bed on the financial markets isn’t just for show.’
‘There is no need to sound quite so surprised. I am a journalist, you know, and we like to keep abreast of what’s going on.’
‘Ah, yes… So you are…’ He smiled. It was strange but every now and then he found himself forgetting that.
‘Anyway, I thought you were buying the Sienna confectionery company.’ She got the point in quickly.
She was very much the journalist now, he noted as he pushed his chair back from the table to stand up. ‘Come on—let’s go and have dinner. I’ve had enough of business.’
‘So…are you buying both companies?’ Even though she knew she probably shouldn’t be asking, she couldn’t leave the subject.
He just laughed. ‘You’re tenacious, aren’t you?’
‘Just interested.’ She shrugged.
‘Well, how about I tell you all about Cheri Bon tomorrow?’ he suggested nonchalantly. ‘They have their main factory in Nice. You can accompany me down there and I will fill you in on my visionary plans for a very sweet future.’
‘Really? That would be great!’ Her eyes widened with interest. ‘So I take it you’re hoping to merge the two companies?’
‘As I said, I’ve had enough of business for now. That’s tomorrow’s subject, Izzy.’ He put a hand on her arm and steered her towards the door. ‘Now, let’s see what Stella has prepared for us to eat.’
The light touch of his hand sent weird little darts ofawareness through her body, and she quickly moved away from him, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
But Marco did notice. He also noticed how she deliberately gave him as wide a berth as possible as he stood back to allow her to go ahead of him out of the door. It was as if she was terrified of accidentally brushing against him—in fact of having any bodily contact with him at all. And maybe that unleashed something of the hunting instinct in him, because as he watched her walk past he found himself deliberately wanting to step into her path, hem her in, just so that he could see the light of consternation in her eyes, the pulse beating at the creamy base of her throat.
He forced himself to do no such thing. But as he followed her out and along the corridor, he found his eyes drawn to her hips. He suspected that she had a nice figure beneath those staid clothes, and the more he was around her the more his curiosity was building.
‘We’re dining outside, Izzy,’ he told her as he opened a door into the warmth of the evening.
Isobel found herself out on the terrace. A table had been laid for two, and candlelight flickered and reflected over crystal wine goblets and silver cutlery. There was even an ice bucket that contained a chilled bottle of wine, open and ready for them. The scene looked impossibly romantic against the backdrop of the Mediterranean Sea, now tinged with the oyster-pink of the setting sun.
‘You seem to have gone to a lot of trouble,’ she murmured apprehensively.
He smiled. ‘I haven’t gone to any trouble at all, I assure you; this is all the work of my cook, Stella. She always…how is it you English say?…pushes the boat when I have company for dinner.’
‘Pushes the boat
out
,’ she corrected him absently. ‘She does know that I’m not one of your girlfriends, doesn’t she?’ she added impulsively. ‘And that this is a working dinner?’
‘No, I don’t think she does know that.’ She could see a teasing gleam in the darkness of his eyes now. ‘Stella is my chef, Izzy. I’ve never felt the need to furnish her with the personal details regarding my dinner arrangements. Apart from anything else, I don’t think she would be remotely interested. However, if you feel it’s important I will of course call her out here and bring her up to speed for you.’
‘No—no, obviously it’s not important.’ Isobel could feel herself starting to blush. Why had she said that? Why did she keep feeling the need to assert businesslike boundaries? It wasn’t as if Marco
‘There is no need to sound quite so surprised. I am a journalist, you know, and we like to keep abreast of what’s going on.’
‘Ah, yes… So you are…’ He smiled. It was strange but every now and then he found himself forgetting that.
‘Anyway, I thought you were buying the Sienna confectionery company.’ She got the point in quickly.
She was very much the journalist now, he noted as he pushed his chair back from the table to stand up. ‘Come on—let’s go and have dinner. I’ve had enough of business.’
‘So…are you buying both companies?’ Even though she knew she probably shouldn’t be asking, she couldn’t leave the subject.
He just laughed. ‘You’re tenacious, aren’t you?’
‘Just interested.’ She shrugged.
‘Well, how about I tell you all about Cheri Bon tomorrow?’ he suggested nonchalantly. ‘They have their main factory in Nice. You can accompany me down there and I will fill you in on my visionary plans for a very sweet future.’
‘Really? That would be great!’ Her eyes widened with interest. ‘So I take it you’re hoping to merge the two companies?’
‘As I said, I’ve had enough of business for now. That’s tomorrow’s subject, Izzy.’ He put a hand on her arm and steered her towards the door. ‘Now, let’s see what Stella has prepared for us to eat.’
The light touch of his hand sent weird little darts ofawareness through her body, and she quickly moved away from him, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
But Marco did notice. He also noticed how she deliberately gave him as wide a berth as possible as he stood back to allow her to go ahead of him out of the door. It was as if she was terrified of accidentally brushing against him—in fact of having any bodily contact with him at all. And maybe that unleashed something of the hunting instinct in him, because as he watched her walk past he found himself deliberately wanting to step into her path, hem her in, just so that he could see the light of consternation in her eyes, the pulse beating at the creamy base of her throat.
He forced himself to do no such thing. But as he followed her out and along the corridor, he found his eyes drawn to her hips. He suspected that she had a nice figure beneath those staid clothes, and the more he was around her the more his curiosity was building.
‘We’re dining outside, Izzy,’ he told her as he opened a door into the warmth of the evening.
Isobel found herself out on the terrace. A table had been laid for two, and candlelight flickered and reflected over crystal wine goblets and silver cutlery. There was even an ice bucket that contained a chilled bottle of wine, open and ready for them. The scene looked impossibly romantic against the backdrop of the Mediterranean Sea, now tinged with the oyster-pink of the setting sun.
‘You seem to have gone to a lot of trouble,’ she murmured apprehensively.
He smiled. ‘I haven’t gone to any trouble at all, I assure you; this is all the work of my cook, Stella. She always…how is it you English say?…pushes the boat when I have company for dinner.’
‘Pushes the boat
out
,’ she corrected him absently. ‘She does know that I’m not one of your girlfriends, doesn’t she?’ she added impulsively. ‘And that this is a working dinner?’
‘No, I don’t think she does know that.’ She could see a teasing gleam in the darkness of his eyes now. ‘Stella is my chef, Izzy. I’ve never felt the need to furnish her with the personal details regarding my dinner arrangements. Apart from anything else, I don’t think she would be remotely interested. However, if you feel it’s important I will of course call her out here and bring her up to speed for you.’
‘No—no, obviously it’s not important.’ Isobel could feel herself starting to blush. Why had she said that? Why did she keep feeling the need to assert businesslike boundaries? It wasn’t as if Marco
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