SITTING AT THE head of the conference table, around which twenty people were all looking to him, Art could feel nothing but a certain amount of apathy even though a deal that would harvest several million was on the verge of completion.
With some surprise, he realised that he had doodled Rose’s company logo onto his legal pad, a detail he wasn’t even aware he had stored in his memory bank.
He’d last seen her three weeks ago and the memory of that final encounter was one that he rehashed on a daily basis.
It was getting on his nerves.
His concentration levels were down. His focus was erratic. He’d made two dates with women. The first he’d managed to stick out for an hour or so before admitting defeat and making up an excuse to leave early. The second he’d simply bailed on before subjecting himself to the possibility of another evening of torturous banalities.
He dreamed of Rose.
Not only did the memory of her haunt his waking hours, but it didn’t have the decency to allow him to get a good night’s sleep when he fell into bed in the early hours of the morning.
Art had come around to thinking that she had taken up residence in his head because things had not ended properly between them.
He’d left still wanting her and, like an itch that needed to be scratched, that want kept clamouring for satisfaction.
It didn’t help that he’d also left knowing that she still wanted him.
It was frustrating because he had never had any area of his life over which he was unable to exercise complete control. In this instance it had gradually dawned on him that he would never get her out of his system unless he took her to bed once again.
Pride dictated that he drop all seditious thoughts along those lines. Common sense warned him away. The litany of complications if they ended up in bed again was too long to catalogue and it beggared belief that she would actually want to sleep with him anyway. Yes, she fancied him. She’d admitted that much. But her amazing eyes had been full of scorn even as the admission had been leaving her lips.
When Art thought about that, he felt a spurt of raw frustration that left him confused and at odds with himself. He wondered whether this was what it felt like to be dumped, a situation he had never personally had to endure.
He went through the motions for the remainder of the morning. The deal was signed. His company’s bank account was inflated to even more impossible proportions.
None of that touched him. What did affect him was when, two and a half hours later, he dialled Rose’s number and sat back in his office chair, waiting to see whether she would ignore his call or pick up. His name would flash on her screen, warning her of his identity. Whatever she did now would dictate the way he responded. He would leave it to fate.
For the first time in weeks, Art felt comfortable. He was doing something. Circumstances hadn’t simply conspired to yank the rug from under his feet and leave him feeling at odds with himself, restless and unable to concentrate.
The slate had been wiped clean. There were no more half-truths between them. He would see her. He would feel out the situation and then, who knew...?
Life was an unfolding mystery.
He heard her voice and automatically straightened, all senses on full alert, every primitive instinct honing in to what he wanted to do, where he wanted to go with this...
‘Been a while,’ he drawled, relaxing back in his chair and swivelling it so that he could stretch his legs out.
* * *
Rose had debated whether or not to take the call. His name had flashed up on the screen and her insides had immediately turned to mush even though, over the past long three weeks, she had played and replayed in her mind how she would react if he got in touch.
‘What can I do for you?’ she asked coolly.
‘Surprised to hear from me?’
‘Are you phoning about anything in particular, Art? Because I’m quite busy at the moment.’
‘I’m almost there, finalising the details of my investment in your community.’
‘I wouldn’t know. I’ve handed that over to a property lawyer in Oxford, who is a close friend of mine. I’m sure he would be happy to supply details of the ongoing process but I’ve told him that there’s no need to fill me in until everything’s sorted.’ Images of Art jumped into her head, sickly reminding her of the powerful and dramatic effect he had on her body. Even the sound of his voice was enough to make her breasts tingle and her breath shorten.
‘I rather think,’ Art drawled, ‘that I would like you to be personally involved in the closure of all of this.’
‘Me? What? Why?’
‘You started it, in a manner of speaking. It’s only fair that you should finish it. Aside from which, if I’m to sink a vast sum of money into the community, it would benefit from someone knowing the place first-hand, knowing where best to divide the cash and how to put it to the best possible use. I may be generous, but I’m not a pushover. I have no intention of seeing my money ineptly spent on whatever takes some councillor’s fancy. So handing over the file to someone else to tie up all the loose ends isn’t doing it for me.’
‘I haven’t got time.’
What would it involve? She surely wouldn’t have to meet him again! She couldn’t face it. It was bad enough hearing the deep, dark, sexy timbre of his voice down the end of a phone line. She couldn’t get her head around the possibility of actually ever seeing him in the flesh. He’d deceived her and he’d slept with her, knowing all the time that whilst she had been opening up to him, which was a big deal for her, she’d been opening up to a stranger.
‘Well, then, you’ll have to make time.’ Art sliced through that objection swiftly and conclusively. ‘You’ve turned caring for the community into an art form, Rose. It’s not asking too much for you to step up to the plate and finish the job. When can you get to London so that we can discuss this?’
‘We?’ Rose queried faintly, as her stomach fell away and her mouth dried.
‘Why, me and you, of course,’ Art said in a tone of incredulity that she should even have thought to ask such an obvious question. ‘I can’t very well ask you to finish the job when I don’t do likewise, can I? My people have handled all the formalities. We can agree the sign-off. And I think it would be beneficial for you to have a look at the details of the houses I intend to build on the land.’
‘But I don’t see why.’ Rose cleared her throat, anxiously wondering what would happen if she flat-out refused. Would he renege on the deal? No! She knew he wasn’t that sort but the possibility still niggled. It would be a disaster because he now had the complete, enthusiastic backing of everyone in the community and if it all collapsed because of her then she would be mortified.
‘I don’t see the point of another lengthy explanation. Now, when can you get down here? I wouldn’t suggest commuting—I think you should plan on having a couple of days in London. There are legalities we can iron out between us and I will need to see some plans for the distribution of my money. In fact, it wouldn’t be remiss of me to suggest a week. I can arrange for a makeshift office to be set up at my headquarters in the city if you need to spend some time communicating with clients. Or you could always take a bit of holiday. Enjoy the sights. It’s quite different to the countryside.’
‘Get down there? London? And yes, Art, I do realise that the big city is a little different to a field of cows and a village with a post office, a corner shop and a pub in case anyone wants a nightlife.’
‘Not my thoughts and certainly not my words. I have my diary to hand. I could block out some time from the day after tomorrow. It won’t be easy but the sooner this business is wrapped up the better, and construction can start on the land. And I won’t remind you that any delay to the work beginning is a mere formality and a courtesy to you.’
Rose detected the crispness in his voice and pictured him glancing at his watch, raring to get on with more important business. He was doing what he felt was the right thing, involving her in the final process, and what he said made sense. She had supported the protesters and it was only fair to them and to the community that she take an active part in deciding how the money should be distributed to best benefit everyone.
She was overreacting because of the tumult of emotions that still coursed through her at the thought of him. It wasn’t like that for Art. He had taken a bit of time out with her but he was back where he belonged and she would be no more than a fast-fading memory for him. If she did what she wanted to do, namely launch into a thousand reasons why she had no intention of having anything further to do with a man who had deceived her, he wouldn’t understand. He had given her his reasons for having done what he had, he had come clean and frankly, as far as he was concerned, had elevated himself to the position of self-proclaimed saint because he could have just walked away, leaving her none the wiser. What was the big deal now? All water under the bridge.
Playing it as cool as he was, she thought, was the only way to deal with the situation and maybe, just maybe, seeing him again and in a different environment would kill off the effect he continued to have on her, against all reason.
He would be in his natural habitat. He would be surrounded by all those trappings of wealth that she had never had time for in the past. Plus, speed would be of the essence for him. He wanted the whole business sorted fast. A couple of days in his company might be just the thing for clearing her head because ever since he’d disappeared she’d done nothing but think of him and the longing, the anger, the disenchantment and the regret were wreaking havoc with her sleep and distracting her from her work.
Bucked up by this process of reasoning, Rose felt a little calmer when she answered.
‘If you hold for a minute, I’ll check my schedule...’
* * *
Art held. For a minute, two minutes...when he looked at his watch with some impatience it was to find that she had kept him hanging on for five minutes. Inconceivable. He gritted his teeth and wondered what he would do if she turned him down flat, as she had every right to do. He could waffle on about the importance of both of them jointly putting the finishing touches to the deal that had been brokered to ease acceptance of the construction of his development, but any close inspection would reveal more holes in that argument than a colander.
‘Well?’ he pressed.
‘Okay.’
‘Okay?’ Art straightened, a slashing smile of intense satisfaction softening his lean face. ‘Good. Tell me when, exactly, you will be arriving and I will make sure that suitable accommodation is sorted for you.’
‘I can sort my own accommodation,’ Rose asserted hurriedly.
‘You’re not paying for a hotel.’
‘No way am I...’
‘I believe this is a favour it is within my remit to return,’ Art said flatly, cutting her off in mid-protest, ‘and, just in case you’re thinking of a speech about accepting favours from me, let me assure you that no money will leave my hands.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I own the hotel.’
‘Of course you do,’ Rose snapped. ‘I wonder why I’m not surprised at that. I did look you up online but the list of things you owned was so long that I fell asleep before I could get to the end. I didn’t get to the hotel.’
‘Chain.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Hotel chain. A little sideline I invested in some years ago that has ended up exceeding all expectations.’
‘Good for you. I shudder to think what must have gone through your head when you were confronted with a paintbrush, a can of paint and four walls with peeling plaster.’
Art burst out laughing. ‘It was an unforeseen challenge. Now, back to business. Do you require somewhere to work? And, before you say no, I’ll tell you again that it would be no trouble for me to have someone arrange an office for you.’
‘It would be helpful,’ Rose said through her no doubt gritted teeth. ‘With a bit of juggling, I shall try to arrange a couple of client visits while I’m in London. It would work if I could have somewhere to go with them. And, of course, at some point I’ll have to see Anton.’
‘Anton?’ Art’s ears pricked up and he frowned.
‘Anton Davies. He’s the lawyer who has been handling the formalities in Oxford. If there’s going to be a transition of duties then we’ll have to get together to discuss that and to work out his fee accordingly. Although...he’s not the sort to quibble.’
Art heard the smile in her voice, the softening of her tone, and his hackles rose accordingly.
But, he thought, if she was working under his roof, so to speak, then he could easily find his way to whatever space had been allocated to her and meet the guy.
It was a taste of jealousy rarely experienced and he moved on from that to conclude the conversation.
Less than five minutes later, everything had been sorted. It took one phone call to his PA for the hotel room to be arranged and a work space sorted.
She was going to experience the joy of five-star luxury and the seclusion of an office in one of the most prestigious buildings in the city.
He sat back and luxuriated in a feeling of pure satisfaction that was very far from the cool, forbidding and controlled exterior he showed the world.
* * *
Rose had no idea really what to expect of her time in London. She had been all cool logic and common sense ever since she had agreed to Art’s proposal but now, standing in front of the daunting glass tower where his headquarters was housed, her heart plummeted faster than a boulder dropped from a great height.
At her side was her pull-along case, neatly packed with essentials. Work clothes. Prim, proper work clothes which were nothing like the relaxed, informal stuff she was accustomed to wearing in her own house. The image she wanted to project was one of inaccessible businesslike efficiency. There was no way she wanted him to think for a passing minute that she was the same woman who had hopped into bed with him, breathless and girly and excited.
To that end, she had actually bought two reasonably priced grey skirts and a jacket, two white blouses and a pair of black pumps. The perfect wardrobe for a woman who was in London for business.
She was wearing a sensible white bra which matched her sensible white knickers and bolstered her self-confidence as she continued to gaze at the aggressively thrusting glass facade with a racing heart.
She had asked for a schedule and a schedule she had duly received. Arrival at ten. She would then be shown to her temporary working quarters and then taken to the hotel, where she would deposit her belongings. At that point she could choose to return to the office to work if she liked. In all events, she wouldn’t be seeing Art until early evening in his office, where they would briefly discuss some of the details of the projects that lay ahead for the village.
She had liaised with his personal assistant by email for all of this and, reading between the lines, she had got the message that Arturo da Costa, billionaire and legend in the world of business and finance, was a man who had precious little time to spare so what she was getting would be his leftover free time, a few snatched moments here and there when he happened not to be closing an important deal or entertaining important big shots.
Rose had held her tongue and refrained from pointing out the obvious. Why on earth was he bothering to see her at all if he was that busy? But then she remembered that he was the guy who had gone the extra mile to appease the natives and this was just a duty-bound finishing touch to his benevolence.
Anyway, she thought now, taking a deep breath and propelling herself into the glass tower, it was great that he was only going to be around now and again.
That way, she would see enough of him to kill all the foolish, nostalgic, whimsical memories that seemed to have dogged her, against all her better judgement. She would have a world class view of the real man and he wasn’t going to be the easy-going, sexy, laid-back guy who had painted a room in her house and stood by her side in the kitchen pretending that he knew what to do when it came to food preparation, joking and teasing and turning her on just by being him.
A little disorientated, she found herself in a vast marble-floored foyer, manned by an army of receptionists who would not have looked out of place in Vogue magazine and, just in case anyone might think that there was an unfair proportion of female models in front of those silver terminals and where the heck was feminism when you wanted it, then they’d have to think again because there was a fair sprinkling of men alongside them who also looked as though they’d have been quite at home on a catwalk. People were coming and going. There was an air of purpose about the place. This was what the business of vast money-making looked like. It was as far removed from her own workplace as an igloo was from a hut on a tropical beach.
She had no idea who would be meeting her but she was expecting the helpful PA.
She was certainly not expecting Art and, indeed, was unaware of him until she heard his voice behind her, deep and dark and sexy.
‘You’re here.’
Rose spun around. She’d gone from ice cold to scorching hot in the space of two seconds. Dazed, she focused on him and the heat pouring through her body almost made her pass out.
* * *
‘I wasn’t sure whether you were going to come or not,’ Art remarked, already turned on even though the deliberately uninspiring office outfit should have been enough to snuff out any stirrings of ardour.
It was her face. It had haunted him and one look at her revived every single image that had been floating around in his head and every single lustful thought that had accompanied those images.
He was pleased that he had been proactive. He could have sat around thinking of her. Sooner or later the memories would have vanished into the ether but he wasn’t a man to rely on a sooner or later scenario.
The interruption to the smooth flow of his work life had been intolerable and the solution he had engineered had been worth the trouble.
Art hadn’t known how he was going to play his cards when she arrived. He’d acted on impulse in engineering the situation in the first place, had ceded to the demands of his body.
Now, for the first time in his life, he was taking a chance and venturing into unknown territory. At an age when he should have been having fun, Art had had to grow up fast to deal with his father’s unpredictable behaviour and the emotional and financial fallout each relationship had left in its wake. Before he had had a chance to plot his own life, he had already concluded that the only safe course was to hold tight to his emotions and to his money. Lose control and he could end up like his father. Adrift and ripped off.
This was the biggest chance he had ever taken. At least he wasn’t going to be ripped off and she would be gone just as soon as he got this thing out of his system.
He still wanted her. He accepted that as his body surged into hot arousal. Didn’t make sense but there you had it. What they had required a natural conclusion and looking at her now, seeing the way her cheeks reddened and noting the slight tremble in her hands, Art knew that she felt the same.
Even if she didn’t know it. Yet.
* * *
He dealt her a slow smile of utter charm and Rose’s mouth tightened.
‘Well, here I am,’ she replied neutrally. She wondered whether that remark of his had hinted at a suspicion that she might have tried to avoid meeting him because of the effect he still had on her. Had he thought that she had hesitated because she’d been scared of seeing him again? Or was that just being fanciful?
The way he was looking at her...
She dropped her eyes and resisted the temptation to fidget. ‘I was under the impression that your secretary would be meeting me.’
‘Change of plan.’
‘Why?’ She looked at him and it took a lot of willpower not to instantly look away because gazing into those fathomless dark eyes was the equivalent of having a shock delivered to her nervous system.
‘Call it respect for the fact that what we had was bigger than the sum total of what I’m going to contribute to your community.’
Rose felt the sting of colour creep into her cheeks. She didn’t want the past recalled. She wanted the brief time they’d shared neatly boxed up and shoved somewhere out of sight.
‘There was no need,’ she said tightly. ‘I’m not here to have a stroll down memory lane, Art. It’s not appropriate. I’m here to sort whatever details need sorting and then I’m heading back home. The quicker we can deal with what we need to decide the better.’
‘In which case,’ Art said briskly, ‘let’s start with your work space...’
* * *
It was the same size as the room which she shared with Phil and their assistant and all the various people who came and went at will. Compared with the clutter of the office in her house, the clean white modernist vision she had been allocated made her jaw drop.
She thought of the warm chaos of her own house and the familiar sounds of occupied rooms and felt a pang of longing so great that it took her breath away.
Life pre-Art had been simple. Making ends meet as she’d buried herself in her worthwhile causes had been a walk in the park because, when it came to stress, there was nothing more stressful than dealing with emotions. She had managed to avoid that for her entire life because no one had ever penetrated the protective wall she had built around herself.
‘What is it?’
‘Nothing,’ Rose muttered, looking down at her feet.
‘Don’t you like the office space?’
He’d moved directly in front of her and Rose only managed to stand her ground through sheer willpower and a driving urge not to feel intimidated.
‘It’s very...nice.’
‘Very nice?’ Art looked away briefly, then returned his dark searching gaze to her face.
‘It’s not what I’m used to.’ Rose cleared her throat and gathered herself. ‘It really makes me see the gaping chasm between us.’
Art flushed darkly. ‘We’ve been over this. Let me take you to the hotel. You can drop your bag and then we’ll go for lunch.’
‘Art, there’s no need to put yourself out for me. I don’t expect you to take me to lunch or anywhere else, for that matter. Your PA gave me the impression that I wouldn’t actually be seeing a great deal of you.’
‘Like I said, plans change. You’ll be thrilled to hear that I’ve cleared my diary for you.’
Rose looked at him wryly, eyebrows raised. ‘Do I look thrilled?’
‘I’ve missed your sense of humour. Some men might be turned off because you’re not simpering, but not me.’ Art held her gaze and raked his fingers through his dark hair, his lean body taut and tense.
Rose stilled. Her whole body froze and for a few seconds she wondered whether she had heard correctly. His fabulous eyes were giving nothing away but there was something there that made her mouth go dry.
‘You missed me?’
Her body came to life. Her nipples pinched and a spreading dampness between her legs was a painful reminder of the dramatic effect he still had on her.
She’d hoped that seeing him in his gilded surroundings would kill off what remnants of idiotic sexual attraction lingered inside her, but looking at him now...
She was no expert but that suit looked handmade, to match the shoes which also looked handmade. His smooth, ridiculously sophisticated attire would probably have cost the equivalent of what most normal earthlings earned in a year. It should have got up her nose, been a massive turn-off, and yet she had a sudden urge to swoon.
‘Well, I have not missed you,’ she croaked and he looked at her steadily, eyes pinned to her flustered face. ‘And I don’t appreciate you...bringing this up. What happened between us...happened and I’m not here to rake up the past. As I’ve already told you.’
‘I know. I’m crashing through all those barriers and voicing what you don’t want to hear.’
‘Shall I be honest with you?’ He dropped the loaded question into the lengthening silence and waited.
‘No,’ she whispered.
‘I still want you, Rose. Just standing here is doing all sorts of things to my body, turning it on in ways you couldn’t begin to imagine. You’re in my system and, I won’t lie, you’re screwing up my working life because I can’t get you out of my head.’
‘Art, don’t...’ Rose heard the weak tremble in her voice with horror. She glanced at him and her breath hitched in her throat.
‘I still want you in my bed,’ he continued roughly. ‘It’s the only way I can think of to get you out of my system. I won’t lay a finger on you but...every time you look at me, you should know that I’m thinking about touching you.’ He stared away.
‘I should never have come here!’
‘But you’re here now. Do you want to leave?’ His smouldering dark eyes fastened on her, pinning her to the spot.
Rose hesitated. As he said, she was here now and she would sort out all the fine detail he had summoned her to London to sort out. She had promised all those loyal protestors that she would return with plans in place for them to start thinking long-term about improvements to the community. She wasn’t going to let them down.
‘I’ll do what I came here to do,’ she replied, breathing in deep and not looking away. ‘I told everyone I would have details for them to pick over and I have no intention of going back empty-handed. What you think when you look at me is your business.’