was impossible not to be impressed. And it wasn’t just the way he spoke. The way he held himself and the way he looked had as much to do with it. He’d discarded his jacket and the fine white shirt only emphasised his olive skin and dark features.
He looked great in white. Even though his business shirt contrasted in a major way with the Roman armour he’d worn to the ball, both styles suited the man that he was.
She swallowed. He’d looked great in that outfit.
Then again, he’d looked great out of it. The way he’d discarded the armour, then the tunic, pulling it over his head and flinging it on the floor, the way his chest had expanded as her eyes had drunk him in, the way he’d stood next to her, waiting, anticipating…
Oh Lord, was she never going to get those pictures out of her head?
‘Ms Summers?’
She came back to the meeting with a jolt to meet Damien’s quizzical gaze. ‘Is everything all right?’
She looked around in panic but the others all seemed busy helping themselves to the pots of filtered coffee and jugs of orange juice that had suddenly materialised from nowhere.
‘You would like to handle the marketing perspective next up, I take it?’
‘Oh yes, of course,’ she said, her cheeks scorched and with confidence battling for dominance over visions of one gloriously near naked man. ‘I was simply mentally preparing myself for the task. Excuse me, I think I’ll get myself a juice.’
Her presentation sailed along, her earlier embarrassment soon forgotten as she got underway. She used the same basic format that she’d shown Damien at their meeting just a few weeks ago, expanding it to include additional detail for people less familiar with the company and the product. It seemed to go well and afterwards she fielded questions from the group before they all broke for a late lunch.
Damien sidled up alongside her as they were heading for the cars that would take them to the restaurant.
‘Well done,’ he said, bending down to whisper softly into her ear, his hand at her back. ‘Excellent job.’ He moved on, the curl of his breath against her skin rippling through her and tripping her heart-rate.
It took a deep breath to know how to respond as she battled to sort out the emotions vying for supremacy inside her. The employee side of her ego couldn’t help but swell with pride that he considered she’d done her job well and his faith in her had been vindicated.
Yet another side of her that was already battered felt as if he had pressed hard on her most sensitive bruises. If only he had as much faith in her as a woman—if only he hadn’t been so quick to write her off. Maybe there could have been a chance for something more to develop.
But what chance was there of that? They hadn’t even shared a one-night stand. It had been more of a one shot wonder.
But by the time she’d realised that she should just smile and thank him he’d already turned away, thoroughly absorbed in a discussion of the finer points of European motor vehicle engineering.
She sighed. She’d missed her chance. Or she’d read much too much into his comments in the first place. Whatever, she really needed to relax more.
The afternoon didn’t afford that. It was spent in more discussions and a tour of Palmcorp’s offices before meetings with the finance and legal specialists that ran late. Again Damien steered the proceedings with skill and startling business acumen but did it in such a way that she could see the Palmcorp directors actually believing they were driving the process.
Businesswise, it was all proceeding very well. But with their early start it was a full-on day and all Philly wanted to do by the end was to go to her hotel room and enjoy a long hot soak. There was no time for that though, with a business dinner already arranged. At a pinch there’d be just enough time to shower and change.
Her room back at the hotel was spacious and elegant, luxury all the way, decorated in cool pastels with a wall of windows leading to a balcony, showcasing the brilliant blue of the ocean and the white sandy beach that stretched for miles to the north and south. A pity there was no time to enjoy it.
She had half an hour before she was to meet Damien in the lobby but she rang home before anything else. The nurse answered on the second ring, passing the phone over without hesitation. Her mother came on, her voice weak but with a bright note she hadn’t heard for some time.
‘How’s it all going?’ Philly asked her mother.
‘I’ve been playing mah-jongg with Marjorie,’ she said, ‘and what’s more I’ve been winning, so don’t you worry about a thing. We’re having a lovely time.’
She said goodbye and hung up on a smile, satisfied that she could at least relax on the domestic front. Tomorrow she’d be home and then, with any luck, she’d be able to relax on the Damien front too.
She’d done it again. Just like when she’d turned up in the airport lounge that morning, her appearance knocked him for a six. The dress she wore looked more like a coffee-coloured sheath, so hugging in the bodice that the tiny diamanté shoestring straps must be there purely for adornment, the floaty skirt constructed in separate panels wafting around her legs as she walked so that with every step the panels shifted slightly, revealing an ever changing and tantalising glimpse of flesh.
She’d put up her hair in a clasp but he could see the odd tendril floating free, bouncing as she moved towards him, and she’d done something with her face. Make-up? Whatever it was, her eyes looked bigger, her smile looked wider and her lips…
Red and lush, her lips looked like an invitation.
He swallowed. What had happened to his little brown mouse? Not that he didn’t approve—she’d obviously made the most of the allowance he’d supplied for just that purpose—it was just that he hadn’t been expecting such an amazing transformation.
Such an alluring transformation.
Dinner was fun. Stuart and Shayne Murchison, the directors of Palmcorp, were a dynamic pair in their late twenties, as attractive as they were successful. Both shared the same tanned good looks, with blue eyes and hair bleached by too much sun and surf from the regular iron-man competitions they took part in, competing as much against each other as the clock.
They were also very good hosts, treating their guests to a fabulous seafood dinner on a restaurant terrace overlooking the beach, entertaining them with anecdotes from their long history of competitions and all the while arguing incessantly as to who was the fastest swimmer or could catch the best waves.
‘So why aren’t either of you married?’ she asked, partly for fun, partly curious that neither of the men had been snapped up.
‘Ah, that’s easy,’ said Stuart.
‘No one’s ever been able to swim fast enough to catch us,’ finished Shayne, and the brothers laughed as if it was an all too well practised line.
‘But,’ Stuart offered, his eyes glinting wickedly at Philly’s, ‘that doesn’t mean we’re not still looking.’
As she laughed her way with them Philly felt the tension of the last few days slipping away. She hadn’t enjoyed herself so much for ages.
