LITMIR.BIZ

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express their gratitude with a tin of toffees.’

      ‘I am all out of toffees.’ He held out his hands palm up to illustrate the point.

      Dervla’s glance moved to the long fingers extended towards her.

      ‘And I did not bump into you; I was waiting for you.’

      Her eyes flew to his face. ‘Why would you do that?’ she demanded, unease unfurling low in her belly. Along with it was an equally uncomfortable flutter of excitement.

      ‘Why do men usually wait for you, Dervla?’

      ‘They don’t and will you stop calling me that?’

      ‘Is it not your name?’

      ‘Not the way you say it. The way you say it makes it sound like someone else.’

      ‘Good, then act out of character and get into the car.’

      She turned her head in the direction he indicated. ‘What car?’

      How had she missed that?

      The limousine with the tinted windows pulled up to the kerb beside them was massive.

      She felt his hand fall on her shoulder and didn’t see the harm in letting it stay there just for a minute.

      ‘You need cheering up.’

      Their eyes meshed and Dervla felt the resistance weaken as she gazed into his deep velvet brown eyes.

      ‘I’m not in need of cheering up,’ she protested, tugging her arm free. ‘Seriously.’

      ‘I am in need,’ he retorted. ‘Seriously.’

      Something in his voice made Dervla pause in the act of pulling away. Her eyes lifted slowly, a crease of concern appearing on her brow as she registered for the first time the dark shadows under his eyes and the lines of strain etched into the skin around his mouth.

      Her belligerence melted away. For some people prayer, adrenaline and caffeine took them through the early critical stages of a loved one’s illness, but later, when the critical danger passed, the emotional backlash hit them. The effect could often be debilitating.

      It was difficult to imagine a man less likely to rouse her maternal instincts. It was also difficult to think of one more likely to push himself too far.

      ‘You must be very tired.’ This man really doesn’t need looking after, her inner voice of reason and logic pointed out.

      ‘I could do with a change of scene. I thought you’d be pleased I was taking your advice. Isn’t that what you’ve been telling me for days via your excellent charge nurse?’ he asked innocently. ‘A more sensitive man might assume you were reluctant to talk to me …?’

      ‘I thought you might find advice easier to take if it came from a man.’

      ‘You think I have a problem with strong women? Actually I like a woman who knows what she wants and is not afraid to tell a man.’

      It could be she was hearing sexual innuendo that wasn’t there. All the same she struggled to keep the blush at bay.

      ‘Taking instruction from a woman in the right circumstances can, in my experience, be most agreeable.’

      Oh, no, it was most definitely there!

      She ignored the dangerous kick of excitement in her stomach and gave him a level look. It only stayed level until she saw the glitter burning deep in the dark depths. ‘Don’t look at me like that!’

      Inside the hospital she was in control; outside there was no name badge to hide behind. Their roles were reversed and it scared her.

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Because I don’t like it.’ Not totally a lie—liking had very little to do with the shivers walking up and down her spine.

      ‘Have dinner with me.’

      ‘I wouldn’t be good company.’

      ‘I’ll take the risk. Relax.’ The advice almost made her laugh … relaxing around this man was a clinical impossibility. ‘You’re hungry, I’m hungry … where is the problem?’

      He turned aside to speak in rapid Italian to the driver before opening the rear door of the plush vehicle for Dervla.

      After a pause she slid inside. It was only a meal and sometimes you had to live a little dangerously—and all that was waiting for her at home was a microwave dinner for one.

      ‘Gracious, this is bigger than my kitchen!’ she exclaimed, too startled by the extravagant luxury to maintain any level of nonchalance. ‘You’re not worried about your green credentials, then.’ This monster had to have a gigantic carbon footprint.

      ‘I would be a poor businessman if I wasn’t—’

      ‘And not a “ruthless financial genius”,’ she quoted with a twinkle.

      He shook his head and gave a rueful grin. ‘That Sunday supplement quote will, I suspect, go with me to my grave.’

      ‘Is this the way a genius travels?’

      ‘I am no genius and I generally find it more convenient to use a helicopter.’

      The retort drew a laugh from her. ‘What about ruthless?’ she asked curiously.

      His charismatic smile flashed. ‘That rather depends on who you’re talking to.’

      ‘I’m talking to you.’

      ‘What do you think?’

      ‘I think you can’t give a straight answer. Perhaps you should go into politics.’

      ‘So you want to know the man behind the trashy headline?’

      She shook her head. ‘I don’t have that sort of time.’ This man was so complicated that she suspected it would take a very long time to even begin to work out the kinks in his personality. ‘This is just one dinner date.’

      His dark lashes lifted from the razor-sharp angle of his sculpted cheekbones. Dervla’s stomach flipped as their eyes connected.

      ‘It doesn’t have to be one dinner date.’

      The earthy warmth in his steady scrutiny made her stomach flip. She tried to laugh to reduce the tension that had sprung up in the confined space, but her vocal cords were paralysed.

      ‘You are probably right not to commit yourself. Wait and see how this evening goes.’

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      DERVLA wanted to tell Gianfranco that the evening was going nowhere but the excitement circulating in her bloodstream resisted her efforts. Her heart was thudding so loud that she was sure he must be able to hear it.

      A few moments later their sumptuous ride drew to a halt—an abrupt halt, and equally abruptly Dervla shot forward. She gave a knee-jerk scream and closed her eyes as impact with the glass panel separating them from the driver seemed inevitable.

      At the last moment she found herself pulled backwards, anchored to the seat by an arm like a steel band around her waist.

      The glass partition slid down and the driver’s anxious face appeared. ‘Sorry about that. A dog ran out,’ he said, speaking excellent English but with a more pronounced Italian accent than his employer.

      ‘You avoided it?’

      The driver nodded. ‘Lucky you were wearing seat belts back there.’

      ‘Very lucky,’ Gianfranco agreed, his sardonic gaze levelled on Dervla’s guilty face.

      The glass partition closed and while the driver got out to open the passenger doors Gianfranco’s arm slid from her waist.

      He was still so close she could feel the heat of his body and smell the shampoo

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