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      She saw him frown. He had probably been expecting a hysterical little outburst, she decided with a distinct feeling of triumph.

      She composed her face into a placid mask. ‘It might be best if you could have a list of your guests drawn up and sent over—with any of their known likes and dislikes. Anything I’m not entirely sure about.’

      She stood up and prepared to make a dramatic exit. ‘I’ll pay the bill on my way out.’

      ‘Don’t bother. I settled it in advance when I arrived.’

      ‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ she objected.

      ‘But why wouldn’t I? After all, it was purely business.’ His eyes glittered. ‘Wasn’t it?’

      ‘Well, it certainly wasn’t pleasure!’ she snapped back.

      He gave a benign smile. ‘So you see, Romy, there was really no need to scrimp and only eat pasta. You could have ordered the most expensive thing on the menu and I wouldn’t have batted an eyelid!’

      Fury bubbled up inside her. So he was accusing her of being mean now, was he? She itched to empty the remains of the Bardolino bottle over his head, or to up-end the bread basket all over those thick ebony waves.

      ‘I can assure you that my choice was not dictated by economy!’ she told him. ‘As it happens, I eat so much rich food in the course of my work that I always opt for something plain when I get the opportunity.’

      ‘Just a simple girl at heart?’ he mocked.

      ‘Yes. Simply dying to get away from you!’

      ‘And at home?’ he murmured. ‘Does London’s finest party planner knock up lots of cosy candlelit suppers for two?’

      Well, there was no need to make it sound as though she was running a brothel! ‘I hate to disillusion you, Dominic,’ she told him drily, ‘but I seem to exist on ready-made salads and chocolate mousse, eaten on the run. I’m much too busy for candlelit suppers.’

      He gave her a frankly disbelieving smile. ‘Except for tonight, of course. And yet you’ve hardly touched a thing,’ he observed, glancing down at her plate.

      ‘No.’ Romy gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Unfortunately I had no appetite—but then, that’s not really surprising.’

      ‘Oh?’

      Her smile was icy. ‘You see, Dominic, I really do need a stimulating dinner companion in order to eat with any kind of enjoyment—boredom just kills my appetite stone-dead.’

      He had risen too, so that now he towered over her, all dark masculine power which stirred some powerful response deep in her body. And there didn’t seem to be a damned thing she could do about it!

      ‘Stimulating, you say?’ he murmured silkily. ‘Well, that’s easily remedied. Why don’t you come home with me tonight, Romy? And I’ll show you that they don’t come any more stimulating than me...’.

      And, even though a million smart comments had sprung to her lips, Romy took the coward’s way out.

      She fled.

      

      

      When Romy walked into her flat, it was twenty past midnight and the telephone was ringing. And she knew who it would be even as she picked the receiver up.

      ‘Romy?’

      She was right. No one else of her acquaintance had a voice that deep and that sexy.

      ‘Hello, Dominic,’ she answered.

      ‘You left in rather a hurry, Romy.’

      ‘Understatement of the year,’ she observed sarcastically.

      He laughed. ‘Some people might have interpreted that as a desire to terminate our agreement.’

      ‘They might,’ she agreed crisply.

      ‘And are you going to?’

      ‘No.’ Her reply was thoughtful; she knew that if she backed out now the matter of Dominic Dashwood would remain unresolved for the rest of her life.

      Maybe Stephanie was right. If she didn’t get him out of her system once and for all then maybe she would spend the rest of her life alone. And who in their right mind wanted that?

      ‘But I must have your agreement on several issues first.’

      ‘You drive a hard bargain, for someone who is supposed to be the employee,’ came the dry response.

      ‘It isn’t a rigid relationship like that, Dominic,’ she corrected him acidly. ‘If I’m organising events in your home then we need to be flexible about the roles we’re each going to be playing.’

      ‘Oh, really? Now that does sound interesting,’ he murmured.

      Romy heard his voice deepen and her skin iced into goosebumps in immediate response. It really was astonishing how your body could betray you, she thought as that familiar stinging pleasure began to tighten her nipples. Why, she was virtually melting just at the sound of his voice!

      ‘As well as being issued with a budget and the guest list I mentioned earlier, I need to know...’ Her voice faltered as she wondered if he would choose to misinterpret the question.

      ‘Know what, Romy?’ he prompted sardonically.

      She chose her words carefully. ‘Whether you will have a—a... woman there.’

      ‘A woman? Why, yes!’ An undercurrent of mockery coloured his reply. ‘There will be five women there, as it happens.’

      If Romy had been a tiger, she would have snarled. ‘You’re deliberately misunderstanding my question!’

      ‘Maybe that’s because it was such a vague question. So why don’t you rephrase it and say what you really mean?’

      The words threatened to choke her, but somehow she managed to get them out in as normal a fashion as possible. ‘Will your girlfriend be there?’ she asked baldly.

      There was a significant pause. Then, ‘No. No girlfriend,’ he murmured, and added hatefully, ‘Do you have a special reason for asking, Romy?’

      Romy counted to ten. ‘Your love-life is of no concern whatsoever to me, Dominic,’ she told him loftily. ‘It’s just that in the past I’ve discovered that women who are in a relationship with the host find it somewhat intimidating if a party planner comes in and effectively plays the part of hostess. They see it as a sort of usurpation of their role.’

      ‘Especially if the party planner has blonde hair and huge brown eyes and the kind of bones a sculptor would drool at the mouth to re-create?’ he questioned.

      Romy looked at the receiver she was holding in her hand and blinked, as though she couldn’t quite believe what she had just heard. ‘My looks have nothing to do with it!’

      He laughed. ‘A rather naive assumption, if I might say so. But don’t worry—there won’t be anyone there who will feel in the least bit threatened by you, Romy. Meanwhile, I’ll fax over everything you need first thing tomorrow.’

      ‘I presume you’ve already booked the caterers?’ queried Romy.

      ‘I have. They came very highly recommended by Triss Alexander—my next-door-neighbour.’

      The name rang a distinct bell. Romy racked her brains and remembered the statuesque redhead who had graced the covers of so many glossy magazines. Though not lately, she realised, wondering why. ‘Triss Alexander—the model?’ she queried.

      ‘The very same.’

      ‘What’s she like?’

      ‘She’s lovely.’ His voice had softened. ‘You’ll meet her. She’ll be joining us.’

      ‘Oh.’

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