LITMIR.BIZ

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she retorted, feeling slightly reassured that he had started to flirt with her. It kind of reinforced what Rosie had told her to expect. ‘I’m a professional through and through and I’d never use sex appeal to sell myself!’

      ‘Not consciously, perhaps?’ he challenged softly. ‘But most women use their sex quite ruthlessly—in my experience.’

      ‘And that’s extensive, is it?’ she challenged in return.

      ‘That depends on your definition of extensive,’ came the silky reply. ‘But I would advise against making assumptions like that about a man you’ve only just met.’

      There was nothing to be gained by irritating him, and clearly she was irritating him. Very much. ‘Sorry,’ she backtracked hastily.

      ‘So can I see your portfolio?’ he asked.

      ‘My…portfolio?’

      ‘You do have a portfolio showing me examples of your work?’

      ‘Of course I do,’ she said. She just hadn’t been planning on using it…‘But unfortunately I had to leave it with a client in Ireland. Anyway, word-of-mouth is the best recommendation—and the only way you can assess my work is to speak to some of the people who’ve hired me in the past.’

      ‘I already did.’

      She shouldn’t have been surprised. But she was. ‘Who?’

      ‘Cormack Casey. His was the only name you gave me. Fortunately he’s the kind of man I trust.’

      Fran blinked. On the phone he had said that he knew Cormack, but the warmth in his voice suggested a deeper relationship than mere acquaintanceship. ‘You mean you’re friends?’

      ‘Yes, we are. What’s the matter?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘You sound surprised?’

      Well, she was. Because Cormack, for all his good looks and sex appeal, was fiercely loyal to his wife, Triss. A one-woman man. A man with morals. So how come he was matey with the arch-heartbreaker Sam Lockhart?

      ‘What did Cormack tell you about me?’

      ‘That you were good.’ There was a pause. ‘Very good.’

      ‘Now you sound surprised!’ she observed.

      He shrugged. ‘People who are good don’t usually have to go out looking for business. Not in your line of work. Cormack was a little taken aback when I told him you’d rung me. In fact, he found it difficult to believe.’

      Fran felt the first prickle of apprehension. ‘D-did he?’

      ‘Mmmm. He said it was completely out of character. Said you were cool and sought-after and he couldn’t imagine you ever touting for trade.’ He emphasised the words with a brief, black-hearted smile.

      It was an offensive way to put it and Fran prayed that she wouldn’t start blushing. And not to be disconcerted by the intense question in those blue eyes. Maybe not looking at him was the only way to guarantee that.

      ‘So why start now?’ he mused.

      ‘Well, I’ve been working in Ireland,’ she defended, swallowing down her anxiety. ‘No one knows me here in England—and I needed to do something. Something big to get me established over here.’

      ‘And working for me will do that?’

      She met his gaze reluctantly, feeling the erratic pumping of her heart in response. Did he have this effect on anyone with two X chromosomes in their body, she wondered? ‘You know it will,’ she answered bluntly.

      There was a brief hooding of his eyes as he nodded, as if acknowledging her honesty. If only he knew, Fran thought, with the slightest shimmer of guilt. Until she remembered Rosie’s tear-stained face. And her damning list of just how many hearts he had broken along the way. Sam Lockhart deserved everything he was about to get! That is, if she got the job….

      ‘So my Valentine ball will put you firmly on the map?’ he observed.

      Fran nodded.

      ‘That’s what I can do for you,’ he mused, and his voice was a soft caress which whispered temptingly at her senses. ‘Which leaves me wondering what I’ll get from you in return?’

      It was blatant. Flagrant. Outrageous. Fran’s hand hovered above and then clutched onto her pearl necklace, her fingers sliding over the slippery surface of the lustrous jewels. Rosie had said he was rampant—but she had been expecting a little more finesse than that. ‘W-what exactly did you have in mind?’ she demanded hoarsely.

      He frowned, and his gaze seemed to scorch her skin as he searched her face. He seemed to be keeping a straight face with some difficulty as he observed her reaction. ‘This is purely a business transaction, Miss Fisher,’ he reminded her wryly. ‘Not a sexual one.’

      Fran’s face went scarlet. ‘I wasn’t suggesting for a moment—’

      ‘Oh, yes, you were,’ he contradicted softly. ‘It was written all over your face. And your body.’ His voice lowered. ‘I’m flattered.’

      ‘Well, don’t be!’ she snapped. ‘Maybe I did jump to the wrong conclusion, but women have to be on their guard against innuendo. Against men coming on strong.’

      ‘Yes, I can imagine that you must keep coming up against that kind of thing,’ he commented innocently.

      Fran looked at him suspiciously. Was he making fun of her? ‘Perhaps we should talk about the ball now,’ she said primly.

      He gave a wolfish smile, aware that he was finding this verbal skirmish extremely stimulating indeed. ‘But that’s exactly what I’ve been trying to do for the last five minutes. You do dither, don’t you, Miss Fisher?’

      ‘Not normally, no—it must be the effect you’re having on me!’ Fran took a deep breath as she forced herself to ignore his sarcasm and to inject her voice with enthusiasm. ‘Anyway, Valentine’s Day is such a fantastic date for any kind of party!’ she began breezily. ‘It gives us so much scope for decorations!’

      ‘Such as?’

      ‘Oh, you know…. Hearts! Flowers! Love! Romance!’

      ‘Aren’t you forgetting originality?’ he put in, his face deadpan.

      Now he was making fun of her. Fran frowned, forgetting Rosie, forgetting everything except doing what she was good at. And she was very good at pitching for a job…. ‘Mr. Lockhart—’ She gave him a patient look. ‘Valentine’s Day is just like Christmas—’

      ‘It is?’

      ‘It certainly is. As a traditional celebration—people expect certain customs to be adhered to.’

      ‘They do?’

      ‘Of course they do!’ she enthused, really warming to her subject now. ‘Its rituals comfort and reassure—because people don’t always want to be surprised, you know. They want the predictable—’

      ‘How very boring,’ he murmured.

      Fran cleared her throat. That sizzling little glance of his was annoyingly distracting. ‘Wrong!’ she smiled. ‘I can assure you that while what I am suggesting may not exactly be ground-breaking stuff—’

      ‘Mmmm?’

      ‘It most certainly will not be boring! You will have the very best food and wines and the most wonderful music—all served up in a setting which will quite simply take your breath away!’

      His eyes rested on her thoughtfully for a moment or two, before shooting another glance at his watch. ‘Right. Well, thank you very much for your time, Miss Fisher.’

      Fran stared at him in astonishment. Surely that wasn’t it? Yes, he’d said ten minutes, but he’d barely let her talk for more than thirty seconds! She glanced at her own watch. No. A man of his word. It had

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