The Tycoon's Instant Family

She laughed a little hysterically. ‘You could say that. Look, I’m really sorry. I had no idea you were taking it over, Andrew’s been really cagey recently. Of course you can see the site, I’d be delighted to show you round, but I do need to get you kitted out with a hard hat and you need to sign in, and maybe while we do that I can answer some of your questions.’

‘It sounds like you have more questions than I do.’

She gave a wry, slightly bitter laugh. ‘Only one that matters, and I guess that’ll have to wait. We’re owed a stage payment, and the bank’s beginning to get edgy. And I’ve just hit a brick wall with Andrew. Yesterday I got some garbled message about money in the pipeline, but nothing I can take to the bank.’

His lips tightened. ‘That may be my fault. I’ve been out of the country and I haven’t given him an answer yet.’

‘And I’ve done my best to put you off,’ she said heavily. ‘Oh, God, what a mess. I’ve sent the men home with nothing to do and I was going to have to lay them off at the end of the week because I couldn’t give them any instructions—’

‘I’m sorry.’

Her jaw dropped. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I said, I’m sorry—that it’s been so difficult for you. I would have come sooner, but I’ve been in New York. I had them fax me the details of the deal when they came through, but to be honest I had no idea it was such a big site. We’ve acquired it as part of a company takeover, and I only saw the site plans this morning. Maybe I can give you some answers now, if you can spare me the time?’

She stared at him. She’d been that rude and he was apologising? ‘Of course.’ She nodded, but she didn’t really have any time, because she had things to do—not least getting back to the bank with this latest bit of news—once she had worked out what the news was! She checked her watch. ‘I can give you half an hour but I’ve got phone calls I have to make today, and footings that need to be marked out if I’m not going to get behind schedule,’ she said, but he shook his head.

‘No footings—and if you want this contract you can give me as long as I need, Ms Cauldwell. I don’t want another brick laid or footing dug until I OK it. You can make your phone calls, but that’s all. The rest of the day I want—and if I’m happy with what I hear, you get to keep the contract. If I’m not, you’re out. Either way, there are going to be changes.’

She opened her mouth, shut it again and shook her head. Lord, it got worse, not better! ‘I’ll make sure you’re happy, but I have to point out we’re on a penalty clause—’

‘Not if I stop you working. That would be unfair. Anyway, I don’t believe in penalty clauses, not if you trust your workforce. They shouldn’t be necessary.’

Her jaw sagged again. ‘Can I have that in writing?’

And to her utter amazement, he laughed. It changed his face completely, softening the harsh lines and crinkling the corners of his eyes and making them dance. And his mouth—that slow, lazy kick to one corner—

‘By all means. Perhaps we could start again?’ He stuck out his hand. ‘Nick Barron. It’s good to meet you, Ms Cauldwell.’

‘Please, call me Georgie,’ she said, putting her hand in his and wishing, just wishing she’d remembered to drown it in handcream that morning.

And then she forgot everything except the firm, hard grip of his hand, the warmth of his fingers and the sense of loss as he let it go.

‘Right. I suppose you’re going to want me to put on one of those silly hats and wear a badge that says Visitor or something.’

‘Something like that,’ she said, her heart pitter-pattering at his smile and completely forgetting that only a few minutes ago she’d been ready to kick him off the site! Well, she’d got one more chance with him, one last chance to sort out this sorry mess and emerge from it with her father’s dignity and business intact, and she had no intention of blowing it.

She straightened her shoulders, threw him a dazzling smile and gestured towards the site office. ‘Right, let’s go and get you kitted out and then we can start.’

It was amazing.

Nick stood on what in better days might have been a lawn, looking out over the sea and listening to the waves crashing onto the beach below. They were pounding the rocks of the sea defences, sending up great plumes of spray high over the prom, and the cold salt-laden wind was tugging at his hair and making him feel alive.

He laughed, just with the sheer exhilaration of the moment, and turned to Georgie, to find her watching him with a thoughtful expression on her face.

‘What is it?’

‘You love it too—the sea,’ she said slowly, as if it really meant something to her, and he nodded.

‘Especially at this time of year, when it’s wild and windy and untamed.’

She turned and stared out over the pounding waves, and a little shiver ran over her. ‘It scares me, but I can’t live without it. It’s dangerous and deceptive and wonderful and powerful and I wouldn’t live anywhere else if you paid me.’

‘So where do you live?’

She gave a rueful laugh. ‘In my father’s house in Yoxburgh at the moment, but it’s only temporary. I’m going to buy one of these when they’re finished. It’s one of the reasons I agreed to help.’

Turning his back on the sea, he returned his attention to the site, studying it and trying to get a feel for it, and he began to think Tory might be right to be so excited.

A once-lovely Victorian house sat at the top of the slope, majestic in a rather shabby-chic kind of way, with bay windows and French doors facing the sea, and because of the curve of the bay they’d catch the sun all afternoon. He swivelled. The plot ended at a high retaining wall that held the garden back above the under-cliff road. The wall was about waist high on the inside of the garden, but well over head high on the other side, giving privacy without interfering with the view.

And the view from all the rooms must be spectacular, he realised, studying it again, but as if that wasn’t enough, there was a square three-storey tower at the right-hand end, soaring up over the roof level of the main house, and the room at the top had windows on three sides.

It would make a fantastic look-out, a perfect place to sit and watch the ships going in and out of Felixstowe and Harwich further down the coast. There would be yachts, as well, and dinghies. He hadn’t been here for years, but he’d been brought up only thirty or so miles away and he knew from day trips in his youth that it was a popular spot for sailors. He could picture the races that would take place in the summer, hear the children playing on the beach below, dogs chasing sticks into the sea—

And he was a romantic fool.

‘Can we get into the house?’

‘Sure. It’s a mess—we’ve started stripping it out, so you have to look where you’re going—’

‘Don’t worry, I won’t sue you. I’m a firm believer in people making their own mistakes and taking responsibility for their own actions. The litigation culture we’re all getting into makes me livid. Whatever happened to common sense?’

Georgie snorted. ‘Tell it to my father’s insurers. They’d have hysterics if they could hear you talking.’

‘No, they’d probably agree with me—or their underwriters would.’

She laughed. ‘Maybe. Come on, we’ll go in this way.’

They went in through an open door at the bottom of the tower, their footsteps echoing in the empty rooms, loud on the bare boards, and he tried to concentrate on the building, but the pint-sized fireball beside him was demanding his attention in ways he hadn’t expected at all, and he was utterly distracted.

At first glance he’d mistaken her for a girl, but in here, without the sun in his eyes, he could see she was all woman. Not that the women he usually associated with would appreciate her charms. Oh, no. There was no urbane sophistication, no glitter and glamour and not a designer label in sight, but this small, energetic woman was so vitally alive she’d put all of them in the shade.

‘So what are the plans for this building?’ he asked, dragging his mind off the subtle curves he could barely make out under her oh-so-sexy luminous jacket.

‘Two apartments in the original house, and a small town house at this end with the tower, and then the extension is destined to be four more apartments. Come, I’ll show you. The tower’s wonderful.’

It was. It was everything he’d imagined and, as he’d thought, the view from the room at the top was spectacular. It was nearly as spectacular from all the principle rooms at the front of the house, as well, but as his guide took them down a corridor and into the rear extension it took a serious downturn.

This bit of the building was a much later addition, a dull rabbit-warren, the rooms small and uninteresting and not a patch on the front. He was much more interested in studying the way her hips swayed, the way she tossed her hair out of her eyes, and he could tell she wasn’t interested in this part of the building either. This whole later addition to the house needed flattening, frankly, and he couldn’t believe they weren’t going to do that.

‘Who’s the architect?’ he asked, cutting across a stream of facts that left him cold.

‘Oh. Um—a man my father’s never worked with before. He’s a friend of Andrew Broomfield’s, I believe.’

Nick nodded. That made sense. Another bad decision, taking on a friend to save money and ending up with a design without vision, cramming in as much profit-making potential as possible and losing the plot in the process.

‘Can you go over the plans with me?’

‘Of course. If you’re very good, I might even conjure up a cup of tea.’

‘Oh, I’m good,’ he murmured without thinking, and she looked away, but not before he saw her eyes widen and soft colour touch her cheeks.

‘I don’t doubt it,’ she said under her breath, and then, turning on her heel, she clomped out of the building in her ridiculous boots and vile yellow jacket, the little dog at her heels, and he followed her across the messy, stony site to the tin shed she called her office, feeling more alive than he had in years…

‘You mentioned a phone call,’ he said, and she wondered if she should tell him just how close the bank was to pulling the plug, or if she should spend a little more time getting him on-side and see if she could sweet-talk the bank for another day.

No. The time for that was over. ‘The bank,’ she said, and he nodded slowly and folded his arms, propping his long, beautifully proportioned body back against the wall and regarding her thoughtfully.

‘Are they pressing you very hard?’

She nodded. ‘We’ve had to pay bills and wages. Andrew said the money was coming—’

‘But it hasn’t, and you’re in the doo-doo?’

She felt her lips twitch. ‘You could say that. They’ve given me until close of business today.’

‘How much?’

‘Pardon?’

‘How much do you need now to get them off your backs and enable you to clear existing debts?’

She sat down at her desk a little abruptly. Was he seriously going to write her out a cheque for thousands of pounds just like that?

‘A lot,’ she said bluntly. She pulled the figures towards her, did a few calculations and turned, to find he was looking over her shoulder at the calculator.

‘Is that it?’

‘Roughly. For now,’ she said, and he nodded.

‘I’ll round it up a bit, give you some working capital and a bit of breathing room.’

She felt her jaw start to sag. ‘But I thought you were going to decide if we were to complete the build—’

‘I just did.’ He punched buttons on his mobile, spoke briefly to someone called Tory and handed her the phone. ‘My PA. Give her the details of your bank account,’ he instructed. ‘She’ll get the money moved before close of business today.’

She could hardly speak for relief. Her father was lying in hospital waiting for open-heart surgery, worrying himself senseless, the workforce had been fantastic but they were running out of patience, the bank had done all and more that could be expected of them, and she hadn’t drawn any salary for weeks.

With tears threatening, she gave Tory the details she needed, handed back the phone and stared hard out of the window.

‘Thank you,’ she said, and sucked in a huge breath. It was meant to steady her, but it turned into a sob, and after a moment of stunned silence he propped his hips on the desk beside her, pulled her head against his chest and rubbed her back gently.

‘Hey, it’s OK,’ he murmured.

She fought it for a moment, but the scent of his aftershave and the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart were too much for her, and she gave in and let him hold her as the tension of the last few weeks freed itself in a storm of tears the like of which she hadn’t cried since her mother died.

Then, suddenly overcome by embarrassment, she pushed away, stood up and went outside, pausing on the steps and staring at the sea while she sucked in great lungfuls of the wild, salty air and felt it fill her soul.

It was going to be all right. It was. With Nick Barron on board, maybe the project would succeed after all and her father’s whole career wouldn’t go down the pan…

A tissue arrived in her hand, and she blew her nose vigorously and scrubbed her cheeks on the back of her hand. It was going to be all right. She wanted to scream it out loud, to run into the sea yelling it to the gulls screeching overhead—

‘Would this be a good time for that tea?’ he murmured.

‘I’ve got a better idea,’ she said, turning to him with a smile that wouldn’t be held down any longer. ‘There’s a café round the corner—nothing fancy, no barista making designer bevvies, just good, strong filter coffee and the best BLT baguettes in the world. I reckon I owe you that at least—and I haven’t had breakfast yet.’

‘It’s ten to twelve.’

‘I know. My stomach’s well aware.’

He grinned, dumped his hard hat on the desk and held out his hand towards the door.

‘In that case, what are we waiting for?’

CHAPTER TWO

SHE WAS right. Good strong coffee, a glorious view—and Georgie.

She’d changed out of the dreadful rigger boots and put on a rather less blinding jacket, and suddenly she was just a pretty young woman with black smudges of exhaustion under her red-rimmed and fabulous green-gold eyes.

They’d ordered two of her BLT baguettes, and while they were cooking the waitress had brought them their coffee. He took his black, but Georgie had poured the whole pot of cream into hers, and now her hands were cradling her cup almost reverently and her nose was buried in it, savouring the aroma with almost tangible pleasure. He watched her inhale and sigh, a contented smile playing over her lips.

‘Gorgeous,’ she said, and he couldn’t have agreed more.

‘Talk to me about the plans,’ he said, dragging his attention from the full, soft lips and hoping his confidence in her father’s firm didn’t prove misplaced.

Her nose wrinkled up. ‘What about them?’

‘What do you think of them?’

She met his eyes thoughtfully, then shrugged, the little snub nose wrinkling again. ‘Too dense. Too pedestrian. The architect is dull as ditchwater.’

‘So what would you have done?’

‘Employed a better architect?’

‘Such as?’

She shrugged and laughed. ‘Me?’

That stopped him in his tracks. ‘You’re an architect?’

‘Uh-huh—and before you ask, I am old enough.’

He felt a twinge of guilt, and winced apologetically. ‘Sorry. I guess I had that coming to me. So tell me, why are you running your father’s site?’

‘Hobson’s choice. He collapsed, and I was—what is it they say in the acting world?—resting. Between roles. Actually I was taking time out and thinking about my future, and thus available at zero notice. He needs a triple bypass, and he’s in Ipswich Hospital waiting to be transferred to Papworth for the operation. I’m sure it was worry as much as anything that pushed him over the edge in the end. This project’s been nothing but trouble since it started. Rubbish specification, no answers, nobody in control, nobody taking responsibility, but they put us on a hefty penalty clause because they thought it would speed things up.’

‘Because they needed results fast to bail them out.’

She shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t have worked. The design’s awful—the planners passed it, but I don’t think they were happy. It’s just a series of boxes. As it stands, even with the view, I don’t think the individual units on the site will sell well at all. They don’t deserve to.’

‘So what would you do differently?’ he asked, getting back to his original question. ‘You must have given it some thought.’

She laughed again, the sound sending heat snaking through his veins. ‘Endless, but none of it really formulated.’

‘That’s fine,’ he said, forcing himself to concentrate. ‘Just think out loud.’

‘Now? Really?’

‘Now. Really.’

She tipped her head on one side and grinned, and those gold flecks in her eyes sparkled with an enthusiasm that was infectious. ‘Halve it,’ she said. ‘Far fewer houses, much better quality, and get rid of that hideous extension for starters. It needs a wrecking ball through it. Here—I can’t describe it, I need to show you.’ Grabbing a napkin, she rummaged in her pocket, and he held out a pen.

She flashed him a smile as infectious as her enthusiasm, and started to doodle and talk at the same time, and as she did so he found himself smiling. She was amazing. A tiny powerhouse, full of clever and interesting ideas, a lateral thinker.

And gorgeous. Utterly, utterly gorgeous.

Cradling his coffee in one hand, Nick hunched over her doodles and found himself totally distracted by the tantalising smell of shampoo drifting from her softy, glossy hair. Pretty hair. Nothing remarkable, just a light mid-brown but subtle rather than dull, threaded with fine highlights in palest gold and silver and swinging forwards as she bent her head, the blunt cut just above her shoulders giving it freedom.

Absently, she tucked it behind her ear and a strand escaped, sliding free and hanging tantalisingly close to his hand. His fingers itched to sift it, to see if it was really as soft and as sleek as it seemed, and it took a real effort to lean back, to shift away from her a little and force himself to watch the swift, decisive movements of the pen and see her vision take shape.

And then, once he’d managed to concentrate, he was riveted.

‘It’s all going to be OK, Dad.’

Her father’s brows furrowed. ‘But I don’t understand—where did he come from?’

She laughed. ‘I don’t know—heaven, maybe? I wasn’t going to question him too deeply. He’s put money into the account, and I’ve checked with the bank and it’s certainly there. We’re even in the black.’

The furrows deepened. ‘So what’s the catch?’

‘No catch. He’s buying Andrew out, for whatever reason, and we’re now dealing with him. And he hates the plans, and wants me to come up with some other ideas. He’s put everything on hold—’

‘But the penalty clause—’

‘Gone. He’s deleted it—doesn’t believe in them. Dad, it’s OK. Truly. Trust me.’

His eyes searched her face for any sign of a lie, but for once there wasn’t one, not even a tiny white one, and with a great sigh he lay back against the pillows, closed his eyes and shook his head slowly, an unexpected tear oozing out from under one eyelid and sliding down his grizzled cheek. ‘I really didn’t think we’d get out of this one. I’m not sure I believe it.’

Georgie could understand that. She was still having trouble coming to terms with it herself.

‘Believe it,’ she told him firmly, and bent over to kiss the tear away, a lump in her throat. ‘You just concentrate on getting better and leave it to me. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

His eyes flickered open. ‘You going already?’

‘I’ve got work to do—plans to draw.’

He held her eyes for a while, then smiled and patted her hand. ‘Good girl. You’ve been itching to get at it for weeks. Go and do your best.’

‘I will. Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll do you proud.’

‘You always do,’ he said, his eyes sliding shut again, and with the lump in her throat growing ever bigger, she left him to his rest and went home. The light was blinking on the answering machine, and she pressed the button and a voice flooded the room. Her heart jiggled. Nick.

‘Georgie, tried your mobile but it was off. You were probably at the hospital—hope everything’s OK. Just wondering when we can meet up and go over your ideas. I’m going to be stuck in the office for the next few days, but if you can manage to get down to London in the next day or two we could get together here one evening. I’ve got a spare room, so if it’s easier you can stay the night or I can book you into a hotel, whatever you prefer. Just give me an idea of when—the sooner the better really. I’d like to get this thing underway ASAP.’

Stay the night? Stay the night? Her heart jiggled again, and she pressed the flat of her hand over it and forced herself to breathe. In, out, in, out—

Stay the night?

In the spare room.

‘Keep saying that,’ she advised herself, and, putting the kettle on, she nudged the thermostat on the boiler, grabbed a packet of biscuits and settled down at her drawing board with a cup of tea and a head full of dreams…

‘Nick?’

‘Georgie—how are you?’

All the better for hearing his voice again after twenty-four long, hard hours, but he wasn’t going to know that. ‘Fine. Look, I’ve put some ideas together, but I don’t think there’s any point in going into too much detail until you see what I’ve come up with and I get a better feel for what you’re expecting.’

‘I agree. So are you able to get down here, because I’m really stuck at the moment?’

‘Sure. When?’

‘Any time. My evenings are all free. It’s a bit late tonight; it’s gone six already—how about tomorrow?’

Her heart thumped. ‘Tomorrow?’ she squealed. She’d been hoping for longer to tweak her ideas, but needs must and tomorrow was better than today! She got a grip on her voice. ‘Um—I can do tomorrow, if you’re not too busy—’

‘What sort of time?’

‘I need to see my father—I’ll be able to get the train at about five-thirty, and it’s just over an hour to Liverpool Street. Then however long to get to you from there. Seven-ish?’

‘Great. I’ll meet you at the tube.’ He told her which station to head for. ‘Ring me when you get there,’ he told her. ‘I’ll come straight over. It’ll take me five minutes from when I get your call.’

It took six, and every one of them was endless, but by then Georgie was in such a ferment a second seemed to take an hour and yet the day hadn’t been long enough. She’d gone over the plans again and again, tweaking and fiddling, quickly dropped into the hospital to visit her father and then had to rush through the shower and leave her hair to drip-dry on the train.

So she had a slightly soggy collar on her coat, and as she hovered outside the tube station the March wind whipped up and chilled her to the marrow.

She was scouring the traffic and trying to guess the sort of vehicle he might be driving when a low, sleek sports car growled to a halt beside her and the door swung open. ‘Jump in,’ he said, leaning across with a grin and giving her a tantalising glimpse of his broad, hard chest down the open neck of his shirt, and she slid into the low-slung seat, hugely grateful that common sense had prevailed over vanity and she wasn’t wearing a skirt.

‘Nice car,’ she said, trying not to think about the chest, and his grin widened.

‘It’s my one indulgence,’ he told her, but somehow she didn’t believe him. The man had the air of one who indulged himself just whenever the fancy took him, and she fancied it took him pretty darned often.

‘Buckle up,’ he instructed, and then shot out into the tiniest gap in the traffic with a squeal from the tyres and the sweetest, throatiest exhaust note she’d ever heard. Just the sound was enough to make her knees go weak. That and the fact that it could pull enough Gs to squish her into the leather!