spoke as though the vehicle might be a serious rite of passage for a guy like him. Cowboys obviously weren’t high on her wow scale. ‘I’m a sheep man, actually.’
‘Really?’
He watched her press her beautifully cut lips together—fine, sensitive upper lip; full, sensuous lower lip—as though she feared she would burst out laughing. He was only surprised she didn’t say, How absurd!
‘Don’t you like sheep men?’ he challenged, hardly giving a thought to lunch now. Conversation was way better.
‘I have to confess you struck me more as a cowboy.’ She didn’t mention her first impression had been that of a rock star. He had that same air of glamour, wearing his vibrant masculinity like a second skin. He would fit neatly into the Outback as well. Not as your average stockman. Dear me, no! Boss Man was more like it. Young as he was—and he couldn’t yet be thirty—he had the command presence, the easy male authority. It was written all over him. Then there was the educated accent, the self-assurance he wore like a cloak, the pulsating energy. A bit of a dynamo, she thought; the kind that loved women but didn’t really need them.
Linc thought he was holding up well under the judgmental waves that were coming full at him, but he was a little baffled by her attitude. He wasn’t that bad, surely? He glanced down at himself wryly. He was wearing black designer jeans, an upmarket bush shirt, elastic-sided boots. Maybe his hair was too long. He never paid a lot of attention to his jet-black curly hair. It sort of looked after itself. And he hadn’t missed the little flashes of antagonism either. This was a woman who could erupt! And, hell, she was the rarest of creatures: a woman who had taken an instant dislike to him. He liked that. It put him on his mettle.
If the trace of accent hadn’t alerted him, her looks did: Northern Italian colouring, wonderful thick, swirling blond hair, side parted, curving in to just below her chin. The colour could have come out of a bottle but he didn’t think so. There wasn’t a dark root in sight. Her complexion was perfect—honeyed Mediterranean. The lovely features were classical, her aura passionate but restrained—as if she deliberately held herself in check. Her eyes were really beautiful beneath arched black brows—so dark the iris rivalled the pupil. She wasn’t tall—maybe five-five in her high wedged heels—but her body was beautiful. Slender, but with shape.
The glory of women, he thought, slowly releasing his breath. ‘You’re beautiful!’ he said, unconsciously investing it with real meaning. He hadn’t meant to say it. It just came out as a simple statement of fact.
‘Thank you,’ Daniela answered him gravely.
She had been called beautiful many times in her life. Unfortunately beauty often came with a high price tag. It didn’t always draw the right people. She had left London and a great job because she was being hounded by a man obsessively attracted to her and her looks. Sometimes, back in London, she had thought she would go mad thinking and worrying about it.
Linc had intuitively tuned in to her wavelength. How men’s eyes must cling to her, he thought. Maybe that was a reason for her being so wary. And she was. No mistaking it. He could actually hear the defences going up. So what was a Renaissance beauty doing in a small country town wielding a broomstick? She obviously worked here. A cute little white apron was tied around a waist he thought he could span with his hands. Her dress, sleeveless with a short skirt—showing off great legs—was navy. A sort of uniform, he thought. She made it look chic. But the aura she gave off was downright patrician, even a touch forbidding, as befitting someone who had stepped out of a medieval masterpiece.
Maybe she owned the place? Maybe she owned a whole chain of bistros? Though she barely looked old enough to be a big success. Twenty-four? Twenty-five? As well as being beautiful, she looked highly intelligent. That had conveyed itself to him. A confident, competent young woman who knew how to keep mere mortals like him in his place.
His gaze came back irresistibly to centre on her face. ‘Do you believe in love at first sight?’ he asked, as though it was the easiest question in the world to answer.
‘Doesn’t everyone?’ Daniela answered, calmly enough, transferring her midnight-dark gaze over his shoulder. ‘Ah, here is my grandfather to take care of you.’ She sounded relieved.
‘You work for your grandfather?’ It really wasn’t like him to hit on a girl in this blatant fashion.
‘In this case I am helping out.’ Clearly she was making an effort to be polite. Far more the principessa than the waitress.
‘So who am I talking to?’ he persisted, watching a big, handsome grandfatherly figure with a crown of tight snow-white curls hurrying towards them.
‘Daniela Adami,’ she informed him, turning to pick up a dustpan filled with pieces of broken china.
‘Carl Mastermann. My friends call me Linc. I’ve come to look over a valley property.’
‘Ah, yes? Which one would that be, Mr Mastermann?’ She spoke as if there were hundreds on the market.
Couldn’t she risk a smile? It was important to him to see her smile. ‘Briar’s Ridge. It’s owned by the Callaghans—brother and sister. Do you know them?’
‘I have that pleasure.’ She dipped her head formally, then made a move to walk by him, a determined action that managed to be enormously seductive at the same time.
He eased back, resisting the strong impulse to swing an arm around her and no doubt receive a painful electric shock for his trouble.
‘Nice to have met you, Mr Mastermann.’
It sounded as if she didn’t want to lay eyes on him again.
But that, Principessa, isn’t about to happen.
CHAPTER TWO
WEDDINGS had a knack of working their magic on everyone. Linc had lost count of the number of weddings he had attended over the years, but the wedding of his old friend Guy, and his beautiful Alana, a luminous creature, with happiness shining out of her eyes, was turning out tops.
Wangaree was one of the nation’s finest historic sheep stations, a splendid estate and one that fitted the courtly Guy right down to a tee. The wedding ceremony had been held in the station’s private chapel—a marvellous place to hold it, Linc thought. Flower-decked for the great occasion, the old stone building was wonderfully appealing within its surrounding rose gardens, all coaxed into full bloom. The chapel had been built way back in the early days and was the perfect place for bride and groom to take their vows. In fact, his own throat had tightened during the moments when the bridal vows had been exchanged. The utter seriousness with which those vows had been exchanged he had found intensely moving.
The good thing was he felt he had absorbed a lot of the happiness that shone out of bride and groom. It had happened without his working at it. The best man was the bride’s brother, Kieran, a terrific-looking guy; the chief bridesmaid was Guy’s beautiful, elegantly refined sister, Alexandra. Guy had told him early on Alex and Kieran would soon be tying the knot themselves. He just hoped Kieran, whom he had only just met, would agree with his sister to sell Briar’s Ridge to him.
He was sure Guy was going to put in a good word. Nevertheless he was feeling a bit nervous the deal might fall through. The property had been allowed to run down—he understood their late father had been ailing for some time before he died—but he knew it could be rescued and brought back to its former high
