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He threw his head back and stared up into the endless depths of the blue sky.
Hadn’t he already proved he wasn’t capable of having effective relationships? He had a string of exes who had been beautiful but superficial. A sister who wouldn’t talk to him. And a nephew or niece he would never get to know.
The baby would be born in the next month. He should be there. Supporting Orla. At least she was willing to accept his financial support. If she had refused to do so then he really would have been out of his mind, worrying about how she was going to cope.
His call to Hong Kong earlier had gone well. If he kept up the pressure for the remainder of the day, with the rest of his acquisition teams, then the deal would go through later tonight. It would be strange for it all to be over. For months he had worked day and night to see it happen.
A strange emptiness sat in his chest. What would he do once the project was over?
The slow tendrils of an idea had formed in his mind but he kept pushing them away. But as he walked through the ruins of the abbey the idea came back, stronger and more insistent this time.
He should help Aideen. It was what any good neighbour would do. It was what his father would have done.
But would he be crazy to do it? Last night he had lowered his guard around her. He couldn’t allow that again. If he was to help then it would have to be done on a strictly business basis. He could help her re-establish her business, mentor her if required. He knew what it was like to throw your heart and soul into a business. And he knew only too well the pain of failure.
He would help her. And it would all be professional and uncomplicated.
* * *
The memory of a deep voice snaked through Aideen’s brain. She gave a small sigh, smiled to herself, and stretched out on the bed.
But then her eyes popped open and she looked around, disorientated. Small shafts of daylight sneaked under drawn curtains.
Slowly she remembered where she was. And what she had to face today.
Dreaming about Patrick Fitzsimon was the last thing she should be doing.
The cottage. Deadlines.
For a few seconds she pulled the duvet up over her head. Maybe she could just stay here in this warm and dark cocoon for a few days.
With a groan she pushed back the cover. Time to rise and shine. And face what the day had to bring.
Anyway, it couldn’t be any worse than being forced out of the business she’d once created. She had survived the past year, so she would survive this.
She pulled the curtains apart and winced as daylight flooded the room.
The view out of her window was breathtaking. Below her, formal box gardens led down to a gigantic fountain that sprayed a sprout of water so vigorously upwards it was as though it was trying to defy gravity. Rose gardens lay beyond the fountain, and then a long rolling meadow, rich in rain-drenched emerald green grass, ran all the way down to the faraway sea.
Though the sun was still low in the sky the light was dazzling, thanks to a startlingly clear blue sky.
Had last night’s storm been in her imagination? How could such furious weather be followed by such a beautiful day?
She could almost convince herself maybe her cottage hadn’t flooded. That the weather was a good omen. But she had seen the ferocity of the sea. There was no way her cottage had got away with avoiding that angry swell.
When she had come to view the property she had fallen in love with the old cottage and its outbuildings, arranged around a courtyard garden. Fuchsia had dangled from the hedgerows and fading old roses had tumbled from its walls. It had seemed the perfect solution then.
But now her income was sparser and more sporadic than she had projected, and sometimes she wondered whether she could make this work. That was one of the worst consequences of losing her business: the vulnerability and constant questioning of whether she was doing the right thing, making the right decisions.
But a burning passion for her work along with a heavy dose of pride got her through most days. She would sacrifice everything to make this business a success.
Her heart was a different matter, though. It felt bruised. To think that once upon a time she had thought her ex had loved her...
Pressing the edges of her palms against her eyes, she drew in a deep breath.
A quick shower, an even quicker coffee, and she would head home to start sorting out whatever was waiting for her.
She mightn’t even see Patrick. Which would be a good thing, right?
Heading to the bathroom, she sighed. Just who was she trying to kid?
The truth was giddiness was fizzing through her veins at the prospect of seeing his tall, muscular body, the darkness of his hair, and his lightly tanned skin which emphasised the celestial blue of his eyes.
Showered and dressed, she was about to open the bedroom door when she spotted a note pushed under it. Picking it up, she read the brief words.
Aideen,
I will drive you back to your cottage. Help yourself to breakfast in the kitchen. I will meet you in the main entrance hall at nine.
Patrick
It was a generous offer, but she needed to face the cottage on her own. It was her responsibility. She had taken up enough of his time as it was.
And then she studied the note again as an uncomfortable truth dawned on her. Was he offering to take her as a way of ensuring that she left? Humiliation burnt on her cheeks.
She checked the time on her phone. It was not yet eight o’clock. She would get changed and then go reassure him that she was leaving and was perfectly capable of making her own way home.
Thirty minutes later she had searched for him throughout the house but there was no sign of him. Her search in this exquisite house, as she’d gasped at the beauty of the baroque ballroom, with its frescoed ceiling, mirrored walls, and golden chandeliers, had brought home how different their lives were.
She was writing a note for him in the kitchen when the cloakroom door swung open.
Over off-white jodhpurs and black riding boots he was wearing a loose pale green shirt, the top three buttons open to reveal a masculine smattering of dark hair. His skin glistened with a sheen of perspiration.
He came to a stop when he spotted her at the table.
‘Good morning.’ He moved across the kitchen in long strides while adding, ‘Help yourself to breakfast. I’ll have a quick shower and be ready by nine.’
His manner was brusque, and she was left with no doubt that he just wanted to get the business of taking her home over and done with. Embarrassment coiled its way around her insides and she wanted to curl up into a protective ball against his rejection.
But instead she gave him a sunny smile. ‘Thank you for the offer, but there’s really no need for you to drive me. I’ve taken up enough of your time.’ He turned to her with a frown and she added, as way of explanation, ‘I’ll collect my car down by the bridge. I could do with a walk anyway.’
‘I’m coming.’
Didn’t he trust her? Was he always this insistent?
‘No, honestly—you’ve done enough.’
He leant against the island unit at the centre of the kitchen. ‘Aideen, there’s no point in arguing. I’ve made up my mind.’
His cool composure set her teeth on edge. ‘I want to go to the cottage by myself.’
‘Why?’
Oh, for crying out loud. ‘Because I can manage. The cottage is my responsibility. And I have no doubt that you are an extremely busy man. I can’t take up any more of your time.’
‘I’m taking you. End of story.’
She was leaving. Why wasn’t that enough for him? She gave a small laugh and said jokingly, ‘You don’t have to personally escort me off the estate, you know.’
He obviously didn’t enjoy her joke as annoyance flared on his face. ‘Do you really think that is why I want to drive you to the cottage? That I want to make sure you leave?’
Thrown by his anger, she challenged him back. ‘What other reason could you possibly have?’
His blue gaze held hers for a long time, and then, with a deep inhalation, he said in a quiet voice, ‘Why can’t you just accept that I want to help you?’
He moved beside the table and hunkered down beside her. Heat coursed through her veins at having his powerful body so close by, at seeing the movement of the hard muscles of his thighs beneath the thin fabric of the jodhpurs, the beauty of his lightly tanned hand and forearm which rested on the table beside her.
He didn’t speak again until she met his determined gaze. ‘Let me help you.’
Why wasn’t he listening to her? She was able to look after herself—she didn’t need any help.
‘I appreciate the offer, but I can manage by myself.’
He stood, his jaw working, and eyed her unhappily. ‘As you wish.’
With that, he strode out of the kitchen without a backward glance.
* * *
For the second time in less than twelve hours Aideen knocked at Patrick’s front door. If she’d hated to ask for help the first time around then it was ten times worse now. Talk about having to eat humble pie...
As she waited for her knock to be answered she looked back towards her car. Thankfully it had started immediately, and although the floor was a little damp, the files and office equipment piled on to the back seat and in the boot had escaped the storm and flood waters.
Unlike her cottage.
She needed to think straight, but her mind was ping-ponging all over the place. Work. Deadlines. Insurance claims. Where would she even start in finding a reputable builder to carry out the necessary repairs?
She turned to the sound of the door opening.
A middle-aged woman stood there, a puzzled look on her face. As though she was surprised to find someone standing at the door. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Can I speak to Patrick, please?’
The woman looked totally taken aback. To assure her that she wasn’t some random stranger, Aideen quickly added, ‘I’m Aideen Ryan. I live in Fuchsia Cottage, down by the lough. Your estate manager was at the front gates, repairing them after last night’s storm. Patrick had told him how my cottage flooded last night and he let me in when I said I needed to talk to Patrick again.’
‘Oh, you poor thing. Of course—come in. Sure, half the village is flooded. I never saw anything like it in my life.’
The woman led her to a large reception room off the entrance hall, chatting all the way.
‘You took me by surprise. We don’t tend to get many visitors. Make yourself comfortable and I’ll let Patrick know you’re here.’
It took Patrick so long to arrive that for a while she worried that he was refusing to see her. He marched into the room, his brow furrowed. He was wearing a light blue formal shirt, open at the neck, fine navy wool trousers and expensive tan-coloured shoes. It all screamed expensive Italian designer and he looked every inch the successful billionaire that he was.
She gave him a crooked smile. ‘I’m back.’
His frown didn’t budge an inch. ‘So I see.’
She took a deep breath. She had to focus on work. A little bit of humility had never killed anyone. ‘My cottage is uninhabitable. The insurance company is sending out an assessor tomorrow. I tried to go to Mooncoyne, but Foley’s Bridge is still impassable.’ Trying not to wince at his deepening frown, she said in a rush, ‘I was wondering if it would be possible for me to work from here...until the flooding subsides.’
His head tilted forward and he pinned her with a look.
‘It’s just that I have a commission I need to complete by the end of today and I need access to the internet.’
‘What condition is the cottage in?’
Her stomach lurched, but she clenched her fists and forced herself to speak. ‘There’s still floodwater in both the cottage and the studio. Most of my furniture and all the fitted furniture will probably need to be replaced. At a guess, and after speaking to the insurance company, I’ll be out of the cottage for at least a month.’
* * *
She was feigning calmness about the whole situation but she wasn’t fooling him. The storm damage was exactly as he had anticipated. He clenched his teeth in frustration. Why had she been so stubborn in refusing his offer to go with her? He’d had some spare time then. Now he had back-to-back meetings scheduled for the rest of the day.
He would give her fifteen minutes. Get her to see the sense of his plan. And then he would get back to wrapping up this acquisition.
‘How about all your personal belongings? Are they okay?’
‘All of my clothes survived, but not my shoes—unfortunately.’ A sad, crooked smile broke on her mouth before she added in bewilderment, with a catch in her voice, ‘I mean, shoes! They are the least of my worries...but I loved them so much.’
‘Where are you going to live?’
‘I’m not sure... I called the Harbour View Hotel but they’re completely booked out tonight, and apparently all the bed and breakfasts in a ten-mile radius are the same because of people having to evacuate. I’ll probably have to stay in one of the hotels in Ballymore.’
There was no way she was going to manage the renovations from twenty miles away and work on her commissions at the same time.
‘It’s going to be difficult for you to manage the repairs from Ballymore. I’ll get William, my estate manager, to project-manage the renovations for you.’
She stared at him in disbelief. ‘Why on earth would you do that?’
‘Because you need to concentrate on your business—not spend your days driving all over the countryside and chasing builders.’
‘I appreciate the offer, but I need to manage the renovations by myself.’
‘Why?’
Tiredly, she rubbed her palms over her face and looked at him imploringly. ‘Let me ask you the same question. Why? Why are you doing this?’
Taking a step closer, he stared down at her. Boy, was she obstinate. ‘Maybe I just want to help you. Nothing more.’
‘I can’t accept your help.’
