Modern Romance October 2018 Books 5-8. Trish Morey

      Rose sighed. ‘Perhaps not entirely,’ she admitted, ‘but I really hope we can make some kind of difference, perhaps get the company to rethink the scale of their project. They’re eating up a lot of open land and there’s no question that the end result will be a massive eyesore on the landscape.’

      ‘Have you seen the plans?’ Art asked curiously.

      ‘Of course I have. It’s all about houses for wealthy commuters.’

      ‘The rail link, I suppose...’

      ‘You’re the only person who has actually taken time out to think this through,’ Rose admitted. ‘And you’re not even from round here. I think everyone somehow hopes that this is a problem that will just go away if we can all just provide a united front. It’s a relief to talk to someone who can see the pitfalls. Just strange that you should care so much, considering this has never been your home.’

      ‘I have general concerns about the...er...countryside.’ Art had the grace to flush. Yes, all was fair in love and war, and it wasn’t as though this little deception was actually harming anyone, but the prick of his conscience was an uneasy reminder that playing fast and loose with the truth was a lie by any other name.

      ‘Does that extend to other concerns?’ Rose asked with interest.

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘Problems on a larger scale. Climate change. Damage to the rainforests. Fracking and the impact on the green belt.’

      Art was used to women who were either career-driven—those with whom he came into contact in the course of his working life—or else women he dated. On the one hand, he conversed with his counterparts with absolute detachment, regardless of whether he picked up any vibes from them, any undercurrent of sexual interest. And then, when it came to the women he dated...well, that was sex, relaxation and pleasure, and in-depth conversations were not the name of the game. Quite honestly, he thought that the majority of them would have been bored rigid were he ever to sit them down and initiate a conversation about world affairs. If there was a world out there of smart, sassy women who had what it took to turn him on, then he’d passed them by.

      Until now...

      Because, against all odds, he was finding that this outspoken woman was a turn-on and he didn’t know why. She should have been tiresome, but instead she was weirdly compelling.

      ‘Doesn’t everyone think about the bigger picture?’

      ‘I like that,’ Rose murmured. ‘I really get it that you think about the bigger picture. But you surely must have some form of employment that enables you to take off when you want to, be it here or somewhere else...’ She turned away and began rustling for something to cook.

      ‘Let me order something in.’ Art was uncomfortable with this.

      ‘Order something in?’ She looked at him incredulously.

      ‘There’s no need for you to prepare anything for me.’

      ‘We both have to eat and it won’t be fancy. Trust me.’

      ‘Are you usually this welcoming to people who walk off the street into your house?’

      * * *

      ‘You’re a one-off.’ She smiled a little shyly. Yes, she had lots of contact with the opposite sex. Yes, there was Phil and a wide assortment of men she met on a daily basis, either because they lived locally and she bumped into them or in the course of her work. But this was different. This was a reminder of what it felt like to be with a man and she was enjoying the sensation.

      Of course, she sternly reminded herself, it wasn’t as though he was anything more than a nice guy who happened to share the same outlook on life as she did.

      A nice guy who just so happened to be drop-dead gorgeous...

      ‘A one-off...?’ He looked at her with assessing eyes and Rose burst out laughing. He sounded piqued, as though someone had stuck a pin in his ego. In a flash of wonderment because he was simply nothing like any man she had ever met before, she gathered that he was piqued because she wasn’t bowled over by him. Or at least because that was the impression she had given. She had turned down his dinner date, had rejected his offer to pay rent and had set him a number of tasks to complete, which was probably a first for a guy like him. He might not have money but he had style and an underlying aggressive sexual magnetism that most women would find irresistible.

      Their eyes tangled and Rose felt her nipples pinch in raw sexual awareness, and the suddenness of its potency made her breath catch in her throat.

      ‘That’s the problem with living in a small community.’ Rose laughed breathlessly, deflecting a moment of madness which had smacked of her being lonely, which she most certainly was not. ‘You tend to know everyone. A new face is a rare occurrence.’

      ‘Surely not.’

      ‘Maybe not at this time of year,’ she admitted, ‘when the place is swarming with tourists, but a new face here for something other than the nice scenery and the quaint village atmosphere...that’s a bit more unusual.’

      ‘Why do you stay?’ Art asked with what sounded like genuine curiosity. ‘And, if that’s the case, then surely you must find it a little dull?’

      ‘No, I don’t. I’m not just a statistic here, one of a million lawyers sweating to get by. Here, I can actually make a difference. And I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this.’

      ‘Because I’m a new face and you don’t get to have conversations with people you haven’t known since you were a kid?’

      Rose flushed and looked at him defiantly. ‘Not all of us are born to wander, which reminds me—you never told me how it is that you can afford to take time out to be here. Yes, you’ve said you do a bit of this and a bit of that but you’re obviously not a labourer.’

      ‘What makes you say that?’

      ‘Your hands, for a start. Not calloused enough.’

      * * *

      ‘I’m not sure that’s a compliment,’ Art drawled, glancing at his hands. The last time he’d done anything really manual had been as a teenager when he’d had a summer job working on a building site. He recalled that his father had been going through divorce number three right about then.

      ‘Office jobs?’

      ‘You ask a lot of questions.’

      ‘No more than you,’ Rose pointed out and Art grinned at her, dark eyes never leaving her face.

      He hadn’t thought through the details of why he was here and it hadn’t occurred to him that his presence would be met with suspicion. He was having to revise his easy assumption that he could just show up, mumble something vague and get by without any questions.

      ‘I’ve been known to sit behind a desk now and again. I confess I’m interested in the details of a sit-in, in what motivates people to give up their home comforts for a cause.’

      ‘You’re not a reporter, are you?’

      ‘Would you object if I told you that I was?’

      ‘No. The more coverage the better...’

      ‘Well, sorry to disappoint but,’ Art drawled with complete honesty, ‘I personally can’t stand the breed. Nosy and intrusive.’

      ‘But excellent when it comes to getting a message out there to the wider public.’

      ‘They’re a fickle lot,’ Art countered. ‘You think that they’re on your side and you usually open yourself up to inevitable disappointment. If you’re going to make me dinner and you won’t allow me to buy anything in, then the least I can do is help.’

      ‘Okay. You can chop vegetables and tell me why you’re interested in what’s happening here.’