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the company to you—’

      ‘Oh, I’m sure he won’t,’ Claire interrupted her.

      ‘Well, maybe not, but he is, after all, over here on his own and you do have a way of … Well, people do tend to confide in you … and the two of you will be spending quite a lot of time together …’

      Claire stared at her.

      ‘No, we won’t,’ she protested. ‘We’ll hardly see one another.’

      ‘He’ll be here at mealtimes … in the evening … you’ll be having dinner together,’ Irene pointed out. ‘I mean, that was one of the reasons he wanted to live somewhere en famille, so to speak—because he didn’t want the anonymity of dining alone in a hotel restaurant.’

      Eating together … Claire swallowed ner vously.

      Later, as she walked across the kitchen, the American cookery book that Irene had given her caught her eye. Glaring irritably at it, she suffered an unfamiliar surge of rebellion.

      If she had to feed Brad, then at least she could exercise some form of control over the situation by feeding him food of her own choice.

      Determinedly she walked towards her freezer and removed the ingredients she wanted.

      John had always praised her cooking. He had liked old-fashioned, simple home-made food, and over the years Claire had found ways of adapting recipes so that she was able to satisfy his taste for the food he remembered his mother making and also ensure that the meals she served were nutritious and healthy.

      She had been particularly pleased with her version of his favourite beef-steak pie. That was as traditional a British dish as you could get, especially when served with her light-as-air dumplings and garden-fresh vegetables.

      Pumpkin pie and pot-roast it wasn’t, but it had been Brad’s desire, his decision, to live ‘en famille’, as Irene had put it, and part of that, as far as she was concerned, meant eating the food she chose to serve.

      She was too busy to be aware that it was gone eleven o’clock until she happened to look and see that it was almost twelve. Frowning, she lifted her hand to her face, depositing a smudge of flour on her cheekbone. The phone rang and she tensed. Somehow—she had no idea how—she knew that it was Brad who was ringing.

      Reluctantly wiping her hands on her apron, she went to lift the receiver.

      As she had known it would be, her caller was Brad.

      ‘I’m just ringing to apologise for being late,’ he told her. ‘Unfortunately there was a slight problem here at the warehouse. Will it be all right if I come round now, or will that be inconvenient?’

      ‘Now will be fine,’ Claire confirmed, proud of the way she managed to keep the trembling in her body out of her voice.

      Reaction set in after she had replaced the receiver, though. It was gone twelve now; would he expect her to provide him with lunch? All she had been intending to have was some left-over soup and fresh fruit. And what exactly, anyway, did he mean by saying that he wanted to live as part of a family? Hopefully, and if the hours that Tim worked were anything to go by, she wasn’t going to have to see too much of him, and when she did …

      Tonight, when they discussed the terms of his stay with her, she would just have to make it plain that as far as she was concerned the less contact there was between them the better.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      IT WAS almost one o’clock when Brad finally arrived. Opening the boot of his car, he removed a couple of suitcases and carried them into the house.

      ‘Is it OK if I take these straight up?’ he asked Claire tersely.

      A little taken aback by his abrupt manner, Claire nodded.

      Was he, like her, having second thoughts about the wisdom of moving in with her? she wondered as she waited downstairs for him to return.

      ‘I’m sorry I didn’t make our original time,’ he apologised as he came back down again. ‘There was a slight problem at the office. They had a break-in last night and although no stock was stolen we lost an extremely expensive piece of computer equipment.’ His frown deepened.’ It looks very much like whoever broke in knew exactly what they were going for …’

      ‘But what about the on-site security guards?’ Claire asked him. ‘Surely they must—?’

      ‘What security guards?’ Brad queried with dry emphasis. ‘It seems that for reasons of economy the security guards had been cut down from the original four to just one, and he was in another part of the site when the break-in took place. False economy, as it turned out …’

      Claire winced as she heard the irritation in his voice, her mind going anxiously and immediately to Tim. She sincerely hoped that the blame for what had happened wouldn’t fall onto his shoulders; technically he was not in charge of the site which housed the office and distribution centre …

      ‘At least no one was hurt,’ was the only comment Claire could think of to make.

      ‘Somebody, no,’ Brad agreed, ‘but something, yes.’ His voice had become a few degrees colder and very much harder as he told her, ‘Ultimately our overall profits and, through them, the feasibility of the British side of our business are bound to be hurt by the cost of replacing the stolen equipment—even if our insurers pay out it will result in an increase in our premium, plus the business lost through the loss of the equipment …’

      He shook his head, his frown lifting slightly as he added, ‘However, none of this is your concern …’

      ‘Tim is very conscientious,’ Claire felt bound to point out to him in defence of her brother-in-law, her voice dropping huskily. ‘Irene’s concerned about him. We both are. He’s been working such long hours recently and the stress—’

      ‘You’re obviously very fond of him,’ Brad interrupted her.

      ‘Yes, very,’ Claire confirmed protectively, missing the quick, frowning glance he gave her.

      Sally’s postcard lay face down on the table next to him and he read it without meaning to. Who was the man in whom Claire only had a share? Was it Tim? Claire was certainly very close to him and very protective of him.

      He liked Tim well enough—he was obviously a kind-hearted man although a little on the weak side—but the thought of him being Claire’s lover filled him with such a surge of angry antagonism that he knew that if Tim had actually been there …

      Hey … ease back, he warned himself. You’re not here to get involved. Just because she’s alone and vulnerable, just because it sounds like her marriage wasn’t much of a marriage at all … just because she makes you feel as horny as hell and when you touch her all you can think of is taking her to bed, that doesn’t mean …

      ‘I … I’m not sure exactly what arrangements you want to come to as regards meals and so on,’ he heard Claire saying. ‘We haven’t discussed … Irene did intimate that you wanted to live somewhere en famille …’

      ‘Yes. Yes, I do,’ Brad agreed, struggling to suppress an alluring vision of sharing breakfast with her, of watching her move about the kitchen, her hair still damp from her shower, her face free of make-up, her body tantalisingly naked beneath her robe.

      When she stood next to him he would be able to smell the clean, fresh, feminine scent of her skin, the exposed V of the valley between her breasts headily close to him—so close that if he turned his head he would be able to reach up and pull her down onto his lap, burying his face … his mouth … in that deliciously fragranced, womanly secret place.

      Was he experiencing some hormonal overload which resulted in thoughts more appropriate to one’s teenage years than to one’s present maturity? Brad wondered grimly.

      ‘You’ll want me to prepare dinner for you in the evening?’ Claire was persisting.

      ‘Ultimately,

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