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until their palms pressed warmly and his skin fairly pulsed at the contact.

      ‘A financier?’ she said, holding his hand longer than was appropriate.

      ‘A realiser,’ he defended, uncharacteristically sensitive to the difference all of a sudden.

      And then—finally—she made formal eye contact. As if his tone had got him some kind of password access. Because he was taller than her—even with those legs that had seemed to go on for ever down at the beach—her looking up at him from closer quarters lifted her thick lashes and gave him a much better look at deep grey irises surrounded by whites of a clarity he never saw in the city.

      Or in the mirror.

      Healthy, fresh-air-raised eyes. And really very beautiful. Yet still not quite...there. As if her mind was elsewhere.

      Some crazy part of him resented not being worthy of her full attention when this meeting and what might come out of it meant so much to him. Perhaps cautious uninterest was a power mechanism on the Morgan property.

      Effective.

      ‘I studied the proposal you emailed,’ she said, stepping back and running the hand that had just held his through her dog’s wet coat, as if she was wiping him off.

      ‘And?’

      ‘And it was...very interesting.’

      ‘But you aren’t very interested?’ he guessed aloud.

      Her smile, when it came, changed her face. And instantly she was that girl down by the beach again. Dancing in the surf. The mouth that was a hint too big for her face meant her smile was like the Cheshire Cat’s. Broad and intriguing. Totally honest. Yet hiding everything.

      ‘It sounds terrible when you say it like that.’

      ‘Is there another way to say no?’

      ‘Dozens.’ She laughed. ‘Or don’t you hear it very often?’

      Her parents exchanged a momentary glance. Not of concern at their daughter’s bluntness, rather more...speculative. She ignored them entirely.

      ‘I’d like to learn more about your new processes,’ he risked, appealing to her vanity since their new processes were her new processes. ‘And perhaps go further into what I have in mind.’

      She dismissed it out of hand. ‘We don’t do tours.’

      ‘You’ll barely notice me. I’m particularly good at the chameleon thing—’

      Two tiny lines appeared between brows a slightly lighter colour than her still damp hair and he realised that wasn’t the way in either.

      ‘And your Ashmore Coolidge health-check is due soon anyway. Two birds, one stone.’

      That, finally, had an impact. So Laney Morgan was efficient, if nothing else. His firm required biennial business health-checks on their clients to make sure everything was solid. By contract.

      ‘How long? An hour?’ she asked.

      His snort surprised her.

      ‘A day, at least. Possibly two.’

      ‘We’re to put you up on no notice?’

      Who knew a pair of tight lips could say so much?

      ‘No. I’ll get a room in town...’

      ‘You will not,’ Ellen piped up. ‘You can have a chalet.’

      He and Laney both snapped their faces towards her at the same time.

      ‘Mum...’

      ‘You have accommodation?’ That wasn’t in their file.

      Ellen laughed. ‘Nothing flash—just a couple of guest dwellings up in the winter paddock.’

      That was the best opening he was going to get. Staying on the property, staying close, was the fastest way to their compliance he could think of. ‘If you’re sure?’

      ‘Mum!’

      Laney’s face gave nothing away but her voice was loaded with meaning. Too late. The offer was made. A couple of days might be all he needed to get to know all of the Morgan clan and influence their feelings about taking their operation global.

      ‘Thank you, Ellen, that’s very generous.’

      Her face gave nothing away, but Helena’s displeasure radiated from the more subtle tells in her body—her posture, the acute angle of her neck, as if someone was running fingernails down a chalkboard on some frequency the rest of them couldn’t hear. Except her dog couldn’t hear it either—he’d flopped down behind the sofa, fast asleep.

      ‘Laney, will you show Elliott up to the end chalet, please?’

      That sweet, motherly voice wasn’t without its own strength and it brooked no argument.

      When Laney straightened she was back to avoiding eye contact again. She smiled with as few muscles as possible, the subtext flashing in neon.

      ‘Sure.’

      She made the squeak noise again and her dog leapt to attention. She turned, trailed her hand along the back of the sofa and then around the next one, and reached for the cluster of leather he’d seen in her hand down at the beach from where it now hung over the back of a dining chair. As she bent and fitted it around the crazy, tearaway dog it totally changed demeanour; became attentive and professional. Then she stood and held the handle loosely in her left hand.

      And everything fell into place.

      The death-defying coffee pour. The standoffish outstretched hand. The lack of hard eye contact.

      Laney Morgan wasn’t a princess or judgmental—at least she wasn’t only those things.

      Laney Morgan—whom he’d seen dancing so joyously on the beach, who had taken a family honey business and built it into one of the most successful in the country, and who had just served him his own genitals on a plate—couldn’t see.

      CHAPTER TWO

      ‘YOU’RE BLIND,’ ELLIOTT GARVEY murmured from Laney’s right, the moment they were outside.

      ‘You’re staring.’

      ‘I wasn’t,’ he defended after a brief pause, his voice saturated with unease.

      ‘I could feel it.’ And then, at the subtle catch in his breath. ‘Practically feel it, Mr Garvey. Not literally.’ Though he certainly wouldn’t be the first to expect her to have some kind of vision-impaired ESP.

      He cleared his throat. ‘You hide it well.’

      Wilbur protested her sudden halt with a huff of doggie breath.

      ‘I don’t hide it at all.’

      ‘Right, no...sorry. Poor choice of words.’

      Confusion pumped from him and she got the sense that he was a man who very rarely let himself get flustered. It was tempting to play him, just a little, but her mother had raised her never to exploit the discomfiture of others. Because if she expected to be taken at face value how could she do less for anyone else?

      Even intruding corporate types from the city.

      She adjusted her trajectory at Wilbur’s slight left tug and passed through the first gate beside her dog. ‘I’ve had twenty-five years to perfect things, Mr Garvey. Plus the direction of your breathing gave you away.’

      ‘Elliott.’

      Then he fell silent again and she wondered if he was looking around at their farm...or at her still? Scrutiny never had sat lightly on her.

      ‘He’s very focussed. Wilbur, was it?’

      Okay, neither of the above. He’d managed to zero in on her favourite talking point.

      ‘Captain

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