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‘Buthemust have had the final say.’ Mollie smiled up at her shyly. ‘Which means we must be the best. Why else would he hire us?’
That question again. Her stomach lurched.WereCavendish and Cox the best? Historically, yes. Nowadays they had rivals for the top spot, but their name still carried weight. Then again, they were a small family firm. Too small and traditional to be a natural fit for a slick, carnivorous outfit like the Silva Group.
A natural fit.
Her stomach did a slow somersault as her brain unhelpfully offered up a memory of Gabriel’s sun-soaked body moving against hers. They had fitted together like pieces of a puzzle, their hot, damp skin sticking, his hand splayed against her back, her breath scratching in her throat as their bodies arched into one another—
‘I’m afraid that’s not something you or I can really answer,’ Dove said, feeling a rush of relief as the lift shuddered to a halt. Have a good day, Mollie.’
‘Ah good—there you are. Don’t worry, he’s only just arrived.’
She blinked. Alistair was standing slightly to the left of the lift, his reading glasses perched precariously on top of his once blond, now grey hair, a clutch of files in his right hand.
‘Who’s just arrived?’
Her boss frowned. ‘Gabriel Silva, of course.’
For some reason, even though her stomach was in freefall, it wasn’t hard to smile and say with apparent sincerity, ‘That’s wonderful.’
Alistair beamed at her. ‘Annabel is getting everything set up. I’m going to go down and meet him.’
She nodded, still smiling madly. She felt as if she was outside of her body, watching herself react. Or rather, not react.
‘So I’ll see you in the war room.’
Dove felt her smile freeze on her face as a ripple of foreboding snaked down her spine.‘Me?’Her heart was jumping against her ribs like a trapped bird banging into a window. ‘Why do I need to be there?’
‘Because Mr Silva has specifically asked for you to be at the meeting. I told you last night. Remember? Seems he met your father once, several years ago, and never forgot the encounter.’ Alistair paused, pursing his lips, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was about to say. ‘They had a good chat, apparently. About his options for the future.’ His mild, grey eyes rested on her face. ‘I don’t know what Oscar said, but it made quite an impression on our Mr Silva. “Life-changing”, he called it.’
Her heart was thudding in her throat. That chat hadn’t just changed her life, it had destroyed it, and now he was threatening to destroy the fragile life she had rebuilt.
So tell him. Tell Alistair you can’t be in the same room as this man. You’re like a daughter to him. He won’t make you do it.
But it was too late. Her boss was gone. She stared at the lift doors, feeling sick. This couldn’t be happening. Except it was. Gabriel Silva was in the building, and any moment now he would be stepping through those doors.
Muscles tensing, she let her eyes flicker down the corridor to the staircase. She could leave—just go now. Walk out of the building and disappear, just like he had done. Only something inside her baulked at the idea. It wouldn’t be disappearing—it would be hiding.
And why should she hide? She had done nothing wrong. And besides, she thought, stomach lurching, if she didn’t turn up it would look as if she still cared about him, and she couldn’t bear for him to think that was true.
Plus, it wouldn’t be fair on Alistair to leave him in the lurch. Picturing the look of confusion on her boss’s face as he discovered her absence, she snapped her shoulders back.
It would be fine. If Gabriel had wanted to meet her one on one he could easily have arranged to do so. Just because he was curious about the woman he had left behind, it didn’t mean it was some kind of reconciliation. It was a business meeting in the war room. First, though, she needed to apply some war paint...
Five minutes later, her cheeks lightly flushed, hair smoothed into a low ponytail, she walked through the door, her pulse twitching a beat behind the click of her heels.
‘Here she is.’ Alistair greeted her warmly.
His flushed face was comforting and familiar, and just for a moment she kept looking at him, as if by doing so she could somehow ignore the man standing to his right. But even now, even when she hated him with every fibre, she couldn’t resist the pull of the past or the demands of the present. And, lifting her chin, she turned to face Gabriel Silva.
Her pulse stumbled, and for a moment she couldn’t move—couldn’t feel anything. Her body was as rigid and cold as if it had been frozen. And then pain swept through her, scraping against the scars that should have healed but hadn’t. A pain that tore at the protective barriers she had built between herself and the world. And she wanted to turn and run and keep running until she found somewhere she could hide away.
After six desolate years, it was a shock to come face to face with him. She had hoped that time might have punished him for what he’d done. But, as her eyes fixed on his absurdly handsome face, she was forced to admit that he was still the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on—and the most masculine. Thick dark hair that looked black in the moonlight, a curving, sensual mouth, and those mesmerising, unyielding blue, blue eyes.
Lifting a hand to the single-strand pearl choker at her throat, she breathed in shakily.
And then there was his body—
Her throat was suddenly impossibly dry. She had never seen him in a suit before, and she very much wished she hadn’t now. Because she doubted she would ever forget it. There was something about the severity of its cut that softened his fierce beauty and made a knot of something hot and tight pulse in her belly.
