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Cassie nodded. Trying to ignore the now frantic crashing of her heart, she drew an arc with her hand in front of the glittering display as she slipped smoothly into the script of her sales patter. ‘Well, these candles all come in a wide range of scents. The Christmas Chocolate has proved to be one of our most popular varieties this year. It’s dark and spicy—with subtle undertones of mulled wine.’
‘And is that your favourite?’
‘My…my favourite?’
‘Mmm. Surely you must have a favourite?’
For a second, her sales pitch deserted her. She hadn’t been asked that before. And when he asked it, he made her feel special. Different. Oh, but she was an idiot! But she still looked into the gleam of his black eyes and answered as honestly as she could. ‘To be honest, I like this one best. It smells of sweet oranges. And cloves. Sort of…traditional. And nostalgic. Everybody loves them. All ages. They have universal appeal. Especially at this time of year.’
There was a pause and Giancarlo felt another quick beat of desire as he heard the wistful little note in her voice. ‘You’ve got a deal,’ he said softly. ‘I’ll take half a dozen.’
Cassie opened her eyes wide. ‘You mean six?’ she squeaked.
‘Unless the definition of half a dozen has changed since the last time I heard it?’ he questioned gravely.
‘N-no. Certainly, sir. Six it is.’
While she was wrapping them—with fumbling fingers which seemed much less dextrous than usual—he asked her a series of questions, and in view of the commission she was going to make on the sale, it seemed rude not to answer them. No, she didn’t live in London, she was only here for the holiday season, and no, she wasn’t wearing coloured contact lenses—her eyes really were that colour. But in truth, his presence was so distracting that she could barely think straight.
Giancarlo watched as she snipped the end of a claret-coloured ribbon and tugged at the finished bow with a flourish. She was just too good to walk away from, he decided—with that pale blonde hair and violet eyes and a body shaped like a bottle of Verdicchio.
He’d spent most of the past month in New York—labouring away on a tough deal he’d only just pulled off by the skin of his teeth. One of those deals which had seen him still at his desk at midnight and beyond. His name had been splashed all over the financial papers, he’d stacked up a few million dollars—and then quietly siphoned off a substantial portion to a cause far more worthy than his already bloated bank account. All in all, it had been a successful trip—just like the one before, and the one before that. But success could be draining—sometimes it took you away from the fundamentals in life. And he was sick of the relentless march of Christmas with its in-your-face commercialism and over-the-top celebration.
What he needed was a little light relaxation with a female of the species. And not some ball-breaking woman who liked to work and play as hard as a man and gave you a lecture on equality if you so much as opened a door for her. Until you made the mistake of taking her away for a long weekend—when suddenly she was talking three-carat diamond rings and church weddings.
No. He wanted someone soft and unchallenging. Someone easy on the eye and easy on the mind. Someone who would massage his ego and a lot more besides. Like this sassy little thing with her soft, curving breasts and her peachy little bottom. He couldn’t imagine her wanting to talk stocks and shares with him—or angling for a winter break in Hawaii!
‘What time do you finish work?’ he questioned as she took his credit card from him.
Cassie hesitated. ‘Six-thirty,’ she said, feeling on rather shaky territory here—but surely it would be rude not to answer a customer when he asked you a direct question?
‘And you’ll be going out for dinner afterwards?’
Cassie thought of the pan full of pasta and pesto which was sitting on the fat-spattered cooker back at the shared apartment which was currently her temporary home. As accommodation went it was pretty basic, but she was grateful to her old school-friend, Gavin, for letting her stay—even if it meant sleeping in a room which was little more than a cupboard.
‘Well, sort of,’ she prevaricated.
‘Sort of?’
‘I told my flatmates I’d have dinner with them.’
‘And what if I asked you to have dinner with me instead?’
‘I can’t,’ she breathed.
‘Why not?’
She stared into his narrowed black eyes and her stomach gave a funny little lurch. ‘Because I don’t…I don’t even know you.’
‘So why don’t I introduce myself and we’ll get that problem out of the way?’
