Swept Into The Rich Man's World. Katrina CudmoreЧитать онлайн книгу.
you get a good roll of the dice—sometimes you don’t. It’s about getting back up when things go wrong, knowing there’s always a solution to a problem.’
His words were said with such certainty they unlocked something inside her.
For a good few minutes she toyed with her mug. The need to speak, to tell him, was building up in her like a pressure cooker. Part of her felt ridiculous, thinking of telling a billionaire of her failings, but another part wanted to. Why, she wasn’t sure. Maybe it was the freedom of confessing to a stranger? To a person she wouldn’t see after tomorrow? Perhaps it was not being able to talk to her family and friends about it because she had got it all so wrong.
‘I lost my business last year,’ she said in a rush.
Non-judgemental eyes met hers, and he said in a tone she hadn’t heard from him before, ‘What happened?’
Taken aback by the softening in him, she hesitated. Her pulse began to pound. Suddenly her throat felt bone-dry. ‘Oh, it’s a long story, but I made some very poor business decisions.’
‘But you’re back? Trying again.’
He said it with such certainty, as though that was all that mattered, and she couldn’t help but smile. Something lifted inside her at the knowledge he was right. Yes, she was trying again—trying hard. Just hearing him say it made her realise how true it was.
‘Yes, I am.’
His serious, intelligent gaze remained locked on hers. ‘What are your plans for the future?’
His question caused a flutter of anxiety and her hands clenched on the mug. She shuffled in her seat. For some reason she wanted to get this right. She wanted his approval.
She inhaled a deep breath and said, ‘To build a new label, re-establish my reputation.’ She cringed at the wobble in her voice; it was just that she was so desperate to rebuild the career she loved so much.
He leant across the table and fixed his gaze on her. It was unnerving to be captivated by those blue eyes. By the sheer size and strength of him as his arms rested on the table, his broad shoulders angled towards her.
‘There’s no shame in failing, Aideen.’
Heat barrelled through her and she leant back in her chair, away from him. ‘Really?’ She pushed her mug to the side. ‘What would you know about failing?’
His jaw hardened, and when he spoke his low voice was harsh with something she couldn’t identify.
‘Trust me—I have failed many times in my life. I’m far from perfect.’
She looked at him sceptically. He looked pretty perfect to her. From his financial stability and security and his film-star looks to this beautiful house, everything was perfect...even his spotless kitchen.
He stood and grabbed both mugs. With his back to her he said, ‘I think it’s time we went to bed.’
Once again he was annoyed with her. She should leave it. Go to bed, as he had suggested. But curiosity got the better of her. ‘Why are you here in Mooncoyne? Why not somewhere like New York or London?’
He turned and folded his arms, leant against the counter. ‘I met the previous owner of Ashbrooke, Lord Balfe, at a dinner party in London and we became good friends. He invited me to stay here and I fell in love with the house and the estate. Lord Balfe couldn’t afford the upkeep any longer, and he was looking to sell the estate to someone who felt as passionate as he did about conserving it. So I agreed to buy it.’ His unwavering eyes held hers and he said matter-of-factly, ‘My business was growing ever more demanding. I knew I needed to live somewhere quiet in order to focus on it. This estate seemed the perfect place. And also Mooncoyne reminded me of the small fishing village where I grew up in County Antrim.’
So that was why he had traces of a soft, melodic Northern Irish brogue. ‘Do your family still live there?’
Another quick look at his watch. He flicked his gaze back up to her. He looked as though he wasn’t going to answer, but then he took her by surprise and said, ‘No, my mum died when I was a boy and my dad passed away a number of years ago.’
For a moment their eyes locked and incomprehensively she felt tears form at the back of hers. ‘I’m sorry.’
Blue eyes held hers and her pulse quickened at the intimacy of looking into a stranger’s eyes for more than a polite second or two. Not being able to look away...not wanting to look away.
Then his hands gripped the countertop and he dipped his head for a moment before he looked back up and spoke. ‘It happens. I have a younger sister, Orla, who lives in Madrid.’
‘Do you see her often?’
His mouth twisted unhappily. ‘Occasionally.’
His tone told her to back off. Tension filled the room. She hated an unhappy atmosphere. And she didn’t want to cause him any offence.
So, in a bid to make amends and lighten the tension, she said what she had been thinking all night. ‘You’ve a spectacularly beautiful home.’
He gave a brief nod of acknowledgement. ‘Thank you. I’m very proud of the work we’ve done here over the past few years.’
‘How many staff do you employ?’
‘I’ve cleaning and housekeeping staff who come in every day. Out on the estate my estate manager, William, employs twenty-two staff between the stables and the farm.’
‘No housekeeper...even a butler?’
His mouth lifted ever so slightly. If she had blinked she would have missed it.
‘Sorry to disappoint you but I like my privacy. And I can cook for myself, do up my own buttons, tie my own shoelaces...’
She knew she was pushing it, but decided to push her luck as curiosity got the better of her. ‘A girlfriend?’ She tried to ignore the unexpected stab of jealousy that came with the thought that there might be a special woman in his life.
Something dark flashed in his eyes and he quietly answered. ‘No—no girlfriend.’
She tried to fill the silence that followed. ‘So nobody but you lives in the house?’
‘No. Now, I think it’s time for bed.’
So they were all alone tonight. It shouldn’t matter, but for some reason heat grew in her belly at that thought. This was a huge place for one man to live in alone.
Though she stood in preparation for leaving the kitchen she didn’t move away from the table. Instead she said, ‘Wow. Don’t you get lonely?’
‘I prefer to live on my own. I don’t have time for relationships.’ He studied her sombrely. ‘Why? Do you get lonely?’
Taken aback, she answered, ‘I’m too busy. I can—’
A tightness in her chest stopped her mid-sentence. Maybe she had been lonely these past few months, and had been denying it all along in her determination to get her business back up and running again.
She shrugged and looked at him with a half smile. ‘I must admit it’s nice to talk to someone face to face for a change, rather than on the phone or over the internet. I seem to spend all my days on the phone at the moment, calling prospective clients.’ With a sigh of exasperation she added, ‘I really should go and visit them. It would save me a lot of time being put on hold.’
‘Why don’t you?’
She felt herself blush. ‘Most of my clients are based in Paris, and it’s on my list of priorities to visit them.’ She couldn’t admit that financially she wasn’t in a position to travel there, so instead she said, ‘But, to be honest, part of me is embarrassed. I haven’t seen any of them since I lost my business. I suppose my pride has taken a dent.’
‘Go back out there and be proud that you’re back