Page 18 of One Night in My Rival's Bed

He gave another crooked smile. ‘I’m trying not to, but you look good enough to eat in that dress. Speaking of eating—we’d better get going. I don’t want the dinner I left cooking to set off the smoke alarm.’

I went with him to his car, which was parked outside my townhouse. I wasn’t worried about his cooking setting off the fire alarm. My simmering body was probably going to do that all by itself.

Grayson pulled up in front of a gorgeous eighteen-forties mansion in Kensington and I had to stop myself from drooling. The five-storey house was white with a black wrought iron fence, which matched the iron lace of the long slim balcony that ran the width of the building on the second level. There were four topiary spheres in pots situated on the balcony and small lime-green neatly trimmed pines were in the front garden in a window box that jutted out from a window above the lowest level. Seriously, I was feeling like Elizabeth Bennet on first setting eyes on Pemberley in Jane Austen’sPride and Prejudice. Maybe I needed to rethink how much I disliked Grayson Barlowe...butdidI dislike him?

My feelings were a little confused on that front. I wanted to dislike him. I wanted to keep him at a distance. I wanted to see him as my enemy because of the history between our families. But somehow it was becoming harder and harder to summon up that intense level of dislike. I had witnessed the care and concern he had for his brother. I had heard him laugh. I had felt his touch on my shoulder and my hand. And my earring. I could only imagine what it would feel like to have his lips press down on mine.

I pulled myself back into line. Kissing him was out of the question. It mustnothappen.

Because I was staring open-mouthed at his house for so long, I hadn’t realised Grayson had exited the car and was now around my side, opening the door for me. I stepped out of the car with as much grace as I could muster, but my high heels caught on something and I pitched forward. I would have face planted on the footpath if he hadn’t caught me by the arm. His fingers gripped me, and a shiver ran down my spine at the tensile strength in his stabilising hold.

‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine... I think...’

He kept hold of me until I was safely on the footpath. When his hand finally fell away from my arm I surreptitiously ran my hand over where his fingers had gripped me, and something in my belly softly unfolded like a flower opening its petals.

He laid a hand lightly to my elbow as we walked up the steps leading to the front door. I didn’t object because, right then, I didn’t think I was capable of walking unaided. My legs were feeling like soggy noodles and my heart was still hammering enough to send a cardiologist into a panic.

Grayson opened the front door, and I stepped past him to enter the Italian marble entrance hall. I swept my gaze over every angle, noting how the light came in, the sweep of the grand staircase, the priceless antiques and artworks that made the mansion such a showcase of design and upmarket taste without being too over the top.

‘Nice digs,’ I said.

‘Thanks.’

‘Have you lived here long?’

‘Ten years.’ Grayson closed the front door. ‘Come through to the sitting room while I check on dinner.’

‘Don’t spoil my enjoyment of watching a man cook. Or did you get your housekeeper to rustle something up?’

He gave a rueful smile. ‘My housekeeper is a terrible cook.’

‘Then why do you keep her?’

‘Him.’

I blinked in surprise. ‘Him?’

‘Romeo is great at cleaning and gardening, but he’s got a way to go before I’ll let him loose in the kitchen.’

‘Romeo is Italian?’

‘Yep, I met him when I was in Florence. He was looking for work, so I brought him home with me. He helps Ethan too. He lives downstairs but he’s out tonight.’

I followed Grayson to the kitchen at the back of the house. ‘So how old is he?’

‘Nineteen but he’s been here a couple of years now.’

‘And his family were okay with him moving to London?’

Grayson pulled out a kitchen stool for me to sit on. ‘He doesn’t have any family, or at least none he wants to have anything to do with. He was homeless when I met him, begging for food.’

‘Gosh, that’s terrible. Poor kid. But great that you stepped in. But you were taking a risk inviting a teenager you didn’t know to come and live with you.’

‘I’m a pretty good judge of character. Besides, doesn’t everyone deserve a chance to prove themselves?’

‘I guess...’ Somehow, I hadn’t pictured Grayson as the sort of man to take in a homeless kid. Or maybe I had always been so heavily biased against him, I hadn’t seen the admirable qualities he possessed. I do my bit for charity, and I can’t walk past a homeless person without giving them money or buying them food, but I had never considered inviting someone to live with me. But then, I had the care and safety of my sister to consider. Or at least I had until now.

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