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hammering. A seriously bad idea. And she needed to bring the evening to an end with despatch.
    She clattered the cutlery noisily on to her plate and rose. ‘I—I’ll get the cheese.’
    ‘Fine.’ Adam got to his feet too. ‘If you’ll show me where everything is, I’ll make the coffee.’
    It was a perfectly reasonable offer, Tara thought wrathfully as she carried the used dishes to the sink. She could hardly tell him that coffee was off the menu and she was having second thoughts about the cheese, too.
    Behave normally, she advised herself. And once you shut the door behind him make sure it stays closed.
    There’d been a new pack of coffee among the groceries. She retrieved it from the small larder, then walked over to the dresser and stretched up to the top shelf for the cafetière.
    ‘Allow me.’ He was standing right behind her.
    ‘Oh—thank you.’ She moved hastily out of the way as Adam reached past her. She was aware, fleetingly, of the faint fragrance of some expensive cologne. He’d not been wearing it earlier when she’d cannoned into him. Then, there’d only been the fresh, clean, quintessentially male scent of his skin, she remembered, suppressing a gasp.
    ‘Is something wrong?’
    The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was nervous. That would be putting herself in his power, she reminded herself grimly.
    ‘Not a thing.’ She flashed him a meaningless smile, and busied herself arranging cheese, grapes and a few apples on a wooden platter.
    ‘You’re like a cat on hot bricks.’ Adam set the kettle to boil, then looked past her with a faint grin. ‘You should follow her example instead.’
    Turning, Tara saw that Melusine had given up her vantage point on the draining board and was now occupying the rocking chair in the corner, her paws tucked neatly under her and her green eyes inscrutable. Buster was stretched out, snoring, on the rug below.
    ‘You see,’ Adam went on. ‘Initial differences can be settled, and peaceful co-existence achieved.’
    ‘Natures, however, do not basically change,’ she said crisply. ‘And Melusine and I like our own space.’
    ‘Well, you’ve got plenty of it here,’ he remarked, glancing round him. ‘This is a delightful house.’ He paused. ‘It makes you realise what potential Dean’s Mooring could have.’
    She stared at him. ‘But it’s practically derelict,’ she said slowly, after a pause. ‘It would probably cost—thousands simply to make it habitable.’
    ‘Undoubtedly, but—for the right person—a labour of love.’
    ‘And are you the right person?’ She was startled into sharpness. Because this wasn’t the plan at all. Dean’s Mooring was going to belong to the Lyndon family, thereby ensuring the privacy of Silver Creek.
    Oh, Dad, you should have made your move earlier, she reproached her absent parent. Now it could be too late.
    ‘A direct question at last.’ Adam spooned coffee into the cafetière, his movements economical and unhurried. As if, somehow, he was right at home in his surroundings, she thought uneasily. ‘We’re making progress.’
    ‘Yet that,’ she said, ‘was not a direct answer.’
    ‘The night is young.’ He smiled at her, without mockery or calculation, and she felt the warmth of it uncurling insidiously in her deepest self.
    The night, she thought grimly, had better start ageing pretty damn quickly.
    She found a packet of oatcakes and tipped them on to the platter, then cut a chunk of butter into an earthenware dish.
    ‘This is becoming a feast,’ Adam commented as he brought the cafetière to the table. ‘Maybe you’ll let me cook for you on Caroline one evening. Repay the hospitality a little.’
    ‘In that case, you should ask Mrs Pritchard instead,’ she returned coolly. ‘This was her feast, not mine. I was planning poached eggs on toast.’
    His brows lifted. ‘Real spinster fare,’ he drawled. ‘Is that how you see yourself?’
    ‘I don’t think my self-image is up for