Page 39 of Dangerous Lover

Note to self, she thought. Never make Jack Prescott laugh. She’d have a heart attack.

Even just watching him go up the stairs—God!

By the time Jack came back down again, Caroline had herself in hand. She’d given herself a little pep talk—reminding herself what would happen to her bank account if he decidedto leave after the first month because he couldn’t deal with a slack-jawed, drooling landlady had helped a lot.

Caroline had even taken three minutes to breathe deeply from her diaphragm, repeatingommmmunder her breath, just like her yoga teacher had taught her. So she was cool, calm and collected when Jack made his appearance in the doorway.

Except for the fact that the man messed massively with her head, Caroline was so incredibly grateful for the company. Without Jack, she knew how she’d have spent her day. Going over accounts, trying to add up the un-add-up-able and come out with a little profit at the end. An exercise in futility. Maybe doing the laundry. Finishing her new Nora Roberts. Skipping lunch. Early dinner on a tray, watching TV.

In bed before nine. A bad night’s sleep, full of ghosts and nightmares. Waking up exhausted.

Instead she had company. Not just any company, either. No, she had an incredibly attractive man who said interesting things, when she could get him to talk. And when she couldn’t … well, there was always the eye candy aspect.

Jack sat down and Caroline started delivering food to the table, on an industrial level. Toasted home-made bread with butter and home-made orange marmalade and blackcurrant jelly. Scones. Buckwheat pancakes, a fluffy cheese omelet, bacon, wholewheat biscuits, link sausage, fruit salad.

Jack sat, hands in lap.

“Please,” Caroline said. “Dig in.”

“Not until you come sit down and eat with me.”

She sat and watched, pleased, as he piled food on his plate,an amazing amount, but then he was a big man who’d just done a full morning’s work. “You like your coffee black, right?” At his nod, she poured the coffee, happy that she’d splurged on French roast.

“This is great, how come you’re not eating?” Jack frowned.

“I’m eating,” Caroline protested. “Just not… as much as you.” Caroline nibbled on her toast, watching him down his fourth slice.

It gave her such pleasure watching him. She had out a brilliant red cotton tablecloth and her red and white porcelain breakfast set. The rich smell of the coffee rose to her nostrils, melding with the smells of the toast and jam and omelette and bacon and sausage. It looked like Christmas. Itsmelledlike Christmas. ItwasChristmas.

Caroline sipped her coffee, smiling. “If it’s okay with you, I thought we’d have a big breakfast and then we’d have our Christmas meal around six.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Jack set her delicate china cup down in its saucer without a sound and took her hand. He lifted it to his mouth, brushing his lips across the back. Caroline could feel the softness of his lips and the slight rasp of his unshaved beard. Jack’s eyes held hers. “I have a few ideas about what we can do in the meantime.”

Her heart gave a huge lurch in her chest. He wasn’t grinning suggestively, but there could be no doubt what he meant. The heat in his eyes could have melted steel. What she saw there took her breath away.

This was so far off her radar, sitting here on Christmas morning, her hand in the hand of the sexiest man she’d everseen, both of them thinking of the night before. Both of them thinking about sex. Both of them thinking that soon, they’d be back in bed.

He’d felt the little jolt in her hand as he’d said the words. Her hand trembled slightly in his. She couldn’t think of a word to say. The silence of the house enveloped them as they watched each other.

The silence. The silence of the house. The house wassilent. Completely, utterly still.

“Oh, God no!” Caroline jumped up, all pleasurable thoughts of lovemaking and celebrating Christmas gone, vanished from her head as if they’d never lodged there.

She knew exactly what that silence meant. The heating system gave off a constant low hum, a background noise that became white noise, something you forgot instantly, but it was always there. The utter silence in the house could only mean one thing—the boiler had died.

Tears sprang to her eyes.

“The boiler,” she whispered. “Oh, Jack, the boiler’s just kicked the bucket again, oh my God, I’m sosorry.”

Caroline knew exactly what the boiler dying entailed. Mack the Jerk wouldn’t come until Monday evening at the earliest, so they had three miserable, painful days to look forward to.

The house would take about two hours to lose its heat and then the icy fingers of the outside world would reach out and squeeze the house and them, hard.

All of today, all of Sunday and all of Monday would be spent in the freezing cold. It meant bundling up with everyitem of clothing possible, until only the fingertips and nose showed, and they would slowly chill so much it would hurt. It meant huddling around the fireplace, roasting on one side, freezing on the other. Any other part of the house would be so cold it was painful.

Once, she’d actually had to crack the ice in the toilets to relieve herself.

Foolish foolish Caroline, thinking that this Christmas would be any different from past Christmases, hard and lonely.

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