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'By 'car' do you mean the vehicle you travelled in yesterday?' he asked grimly as he stepped aside and ushered her in with a jerk of his head. 'I'm not surprised it wouldn't
start; the very fact that the thing has four wheels amazed me.'
'Really.' All the good resolutions of the night before went flying out the window as she struggled to remain civil. 'Well, I can assure you it's normally quite reliable. How is Mrs Goode this morning?' she added stiffly.
'Petrified of the anaesthetic,' he answered surprisingly as he led the way, not into the room of yesterday, but into a huge, luxuriously furnished drawing room where a massive log fire, set back under the ornately carved mantelpiece, dominated the room with its warmth and colour.
He turned and gestured to a large, winged leather chair pulled up close to the flames. 'Do sit down. I've managed to organise coffee and cake, if that's all right? Jinny is staying with Mrs Goode at the hospital for the time being as the poor woman is quite beside herself at the thought of an operation.' A certain note in the deep-timbred voice told her that he found such an attitude unfathomable.
'Lots of people are nervous of hospitals.' She smiled politely but he looked at her blankly.
'How illogical.' He was dressed more casually than the day before, when he had worn an elegant, lightweight suit. Now the tall, powerful body was clothed in loose grey cotton trousers and an open-necked shirt, and the effect on her senses was…disturbing. The broad, muscled shoulders and strapping chest were impressive, but it was the whole compelling aura of the man that she found unsettling—his raw, untempered masculinity too vigorous, too dominating for comfort.
She held onto her smile through sheer will-power and glanced round her surroundings with what she hoped was cool aplomb. 'What a beautiful room.' She settled herself in the chair and prayed for composure. 'You are fortunate to live in such lovely surroundings, Mr Vance.'
'Could we drop the formality a little?' he asked abruptly as he continued to look down at her from his considerable height. 'We're probably going to be seeing a great deal of each other over the next two weeks, and 'Mr Vance' is already beginning to grate.'
'Oh.' She stared at him, taken aback.
'And as you are Frank's godchild I think I can trust you not to take advantage of any familiarity.' She thought that she caught a throb of amusement in the deep voice but his face was perfectly straight as he looked at her, his silver eyes narrowed on her upturned face.
'Yes…' She was flustered and it showed. 'Well, I have some costings here, Mr Vance—'
'Reece,' he interposed smoothly.
'Reece.' She knew that her pale, creamy skin was burning a bright red but there was nothing she could do about it. Unfortunately this annoying tendency to blush went hand in hand with the dark red hair her parents had blessed her with. 'I think…um… What I mean is—'
'I'll fetch the coffee and then we can talk.' He had left the room before she could react, and as the door closed behind him she sank against the soft leather back of the chair with a hard sigh.
This was ridiculous! She wasn't a young, skittish schoolgirl who couldn't string a sentence together, she was a mature businesswoman well able to cope with whatever came across her path. She put a hand to her chest, where her heart was thudding as though she'd done the four-minute mile. She had to pull herself together, she really did.
She opened her briefcase quickly and spread out some of the papers on the coffee-table by her side, her eyes skimming the neat columns of figures and detailed schedule. She had to convince him that Bennett and Bennett knew what they were about, and the first step was stringing a coherent sentence together!
She smoothed her smart grey skirt over her knees and pushed a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. She wouldn't be overawed by this man, she just wouldn't; there were plenty of people as rich and influential as he was after all.
But it wasn't exactly his wealth that she found so intimidating, was it?
She shut her mind to the little voice that probed annoyingly. Well, whatever it was, the job was all important, and if she wanted to get any sort of a reference from Reece Vance at the end of it she'd better remember exactly that.
He returned almost immediately with a tray holding a pot of fragrant coffee, two stylish mugs and a very large fruit-cake, along with milk, cream and sugar. 'How do you like your coffee?' He bent down at the other end of the coffee-table as he spoke, placing the tray on its polished surface, and she felt her nerves jump at his closeness.
'White, with cream and sugar.' The black eyebrows rose a little and she laughed apologetically. 'I know; not exactly healthy, but I like it that way. I'm a great believer in the old adage that a little of what you fancy does you good.'
'Oh, so am I,' he said gravely, with the merest inflexion in his voice which nevertheless sent the colour surging back into her face. What was it with him? she asked herself irritably. She could normally socialise with anyone—laugh, even flirt a little—but somehow Reece Vance had her nerves as taut as piano-wire.
Once settled with her coffee and an enormous slab of fruit-cake, she cleared her throat determinedly. 'I've got the main points dealt with in this lot—' she waved a hand at the papers by the tray '—but I was wondering about some of the details. Do you want us to do the flowers or has that been arranged separately? And what about—?'
'Drink your coffee first.' His voice was very deep— at least three or four decibels lower than the average male voice—and extremely attractive with a husky edge… She caught at her wayward thoughts, horrified at the way her mind was going, 'Then we'll go through the item? one by one so you'll know exactly what I require of you. From that point on you are on your own unless there are any technicalities that crop up in future days.' She nodded without speaking and took a big gulp of the hot liquid, hoping that it would soothe her jangled nerves.
'Barbara will be coming down this weekend on a flying visit,' he said after a moment or two of silence. 'I'd like you to meet her and show her the relevant details, if that's possible?'
'Of course.' She nodded at once. 'She doesn't live here, then?'
'No. My sister has her own flat in the City.' He smiled coolly. 'Her independence is everything to her—or was.'
'Oh.' She didn't know quite how to respond to that. 'And your parents…?'
'They have been dead a number of years.' It was said without any apparent emotion and her face straightened at the cold tone. She glanced up to find the silver-grey eyes tight on her face. 'My parents were…social animals,' he said calmly. 'My sister and I were sent away to boarding-schools as soon as we could toddle, and family life as you probably know it just didn't exist for us. Consequently I have no real feeling of loss at my patents' death and no wish to become a hypocrite and pretend one.'
