Mr Segurini.’ And even the fact that she knew she would regret her hastiness later did not make her change her mind.
To her amazement he let her go; he let her walk out of the room without saying another word, and when she got back to her office and made a few discreet enquiries she discovered that every word Luciano Segurini had said was true. It looked as though she was going to be jobless and penniless and Davina would definitely have to pull out of her school. The thought both saddened and distressed her.
* * *
That evening when she got home from work there was an enormous bouquet of white roses awaiting her. She picked them up from the doorstep and looked curiously at the card.
To the most amazing woman I have ever met. The offer is still open if you should change your mind. I will be in touch.
It was not signed—it did not have to be—and while Celina was relieved, financially, that she might be offered the job all over again she groaned inwardly at the thought that there could be another confrontation with the most amazing man she had ever met. So far she had told no one of her experience, having used the excuse of a dental appointment to cover her absence, and now she opened the door and moved inside.
When her parents had died she had sold their draughty Victorian house in Norfolk and moved nearer to London and her job, and this cosy mews house suited her very well. If it hadn’t been for Davina’s school fees she would have managed quite comfortably—as things stood it was a definite struggle.
She dropped the flowers on the kitchen worktop, contemplating whether to relegate them to the dustbin. If she dared put them in a vase they would be a constant reminder of the man who had had such a profound effect on her in such a short space of time. She took a shower and slipped into a comfortable jade-green silk jumpsuit
She prepared her evening meal—cold chicken left over from Sunday, with a green salad and new potatoes—and still the sweet-smelling roses lay where she had left them. She had just finished eating when the doorbell rang. As she was constantly being pestered by callers Celena was tempted not to answer—until it rang again and whoever it was kept a finger on the button.
Normally before opening the door Celena made sure that the safety chain was in place. On this occasion, however, she snatched it open without even thinking, intent on giving whoever it was a piece of her mind. Her mouth fell open. ‘Mr Segurini! What are you doing here?’
He smiled unnervingly. ‘I’m checking that my flowers arrived safely.’
Celena’s eyes were guarded. ‘A phone call would have sufficed. And yes, they have, thank you very much, though I can’t think why you sent them.’
‘I hope you like white roses.’ His thickly fringed eyes made a slow and thorough appraisal of her body, starting at the tip of her pink-painted toenails, rising slowly, pausing fractionally on her breasts, and again on her mouth, then coming to a complete halt when they reached her eyes.
Celena felt breathless. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. They were her favourite, though he couldn’t have known that.
‘It’s a pity that when one orders flowers one never actually gets to see them.’
‘If you’re after an invite into my house then you’re out of luck.’ She desperately tried to quell the surging of her senses. He had changed into a pair of lightweight blue trousers and a matching cashmere sweater, the casual clothes emphasising his hard-muscled body, making him an even more dangerous adversary. Her mind might tell her that he was not to be trusted, but her body certainly had no such reservations.
‘I thought perhaps we could go out for a drink, get to know each other better, discuss my offer in more detail.’ He smiled as he spoke, his brown eyes still intent on hers.
The audacity of the man! Celena’s heart leapt but she made herself frown, saying crossly, ‘Don’t you ever take no for an answer?’
‘Not if I really want something.’
‘And you want me?’ It was the wrong thing to have said; she felt a flush coming to her cheeks, which was insane—she hadn’t blushed in years. Celena decided to rephrase her question. ‘I mean, you want me to work for you?’
His lips twitched as he recognised her discomfiture. ‘You’re perfect for the job.’
‘I think there’s more to it,’ she retorted.
He frowned. ‘What ever gave you that idea?’
‘Your insistence, for one thing.’
‘And for another?’
‘Feminine intuition.’ Her tone was cool. She had herself in control now.
He smiled. ‘Ah, that.’
‘Yes, that,’ she snapped. ‘Are you denying that I am right?’
‘It’s an interesting theory. How about we go out and discuss it?’
Celena let out an impatient sigh. ‘I don’t want to go out I’ve had a hell of a day, with no thanks to you; I planned on an early night.’
He shot a glance at his watch—an expensive gold affair. Cartier probably, she decided, seeing the Roman numerals on its face. Everything about this man spelt wealth, and he seemed to think that it could get him whatever he wanted. She had no doubt that he intended to offer her an even higher salary.
‘It’s early yet—only a little after eight,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we could talk here? I promise to take up no more than an hour of your time.’
She felt a fresh surge of apprehension. ‘I never allow strangers into my house.’
Thick brows lifted. ‘I don’t think we’re entirely strangers, and I promise you, Miss Coulsden, that my intentions are strictly honourable.’ He chuckled as he said it. ‘An old-fashioned turn of phrase. Let me put it another way. I have no designs on your body, beautiful though it is. You’ll be perfectly safe.’
And Celena surprised herself by believing him. She found him dangerous in many ways, but felt instinctively that she could accept his word on this occasion. ‘Very well.’ She stepped back reluctantly. ‘Though I promise you you’ll be wasting your time; I never change my mind once it is made up.’
His lips quirked. ‘And I never accept no for an answer. An impasse, no less. It will be interesting to see who wins.’
The character of the house changed as he stepped inside. It had always had a relaxed, comfortable feeling, but the instant this man entered the whole atmosphere became charged—as it had in his office! It was going to be a difficult meeting, Celena decided.
She led him down the hallway to her sitting room at the back, which overlooked a pleasant courtyard which she had filled with tubs and containers growing a profusion of colourful plants and climbing shrubs, making the small area look almost Mediterranean.
‘Please sit down.’ She indicated a dumpy armchair that she had recovered in rust linen, but sat on the opposite side of the room herself on a straight wooden chair with her back to the French windows. It put him at a disadvantage because the low evening sunlight slanted right into his eyes.
She
