LITMIR.BIZ

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he carried was a small plain black notebook held together by an elastic band, an array of pens and the same state-of-the-art iPhone that she used and a small but seriously expensive digital camera.

      She extracted the notebook, selected a pen, then zipped the bag shut and lifted it back into place.

      ‘I thought I asked you to bring the bag,’ he said when she handed them to him.

      ‘You did, but I thought I’d give you an incentive to get back on your feet.’

      His eyes narrowed and he took them on a slow, thoughtful tour of her body. It was as if he were going through an empty house switching on the lights. Thighs, abdomen, breasts leaping to life as his eyes lighted on each in turn. Lingered.

      Switching on the heating.

      Then he met her eyes head-on with a gaze that was direct, unambiguous and said, ‘If you’re in the incentive business, Josie, you could do a lot better than that.’

      She’d had her share of utterly outrageous propositions from men since she’d been in the events business, most of which had, admittedly, been fuelled by alcohol and, as such, not to be taken seriously, even if the men involved had been capable of carrying them through.

      They were all part of the job and she’d never had any problem dealing with them so the heat searing her cheeks now had to be caused by the sun. It was rising by the minute and the temperature was going up with it.

      ‘Lunch?’ he prompted.

      ‘What?’

      ‘As an incentive?’

      Another wave of heat swept over her cheeks as he laughed at her confusion. Furious with herself—she did not blush—she replaced her dark glasses and managed a brisk, ‘Enjoy the magazine, Mr McGrath.’

      ‘I don’t think so,’ he said, holding it out to her. ‘Give it to Alesia.’

      ‘Alesia?’

      ‘The receptionist. The girls on the staff will get a lot more enjoyment than I will, catching up with the inside gossip on the wedding.’

      ‘Are you quite sure?’ Something about him just brought out the worst in her. The reckless…‘You have no idea what you’re missing.’

      ‘You can tell me all about it over lunch.’

      The man was incorrigible, a shocking tease, but undoubtedly right. And thoughtful, too. Who would have imagined it?

      Taking the magazine from him, she said, ‘So, what would you like?’ His slate-grey eyes flickered dangerously, but she didn’t fall for it again.

      ‘For lunch? Why don’t you surprise me?’ he said after the briefest hesitation.

      ‘I thought I already had,’ she replied, mentally chalking one up to herself. ‘Don’t overdo it with that heavy pen,’ she warned. ‘I need you fit and on your feet, ready to fly out of here tomorrow.’

      ‘Don’t hold your breath,’ he advised.

      ‘So that would be a light chicken soup for lunch…’ she murmured as she walked away. ‘Or a little lightly poached white fish.’

      ‘Chilli.’

      Nothing wrong with his hearing, then.

      ‘Or a very rare steak.’

      ‘Maybe just a nourishing posset…’

      A posset? Gideon frowned. What the heck was a posset? It sounded like something you’d give a sick kid…

      Oh, right.

      Very funny.

      And she’d also managed to get in the last word again, he realised as the sound of her humming a familiar tune faded into the distance.

       Never smile at a crocodile…

      He grinned. Any crocodile who came face to face with her would turn tail and run, but plain Josie Fowler didn’t frighten him. She could strut all she wanted in those boots but she’d made the fatal error of letting him see beneath the mask.

      He knew that without wax her spiky purpletipped hair curled softly against her neck, her cheeks. That her eyes needed no enhancement and, beneath the unnatural pallor of her make-up, her complexion had a translucent glow.

      But, more important than the surface image, he’d recognised an odd defensiveness, a vulnerability that no one who saw her now, head high, ready with a snappy retort, would begin to suspect.

      She’d had the last word, but he had the advantage.

      Josie hummed the silly song as she walked along the bridge to the central building, well pleased to have got in the last word. It would serve Gideon McGrath right if she delivered up some bland invalid dish.

      Probably not a posset, though.

      She didn’t want to risk the cream and eggs giving him a heart attack, although actually, come to think of it…

      ‘Behave yourself, Josie,’ she muttered as she stepped out of the sun and into the cool reception area and got an odd look from a sensibly dressed middle-aged woman who was wearing a wide-brimmed hat and carrying binoculars.

      Although, on consideration, that probably had less to do with the fact that she was talking to herself than the way she looked.

      In London she didn’t seem that out of place. Here…

      ‘Hello, Miss Fowler.’ The receptionist greeted her with a wide smile. ‘Have you settled in?’

      ‘Yes, thanks. You’re Alesia?’

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘Then this is for you,’ she said, handing over the magazine.

      The woman’s eyes lit up as she saw the cover. ‘It’s Crystal Blaize,’ she breathed. ‘She is so beautiful. Thank you so much.’

      ‘Don’t thank me, thank Mr McGrath. He said you would like it.’

      ‘Gideon? He thought of me, even when he is in so much pain? He is always so kind.’

      Gideon? If she was on first name terms with him, he must be a regular visitor, which went some way towards explaining his almost proprietorial attitude to the place. The fact that he seemed almost…well…at home here, despite the lack of any personal touches in his room.

      ‘Have you met her?’ Alesia asked.

      ‘Who? Oh, Crystal. Yes.’ Briefly. She’d insisted on a meeting before she’d left, wanting to be sure that Crystal was happy with the arrangements. Happy with her. ‘She’s very sweet.’

      And so desperately grateful to have someone who didn’t terrify the wits out of her to hold her hand on her big day that Josie had dismissed the gossips’ version of Serafina’s departure as utter nonsense.

      Apparently Marji, with more of a heart than she’d given her credit for, had taken pity on her.

      Or maybe she just wanted to be sure that the bride didn’t turn tail and run.

      ‘Is Mr Kebalakile in his office?’ she asked.

      ‘Yes, Miss Fowler. He said to go straight through.’

      ‘Come in, come in, Miss Fowler,’ David said, rising to his feet as she tapped on the open door. ‘Are you settled in? You’ve had breakfast?’

      ‘It’s Josie,’ she said. ‘And yes, thank you. It was perfect.’ What she’d had of it. But it had gone down well with the monkey. ‘I do, however, have a few problems with the accommodation. Only,’ she hastened to add when his face fell, ‘because I’m here on business rather than attempting to get away from it all.’

      ‘You mean the lack of communications?’

      ‘Since you bring it up, yes. How, for instance, am I expected

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