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have smiled at him, preened a little, even given him some kind of subtle invitation.

      Rhiannon was achingly conscious that she wasn’t most women.

      After a second he said, ‘I feel I owe you some sort of compensation. Could I buy you a coffee sometime? Or dinner?’

      ‘You don’t owe me anything,’ she said tightly.

      ‘Are you married?’ he asked. ‘Or in a relationship?’

      The blunt question startled her into speaking without thought. ‘No!’

      ‘You just hate the sight of me? Well, I can’t blame you after that accident.’

      ‘I don’t hate you—I don’t even know you.’

      He said lightly, ‘If you’d care to…’

      About to tell him she didn’t, Rhiannon hesitated. If she was ever to be a normal, functioning woman she had to start acting like one. It was past time.

      They had reached a landing and somehow he stopped so that he blocked her further progress though there was at least half a metre of space between them. He pulled a card from his pocket and held it out to her. ‘Gabriel Hudson,’ he said. ‘I’m in the air-freight business.’

      A name to be reckoned with. Gabriel Hudson owned one of the biggest and best-known private firms in the country.

      The card confirmed it—the familiar angel-wings logo in one corner, his name centred in flowing script. All the company’s ads used the theme of care and speed, featuring angels cradling precious parcels gently in their arms as they flew from one end of New Zealand to the other, and around the globe. Their service was popular because, unlike most such companies, they boasted a door-to-door service, every package remaining in the Angelair system from collection to delivery.

      He was a respected businessman, widely admired for his commercial success when still in his twenties, and named last year on the modest national rich-list, but not one of those who were photographed living it up at social occasions attended by the local glitterati. His private life, it seemed, was strictly kept that way—private.

      ‘I’ve used your service,’ Rhiannon blurted. Who hadn’t used Angelair if they were involved in any kind of business in New Zealand?

      ‘We carry your mosaics?’

      Feeling a need to cover her gauche remark, she said, ‘Other people’s art, too, and books.’

      ‘Books?’

      ‘I have a gallery and bookshop.’

      His head tilted to one side. ‘Where?’

      She’d said too much already. Reluctantly, she told him, ‘We moved a few weeks ago into High Street.’ The lease for the new premises was cheap for central Auckland, though twice what she’d paid for a small suburban shop space. She hoped the extra street trade and a change to more exclusive stock would compensate.

      ‘What’s it called?’

      Pointless to hold back now. ‘Mosaica.’

      A young man came bounding up the stairs, and Gabriel Hudson’s firm hand on Rhiannon’s waist moved her aside as the man raced past them with a careless ‘Thanks.’

      Her shoulder came up against hard male muscle, her hip just touching Gabriel’s, and she recognised the citrus-and-spice scent she’d noticed at their first encounter.

      Even as her skin began to prickle, her throat tighten, he moved away and allowed her to continue hurrying up the stairs.

      Reaching the next floor, she paused to let two vehicles sweep past. The elevator disgorged several passengers. Gabriel said, ‘Are you going to tell me your name?’

      ‘Rhiannon,’ she said, conquering long-formed habit. ‘Rhiannon Lewis.’

      ‘Ree-annon,’ he repeated, as if trying out the syllables on his tongue. ‘Welsh, isn’t it?’

      ‘Originally.’

      ‘I’d like to see the gallery sometime, and maybe we could go out for that coffee?’ His tone was casual, the winter-morning gaze holding mild inquiry.

      This was a civilised man, a well-known, respected man, and surely so good-looking and successful that if she turned him down he wouldn’t have to search very far to find some more amenable female. He’d probably write her off without a second thought. Still she demurred. ‘I don’t like leaving my assistant alone for long.’

      ‘After work?’ he suggested.

      ‘I have to cash up.’

      Gabriel’s head tipped slightly to one side and his eyelids lowered, his mouth quirking downward.

      He thought she was being coy. Remembering her earlier resolution, Rhiannon said quickly, ‘That takes about twenty to thirty minutes. We close at six—except on Saturday it’s at two o’clock.’

      Had she really said that? Tacitly accepted an invitation from a man? Her heart plunged, then righted itself.

      Gabriel nodded, absorbing the information.

      He walked her to her car, Rhiannon tongue-tied now and amazed at herself. He didn’t touch her but waited while she got in and fastened her seat belt. Then he closed the door, stepped back, and raised a hand in farewell as she drove off.

      Heading for the stairs and his own car, Gabriel wore a preoccupied frown. After their first encounter he’d told himself the woman in the car park haunted him because he felt guilty about her fall. But when he spotted her again today he’d felt a quick leap of excitement, then a weird sensation of tightness attacked his chest, and his palms had dampened. He hadn’t felt that way since the first time he asked a girl out, when he’d been a gawky adolescent. Until today.

      He’d wanted to grab her, make sure she stayed at his side until he knew all about her. But, he recalled, pressing the remote button on his key ring as he approached his car, at the first touch of his hand she’d skittered away.

      The sight of the name on his card had thawed her a little. Cynicism intervened for a moment, reminding him of other women who had showed increased interest when they learned who he was. But even then Rhiannon had hesitated, so that her subsequent capitulation had surprised him.

      He got into the Audi and started the engine. Rhiannon. He liked the flowing syllables of her name, just as he’d liked the look of her from when he’d first seen her.

      Checking his mirrors, he backed out of the space, then headed for the down ramp. So she didn’t know him, but was that reason enough for her to be so unforthcoming? Was she like that with all men? What would make a woman that cautious?

      A couple of things came to mind, and unconsciously his fingers tightened about the wheel. His jaw ached and he realised he had clenched his teeth hard. Consciously he eased taut muscles, telling himself not to jump to conclusions. Just because a woman hadn’t thrown herself into his arms at first glance, and seemed unaffected by the curse and blessing of his face, it didn’t mean there was something wrong with her.

      Maybe that was what intrigued him about Rhiannon. She hadn’t reacted as most women did, even though he’d frankly shown his interest, without—he hoped—being crass about it. Her cursory glances held no answering spark of awareness. And she didn’t like him touching her.

      That was something he intended to change.

      CHAPTER TWO

      GABRIEL planned his strategy carefully. It was two weeks before he strolled into Mosaica not long before closing time.

      Rhiannon was at the counter serving a customer, and there was no sign of the assistant she’d mentioned.

      He inspected the paintings, sculptures and other art, paying particular attention to several mosaics, and ran his gaze over the bookshelves lining the back wall, while eavesdropping on the conversation

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