LITMIR.BIZ

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been such a painful, painstaking job it had taken a lot out of her. Her friends were so dynamic and vibrant; it was easy to forget the thirty-year age gap between her and them.

      She wandered into the dining room, wanting to catch a last glimpse of the ocean before the sun disappeared. Night fell so early during the dreary winter months. Madeline had been busy and the large windows sparkled inside and out, making the shabbiness of the patio and the garden beyond even harder to ignore.

      Mia shrugged; it was too early in the year and the weather too cold and unpredictable to even contemplate tackling the outside work. Only the rare warmth of the winter sun that day had allowed Madeline to get outside long enough to wash down the windows but even then, Mia had found her half blue and hugging the Aga when she’d come down that afternoon to get more tea.

      It would take at least another day for the sealant around the bathroom tiles to properly set and although the bedroom walls were finally free of paper, there was a lot of sanding and patching to do before the walls Daniel had uncovered were ready for painting.

      That was his self-appointed task for tomorrow while she tackled the woodwork in the bathroom. The bathroom tiles were neutral enough they would go with anything and now the suite was going to be used by a man, Mia was beginning to rethink the colour scheme she had in mind. She’d always pictured her guests as couples or single, older women and had planned the decorations accordingly. Her notes and the colour charts were in the kitchen; she would fetch them and give it some more thought whilst she had her bath.

      She froze on the threshold. Daniel stood at the kitchen sink, a soft pair of cotton pyjama bottoms on, the matching T-shirt draped over the back of a chair. She watched in fascination as he tested the water in the sink then bent further forward, groaning a little as the movement stretched his lower back. She winced in sympathy. If his back was tight as hers it would be uncomfortable to lean so far forward, and he was a lot taller besides.

      Maybe she should have offered him the use of a proper bathroom, but that would mean letting him into her little sanctuary on the second floor. He was too big, too masculine. She didn’t want any man other than Jamie in her personal space, and that would never be possible again.

      He dunked his head under the water, rubbed shampoo into his scruffy hair then dipped back down to rinse it clean. He groped blindly for the towel next to the sink and scrubbed vigorously at his hair. The movement sent the muscles down his sides rippling and she spun away, knowing she shouldn’t be spying on him. She moved too quickly, bumping into the door frame with a resounding thump.

      ‘Everything all right?’

      Caught red-handed, and red-faced, Mia had no option other than to face the music. ‘I’m sorry, I just came for my books,’ she muttered. With a quick scurry across the room, she scooped them up and then turned tail and ran from the room.

      Embarrassment and other things she didn’t want to think about lent wings to her feet and she slammed the door to the upper levels closed with a resolute bang and a sharp snick of the key.

      Mia rushed to her third-floor hideaway and closed the door behind her, leaning against it as she tried to catch her breath. How ridiculous to react in such a flighty, adolescent manner at the sight of a man’s bare back. It had just been so unexpected and other than in films or on the TV, the only man she had seen stripped to the waist had been her husband.

      Daniel was taller and broader through the shoulders than Jamie had been—his skin a deep tan where Jamie had been pale thanks to his sandy-haired, blue-eyed Scottish heritage. Not that she was going to start comparing the two men; Daniel was a temporary fixture in her life who would be gone in just a few days and the sight of his skin may have caused a few long-dormant hormones to stir briefly, but it was purely a biological reaction.

      She ran her bath, adding a large dollop of muscle soak to the water, and flicked through the paint charts. The original plan for the room had been a warm, sunny yellow but now Mia wasn’t convinced. She scanned the charts and paused on a soft, moss green and tapped the card thoughtfully.

      Sliding into the hot water with a grateful sigh she sank down until the bubbles reached her chin. Flicking through the colours, she pictured various combinations in her mind’s eye, trying to find the perfect match for each room in her planner. Her thoughts drifted next to the stacks of furniture out in the barn. She wanted to use whatever she could salvage from the original pieces that had been left in the house when she bought it.

      Some had been beyond rescue and they had gone straight to the tip, but there was an oak bedframe and matching dresser that could be brought back to life with a generous amount of beeswax and some serious elbow grease. There was also a heavy wardrobe that didn’t quite match, but might be brought into the grouping with the help of the right wood stain.

      Mia dropped the charts on the mat next to the tub and closed her eyes as she rested her head back against the rolled edge of the bath. She let the warm water and her imagination conjure up the perfect room. If the colours she pictured matched a certain pair of stormy-green eyes, she didn’t let her conscious self acknowledge it.

Chapter Seven

      The next couple of days passed in a similar round of hard work, snatched meals and aching muscles. Daniel was relieved that he at least had access to a shower now the tiles had set and Richard had promised to come over that afternoon to help him move the bedroom furniture that Mia had picked out in the barn. A mattress had been delivered the day before from a local furniture store and was propped up in the hallway, still covered in its protective plastic covering. It would be nice to sleep in a real bed; the sofa in the parlour though comfortable was starting to lose its charm.

      He dipped his brush back into the pot of pale grey gloss that Mia had chosen for the woodwork in the bedroom. It blended well with the green on the walls, and made a nice change from white, he mused. Mia and Madeline had exchanged several calls about the colour scheme and Madeline had apparently rustled up some curtains on her sewing machine that were ‘just perfect’ according to Mia.

      Daniel couldn’t understand how soft furnishings could be quite so exciting but had decided it was best to keep that opinion firmly to himself. A favourite song of Mia’s came on the radio and Daniel paused, waiting for her tuneless accompaniment to start before he remembered that she was out shopping for bedding and other essentials to dress the room once the decorating had been completed.

      It felt sometimes as though Daniel had been in Orcombe for weeks when in fact it was only the fifth day since his unexpected arrival. Only two more days until his deadline to leave arrived and he was determined to come up with a plan to extend his stay.

      The colours in the bedroom could’ve been chosen specifically to match his taste and style and Daniel could imagine a couple of prints on the walls. He remembered the photos he’d taken in the garden of the quirky ornaments and he cleaned off the paintbrush with a cloth and left it to rest in a jar of cleaning fluid.

      Taking the stairs two at a time, Daniel bounded down in search of his jacket and the camera he’d stuffed in one of the pockets. It said a lot about his state of mind that his camera had lain untouched since that first day. He found his coat hanging on one of the hooks in the mudroom between the kitchen and the back door and dug into the pockets, retrieving both his camera and his mobile phone.

      He sat at the kitchen table and stared at his phone with distaste. He knew he needed to check it, to send at least a couple of texts to let people know he was okay. He switched it on and watched as the phone flashed up missed call after missed call and a raft of text messages. He ignored the voicemails and scrolled through his text messages with a growing sense of frustration and annoyance. Every message from Giselle was a rant—not a single expression of concern for him, only for herself and how his selfish behaviour had affected her.

      She needed money; she needed him to take her to a premiere; she needed him to talk to some C-list moron about a portrait sitting. The whole diatribe just served to reinforce that getting away from her had been the right decision. The last message was a picture and he opened it and

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