A Very Passionate Man. Maggie Cox

spot. Her cheeks were arrestingly rosy and her pretty brown eyes shy and uncertain. For the life of him Evan didn’t have a clue why she would want to present him with the results of her baking—not after their last encounter.

      ‘Thanks.’

      Was that all he was going to say? Rowan knew a moment of sheer blind panic. What on earth had possessed her to approach the man again? It should have been obvious to a blind woman that he clearly didn’t want anything to do with her.

      ‘You’re welcome.’ Her slim shoulders shrugged beneath her green waxed jacket. ‘I’m going into town to do some shopping. I wondered if you needed anything?’

      ‘I only repaired your gate, Ms Hawkins—not rescued you from drowning.’

      She felt heat rush to her cheeks in a hot flood. He was smiling, damn him! Looking at her like the epitome of the Big Bad Wolf, with his slightly dishevelled black hair and even blacker brows. No man had ever gazed upon her in such a…licentious manner before. What on earth was she supposed to do now?

      ‘I’m quite aware of that. I know you’re not interested in being “neighbourly,” as you put it, but I hadn’t seen you around for a couple of days and thought you might be unwell or something. In which case you might—you might need me to…’ Her words dwindled to silence as Evan continued to study her as if she was suddenly the most interesting woman on the planet. Helplessly, her gaze gravitated back to his biceps. Oh, why couldn’t the man take pity and go and put on a sweater?

      ‘There’s nothing I need right now.’ His voice was almost akin to a honeyed growl and Rowan nearly tripped over her own feet in her haste to engineer some distance between them. ‘But thanks for thinking of me…and for these.’ He held up the box and gave it a little shake.

      ‘Anyway.’ Hitching the strap of her black leather bag more securely onto her shoulder, Rowan pushed back a mutinous strand of hair that had flicked across her face. ‘I’d better go. Lots to do.’

      ‘Don’t let me keep you,’ Evan said behind her as she scurried back down the path. Was it her fevered imagination or had he laced the innocent-sounding comment with a taunt?

      Inside, Evan leant back against the door and prised the lid off the plastic box. The mouthwatering aroma of still-warm baking drifted tantalisingly beneath his nose.

      ‘Hmm.’ Smiling to himself, he closed the lid. ‘You do know how to tempt a man, pretty little Rowan. I wonder what other delights you’re capable of surprising a man with…apart from your cooking, that is?’

      Alarmed to find himself pleasantly aroused, Evan strode irritably into the kitchen, promising himself that from now on he’d give the arresting little widow zero encouragement when it came to getting over-friendly. He didn’t want anyone invading his self-imposed isolation, and right now he had no use for a woman who was nursing a hurt he couldn’t begin to imagine how to alleviate. But as he flipped open the plastic container and helped himself to a warm, melting scone, Evan’s fertile imagination made a liar of that last statement. Unbidden, the thought of Rowan warming his bed and helping to tangle his sheets with that sweet, curvy body of hers stole into his mind like forbidden fruit…all the more exciting because under the circumstances the very idea was totally outrageous.

      CHAPTER THREE

      HER shopping done, Rowan didn’t rush to get back home. Instead she found a welcoming little bistro tucked away in a cobblestoned side-street and treated herself to fresh salmon cakes with a lemon butter sauce and a glass of wine. Satisfied after her meal, she paid her bill and stepped out into the surprisingly mild spring evening. By the time she got into her car and drove out of the town, back onto the country roads, she was feeling pleasantly tired and looking forward to a peaceful evening curled up on the couch with her soft cashmere throw and a book. In the boot of her car were her grocery shopping and two big carrier-bags full of handy items for sprucing up the cottage. The next day she planned to get cracking on her home improvements, telling herself she’d start by removing all the pine shelves in the living-room and giving them a cheerful coat of paint.

      When she pulled up in front of the cottage, it was all she could do to unlock the boot and unload her shopping, she was so tired. But as she busied herself standing the bags side by side on the road, the sound of footsteps approaching made her spin round in alarm. Attired in dark jeans and a black polo-necked sweater, Evan Cameron drew up beside Rowan and blew into his hands. The ensuing steam from his breath curled up into the night. The scent of the sea was all around him and he had clearly been walking on the beach. Beads of perspiration stood out on his lightly grooved brow but his imperious green gaze was decidedly cool when Rowan automatically smiled her surprise.

      ‘Oh. It’s you. It’s a lovely evening for a walk, isn’t it?’

      His gaze flicked over her figure in her waxed jacket and long black skirt and boots. Her soft brown hair was loose, blowing around her face in the breeze, her cheeks pink like two rosy apples. There was something wholesome about her that pricked at Evan’s conscience, something that made his frustration with himself and the current limitations of his body hard to bear. He’d undertaken a simple half-hour walk to the beach and back and his heart was racing as if he’d run a marathon. His irritation tightened like a noose around his neck as he studied Rowan.

      ‘What are you trying to do, Ms Hawkins? Change my mind about you? I told you I wasn’t interested in being neighbourly yet you seem to persist in the idea that you can somehow win me over. First it’s with your baking—and next?’ His insolent stare left Rowan in no doubt as to his meaning. Her body went hot and cold all at once. If she could have disappeared inside her coat right then and hidden, she would have.

      ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr Cameron. Do you think I’m so desperate I would do anything to cultivate a friendship with you? I may be a widow but I’d rather spend fifty years locked up in a windowless cell than spend any more time than I could help in your hateful company!’

      He laughed, and the cold, harsh sound splintered through the air like ice cracking on a frozen lake. Rowan winced.

      ‘Good.’ Evan nodded his dark head as if he had her measure. ‘It’s good to know you’re not as meek as you appear. Believe me, Rowan, you really would be better off being locked up in a windowless cell than spending time in my company. If you don’t believe me, try having a conversation about it with my ex-wife. She’ll put you right.’

      Stunned by his bitter response, Rowan felt her own reply stall in her throat. Her smile long gone, her liquid brown eyes were round with hurt as they regarded him.

      ‘I’m sorry if you feel I’ve been a nuisance. Please be assured I won’t be bothering you again. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get my shopping inside.’

      She heard him curse beneath his breath, but she couldn’t tell if it was directed at her or at himself. Either way, he didn’t hang around for her to find out. When Rowan straightened from lifting her bags, he was already opening the gate to his own cottage and sprinting up the path. Seconds later the sound of his door slamming echoed through the night like a retort from a rifle.

      Rowan couldn’t get to sleep. Shaky and angry since Evan’s verbal attack on her attempt at friendliness earlier, she now lay awake with the lamp turned on, her book opened unread by her side and her eyes gritty with fatigue because sleep eluded her. What was it about her that the man disliked so much? He’d mentioned an ex-wife. Was it Rowan’s misfortune to remind him of her in some way? Had their parting been so acrimonious that he still harboured a grudge against the woman?

      Her thoughts ran on and on, finding no resolution from her endless speculation about the cold, autocratic man who lived next door—how could it, when her day had been completely spoiled by her confrontation with him? Drawing her knees up to her chest, she folded her arms around them with a sigh. If only Greg were here. He’d know just what to say to comfort her. He’d probably pull her head down onto his chest, stroke her hair and tell her she shouldn’t waste another moment’s anxiety on Evan Cameron because clearly the man was an ignorant peasant and it was