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His gaze had drifted over her again. “I wouldn’t go that far. The simple fact is, I’m intrigued by you, Leila Connors-Lee. Women seldom perform so well on foreign assignments, especially not their first. They find the travel too demanding, intimidating even. Their ambitions lie closer to home as a rule.”
He’d made ambition sound like a dirty word. “Is there something wrong with a person wanting to succeed?”
He’d shrugged, an elegant shifting of his shoulders beneath the exquisite Armani jacket. “The degree of wanting might be a problem.”
“Why should it be, as long as the company benefits?”
“Theoretically, it shouldn’t,” he’d said, his glance taking inventory of the blush-pink Thai silk of her dress, the Sri Lankan sapphires at her ears, “but if other factors enter the picture....”
For a moment, her poise had almost shattered. Was he really telling her that he paid attention to the sort of innuendo Carl Newbury apparently was not above spreading around, or did a more subtle text underlie his words: one which acknowledged the sexual attraction pulsing between the two of them and, at the same time, that he rebelled against it?
“Other factors being the objections voiced by some of your executives at my appointment?” she’d said, and when he once again shrugged dismissively and turned away, went on, “Well, Mr. Rossi—Dante—I’d like to voice a few objections of my own, most specifically to your judging me on the strength of idle gossip. I know what’s being said and I find it only a little less insulting than your willingness to accept as truth something which has absolutely no basis in fact. Frankly I expected a more enlightened attitude from a man of your presumed intelligence.”
That had cured him of his urge to study the incoming tide! “The day I come to depend on the office grapevine in order to form an accurate assessment of any employee will be the day I retire from business,” he said sharply, swinging back to face her. “I’m not sure who’s been talking or what’s been implied, Leila, but let’s get one thing clear from the start I consider myself a good enough judge of character to arrive at my own conclusions without relying on input from other people.”
She’d been very firmly put in her place, no doubt about it, but before she could respond, one of the native Caribbean houseboys had appeared at the top of the steps leading into the house and banged a dinner gong. Its tones had rolled over the guests, cutting melodiously through the noise and laughter.
Barely able to contain his resentment at being excluded from his employer’s conversation with the upstart newcomer, Carl Newbury didn’t waste a second of the opportunity to intrude. Like a trained Rottweiler out to protect its master, he’d insinuated himself between her and Dante. “We should move inside, Dante. Nobody else is going to sit down to eat until you do,” he’d brayed, all false amiability. “So sorry to interrupt your little chat with the boss, Leila.”
“Don’t be,” she said, ignoring him and staring at Dante. “Mr. Rossi and I have finished everything we have to say to each other, haven’t we?”
Dante had flicked a minute speck of lint from his otherwise immaculate jacket cuff and shot her a glance from beneath the sweep of his lashes. “Not quite, Leila,” he’d said ambiguously, “but it will have to do for now.”
The same dinner gong which had brought that first conversation to an end echoed through the old plantation house again, now summoning stragglers to that night’s formal banquet and reminding her that almost an hour had passed since she’d stepped out of the shower. Dante would be waiting, wondering what was keeping her.
Yet how could she go down to meet him as planned, knowing that to do so would be adding fuel to the gossip already spreading like wildfire? He deserved better.
On the other hand, to remain in hiding suggested a guilt neither of them had reason to feel. They were consenting adults, free to pursue a relationship if they chose.
Granted, it would have been easier, wiser even, had they not been employer and employee. But love didn’t acknowledge such trivial obstacles. Still, perhaps they should wait until they returned to Canada. Unlike Poinciana, the city of Vancouver was large enough that they could conduct their love affair away from the prying eyes that followed their every move here on this tiny island.
The sudden shrill of the telephone brought an end to her indecision. “Leila, what’s keeping you?” Dante asked when she answered.
“I was...daydreaming,” she said, for want of a better word.
“I’ve done a bit of that myself in the last hour or two.” Even from a distance, his voice made her ache with longing to see him again, to be possessed by him. “Hurry down, sweetheart. The cocktail hour’s over and the banquet about to begin.”
“I’m afraid I’ll be a few more minutes,” she said, searching through a drawer for fresh lingerie. “Don’t wait for me.”
“I’ll keep a seat at the head table.”
And set the tongues to wagging more furiously? “No!”
“Leila?” An edge decidedly more suited to a CEO sharpened his tone. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” she repeated more moderately. “But singling me out that way will raise more than a few eyebrows.”
“I can handle raised eyebrows.”
“I’m not sure I can,” she said. “Not quite yet.”
“Our being seen together isn’t hurting anyone, Leila. We’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I know. It’s just that I’m new here and....”
And there are some in the company who’ve made it pretty clear they think I’m prepared to sleep my way to the top. But if she told him that, he’d insist on names and he’d act on the information. And she’d got off to a bad enough start with some of her colleagues without making matters worse.
A moment of silence hummed along the line before Dante said, “Okay, we’ll do it your way for now. Come down as soon as you can. If I can’t sit next to you, at least let me be able to look at you.”
“Of course,” she said, her fears somewhat allayed.
Who was she going to listen to, after all: the man to whom she’d given herself in love and trust—or Carl Newbury and his misplaced moral indignation?
CHAPTER TWO
NEWBURY divided the dinner hour between shoveling food down his throat and harping on the fact that Leila had elected to sit at a table other than theirs.
“Glad to see you’ve managed to pry her off, Dante,” he leered, swabbing a chunk of bread through the remains of his fish soup. “The way she gravitated toward you the first chance she got, I thought we were going to have to call in the troops to rescue you. It’s no wonder the guys are up in arms about her. A woman like that can undermine the stability of the whole company.”
“To put it mildly,” Dante said, deliberately misunderstanding the last remark. Company be damned! In the space of a few days, she’d rocked the foundations of his entire life. Even now when he ought to have been occupied with other things, he couldn’t keep his eyes—or his mind—off her.
She sat four tables removed from his, with her back toward him. Each time she turned her head to speak to the people seated beside her, the hurricane candle in the middle of her table illuminated her profile, emphasizing its exotic cast and highlighting the upswept coil of her black hair. She was the loveliest woman he’d ever seen.
“...Beginner’s luck, that’s all it is. Things just fell into place for her. That she should wind up enjoying a week here in the Caribbean when there are guys in the office who’ve been plugging away for years and never made it—”
She sat like a queen, dark-eyed, dark-haired, and so beautiful it was unnerving. Ethereal, almost. Like a dream that couldn’t possibly live up to reality. Or was it the blend of shy reserve and elegant dignity that lent such mystery to her? Or the fact that she seemed oblivious to her impact on those around her?
“Nobody bent the rules for her,” Dante said, continuing to observe her. “The top thirty employees get invited to Poinciana, the rest stay and run things on the home front. The standard remains the same regardless of who’s on the payroll.”
“Ah!” Newbury pounced on the remark as eagerly as he attacked the stuffed land crab entrée placed before him. “It’s the way she accomplished it, swanning in and taking over a plum assignment which was my right to assign, that soured me on her. But is she grateful? Not her! She treats me to the royal brush-off with her cool smile and snotty attitude. As if I’m not good enough to polish her shoes.”
Considering Carl at times displayed all the charm of a sewer rat, her instincts were, in Dante’s view, right on target. But the guy was married to Gavin’s goddaughter, which made him family of a sort, and Dante set great store by family. So he kept his opinion to himself and hoped Carl would tire of the subject.
He didn’t. “Her appointment’s upset more than a few people, Dante. There’s a discord present that wasn’t there before she came on the scene. Knowing that, can you honestly sit there and tell me that, if you’d been there when she applied for Hasborough’s job, you’d have agreed to hire her?”
No, he thought. I’d have proposed to her instead before some other man beat me to it. But the presumption behind Newbury’s question was too blatant to go unchecked.
“Are you questioning the chairman of the board’s business acumen, Carl?” He phrased the question pleasantly enough, toying idly with his wineglass the whole time, but Newbury heard the warning and took heed.
“Not at all! Gavin’s a fine man—experienced, well respected in the import business. But he’s.... ”
“A pushover for a pretty face?” Dante laced his smile with phoney sympathy.
Newbury took the bait without a second’s misgiving. “Well, aren’t we all, Dante, if a woman plays up to us?”
“No,” Dante said, his smile disappearing along with any semblance of congeniality. “Especially not Gavin Black and especially not where business is concerned. We’re talking about a man who’s already forgotten more about running an import company than you or I will ever learn, and who’s a devoted husband, father and grandfather to boot. Yet unless I’ve misunderstood where all this talk is leading, you’re suggesting he allowed his professional judgment to be swayed by what could well be interpreted as sexual discrimination.”
“No!” Newbury practically choked in his haste to extricate himself from the hot seat. “I’m not saying that at all. Anything but!”
“That’s good,” Dante said. “Because if you were, Carl, I’d have to question very seriously if you really belong in a vice president’s position.”
“I worked hard to get where I am, Dante, you know that.”
“And I applaud your dedication. However, I value loyalty more.”
“So do I. The company always comes first.” Newbury began to sweat.
It wasn’t a pretty sight and reason enough for Dante to cast his gaze elsewhere. It zeroed in on Leila with the accuracy of a missile seeking its target.
Something the man on her left said had amused her. Dante watched, fascinated by the flash of her smile, the graceful arch of her throat as she tilted her head back in laughter. Everything about her was small, elegant, refined. Beside her he felt clumsy, unfinished. Too big, too earthy, too ordinary.
And he wanted her in a way that both startled and elated him.
As if she’d read his mind, she swiveled suddenly in her seat and stared at him expectantly. He realized then that she was not alone, that conversation throughout the room had died to allow one of the senior partners to give the annual morale-boosting spiel. This year, it was his turn.
Wrenching his mind back to business, he stood up and acknowledged the applause. “Thanks,” he said, “and a belated welcome to Poinciana. We’ve already wrapped up two days of seminars and before the week is over I’m confident we’ll have resolved some of the problems we’ve faced over the last year. But we don’t fly our brightest and best to the Caribbean to spend all their time indoors.”
Her eyes, dark gray and almond-shaped, fixed on him earnestly. Returning her gaze, he lost the thread of what he’d been saying, recalling instead the image of her lying beneath him that afternoon. His body responded accordingly.
In danger of finding himself seriously embarrassed in public, he looked away and scanned the room at large. “Classic Collections,” he said, falling back on lines he’d repeated so often he could recite them in his sleep, “bought Poinciana five years ago but although it’s the company name on the land title, the island really belongs to all of you. Your effort, your support, made its purchase possible. There are no bosses here and no employees, just people with a common interest and a common goal—to meet the challenges ahead with energy and a united effort to keep Classic Collections at the top where it belongs.”
He indicated Gavin, his one-time mentor and for the last five years, his partner. “We hope,” he said, and despite himself, found he was focusing on her again, speaking directly to her, “that you’ll take advantage of the beaches, the trails, the weather and the excellent food, to recharge your batteries. Except for when you’re in seminar, you’re on island time. Make the most of it and enjoy.”
Right on cue the steel band on the terrace started its nightly gig, the rhythm pulsing through the applause in the dining room.
“Wonderful,” Newbury murmured obsequiously in his ear. “You always say exactly the right thing, Dante.”
“I try,” he replied, stifling the inclination to tell the man to can it. Instead, he turned to Gavin’s wife who sat on his other side. “Shall we start things rolling, Rita?”
“Might as well,” she said, smiling up at him. “There are a lot of ladies who’ve waited all year to dance with you, Dante, and I wouldn’t like to get trampled in the rush.”
Across the table, her husband laughed and held out his hand to Maureen Vickers, the fifty-six-year-old head of personnel who, like every other employee present, had gone the distance and then some in her devotion to the company over the last twelve months. “Let’s give them a run for their money, Maureen.”
The small dance floor filled quickly, forcing couples to spill out to the terrace. Above the coconut palms fringing the beach, the moon rose bright and full. The sea rolled ashore, seeming to be drawn as much by the hypnotic rhythm of the steel band as the pull of the tide.
A summer paradise beside which February in Vancouver sank into cold damp oblivion, it was Poinciana as he’d never seen it before, its beauty made all the more memorable because of Leila Connors-Lee. Automatically, his gaze swung over the crowd, seeking out her ivory-clad body swaying in the arms of a junior accountant whom Dante decided he’d never much liked. There was something about the man’s soft white hands and the way they moved up and down that straight elegant spine....
“You’re very quiet, Dante,” Rita Black said. “Something on your mind?”
“No,” he lied, spinning her around with more energy than style so that he could keep an eye on the accountant with the roving hands. ‘“Suffering from jet lag, that’s all. I got back from Italy only a couple of days before flying down here and seem to be caught in some sort of mid-Atlantic time warp.”
“You work too hard, dear.” Rita patted his arm sympathetically. “I sometimes wonder how you manage to stay abreast of things in the office, given the amount of time you spend on the road.”
“It’s as much a part of the job as making a point of dancing at least once with every woman in the room tonight.” He steered her back to their table. “You’ll forgive me, Rita, if I hand you over to Gavin now?”
“Of course.” She smiled and waved him away. “Do your duty by the rest of the ladies waiting to take a spin around the floor with you, then sneak away. You deserve a little quiet time away from the spotlight once in a while.”
And he intended to take it—although not alone.
Conscientiously, he danced with Meg, his superefficient P.A., with the head warehouseman’s pregnant wife, with a junior payroll clerk who was so nervous at finding herself boogying with the top brass that he thought she might wet herself.
Finally, as the moon slid down toward the horizon, he’d danced with every woman in the room except the one he most wanted to hold in his arms. Straightening his bow tie, he scanned the room, hunting her out.
Just as she’d known from the moment the music had begun that eventually he’d ask her to dance, so she knew to the moment when he decided the time had come. A sharp stab of expectation struck, puckering the skin of her bare shoulders mere seconds before he came up behind her, rested his hand lightly at her back and murmured with amused formality, “Would you care to dance, Ms. Connors-Lee?”
She inclined her head. “I’d be delighted, Mr. Rossi.”
He led the way, threading between the tables to a spot where the polished wooden floor gave way to the tiled surface of the terrace beyond. She followed, aware as she had been all evening, of Carl Newbury’s unremitting observation. How happy he must be that, at last, he had something worth watching!
Turning a deaf ear to the voice of caution that warned there’d be a price for the self-indulgence, she slipped into Dante’s arms and let him draw her closer than was strictly proper.
“It’s about time I had you back where you belong,” he murmured.
But before they’d taken more than a step or two, the music stopped. Other dancers drifted apart, wandered back to their tables or chatted quietly with each other, and she knew she and Dante ought to do the same. Vice president Newbury wasn’t alone in his scrutiny; they were all watching, those people who were his cronies and who thought she had no business being there, and she was fueling their resentment by remaining within the circle of Dante’s arm, her gaze locked with his.
“I think we’ve left it too late,” she said, reluctantly dropping her hand from his shoulder. “The band’s packed it in for the night.”
Refusing to let her go, he shook his head. “No. They’ll play ‘til dawn if we ask them to.”
Then please let them start soon, she prayed, unable to slow her racing heart. Please distract me from losing myself in his eyes, from leaning into his strength and finding heaven in his arms here, in full view of such a judgmental audience.
The gods heard and responded kindly. The first bars of “Begin the Beguine” filled the night. Couples came together and picked up the rhythm. But Dante remained still, the message in his glance luring her ever deeper under his spell.
“Have you changed your mind about dancing?” she practically stammered, desperation threading her voice. Didn’t he see the attention they were attracting? Couldn’t he feel the curiosity, the undercurrents of hostility?
“Not in the least, Leila,” he said.
She gave a little shrug to reassure herself that she still retained some measure of control over her body. “Then what are we waiting for?”
“Not a thing,” he assured her, moving smoothly out of range of the watchers and into the tropical night. He drew her closer, steering her with a nudge of his thigh, directing her with the subtle pressure of his hand in the small of her back and, as the deep shadows at the edge of the terrace swallowed them up, inching his arm so far around her that she could feel the tips of his fingers brushing the side swell of her breast. “In fact,” he murmured against her hair, “I think I’ve displayed amazing patience in waiting this long.”
She didn’t need to ask what he meant. She knew, and once again she marveled at the sense of rightness, of certainty, that swept over her, silencing her reservations. This was what her mother had been talking about the time she’d described meeting Leila’s father.
“I knew the moment I set eyes on him,” she’d said. “There was never the least doubt in my mind that he would be the love of my life. People were shocked, of course. I was the private governess to one of Singapore’s most prominent families, expected to be respectable and, at forty-two, supposedly past the age to behave so recklessly. Falling in love with a man eight years younger, and of mixed racial origin, as well, created quite a scandal in those days, I can tell you, but that was a minor sin compared to my becoming pregnant within two months of meeting him.”
“How dreadful that must have been for you,” the seventeen-year-old she’d been at the time had said. “Were you terribly unhappy and embarrassed?”
Her mother had laughed. “You’ve yet to give your heart or you wouldn’t ask me that! When a woman loves a man as I loved your father, Leila, nothing they share makes her ashamed or afraid. Finding him was the best thing that ever happened to me. Having his baby was a miracle, a gift beyond price. If there is one wish I have for you, my darling daughter, it is that the right man will someday come along and fill your life with the same kind of happiness that I found with your father.”
“Even if I should be that lucky, how can I be sure I‘ ll recognize him?” Leila had asked doubtfully. “How will I know he’s the one?”
Her mother had touched a hand to her breast. “You will know here,” she’d said. “And you will be as sure he is the one as you are that the sun will rise in the morning. He will be the sun in your morning, the moon in your night.”
Yes, Leila thought now, recognition binding her ever more securely to Dante with an inevitability that defied time or place or reason. That’s it exactly! Now I understand.
The question was, did he? A sliver of uncertainty laid a chill over her bare shoulders.
Oh, he had made love to her with tenderness and passion, and he seemed not to care what others might make of their association. But when she had told him she loved him, he had not returned the sentiment. Was she naive to think that mattered? Didn’t actions speak louder than words?
She looked up at him, seeking assurance that she wasn’t in the grip of some self-indulgent fantasy. In the flame of the kerosene torches dotted among the palm trees, she saw the same awareness in his eyes, and heard it when he spoke.
“Perhaps I should have asked this before, Leila,” he said, the words drifting over her face like a caress, “but there isn’t anyone waiting for you back home in Vancouver, is there?”
“No,” she told him, glad that she’d brought things to such a definitive end with Anthony Fletcher just before he left for Croatia well over two months ago. The one letter she’d received, a few weeks after his arrival in Europe, suggested he bore no scars from her rejection.
“No special man in your life?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“There is now,” he said, and this time the words touched her mouth a millisecond before his lips closed over hers to seal the promise.
Misgivings forgotten, she drowned in his kiss, reveled in the urgent straining of his body against hers. In the darkness of the balmy night, time stopped briefly and that other world, of ordinary people leading ordinary lives, faded into nothingness.
But not for long. Soon the steel band, the voices too close to go ignored, the hushed sigh of the surf rolling ashore, flowed over her, reminding her that, however much she wished it, she and Dante were not alone on this exquisite island. She remembered the suspicion of her associates which had dogged her from her first day at Classic Collections; worse still, she recalled the conversation she’d overheard only a few hours ago.
“Is this wise, Dante?” she whispered, pulling back and dispelling the enchantment with a stab at sound common sense.
“No,” he said hoarsely, “but what the hell has wisdom to do with anything?”
It had to do with returning to the office when this magical week was over; with being able to stand proud and unashamed when he was away, conducting business on the other side of the world as he so frequently did, and she was left alone to face her critics.
She had come to Poinciana not just to learn more about the company but to show herself as a dedicated career woman, one deserving of the responsibilities inherent in her new job. Falling for the boss did not exactly strengthen her credibility in the eyes of those she was most anxious to impress.