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Her eyes widened and a small snort of disbelief left her lips. Not awkward…!

On what planet does he live?

Awkward does not begin to cover this situation!

Leandro leaned back in his seat, the overhead lighting making his dark hair look glassy, sleek. Sleek was a word that suited him, sleek like a jungle cat, with the inescapable and attractively dangerous quality combined.

‘I have no unrealistic expectations of this evening.’ Which had been true, but things had changed—he had quite a few expectations now.

Her chest felt tight, she felt tense all over as the enormity of what she was doing suddenly hit her—if she didn’t step up then Emily would, and lose the love of her life. The knowledge kept her where she was and not running screaming like a banshee through the door. Instead, she took a swallow of the wine, and then another. She closed her eyes momentarily and took a deep breath before raising the glass to her lips again.

Probably not a good idea?

Actually, there was no probably about it. She had not eaten since breakfast, which had been an energy bar at the airport at her twin’s insistence. Later, she’d been too nervous to face food.

Her overbright eyes fixed on his impossibly handsome face. ‘I’ve never been good with interviews.’

His lips quirked expressively at her choice of words. ‘Relax, this isn’t an interview.’

The alcohol hadn’t made her drunk, it had just lowered her defences to the extent she could actually string more than two syllables together while reconnecting with her face-saving defiance.

‘Actually, I’m not the one being interviewed.’ She had a moment of pleasure from seeing the fleeting look of almost confusion on his face and fought the childish impulse to punch the air in victory.

Then he laughed and it was such a delicious uninhibited sound that any sense of triumph vanished.

‘You want my references?’

‘Oh, I am sure you’ve had five-star online reviews—deep, profound, meaningful. I can’t even begin to say how in awe I am already of your ability to fall out of nightclubs. I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have said that,’ she gasped, asking herself why she always went too far, always had to have the last word.

‘You can say what you like to me; it is, after all, a long way to come to discuss the weather, do you not think?’

He paused, his expression losing any trace of mockery as he continued, his long fingers beating out a tattoo on the white linen tablecloth the only thing that suggested he was not quite as relaxed as he appeared.

‘Look, we don’t have to make this situation any more awkward than it need be. It’s not as if we are total strangers, are we, Emily?’

Elsie wrenched her stare from his fingers as a bolt of shock penetrated her lowered defences.

‘As good as—a stolen kiss…’ she sneered.

‘Stolen? Freely given, I seem to recall, but if you are more comfortable pretending we have never met, fine, that is not a problem. So, we meet at last, Princess.’

Elsie was still, every muscle working to keep her that way as she tried to feel her way through this conversational maze.

His dark disturbing stare was fixed on the blue-veined leaping pulse point at the base of her neck. She resisted the impulse to cover it with a protective hand. She turned her head, looking around the room, playing for time to work out a strategy to deal with this man.

‘No hidden trapdoors or secret cameras. Yes, we have the room, Emily.’ He made an expansive gesture and reached for the open wine bottle on the table and filled her glass before resuming his own place. ‘Not intimate, I know.’ His glance as it moved around the space was more expressive than a shudder before it landed back on her face. ‘But you can say what you wish and it will go no further.’

She felt her defences rise. A man who could make someone feel she was the only person in the world…especially when she was the only woman in the room…was dangerous. This wasn’t about intellect, it was about hormones.

‘Have I told you yet that you look very beautiful tonight, Emily?’

Well, that was more like it, practised, insincere flattery that came as easily to him as breathing—not effort, it was a reflex, and even though the logic circuits in her brain realised this the other part melted.

‘Thanks, actually, an incredible amount of effort went into the outfit.’ She drained her glass in one swallow; she needed all the courage she could get. ‘But actually, I’m not Emily.’

He lowered the glass he had been lifting to his lips. She had anticipated confusion, she had intended using it, but he looked more…alert than disconcerted.

‘I assumed that he, your secretary, would have passed on the information; he told my parents that you would have no issue with the swap.’