‘They must have cost a small fortune, Robyn.’
‘At the risk of sounding cynical, he can afford the grand gestures, Drew,’ Robyn had said sadly.
‘Maybe.’ Drew had continued to look goggle-eyed at the magnificent plumes. ‘But considering the most my ex’s have trumped up is a bunch of off-the-peg chrysanthemums or freesias, he’s got style.’
‘I like freesias.’
‘Oh, Robyn!’
Drew left at just after half-past five and Robyn continued working at her desk until six, at which point she gazed at the piles of paperwork awaiting her attention and sighed. She had interviewed three prospective employees during the week and she and Drew had decided on the last one, an extremely capable, plump, bustling redhead who was thirty-three years old and had taken a few years out to be at home whilst her two children were tiny. Now the second child had started full-time nursery Fiona had decided she wanted to get back into the world of the big kids—as she’d put it. She was a little loud, a flamboyant dresser and her sense of humour had been infectious, and Robyn and Drew had felt she’d fit in very nicely.
However, due to a trip she and her husband had arranged to France she was unable to take up employment for another three weeks, so until then the mountain of paperwork and hectic, non-stop schedule wasn’t going to get any better.
She would be working half the night again. Robyn sighed once more and had just reached for one of the files when a knock at the front door brought her to her feet.
‘Clay!’ As she opened the front door her heart jolted up into her throat and almost stopped. She hadn’t expected this; he was supposed to be back in England tomorrow.
He was wearing black jeans and a black denim shirt—more like the young, university Clay than the immaculately designer-suited present-day one—and he took her breath away.
‘Hi.’ It was easy and relaxed and he smiled slowly, the devastating smile that always had the power to send her senses into hyperdrive, the silver eyes softening and crinkling at the corners.
‘This isn’t Saturday,’ she said stupidly.
‘No, it isn’t,’ he agreed softly, stepping forward and taking her in his arms. ‘It’s Friday, the most incredible, fantastic Friday ever.’ And he kissed her, long and hard right there on the doorstep. ‘Because,’ he added as he raised his mouth from hers, ‘I’m holding you, feeling you, tasting you.’
‘Clay, you should have phoned.’ She wriggled loose.
‘Have you missed me, Robyn?’ He stepped over the threshold into the house and she stared at his broad back for a moment before she shut the front door. Typical, she thought bewilderly. Not a thought in his head that she might be doing something else tonight, seeing someone else.
And then she had to rethink that thought when he swung round and said quietly, ‘Are you free tonight, Robyn?’
She stared at him, aware that that one kiss had brought her body alive in a way that was positively lascivious, and that despite every warning she had given herself over and over and over the last few days she was madly, wildly happy to see him.
‘Too late.’ His hands went round her slim waist and he was looking down into the velvet brown of her eyes as he said, a touch drily, ‘You hesitated a mite too long, sweetheart.’
‘I’m not really free,’ she objected quickly, the knowledge that he was railroading her again strong. ‘I’ve masses of work to do, some of it urgent.’
‘Sorry, as an excuse that one is just not good enough.’
‘It’s the truth!’ she protested indignantly.
‘I don’t doubt it,’ he murmured, kissing her again until she was gasping for breath. ‘But I’m not playing second fiddle to that—’ he indicated her paper-strewn desk with a wave of his hand ‘—or anything else,’ he added softly.
Her skin was hot, she was hot, deep inside in the core of her, and she was aware Clay knew exactly how his body was affecting her. It was there in the slight tilt to his hard firm mouth and the silver glint in his eyes.
‘What did you have in mind?’ she asked distractedly, and then blushed furiously when she read the wry expression on his handsome face. ‘I mean—’
‘I know what you meant, Robyn,’ he said soothingly, and she wondered why one man—this man—had been given so much of absolutely everything that made a male a male. ‘Dinner at my place?’ he suggested evenly ‘A thank you for the meal you rustled up for me at such short notice on Sunday.’
‘Your place?’ Alarm bells were ringing furiously. ‘I don’t think so.’ Talk about walking into the lion’s den!
‘Don’t you trust me?’ he asked sadly.
She looked him full in the face. ‘Not an inch.’
He grinned, his eyes stroking over her face. Unexpectedly his hand lifted and tilted her chin. ‘Wise girl.’ He let her go in the next
moment and ridiculously she felt bereft. ‘But in this instance you’ll be quite safe, my housekeeper will be around. Added to which—’ and now the piercing eyes became deadly serious ‘—you aren’t ready for me yet.’