Page 3 of Quinn, By Design

“I found a copy this morning.” Her left hand returned to the table, her thumb curving around the edge, brushing the newly shellacked wood. Her unconscious fascination nourished the artist in him and vindicated his decision to make the table the centrepiece of his upcoming exhibition. “Three pieces of furniture restored in exchange for twelve months’ free rent looks like fraud to me.”

Niall’s cup landed on the table with a thump, causing his guest to wince. She opened her mouth, and he expected her to say “Be careful of that cup.” Instead, she took another bite of sandwich, probably to stop herself from taking a bite out of him. “I’ve made repairs. I’ve paid utilities and insurance for the full twelve months. With an enterprise like mine, a lease less than twelve months isn’t viable.”

“This is prime, commercially valuable space.” She looked exhausted, as if survival was taking every ounce of energy she had. “You took advantage of him.”

“My mum would tan my hide if I took advantage of anyone, much less a man old enough to be my granda.” Niall tried to defuse the situation—near impossible when he was operating with minimal facts. Sharing her sense of loss handicapped him further.

“An agreement signed in the last few days of his life.”

“Ms. McTavish—Lucy. I can see finding out about our arrangement is a shock to you. I sympathise with your loss.” Niall wrapped his hands around his cup to prevent himself reaching for her. If he offered a friendly hug in her current mood, she’d charge him with harassment as well as fraud. “Cam was in full possession of his faculties when we signed our updated agreement.”

“It’s theft!” Having made the cruel accusation, she deflated like a lung starved of oxygen.

“It’s a legal contract,” he stated. She was pissed off and munching the last quarter of her sandwich as a gesture of defiance. Her cheeks showed colour for the first time since she’d arrived. Niall was pissed off Cam had left her in ignorance, yet inexplicably grateful to see her come alive. “There were witnesses. Cam’s lawyer can answer any questions, as can his accountant.”

“But we’re not talking about the eight months you’ve been here and the four in your so-called updated agreement. We’re talking about another year.” Her voice deepened, a musical contralto vibrating with disbelief. “We’re talking about him changing his will in the last days of his life. He’s bequeathed you a second twelve-month occupancy of this property, rent free.”

“You’re wrong.” Niall’s instinctive protest propelled him to his feet and toward the window above the sink. Cam’s secure, purpose-built woodwork studio at the end of the brick path loomed like a mirage. Niall had believed Cam’s assurances Lucy was comfortable with his tenancy.

Or maybe he’d wanted to believe?

“You said it yourself. Anything less than twelve months isn’t viable. So you tricked him in the last days of his life.” Her voice wobbled.

“Lucy. I’m sorry Cam didn’t tell you about our arrangement.” Niall swung to face her, disquiet roiling his gut. “I won’t deny I’ve thought of staying here longer. On commercial terms”—he sounded unconvincing to his own ears—“I promise you, we never talked about his will.”

She cocked her head to one side, considering him and pronouncing him untruthful.

Her sceptical gaze dragged a clarification from Niall. “Okay, he told me he wanted to update our agreement to bring it in line with his will. Update the original twelve months to be clear I had four left. Cam said you’d be inheriting everything. Maybe a few bequests here and there.”

“So you did discuss his will?”

“Making a statement isnota discussion.” He pushed his hand through his hair, blindsided by the direction the conversation was taking. Niall feinted, she parried, and questions hung between them like rusted nails in a broken-down fence, dangerous unless handled with care. “Are you sure you haven’t mixed up two things?”

Feck! That had to be the answer.She was muddled by grief.

I hope to hell she’s muddled by grief.

“I rang my lawyer when I found the agreement.” She looked at her left hand now, fingers spread, palm flat on the golden-hued pine. She treated his table with the reverence many women reserved for precious jewels while accusing him of a scam. “Henry told me the will gave you more. So, I need to know. Who are you? And what hold did you have over Grandpa?”

“No hold.”Why the hell had Cam kept secrets?About their relationship. About their contract. He sure as hell should have given Niall a hint of what he planned. “We were friends.”

“You mean you pretended to be friends with a sick old man.” The daft woman kept one hand on his table during their entire conversation, seeming blind to the tactile connection to him.

“He wasn’t sick when I met him,” Niall insisted. “The last time I saw him, he was alert and engaged.” His last conversation with Cam had been about Cam’s fear of leaving his granddaughter alone, not the will. And Cam had apologised.

Praise the saints!Was this what Cam was apologising for?A debt Niall could never repay.

Niall’s mouth dried. “You must have misunderstood.”

* * *

She’d finished thesandwich.Lucy stared at her empty plate.

He sounded sincerely baffled about the will. Baffled, with an edge of panic.

Touching the tip of her forefinger to her tongue, Lucy used it to pick up sesame seeds scattered on her plate, nibbled the seeds, then repeated the exercise. A private indulgence, not one for sharing with a stranger. Heat rose up her throat when she found Niall Quinn watching her—she a hypnotist to his willing subject.

He was charming. Conmen were supposed to be charming. The crooked grin, the laugh lines fanning out from the corners of his soulful grey eyes, the russet-coloured lock of hair hanging over his forehead, even his movements were charming.

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