LITMIR.BIZ

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on the rocks.’

      Georgie searched her mind frantically. ‘Well, what about asking de Capistrano to finance the men and machinery on a short-term basis?’ she suggested brightly. ‘Once we got going we could pay him back fairly quickly, and it’s common knowledge he is something of an entrepreneur and filthy rich into the bargain.’

      ‘Exactly, and he hasn’t got that way by doing anyone any favours,’ Robert said cynically. ‘His reputation is as formidable as the man himself, so I understand, and de Capistrano is only interested in a fast turnover with huge profits. Face it, Georgie, he can go elsewhere and have no hassle. End of story.’

      Her brother stretched his long, lanky body wearily in the big leather chair behind the desk strewn with the morning’s post, his blue eyes dropping to the fateful letter open in front of him. It stated that Sandersons—not Milletts—had been successful in securing the contract for the town’s new leisure complex. A contract which would have provided the profit margin to finance the extra men’s wages and hiring of the machinery for de Capistrano’s job.

      ‘But, Robert—’

      ‘No buts.’ Robert raised his head to take in his sister’s aggressive stance. ‘De Capistrano is a Sanderson type, Georgie. He knows all the right angles and the right people. Look at the deal we were going to discuss this morning; he negotiated that prime piece of land for a song some years ago and he’s been holding on to it until the time was right to build housing. He’ll get his outlay back a hundred times over on the sort of yuppie estate he is planning.’

      ‘Yes, well…’ Georgie wrinkled the small straight nose she’d inherited from her mother in disgust, unable to hide her real opinion any longer. ‘I’m sorry, but I have to say destroying that beautiful land is out-and-out sacrilege! People have enjoyed that ground as a park in the summer ever since I can remember and the wildlife is tremendous. Do you recall that rare butterfly being found there the year I started uni?’

      ‘Butterflies aren’t good business.’ Robert shrugged philosophically. ‘Neither are wild flowers and the like, come to that, or putting family first and being less than ruthless. Maybe if I’d been a bit more like the de Capistranos of this world my kids wouldn’t be in danger of losing the roof over their heads.’

      ‘Don’t say that,’ said Georgie fiercely, her eyes sparking green flames. ‘You’re the best father and husband and brother in the world. You’ve already admitted you’ve no regrets in putting Sandra first and it was absolutely the right thing to do. You’re ten times the man—a hundred times—de Capistrano will ever be and—’

      ‘Have we met?’

      Two blonde heads shot round as though connected by a single wire and a pair of horrified green eyes and amazed blue surveyed the tall dark man standing in the doorway of the small brick building that was Robert’s office. The voice had been icy, and even if the slight accent hadn’t informed Georgie this was de Capistrano she would have known anyway. The impeccable designer suit and silk shirt and tie sat on the tall lean body in a way that positively screamed unlimited wealth, and the beautiful svelte woman standing just behind the commanding figure was equally well dressed. And equally annoyed if the look on the lovely face was anything to go by. His secretary? Or maybe his wife?

      And then Georgie’s racing thoughts were focused on the man alone as he said again, ‘Have we met?’ and this time the voice had all the softness of a razor-sharp scalpel.

      ‘Mr de Capistrano?’ Georgie’s normally clear voice was more of a weak squeak, and as she cleared her throat nervously the black head nodded slowly, the deep, steel-grey eyes piercingly intent on her face. ‘I’m sorry… I didn’t know…’ She took a hard pull of air before continuing more coherently, ‘No, Mr de Capistrano, we haven’t met, and I have no excuse for my rudeness.’

      ‘So.’ The furious anger in the frosty face hadn’t diminished an iota.

      ‘Mr de Capistrano.’ Robert pulled himself together and strode across the room, extending his hand as he said, ‘Please understand. What you overheard was less a comment on you than an endeavour to hearten me. There was nothing personal intended. I’m Robert Millett, by the way, and this is my sister, Georgie.’

      There was a pause which seemed to last for ever to Georgie’s tortured senses, and then the hand was accepted. ‘Matt de Capistrano.’ It was pithy. ‘And my secretary, Pepita Vilaseca.’

      Georgie had followed her brother across to the others and as the two men shook hands she proffered her own to the immaculate figure at the side of the illustrious Mr de Capistrano. This time the pause was even longer and the lovely face was cold as the tall slim secretary extended a languid hand to Georgie, extracting it almost immediately with a haughty glance which said more clearly than any words could that she had done Georgie the most enormous favour. Pepita. Georgie looked into the beautifully made-up ebony eyes that resembled polished onyx. Sounded like an indigestion remedy to her!

      And then, as Robert moved to shake the secretary’s hand, Georgie was forced to raise her eyes up to the dark gaze trained on her face, and acknowledge the reality of what she had imbibed seconds earlier. This was one amazingly…handsome? No, not handsome, her brain corrected in the next moment. Male. One amazingly male man. Overwhelmingly, aggressively male. The sort of man who exuded such a primal masculinity that the veneer of civilisation sat frighteningly lightly on his massive frame.

      The leanly muscled body, the jet-black hair cropped uncompromisingly short, the hard good looks—

      ‘Do you always…encourage your brother by doing a character assassination on complete strangers, Miss Millett?’ Matt de Capistrano asked with arctic politeness, interrupting Georgie’s line of thought and forcing her to realise she had been staring unashamedly.

      She turned scarlet. Help, she breathed silently. Get me out of this, someone. He had held out his hand to her and as she made herself shake his, and felt her nervously cold fingers enclosed in his firm hard grip that sent frissons of warmth down to her toes in a most peculiar way, her mouth opened and shut like a goldfish in a bowl before she was able to say breathlessly, ‘No, no, I don’t. Of course I don’t.’

      ‘Then why today and why me?’

      His voice was very deep and of an almost gravelly texture, the slight accent turning it into pure dynamite, Georgie thought inappropriately. ‘I… You weren’t supposed to hear that,’ she said quickly, before she realised just how stupid that sounded.

      ‘I’d worked that one out all on my own,’ he said caustically.

      Oh, how could she have been so unforgivably indiscreet? Georgie’s heart sank into her shoes. Her flat shoes. Which didn’t help her confidence at all with this huge six-foot avenging angel towering over her measly five foot four inches—or perhaps angel was the wrong description. ‘It was just an expression,’ she said weakly. ‘There was absolutely nothing personal in it, as Robert said.’

      ‘That actually makes it worse, Miss Millett.’ It was cutting. ‘When—or should I say if?—anyone had the temerity to insult me I would expect it to be for a well-thought-out and valid reason.’

      Well, hang on just a tick and I’m sure I can come up with several, Georgie thought darkly, forcing a respectful nod of her head as she said out loud, ‘All I can do is to apologise again, Mr de Capistrano.’ Which is exactly what you want, isn’t it? Your full pound of flesh.

      ‘You work here?’

      Georgie thought frantically. If she said yes it might be the final death knell to any faint hope Robert had of persuading this man to finance the cost of the new machinery for a short time, but if she said no and the deal did go through he’d soon know she’d been economical with the truth!

      ‘Temporarily,’ she compromised hesitantly.

      ‘Temporarily.’ The lethal eyes demanded an explanation, but Robert—tired of being virtually ignored—cleared his throat at the side of them in a way that demanded attention. Matt de Capistrano paid him no attention

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