the noise level inside the helicopter, Emmie dug a pen out of her bag and wrote on the back of her hand and then extended it to him so that he could see what she had written.
When it came to women, Bastian considered himself to be incapable of surprise at anything a woman did, but when Emmie printed ‘I’m sorry’ on the back of her hand and thrust her apology at him, he was strongly disconcerted by her approach. He blinked, looked again and then suddenly he wanted to laugh, but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings when he genuinely admired the wholehearted honesty of her admission that she had been challenging company. In answer he caught her hand in his and kissed her fingertips in forgiveness.
Equally startled, Emmie tugged her hand back, fingers tingling from that brief salutation. He had style and he really didn’t sulk, she conceded guiltily. But it was partly his fault that she had been behaving badly. Good grief, that kiss had knocked her sideways and she hadn’t been able to cope with that! She had believed that she had made a total fool of herself when she responded to him. She stole a sidewise glance at his bold bronzed profile. But she was undoubtedly dealing with a guy who always got a response out of a woman. He was downright beautiful and she could have kissed him for an hour without getting bored, stunned by the bonfire of reaction one kiss could light in her body. Even so, what she was experiencing was only sexual attraction and perhaps she had never felt it so strongly before, she reasoned, wishing she didn’t want him to do it again, wishing she were back safe in his office where such temptation had been unknown and he had been a distant figure whom someone as insignificant as her rarely saw, never mind got close to.
‘You were right about the manners,’ Bastian admitted wryly as he helped her out of the helicopter again, his bodyguard bringing up the rear. ‘I have no excuse. I spent years at an exclusive English public school where I learned every courtesy. Then I went to visit my mother in Italy one summer when I was fourteen and...er, lost the habit—’
Surprised by that far from arrogant and generous concession, Emmie turned to look at him. ‘Why? What happened?’
‘My mother said that every time I opened a door for her it made her feel like an old lady and that all the thank-yous I used made me sound like a waiter.’
‘I know some women do believe that a man being courteous to a woman these days is sexist,’ Emmie allowed, resisting a strong urge to criticise his parent. ‘But I don’t think that way.’
‘Obviously not.’ Dark eyes dancing with raw amusement, Bastian shot her a glance, making her maddeningly conscious of his thick dark eyelashes. ‘I was trying so hard to impress my mother, and make her proud of me because I didn’t see her very often, but evidently I overdid it.’
Or his mother was an unfeeling shrew, Emmie reflected in pained silence, in much the same way as Emmie had been to judge Bastian on appearances and assume that his wealth and status explained his seeming lack of manners.
‘I suppose I was sort of prejudiced about you,’ Emmie admitted ruefully.
‘Ditto,’ Bastian added.
‘I’ll try very hard not to hold your money against you,’ Emmie muttered.
Bastian almost laughed out loud, for it was the very first time it had been suggested to him that his fortune could act as a source of prejudice. ‘And I will try equally hard not to cherish misconceptions about your...er, profession outside the office.’
Emmie winced. ‘Don’t use that word, “profession”,’ she advised. ‘It’s misleading when you think of that reference to “the oldest profession of all”.’
‘You’re right. That wasn’t tactful.’
Feeling almost in charity with him, Emmie was taken aback when he reached down and closed his hand round hers and her bright blue eyes dropped to their linked fingers in silent question.
‘We’re in view of the house. We
When it came to women, Bastian considered himself to be incapable of surprise at anything a woman did, but when Emmie printed ‘I’m sorry’ on the back of her hand and thrust her apology at him, he was strongly disconcerted by her approach. He blinked, looked again and then suddenly he wanted to laugh, but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings when he genuinely admired the wholehearted honesty of her admission that she had been challenging company. In answer he caught her hand in his and kissed her fingertips in forgiveness.
Equally startled, Emmie tugged her hand back, fingers tingling from that brief salutation. He had style and he really didn’t sulk, she conceded guiltily. But it was partly his fault that she had been behaving badly. Good grief, that kiss had knocked her sideways and she hadn’t been able to cope with that! She had believed that she had made a total fool of herself when she responded to him. She stole a sidewise glance at his bold bronzed profile. But she was undoubtedly dealing with a guy who always got a response out of a woman. He was downright beautiful and she could have kissed him for an hour without getting bored, stunned by the bonfire of reaction one kiss could light in her body. Even so, what she was experiencing was only sexual attraction and perhaps she had never felt it so strongly before, she reasoned, wishing she didn’t want him to do it again, wishing she were back safe in his office where such temptation had been unknown and he had been a distant figure whom someone as insignificant as her rarely saw, never mind got close to.
‘You were right about the manners,’ Bastian admitted wryly as he helped her out of the helicopter again, his bodyguard bringing up the rear. ‘I have no excuse. I spent years at an exclusive English public school where I learned every courtesy. Then I went to visit my mother in Italy one summer when I was fourteen and...er, lost the habit—’
Surprised by that far from arrogant and generous concession, Emmie turned to look at him. ‘Why? What happened?’
‘My mother said that every time I opened a door for her it made her feel like an old lady and that all the thank-yous I used made me sound like a waiter.’
‘I know some women do believe that a man being courteous to a woman these days is sexist,’ Emmie allowed, resisting a strong urge to criticise his parent. ‘But I don’t think that way.’
‘Obviously not.’ Dark eyes dancing with raw amusement, Bastian shot her a glance, making her maddeningly conscious of his thick dark eyelashes. ‘I was trying so hard to impress my mother, and make her proud of me because I didn’t see her very often, but evidently I overdid it.’
Or his mother was an unfeeling shrew, Emmie reflected in pained silence, in much the same way as Emmie had been to judge Bastian on appearances and assume that his wealth and status explained his seeming lack of manners.
‘I suppose I was sort of prejudiced about you,’ Emmie admitted ruefully.
‘Ditto,’ Bastian added.
‘I’ll try very hard not to hold your money against you,’ Emmie muttered.
Bastian almost laughed out loud, for it was the very first time it had been suggested to him that his fortune could act as a source of prejudice. ‘And I will try equally hard not to cherish misconceptions about your...er, profession outside the office.’
Emmie winced. ‘Don’t use that word, “profession”,’ she advised. ‘It’s misleading when you think of that reference to “the oldest profession of all”.’
‘You’re right. That wasn’t tactful.’
Feeling almost in charity with him, Emmie was taken aback when he reached down and closed his hand round hers and her bright blue eyes dropped to their linked fingers in silent question.
‘We’re in view of the house. We
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