Guy Carver.

This was crazy.

She, Jenny Westmere, mother of Henry, wife of Ben…To kiss this man…

She was out of her mind. Panicked, she shoved her hands between her breast and his chest, pushing him away.

He released her at once. He tried to take her hands but she’d have none of it. She was three feet away from him now. Four.

‘No.’

‘No?’ His eyes were gently questioning. Not laughing. She couldn’t have borne it if he was laughing. ‘No, Jenny?’

‘I only kiss my husband,’ she said, and the words made perfect sense to her, even if they didn’t to him.

But it appeared he understood. ‘You’re not being unfaithful, Jenny. It was only a kiss.’

Only a kiss? Then why was her world spinning?

‘I’m not some easy country hick…’

‘I never thought you were.’

‘You’re here until Christmas. Will we see you again after that?’

‘Probably not.’

‘We’re ships passing in the night.’ She took a deep breath and steadied. ‘So maybe we’d better do just that-pass.’

‘I’m not into relationships,’ he said, not even smiling. ‘I’m not about to mess with your tidy life.’

‘My life’s not very tidy,’ she confessed. ‘But thank you. Now…I think I’d better go home.’

‘You’re brave enough to drive the Ferrari by yourself?’

‘Something tells me it’d be far more dangerous to stay here with you,’ she muttered. ‘But I’ll pick you up in the morning. As long as you promise not to kiss me again.’

‘You want me to promise?’

‘Yes, I do,’ she said, and if her voice sounded desperate she couldn’t help it.

‘I won’t kiss you again. I know a mistake when I see one.’

‘I’m a mistake?’

‘Absolutely,’ he told her. ‘This whole place is a mistake. I should leave now.’

Only of course he didn’t. He couldn’t. He booked into the fantastic guesthouse he’d been delivered to. He rang Malcolm in New York and confirmed that there was no one who could get here on short notice to take over organisation.