smiling at her infectious enthusiasm.
In Casey’s opinion everyone deserved at least one fairytale in their life. And this was hers, she thought as Raffa led her over the threshold of his fabulous apartment. She wasn’t a fairy princess, but a rather ordinary girl from the north of England who happened to have a talent for marketing—but look where that talent had brought her! She was standing at the side of the hottest man in town, in the middle of an interior designer’s dream.
‘What do you think?’ Raffa said, turning to her.
With the light flooding in from the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the harbour, she thought that he looked magnificent … that he looked like a true warrior king of the desert, with his powerful legs firmly planted in his golden lion kingdom …
Was everything made of gold?
‘Vulgar, isn’t it?’ he said.
She blinked, trying to take in the apartment and give him her honest opinion—but he was so distracting. ‘I think it’s lovely, actually,’ she admitted. What was a fairytale if it was all magnolia walls and plain furniture? This was luxury such as she had never seen before, luxury on an unprecedented scale, and she thought it absolutely perfect for her lion of the desert.
‘Just try to bear in mind this is a hotel room and not my home,’ Raffa told her dryly.
A hotel room? Right. They really did come from two different worlds. Hotel rooms in Casey’s world came with a bed, a chair and a Formica desk.
‘Describe what you see in one sentence,’ Raffa suggested.
‘Fabulousness pumped up on gold dust and dressed like a movie set fit for a king?’
‘Bravo!’ He laughed, strong even teeth a flash of brilliant white against his bronzed face.
With her heart thundering like an express train she took a look around to distract herself … Venetian glass, Italian leather, and a vast wall of windows overlooking the marina and the turquoise ocean far below. On the walls Fauvist paintings, flaunting colour. She crossed the room to take a closer look at them, remembering Fauvist was French for wild beast. Casey smiled. Someone here really had a sense of humour.
‘Do you like them?’ Raffa asked as she went to take a closer look at a Matisse.
‘I love them. They’re so vibrant …’ And she was trembling all over. Her enthusiasm could so easily get the better of her, Casey realised, reining it in. She was alone with Raffa in his apartment; this was not the time to get carried away.
‘I’m glad you like them. Which one is your favourite?’
The group of naked people, dancing free, hand in hand around a grassy mound …
‘The townscape …’
‘Ah, the view of Collioure …’
‘Yes, that’s the one,’ she lied.
Raffa’s darkly luminous stare had followed her gaze, and now he looked openly disbelieving. She had told a silly lie that only betrayed her lack of sexual confidence. Lucky for her that wasn’t a consideration for him when it came to deciding on the best candidate for the job.
Seated on facing sofas a safe distance apart, they settled down to enjoy the food the waiters brought them. The tempting platters of savoury and sweet delicacies were delicious, as was the freshly squeezed mango juice served with ice and fizzy water.
And Raffa was delicious too. Everything about him said he was a sensualist, a man of potent sexuality who would be completely without inhibition in the bedroom. Maybe he could help her … Maybe she should find out …
Maybe she should pull herself together, Casey’s sensible self advised.
‘I’m going to suggest something to you,’ Raffa said, breaking the spell. ‘And I’ll be angry if you refuse me.’
Casey’s mouth turned dry. She found it wasn’t quite that easy to pull herself together—especially when Raffa got up from the sofa and proceeded to come round the table towards her.
‘I know how difficult you can be about money …’
With her bubble well and truly burst, she frowned. ‘I’m not difficult.’
‘Stubborn, then?’ he suggested, clearing his throat to hide his laugh.
‘Absolutely not.’ She was as stubborn as a mule, but with one eye on the job she wasn’t about to admit to it.
‘Well, if you’re so compliant and easygoing, why don’t you sit down and relax while I tell you what I’ve got in mind?’
It took her a moment to realise the most dangerous thing in Raffa’s hand was his wallet. ‘You carry money?’
‘Of course I do. What century do you think this is?’
‘And what’s that for?’ She stared suspiciously at the credit card he was holding out to her.
‘Do you have a gown for the ball, Cinderella?’
‘Cinderella?’ Casey’s eyes narrowed.
Raffa clearly enjoyed baiting her. Holding up his hands in mock surrender, he said, ‘Let me put this another way. You surely don’t think I’m such a lousy employer I expect you to pay for the ballgown you’ll be forced to wear at the auction? Think of it as a uniform,’ he said, tongue in cheek. ‘It might sit better with your conscience that way. Unless, of course …’here he paused, eyes glowing with humour ‘ … you have a little something tucked away in your backpack I don’t know about?’
‘Like a catwalk creation?’ As she looked at him her lips threatened rebellion too.
‘Just so long as you don’t turn up in jeans and flip-flops.’
‘Or a safari suit?’ she suggested.
They held each other’s gaze like old friends who were accustomed to teasing each other.
‘You can show this anywhere,’ Raffa explained, holding out his gold card, ‘and buy anything you want. It will all be charged to my account, no questions asked.’
‘Except by me.’ It was Casey’s turn to bring the conversation to a halt. ‘I’m sure I can find something—’
‘Appropriate?’ Raffa cut across her. ‘I’m sure you can too. But I want you to have something special—something that makes you feel like a queen.’
‘And I need to wear something expensive for that?’
‘What you spend is up to you. I just want you to feel good.’
Any more argument and she’d sound churlish, Casey thought, staring at the plastic Raffa was holding out to her. ‘Thank you …’ She took the card and put it safely away.
‘Don’t stint yourself. Shoes, make-up, jewellery—whatever you need, buy.’
His driver arrived,
