confidential files. ‘I meant to give them to Susan earlier.’ But she was so busy making googoo eyes at you I never got the chance.
He pocketed them without comment.
She had slipped the case holding the watch into her handbag, and as they walked towards the lift she said quietly, ‘Thank you for thinking of the watch, Harry. It’s really beautiful.’
‘My pleasure.’ Once inside the carpet-lined box, he added, ‘Dad really meant what he said, you know, and the watch is from both of us. You were great when he had his heart attack, holding the fort here, and then putting in endless hours once I was having to pick up all the threads. I couldn’t have done it without you, Gina.’
This was torture. Exquisite torture, perhaps, but torture nonetheless. ‘Anyone would have done the same.’
‘No, they wouldn’t.’ His voice deepened, taking on the smoky quality that was dynamite as he murmured, ‘I just wanted to say thank you.’
The lift easily carried twelve people, but suddenly it was much too small. She caught the faintest whiff of his aftershave and breathed it in greedily. Drawing on all her considerable willpower, she said evenly, ‘There’s no need, I was just doing my job, but it’s nice to know I’m appreciated.’ She forced a smile as the lift doors opened, stepping into the small reception with a silent sigh of relief. Too cosy. Too intimate. And the car was going to be as bad.
It was worse. Every single nerve in her body registered the impact as, after settling her in the passenger seat and shutting the door, Harry joined her in the car. The interior was all black leather with a state-of-the-art dashboard, but it was the close confines of the car that had Gina swallowing hard. Her voice something of a squeak, she said, ‘This is a lovely car.’ Understatement of the year. ‘Toys for boys?’ she added, attempting a wry smile.
He turned his head, smiling. He was so close she could see every little, black hair of his five o’clock stubble in spite of the gathering twilight. ‘I had one of these in the States, and I guess I got used to fast cars.’
And fast women, no doubt. Not that any of his girlfriends lasted for more than five minutes. Gina nodded. ‘It must have been a wrench to leave America.’
‘Yes, it was.’ He started the engine before turning to her again. ‘How about dinner?’
‘What?’ She stared at him, utterly taken aback.
‘Dinner?’ he repeated patiently. ‘Unless you’ve other plans? I thought it might be a nice way to round off your time at Breedon & Son. A small thank-you.’
‘You’ve already thanked me with the watch,’ she said, flustered beyond measure, and hoping he wouldn’t notice.
‘That was a combined thank-you. This is just me.’
Whatever he was, he wasn’t ‘just’ anything. And it would be crazy to say yes. The whole evening would be spent trying to hide her feelings and play at being friendly, when just looking at him made her weak at the knees. But she would never have the chance of another evening of his company, that was for sure. Two more days of tying up all the loose ends, and she was off to London for good. Could she cope with the agony of being with him? It would mess her head up for days.
‘My other plans were clearing out cupboards and beginning to spring-clean the flat,’ she admitted weakly. ‘It can wait.’
‘Good. Dinner it is, then. There’s a great little Italian place not far from where I live. Do you like Italian food?’
She didn’t think she would taste a thing tonight anyway. ‘I love it.’
‘I’ll make sure they’ve got a table.’ He extracted his mobile phone, punching in a number before saying, ‘Roberto?’ and then speaking in rapid Italian. She hadn’t known he could speak the language, but it didn’t particularly surprise her. That was Harry all over. ‘That’s settled.’ He smiled at her. ‘Eight o’clock. OK with you if we call at my place first? I’d like to put on a fresh shirt before we go.’
His place. She’d see where he lived. She’d be able to picture him there in the weeks and months to follow. Not a good idea, probably, but irresistibly tempting. ‘Fine,’ she nodded, drawing on the cool aplomb she’d developed over the last twelve months, as the powerful car leapt into life and left the car park far too fast.
She glanced at Harry’s hands on the steering wheel. Large, capable, masculine hands. What would it feel like to have them move over every inch of her body, explore her intimate places, along with his mouth and tongue? To savour and taste…
‘…parents now and again.’
‘Sorry?’ Too late she realised he’d spoken, but she had been deep in a shockingly erotic fantasy. Blushing scarlet—an unfortunate attribute which went with the hair and her pale, freckled skin—she lied, ‘I was thinking how nice everyone’s been today.’
‘Of course they’ve been nice. You’re very popular.’
She didn’t want to be popular. She wanted to be a slender, elegant siren with long blonde hair and come-to-bed eyes, the sort of woman who might capture his heart, given half a chance.
‘I was just saying we must keep in touch, and perhaps meet up for lunch now and again when you visit your parents,’ he continued easily. ‘I count you as a friend, Gina. I hope you know that.’
Great. ‘As I do you.’ She smiled brightly. Once she was in London, he’d forget she’d ever existed within days. Probably by the time he got up tomorrow morning, in fact. Harry wasn’t the sort of man who had women friends. Just women.
The cool spring twilight had almost completely given way to the shadows of night by the time Harry turned the car off the country lane they had been following for some time, and through open wrought-iron gates on to a scrunchy pebble drive. Gina was surprised how far they’d travelled; she hadn’t realised his home was so far away from Breedon & Son. She had supposed he’d settled somewhere near his parents’ home.
The drive wound briefly between mature evergreens and bushes, which effectively hid all sight of the building from the road, and then suddenly became bordered by a wide expanse of green lawn with the house in front of them. Gina hadn’t known what to expect. Probably a no-nonsense modern place or elegant turn-of-the-century manor-type house. In the event the picturesque thatched cottage in front of her was neither of these.
‘This is your home?’
She had asked the obvious, but he didn’t appear to notice. ‘Like it?’ he asked casually as the car drew up on the horseshoe-shaped area in front of the cottage.
Did she like it? How could anyone fail to? The two-storey cottage’s white walls and traditional mullioned windows were topped by a high thatched roof out of which peeped gothick dormers. The roof overhung to form an encircling veranda, supported on ancient, gnarled tree-trunks on which a table and chairs sat ready for summer evenings. There was even evidence of roses round the door on the trellis bordering the quaint arched door, and red and green ivy covered the walls of the veranda. It was so quintessentially the perfect English country-cottage that Gina was speechless. It was the last place, the very last place, she would have expected Harry to buy, and definitely no bachelor pad.
Whether he guessed what she was thinking or her face had given her away Gina wasn’t sure,
