‘It was a long time ago and I didn’t qualify as a private investigator. The work didn’t suit me.’ She’d got sick of grubbing around in people’s personal lives. Commercial research was much less seedy.
‘But you have the skills. I want everything, from Bradshaw’s finances to his phone records.’
Lily laid her hands in her lap, maintaining her aura of calm despite the alarm bells going off in her head.
‘Unless you have a warrant, phone records are protected.’ She paused, breathing deep. ‘Obviously you’re not talking about hacking into phone company records.’
Those straight, decisive eyebrows rose. ‘Aren’t I? But I understood you included hacking in your skill set.’
Lily reared back, her seat sliding away from the conference table. ‘How did you know that? It was years ago.’
Her breath came in staccato bursts. It had been years since anyone had mentioned her one brush with the law. She’d been just a kid, bored from being alone so much, cut off from her friends by the regime of medical treatment and surgery she’d undergone. And by the fact that to a lot of her schoolmates she’d become a freak. Not just because of her scars, but because she’d been the one to survive. She’d wondered if they felt guilty because secretly they’d have preferred it if her popular friend Rachel had lived, not her.
Emotion tugged at her like an ocean current, threatening to pull her under.
Instead she focused on Raffaele Petri—so strong and arrogant and utterly in control. She’d bet he’d never felt overwhelmed or insecure. Surprisingly, that worked. Her racing pulse slowed.
‘I chose the best for this project team, with the best skill set. Your short-lived career as a hacker was impressive. It’s a wonder you got off so lightly.’
Lily crossed her arms over her chest. ‘I was underage. And I did no damage.’
‘No, just managed to break into one of the best protected and encrypted government databases in the world.’
* * *
‘If you hired me to break the law, think again, Signor Petri. I won’t do that for any client.’ She sprang to her feet and paced away.
That was better. At last he read something definite in Lily Nolan. Not just anger but indignation and surely a little fear?
He didn’t want to scare her. But she’d sparred with him for so long he’d begun to wonder what it would take to probe past her control. Even when she was angry she’d been coolly poised, a challenge, a mystery he couldn’t resist prodding.
Not now. Now Raffa saw the woman behind the mask of calm self-sufficiency.
What he saw heightened his interest.
Lily Nolan’s eyes flashed fire as she turned to face him. Her lips moved in what he was sure was an unconscious pout of defiance. A pout any red-blooded man would respond to.
Except he was her boss.
He never harassed his staff.
Besides, he wasn’t into kissing. He’d perfected the art from necessity but never really enjoyed it. It was a tool like any other to get what he wanted.
Raffa stilled, surprised at his blurring thoughts. He didn’t want to kiss Lily Nolan. The idea was farcical.
He wanted to understand her. Label and catalogue her so she no longer took up even a scintilla of his brain space. Then he’d move on to more important things.
Yet now he’d provoked a reaction he wanted more. Contempt welled. Had he turned into what he’d always abhorred? A wealthy man so self-absorbed his only delight was toying with others?
‘You have scruples, Ms Nolan.’
She strode back to stand close, hands on her hips.
‘There are lines I won’t cross, Signor Petri. Breaking the law is one.’
Spoken like a woman who’d never experienced real need. Raffa’s mouth tightened. He knew precisely the depths to which poverty and desperation could drive people.
Or was that the excuse he used to justify his past?
‘Not even for money?’
Those eyes weren’t muddy brown now. They looked almost pure amber, rimmed with honey brown, and they met his with quiet certainty. ‘Not even for money.’
Slowly he nodded. ‘Good. Then presumably you can’t be bought by a competitor to betray confidential information.’
A furrow appeared on her forehead. ‘Was all this some elaborate test of my honesty?’
Raffa shrugged. Easier to let her believe his interest was so straightforward than try to explain something he didn’t understand himself.
If her report was insufficient, he’d have to ignore his prejudice and hire a detective. At least now he wouldn’t be sucked in by nebulous ‘promising leads’ that required just a little more time to produce results.
Years ago, when he’d begun making decent money, he’d spent lavishly on fruitless investigations. Older than his years in most ways, his desperation to find the man responsible for his sister’s death had made him gullible in this one area.
Now he knew better. He didn’t trust investigators.
He didn’t trust anyone.
Raffa pushed his chair back and stood. ‘We’ll meet when you’ve completed your initial report.’
By that time this fascination would have worn off. She’d be just another employee.
THERE WAS NO SOUND, no disturbance, but suddenly Lily knew she was no longer alone.
Her spine tingled from her scalp to her tailbone. Her skin drew tight and she realised she’d frozen, fingers on the keyboard, waiting.
Slowly she lifted her head.
There he was, one shoulder propped against the doorjamb, legs casually crossed at the ankles. The only man whose presence she could sense with unerring accuracy.
Every time.
Even before he looked at her.
Even when he never looked at her.
It was a sixth sense, something primitive, buried so deep in her animal instinct as to be inexplicable. Yet it happened whenever Raffaele Petri got near. Lily was always the first to notice his presence. Her senses were on alert when he was nearby, even if he wasn’t talking to her.
Now he watched her with a heavy-lidded look that made her blood surge.
She’d thought him stunning in the casual trousers and jackets he wore in
