LITMIR.BIZ

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hadn’t had a chip—not even a hand-cut one—in years.

      And she didn’t need anyone’s approval.

      ‘Some of my clients own hotels,’ she said, injecting as much cool professionalism into her voice as she could. ‘I’ve seen some great examples of décor, and some fairly alarming ones too. This is really lovely, though, Jonas.’

      The approval faded, a quizzical gleam taking its place, but all he said was, ‘I’m glad you approve. Let’s hear your professional opinion on the rest of the place. This way.’

      And Jonas turned and began to walk along the polished wooden floor towards the archway that led into the main ground floor corridor.

      Lawrie heaved a sigh. Of relief, she told herself sternly. Job done—professional relationship back on track.

      So why did she feel as if the sun had just disappeared behind a very black cloud?

      Lawrie followed Jonas through the foyer and down the corridor, watching him greet both staff and guests with a smile, a quick word, a clap on the shoulder—evident master of his empire. It was odd... He used to be so unhappy here, a stranger in his own home, and now he appeared completely at ease.

      Jonas led her into the old dining room. A large, imposing space, dominated by the series of floor-to-ceiling windows along the far wall matched by a parade of pillars reaching up to the high ceiling. This room too had been extensively remodelled, with a similar look and feel to the café on the seafront, all the lace and delicate china replaced with light woods and cheerful tablecloths.

      A long table ran along one end, filled with large jugs, chunky earthenware mugs and plates of small cakes and biscuits.

      ‘Wouldn’t want the guests to get hungry,’ Jonas explained as he grabbed a pair of large mugs and poured coffee from one of the jugs, automatically adding milk to them before handing one to Lawrie.

      She opened her mouth to decline but closed it as she breathed in the rich, dark aroma.

      Why had she given up coffee? she wondered as she took a cautious sip. It was delicious, and the creamy Cornish milk was a perfect companion to the bitter nectar. Two milky coffees in two days—she was slipping back into bad habits.

      The coffee was the least of it.

      Jonas carried his cup over to the nearest window, which stood slightly ajar, allowing the slight summer breeze to permeate the room with the sweet promise of fresh warmth. The breeze ruffled his dark blond hair, making him look younger, more approachable.

      Like the boy she had married. Was he still there, somewhere inside this ambitious, coolly confident man, that impetuous, eager boy?

      Lawrie had promised herself that she wouldn’t probe. The last nine years, Jonas’s life, his business... None of it was relevant. Knowing the details wouldn’t help her with her job. Or with the distance she needed to maintain between them. And yet curiosity was itching through her.

      She wandered over to the window and stood next to him, every fibre acutely aware of his proximity. Of the casual way he was leaning against the window frame. The golden hairs on the back of his tanned wrists. The undone button at his neck and the triangle of burnished skin it revealed.

      Lawrie swallowed, the hot clench at her stomach reminding her of her vulnerability, of the attraction she didn’t want to acknowledge.

      She looked out, following his line of sight as he gazed into the distance. The sea was clearly visible in the distance, calm and unruffled, the smell of it clear on the breeze. And the urge to know more, to know him again, suddenly overwhelmed her.

      ‘Why here?’ There—it was said.

      Jonas looked mildly surprised. ‘Where else? This room works well as a dining room, has good access to the kitchens. It would have been silly to change it just for change’s sake.’

      Lawrie shook her head. ‘I didn’t mean the room. I meant the whole thing,’ she said, aware she was probing deeper than she had any right to. ‘I mean here. You hated this place. I couldn’t get you to set foot inside the gates without a massive fight. I could understand it if your parents had gifted the place to you, but if you paid full value for and then remodelled it? It must have cost a fortune!’

      Jonas quirked an eyebrow at her. ‘Oh, I get it. You’re wondering about how much I’m worth. Regretting the divorce after all?’

      Heat flooded through her. She could feel her cheeks reddening. ‘That’s not what I meant,’ she protested. ‘You know I wouldn’t have taken a penny.’

      ‘That’s my Lawrie—still so serious.’

      Jonas let out a laugh and Lawrie swatted him indignantly, trying to repress the secret thrill that crept over her at the possessive word ‘my’.

      ‘Oh, ha-ha. Very funny.’

      Jonas leant back against the window pane, still grinning, and took a sip from the chunky Cornishware mug. ‘You always were so easy to wind up. Good to know some things don’t change.’

      ‘So?’ she pressed him, taking advantage of his suddenly companionable mood. ‘How come you ended up at Coombe End?’

      Jonas didn’t reply for a long moment, and the mischievous glint in his eyes faded to annoyance. When he spoke his tone was clipped. ‘This was my home once, Lawrie. It wasn’t a big conspiracy or takeover, no matter what the village gossips say.’

      Lawrie winced. She hadn’t considered the inevitable fall-out the change of ownership must have caused. The whole of Trengarth—the whole area—knew how things stood between Jonas and his parents. And there were few without definite opinions on the matter.

      ‘Since when did you care about what the gossips say?’ They had always been different in that regard. She so self-conscious, he proudly indifferent.

      His eyes were cold. ‘I don’t. My decision to buy Coombe End was purely a business one. I always knew this place could be more. Yes, it was successful—very successful—if that kind of thing appealed: a little piece of the capital by the sea. You could drive straight here, fly your helicopter here, use the private beach, play the golf course and return home without ever experiencing what Cornwall is about,’ he said, his lip curling as he remembered. ‘The kind of place your fiancé probably took you.’

      ‘Ex-fiancé,’ Lawrie corrected him. She shook her head, refusing to take the bait, but there was an uncomfortable element of truth to his words. Hugo had liked the luxury hotel experience, it was true, but they’d been so busy that just snatching a night away had been enough. There had never been time to explore local culture as well.

      ‘Of course,’ Jonas said, putting his mug down decisively and stepping away from the window. ‘Ex. Come on. There’s a lot to go through.’

      No wonder she felt like Alice, being constantly hustled from place to place. She half expected Jonas to pull out a pocket watch. If there were croquet lawns she was in serious trouble.

      Lawrie took a last reluctant gulp of the creamy coffee and placed her mug onto the nearest table before following Jonas once again. He led her back down the corridor, through the foyer and outside, along the winding path that led to the woods that made up most of the outside property.

      One of Coombe End’s winter money-makers had been shooting parties. Lawrie had hated hearing the bangs from the woods and seeing the braces of poor, foolish pheasants being carried back to the house, heads lolling pathetically.

      Jonas was walking fast, with intent, and she had to lengthen her stride to keep up with him. It took her by surprise when he came to a sudden halt at the end of the gravelled path, where a long grassy track snaked away ahead of them up the small wooded hill that bordered the hotel gardens.

      Lawrie skittered to an undignified stop, clamping down on the urge to grab onto him for support. ‘A bit of warning would be nice,’ she muttered as she righted herself cautiously.

      Jonas ignored her. ‘I never

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