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'And you feel confident about the project?' He took a long swallow of black coffee. 'That you can please me?'
She eyed him for a moment before she spoke. With anyone else but him—anyone—she would have taken that question purely at face value, but there had been an inflexion in the deep, silky voice she was sure she hadn't imagined. But then his gaze fixed on her again and his face was quite expressionless.
She had to stop imagining things around this man, she told herself firmly; she really did. 'Of course. I wouldn't have accepted the job otherwise,' she replied with careful formality.
'No, silly of me to ask.' The silver eyes narrowed suddenly, but gave no indication of what he was thinking. 'Do you like boats?' he asked quietly.
'I haven't had much to do with any.' She forced a bright smile. 'Only a little rowing boat when I was younger, which wasn't quite in the same league as the Hawkton cruisers!'
'Oh, yes?' He straightened slightly in his seat, his voice interested but casual. 'And whose was that?'
She blinked slightly, suddenly aware that she didn't want to continue the conversation but unable to think of a way to deflect him from this trip into her past. 'My father's,' she said carefully. 'He was a great fishing enthusiast, and as I shared the bug we used to fish most weekends.' She looked down into her cup as she spoke, her body language making it dear the conversation was at an end, but he failed to take the hint.
'Was?' he asked gently.
'He died thirteen years ago.' She didn't glance up as she spoke, her long lashes shading her eyes from his gaze.
'I'm sorry.' There was a moment's pause and then he spoke again, his voice soft. 'That must have been a difficult time for yo
u.' You'll never know, she thought bitterly. 'And your mother?' he persisted when the silence stretched on.
'She died too, a year or so later.' In spite of all her efforts she was unable to keep her voice completely even, a slight throb that spoke of pain causing Luke's eyes to narrow still further into slits of silver light.
'Any brothers or sisters?'
'I was an only child,' she said flatly. 'As were my parents, which had made the Owens clan a very small one.'
'That's a shame. I approve of big families myself.' His voice sounded as though he was smiling but she didn't raise her gaze to his to find out. He was trying to be pleasant, she knew that, but she could do without it. He always seemed to manage to hit her on the raw. 'I always think the rough and tumble of family life knocks off the rough edges, don't you?'
'No.' The one word was abrupt, bordering on rudeness, and very final. 'Do you want me to fax the final calculations for the day's entertainment and the ball to you here when I've completed them?' Josie asked flatly as she raised her face to his. 'They will be accurate to within five per cent of the total figure.'
'That won't be necessary.' As the waiter arrived with Josie's toast and preserves Luke stood up; his voice was curt. 'I shall be back in England in a few days; they'll do then. Thank you for your help on this, Josie; I look forward to seeing you in the future.'
He left even as her goodbye still hovered on her lips, and as she watched him stride out of the restaurant she felt the strangest desire to call him back, before she rebuked herself sharply for such a dangerous weakness. She was doing some promotional work for him. That was all. That was all.
Back in England, she continued to talk logic and sense to herself all week, and the fact that she was immersed in the Night Hawk project helped enormously. She was exhausted by the time she flopped into bed each night but she didn't mind the twelve- to fourteen-hour days that the project warranted. She knew the chaos would the down after the first ten days or so, when all the main points were under control, allowing the theme to emerge.
The first two weeks and last two weeks of a project this size were always the worst; the rest of the time was usually very enjoyable, and she relished seeing a hundred and one threads come together to form a perfect whole. Or what she hoped would be a perfect whole in this case, she thought wryly on the Friday lunchtime as she sat with Penny and some of the other office staff in a small wine bar just round the corner from the office block, sipping mineral water.
'Josie, darling, how axe you, sweetie?'
She turned with a smile to meet Charlotte's gushing greeting, although for once she wasn't ready for their usual cut-and-thrust banter.
'Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but a little birdie has told me you've really hit the big time with this last scoop of yours,' Charlotte continued lazily, her hard, light blue eyes anything but.
'Meaning?' Josie decided to play safe and let Charlotte spell it out.
'The Hawkton contract.' The words obviously stuck in the other woman's slender throat. 'I recognised him instantly last week, of course, but he clearly had eyes for no one but you.'
'It wasn't quite like that.' Be pleasant, Josie, she warned herself silently, aware of several pairs of interested ears flapping about her. 'He had narrowed a few firms down to a short list and was doing a little checking-up procedure of his own, that was all. He wanted to see how I worked.'
'Oh, how you worked…' Charlotte laughed throatily. 'Silly me, and here I was thinking-— Well, it doesn't matter what I was thinking, does it? Well done anyway, darling— but just a little word to the wise… The man in question can be lethal when work's finished—know what I mean?'
'Not really, but I'm sure you're dying to tell me.' Josie forced a light smile that was the best piece of acting she had ever done.
'The women, darling, the women!' Charlotte waved an elegant hand on which several rings glittered and flashed. 'They just adore him, and if half the rumours are true he adores them right back. Mind you, given half the chance, who wouldn't? He really sets the juices going with that dark, ruthless technique. I've always been a pushover for the 'me Tarzan, you Jane' approach, but there just aren't too many men who can carry it off these days,' she finished with a dramatic sigh.
'You're just a pushover anyway, Charlotte.' Her coma slender, fair-skinned man in his thirties, obviously didn't appreciate his colleague's comments. 'If half the rumours are true, of course,' he added sweetly, parroting her earlier words with an innocent smite.
