beginning to look considerably more cheerful. ‘I love you—and you love me. So, the only question remaining concerns your doubts about our marriage—correct?’

She nodded. ‘I do love you, with all my heart,’ she told him quietly. ‘But…’

‘I always think that “but” is a word that should be outlawed from the English language,’ he said firmly, before striding across the room and gently raising her up into his arms.

‘I want to marry you, Harriet. I want to spend the rest of my days with you. And that’s the beginning and the end of it,’ he vowed, gently pressing a soft kiss on her forehead.

‘No…’ she murmured, burying her face in the curve of his shoulder. ‘No, I…I couldn’t bear it if our marriage disintegrated into dreadful rows and acid-green jealousy. You must see, Finn, that really would tear us both apart. It just simply wouldn’t work.’

‘Oh, yes, it can. And it will!’

She shook her head sadly. ‘The good Lord knows that I want to say yes. But I know that my answer has to be no.’

He took a deep breath. ‘I hear what you say, sweetheart. But if you think that I’m going to give up,’ he added, his arms tightening possessively about her slim body, ‘I have to tell you that you’re very…very much mistaken!’

EPILOGUE

‘HARRIET looks simply gorgeous, doesn’t she?’ Trish exclaimed, staring at the girl standing beneath the arched doorway of St John’s church in Ladbroke Grove.

With a long, straight, creamy silk dress skimming down over her slim figure, her glorious fiery-red hair topped by a tiara of diamond stars from which the palest cream fine net veiling trailed in a billowing cloud behind her, Harriet had her arm firmly held by that of her new husband as they smiled into the photographer’s lens.

‘Yes, absolutely terrific!’ Sophie agreed with a slightly envious sigh. She hadn’t yet met her own Mr Wonderful. But when she did, she was definitely going to have a wedding with all the bells and whistles, just like her friend Harriet.

‘How on earth did Finn eventually manage to persuade her to marry him?’ Trish asked curiously. ‘The last I heard, she was adamantly saying no!’

Sophie laughed. ‘You’ve got to hand it to him.’ She grinned. ‘When it comes to low cunning—Finn makes Machiavelli look like a bungling amateur!’

‘So what did he do?’

‘Well, it seems that he took her off to Venice—via the Orient Express, of course—to spend a few days in one of the most glamorous hotels. And then, according to Harriet, the “dreadful man” made such mad, passionate love to her—for two whole days and nights—that she didn’t know whether she was coming or going! At which point, again according to Harriet, she “somehow” found herself in the office of the British Consul—and only really grasped what was happening when she heard a clergyman pronouncing them man and wife!’

‘But…but, that means…’

Sophie grinned. ‘Yes. Finn had arranged everything—including the special marriage licence—and they were actually married some weeks ago.’

‘Good heavens!’ Trish exclaimed in surprise. ‘So this is just a sort of marriage blessing…?’

‘Oh, no. It’s definitely the full monty,’ the other girl told her firmly. ‘Finn said that he wanted to be absolutely certain of Harriet—and so got me to arrange this proper church wedding on the quiet, before he took her off to Venice. And I must say,’ Sophie added with a grin, ‘I’ve had a lot of fun fixing everything up.’

‘Hmm…’ Trish murmured, gazing at the distinctly unusual bridesmaid’s outfit which Sophie was wearing—a long, slim column of pale gold satin, with a deep plunging neckline and clinging to every inch of the other girl’s voluptuous figure. She privately thought it highly unsuitable for a church wedding.

However, as Trish admitted to herself with a deep sigh of envy, there was no doubt that Sophie was looking sensational. Certainly Jack Maclean thought so, she noted, not missing the flirtatious glances her friend was exchanging with Finn’s tall, handsome brother, who’d also served as his best man.

‘I think you’re wasting your time there,’ Trish pointed out, as she noted a very tall, very slim, and amazingly beautiful blonde woman clinging possessively to Jack Maclean’s arm.

‘Oh, really…?’ Sophie murmured, smiling inwardly to herself at the recollection of how Jack—just like that very smooth operator, his brother, Finn—had already arranged to take her out to dinner and then on to a nightclub later that evening.

Jack wasn’t, of course, quite as good-looking as his brother. But apart from the groom—and maybe Mark Carter—he was easily the most attractive man amongst the wedding party. And she was, quite frankly, looking forward to having a thoroughly good time.

The happy couple, despite posing for the photographs, hadn’t missed the flirtatious glances between Harriet’s best friend and the best man.

‘Oh, Lord—I hope Sophie’s going to behave herself,’ Harriet muttered out of the side of her mouth as she beamed into the camera.

Finn gave a deep rumble of sardonic laughter. ‘I don’t think my brother would agree with that pious wish! However, Sophie’s a big girl—and perfectly capable of coping with Jack.’

‘Not if he’s anything like his older brother, she isn’t!’ his new wife told him with a highly amused gurgle of laughter. ‘Look what happened to me. I had absolutely no intention of marrying you. And yet here I am, with a gold ring on my finger. Let’s face it.’ She turned to gaze lovingly up at her husband. ‘Once you Maclean men make up your mind—there’s no stopping you!’

‘Absolutely not!’ he agreed with a broad grin. ‘Which reminds me…I know that Sophie has managed to persuade all your neighbours to allow us to hold the reception in your garden, but I hope it’s not going to go on for too long. You may be looking outstandingly beautiful in that lovely dress,’ he added huskily, ‘but frankly, my darling, I’m definitely looking forward to taking it off!’

‘For heaven’s sake!’ Harriet could feel her cheeks flushing at the deeply sensual note in his voice. ‘You’re not supposed to say that sort of thing at a wedding. There is, after all, a time and place for everything.’

‘That’s precisely the point I was making!’ He grinned lovingly down at her. ‘But I will try hard not to shock your mother.’

‘I don’t think that’s possible—she’s absolutely convinced that you’re the best thing since sliced bread!’ Harriet laughed, recalling how Mrs Wentworth had nearly fainted with joy and excitement at the news that her daughter was not only getting married—but to an extremely wealthy man, as well.

‘OK…I reckon that’s enough,’ Finn told the photographer dismissively, before turning to his new wife. ‘I left all the arrangements in Sophie’s capable hands—but I forgot to check how we’re supposed to get from here, at the church, back to the reception in Lansdowne Gardens. I hope she didn’t forget that rather important item?’

Harriet, who’d been frankly amazed at the smooth, well-oiled programme of events arranged by her old friend, was just beginning to wonder whether Sophie had slipped up over the problem of transport, when she noticed the guests standing about the churchyard beginning to turn towards the far end of the road. And then she, too, caught the increasingly loud sound of music.

‘What the hell…?’ Finn muttered, as a large, brightly decorated object slowly came into view.

‘Oh, heavens! I don’t believe it!’ Harriet gasped, while her new husband suddenly gave a bellow of laughter.

‘Sophie! That is absolutely a stroke of total genius!’ he called out across the churchyard as a large float, such as that which had taken part in the Notting Hill Carnival, slowly drew to a halt in front of the astonished guests.

Brightly decorated with coloured streamers, and what appeared to be hundreds of red heart-shaped balloons, the large platform on the float echoed to the thumping sounds of a small steel band and a number of men and women dressed in Caribbean costumes as they sang and danced to the lilting music. While across the top of the float there was fixed a large white banner proclaiming:

FINN & HARRIET MACLEAN HAPPILY MARRIED—AT LAST!

‘Oh, wow!’ Trish breathed as Finn laughingly led his blushing bride down the church path towards the colourfully decorated float.

‘Your carriage awaits you, Mrs Maclean.’ He grinned, quickly sweeping her up in his arms and lightly placing her on the platform, before swiftly jumping up beside her.

‘May I have the pleasure of this dance? Now, and for the rest of my life?’ he added softly as he took his most beloved wife into his arms.

‘Oh, yes…now and for ever, Mr Maclean!’ she vowed, misty-eyed with joy and happiness as she smiled radiantly up at her new husband—whom she loved with all her heart.

As the float began moving slowly down the road, taking the newly-wed couple back to their home, and the start of their new life together, Harriet finally realised that Sophie had been quite right, after all. That if you’re very, very lucky fairy tales can sometimes come true. And that it really is possible to live happily ever after.

ISBN: 978-1-4592-1091-2

REFORM OF THE PLAYBOY

First North American Publication 2000.

Copyright © 1999 by Mary Lyons.

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

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