Gabriel raised his head, the glitter in his eyes making her pulse race even faster.

Taking her other hand, too, he drew her inexorably closer, until their bodies lightly touched, his thighs against hers, her breasts brushing his shirt.

“Rhiannon?” His breath stirred tendrils of hair at her forehead.

Her eyes felt heavy-lidded but she made herself look at him. She raised her eyes to his, and saw herself reflected in the dark centers.

“Rhiannon,” he said again, “would you like me to kiss you?”

Alarm flared and died. She was suddenly very calm and sure. His mouth was close to hers, its contours beautiful in a wholly masculine way, firm but not narrow, decisive yet promising tenderness.

Scarcely above a whisper, against the thunder that was the sound of her racing heart, she said, “Yes.”

DAPHNE CLAIR lives in subtropical New Zealand, with her Dutch-born husband. They have five children. At eight years old she embarked on her first novel, about taming a tiger. This epic never reached a publisher, but metamorphosed male tigers still prowl the pages of her romances, of which she has written over fifty novels for Harlequin®. Her other writing includes nonfiction, poetry and short stories, and she has won literary prizes in New Zealand and the United States.

Readers are invited to visit Daphne Clair’s Web site at www.daphneclair.com.

The Determined Virgin
Daphne Clair

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE

RHIANNON hated elevators, but the parking building’s lower floors had already been full when she’d driven in this morning, and carrying a box of ceramic tiles up four-and-a-half flights of stairs wasn’t sensible. Any normal person would take the easier option offered by the invitingly open doors.

She’d spent five years trying to be a normal person.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside and pressed the button for level four, relieved she was the only passenger.

As the doors were about to meet, a strong masculine hand parted them and a tall, grey-suited man stepped through the gap. Rhiannon quickly moved back, her spine coming up against the far wall.

The newcomer glanced at the lit number on the keypad and the doors slid together.

It’s all right, she told herself. He’s just an ordinary man. Needing reassurance of that, she sent a covert glance at him, and discovered with a shock that, leaning against a side wall with his arms folded, he was giving her a lazily interested inspection, lids half-lowered over silvery eyes that roamed from her chin-length, dark brown hair to her cream shirt and moss-green skirt.

Rhiannon’s nape prickled, every tiny hair standing on end, and her heartbeat increased. She tried to breathe steadily, remain calm. But even as she tightened her grip on the box in her arms and concentrated her gaze on the changing numbers over the doors, her brain registered that her companion didn’t look ordinary.

The suit, and the blue-striped shirt worn with a dark silk tie were conventional enough, perfectly fitted to a lean body that seemed to arrange itself naturally to his casual stance. But his face belonged on some ancient statue in a sunlit Grecian setting—not half a world away in the rather dingy surroundings of a parking building in downtown Auckland. Thick, almost-blond, sun-streaked hair added to the impression, its incipient waves tamed by a conventional but expensive-looking haircut.

Number two came up on the display, then three, four. The man let Rhiannon out first, following as the doors whooshed shut behind them. She hoisted her box a little higher and quickly headed for the half-flight of concrete steps leading to 4-B.

As she reached them he touched her arm. ‘That looks heavy,’ he said. ‘Let me help you.’

Her foot, already on the first step, slipped as she instinctively pulled away, turning her head to refuse the offer. She lost her balance, falling onto the stairs, and her elbow hit a concrete edge, the box slid from her grasp.

Tiles spilled, smashing against each other. Dizzy with pain, she scarcely heard the explosive word the man let out before she twisted upright on one of the steps and sat nursing her elbow, teeth gritted and eyes squeezed shut to stop herself crying out.

‘I’m sorry!’ The deep male voice was very near, and her eyes flew wide, to see the Greek-god face only inches from hers, the man hunkered down before her, one knee on the not-too-clean concrete floor. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you,’ he said.

Close up, his eyes were blue—ice-blue but not cold, and filled with guilty concern. ‘Are you hurt?’ He looked at the hand cupped about her throbbing elbow. ‘Let me see?’ His bent head came even closer, so she could see the parting among the glossy waves of his hair. A pleasant, slightly astringent aroma hinting of citrus and spicy manuka leaves came to her.

He extended a hand to touch her again, and Rhiannon instinctively shrank back, shaking her head. ‘It’ll be okay in a minute.’

‘You’re pale,’ he said abruptly.

Not surprising; she felt pale. But the dizziness was wearing off. ‘I’m all right.’ To prove it she tried to lever herself up.

‘Don’t move!’ A large hand reached out to hold hers against the cold concrete. ‘You’d better stay there a while,’ he said. And as she resisted his hold, ‘Take it easy.’

She didn’t know if the last remark was a continuation of the first, or a reaction to her attempt at escape. But his soothing yet authoritative tone helped to still her panic.

This man is not attacking you.

Making an effort to relax, she realised that the hand imprisoning hers was warm and, to her surprise, almost comforting. Then he took it away, and began picking up the tiles and replacing them in the box.

‘Some are broken,’ he said. ‘I’ll replace them, or pay whatever it costs you.’

‘You needn’t,’ she told him. ‘I was going to break them up anyway.’

About to place two jagged pieces in the box, he gave her a smiling glance of inquiry. ‘Stress relief?’

‘They’re for a mosaic,’ she explained reluctantly. Talking might help relieve the throbbing ache at her elbow. ‘Most of them are already damaged.’

‘Mosaic…a hobby, or do you do it for a living?’

Rhiannon hesitated. It’s just an idle question, don’t be silly. ‘Not entirely.’

‘Would I know your name?’

‘I doubt it.’

When she didn’t volunteer it, he sent her another glance, his sculpted lips taking on a slightly wry curve, then closed the flaps on the carton and asked, ‘How are you feeling?’

‘I’m fine.’ She adjusted the strap of her shoulder-bag, starting to rise again, and winced.

The man frowned. ‘Are you sure you haven’t broken a bone?’

Rhiannon moved her forearm, testing. It was uncomfortable but she said, ‘I’ll have a bruise, that’s all.’ Carrying the tiles would be a problem, though.

He said, ‘You go first—I’ll bring this along for you.’

With no real choice, she mounted the steps, conscious of his footsteps behind her.

When he’d stowed the box in the back of her station wagon he asked, ‘Anything else I can do for you?’

‘No. Thank you, you’ve done enough.’

‘Ow!’ he said softly.

‘I didn’t mean…’

He laughed, and Rhiannon said quickly, ‘It was kind of you and I appreciate it.’

‘That’s generous, since I caused you to get hurt.’

‘No, it wasn’t your fault.’ Considering his spectacular good looks, any other woman would surely have gracefully accepted his initial offer of help. Instead of falling over her feet in an effort to get away.

‘Is there someone to help you unload them?’ he asked her, indicating the tiles.

‘Yes.’ Not giving any more information, she opened the driver’s door and climbed in.

His expression rueful, he closed the door for her, raised a casual hand and stepped back.

Glancing in the rear-vision mirror as she entered the ramp to the lower level, she saw he was still watching.

As the station wagon disappeared down the ramp, Gabriel Hudson shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked briefly on his heels.

Nice one, Hudson. Not up to your usual style.

Not that he was in the habit of picking up females in car parks, but he’d seldom been brushed off so unequivocally. Even before he’d bought out a failing business for a song, changed its name and built it up to the rank of one of New Zealand’s top private companies, he’d been spoiled for choice as far as female companionship was concerned. His looks were both an asset and an occasional embarrassment. They didn’t usually scare women off.

The instant he’d stepped into the lift this one had scurried into a corner without making eye contact, allowing him to study her for a moment or two before she looked up and caught him.

She’d seemed startled then—large green eyes, slightly almond-shaped but enormous and wary as a cat’s, fixed on him for a long second, unpainted lips parting on a quickly indrawn breath. Tempting lips—their outlines very feminine and well-defined, the tender flesh blush-pink.

Shining mahogany hair cut in a deceptively simple style kissed petal-smooth skin with a faint dusky-rose bloom that had disappeared alarmingly into a deathly pallor when she hurt herself. The box she’d carried had partly hidden her figure, but her plain skirt had been just short enough to reveal nicely shaped legs.

She’d looked away again immediately, the soft lips firmly pressing together, and he’d seen the taut line of her throat ripple as she swallowed, her eyes fixing on the lighted floor numbers as if she could will them to change faster.

He’d felt a throb of desire, surprising himself with the adolescent reaction to a passing stranger. His impulse to help carry the heavy box wasn’t entirely altruistic. He hadn’t planned seduction on the staircase, but he’d had an odd reluctance to just let her walk away. That single glance in the elevator had intrigued him.

He shouldn’t have touched her. That was what had made her jump like a startled fawn and trip on the stair.

Remembering her white face, the green eyes darkened with shock, the lovely mouth pale and tight, he swore under his breath.

He’d blown his chances there, for sure. Making a woman almost pass out with pain wasn’t exactly calculated to endear a man to her.

After that there had been little he could do but see her safely to her car and forget about the disastrous encounter.

Rhiannon drove carefully, aware that her rapidly stiffening arm wouldn’t stand too much strain. Her shoulder muscles were tense, and when a traffic light stopped the car she snatched the chance to practise a deep-breathing exercise, and deliberately loosened her grip on the steering wheel, flexing her fingers.

Curling them again about the vinyl, she had a clear memory of the stranger’s hand on hers, strong yet not threatening. And of his eyes, that seemed to change disconcertingly from glittering silver-grey to the blue of a winter morning sky, promising warmth to come. When she’d first caught him looking at her they’d been idly appreciative, then apologetic and concerned, but later uncomfortably curious and perceptive.

The lights changed and she put her foot down, charging across the intersection before she thought to ease back on the accelerator.

She was…unsettled. On edge. A strange fluttering sensation attacked her midriff, and at her throat a pulse beat erratically. She felt warm all over and oddly weakened.

The fall, of course, had shaken her up. It would take a little while to get over it.

At the old villa in Mount Albert that she shared with another young woman, she removed a few tiles at a time from the box and carried them to the high-ceilinged former bedroom she’d converted to a home studio.

In future she’d be able to do some of her smaller artwork at her new gallery in the heart of the city, but her current commission was for a fairly large triptych. The mesh backing was laid out on the bare wooden floor, the design already partly filled in.

After stowing the tiles, she inspected her elbow and pressed a cold compress to the obvious swelling. Later her housemate, a nurse in a private hospital, insisted on prodding the arm gently and moving it about. ‘Nothing broken, probably,’ Janette agreed cheerfully, ‘but maybe you should get it checked out.’

Rhiannon shook her head. ‘If it doesn’t get better,’ she promised.

After dinner she wrapped the tiles in newspaper and smashed them with a hammer, left-handed, quelling a familiar inner pang at the destruction. As she’d told the stranger in the car park, most of them were already damaged, scavenged with permission from the demolition team knocking down a city building.

Fitting some of the pieces into the triptych, she soon found regret disappearing in the satisfaction of creation.

The following Friday she was entering the ground floor of the parking building when a man’s deep, leisurely voice sent a tingle of recognition up her spine. The Greek god.

‘Hello again.’ Catching up with her, he slanted her a smile. ‘How’s the arm?’ He looked down at it, revealed by the short-sleeved, easy-fitting beige cotton dress she wore.

‘All right, thanks,’ she answered warily, before remembering to return the smile.

‘You still have a bruise.’ It had passed the worst stage but a purple shadow remained. A long masculine finger briefly brushed the faint mark, making her flinch as a curious sensation feathered over her skin.

‘Sorry!’ he said, surprised grey-blue eyes meeting hers. ‘Is it that tender?’

‘No.’ Rhiannon shied sideways, creating a space between them as he walked beside her.

He sent her a quizzical look. ‘Then—I apologise for taking liberties.’

‘It’s all right,’ she said coolly. Such a fleeting, scarcely felt touch couldn’t be construed as an assault, or even an advance of any kind. Many people touched casually, naturally, with no suggestion of intimacy.

She headed for the stairs, and he commented, ‘Not taking the lift?’

Rhiannon shook her head. Rather than admit to a phobia, she gave her usual excuse. ‘Climbing stairs helps to keep me fit.’

He swerved to accompany her. ‘It obviously works.’ He cast a glinting glance over her.

Every nerve screamed. Rhiannon looked away and didn’t answer.

‘Another apology?’ he inquired softly, climbing at her side.

She shook her head, her throat locked, even though her brain told her she was being ridiculous. Here was an attractive man, letting her know he was attracted to her. Most women would be pleased. Most women would have smiled at him, preened a little, even given him some kind of subtle invitation.

Rhiannon was achingly conscious that she wasn’t most women.

After a second he said, ‘I feel I owe you some sort of compensation. Could I buy you a coffee sometime? Or dinner?’

‘You don’t owe me anything,’ she said tightly.

‘Are you married?’ he asked. ‘Or in a relationship?’

The blunt question startled her into speaking without thought. ‘No!’

‘You just hate the sight of me? Well, I can’t blame you after that accident.’

‘I don’t hate you—I don’t even know you.’

He said lightly, ‘If you’d care to…’

About to tell him she didn’t, Rhiannon hesitated. If she was ever to be a normal, functioning woman she had to start acting like one. It was past time.

They had reached a landing and somehow he stopped so that he blocked her further progress though there was at least half a metre of space between them. He pulled a card from his pocket and held it out to her. ‘Gabriel Hudson,’ he said. ‘I’m in the air-freight business.’

A name to be reckoned with. Gabriel Hudson owned one of the biggest and best-known private firms in the country.

The card confirmed it—the familiar angel-wings logo in one corner, his name centred in flowing script. All the company’s ads used the theme of care and speed, featuring angels cradling precious parcels gently in their arms as they flew from one end of New Zealand to the other, and around the globe. Their service was popular because, unlike most such companies, they boasted a door-to-door service, every package remaining in the Angelair system from collection to delivery.

He was a respected businessman, widely admired for his commercial success when still in his twenties, and named last year on the modest national rich-list, but not one of those who were photographed living it up at social occasions attended by the local glitterati. His private life, it seemed, was strictly kept that way—private.

‘I’ve used your service,’ Rhiannon blurted. Who hadn’t used Angelair if they were involved in any kind of business in New Zealand?

‘We carry your mosaics?’

Feeling a need to cover her gauche remark, she said, ‘Other people’s art, too, and books.’

‘Books?’

‘I have a gallery and bookshop.’

His head tilted to one side. ‘Where?’

She’d said too much already. Reluctantly, she told him, ‘We moved a few weeks ago into High Street.’ The lease for the new premises was cheap for central Auckland, though twice what she’d paid for a small suburban shop space. She hoped the extra street trade and a change to more exclusive stock would compensate.

‘What’s it called?’

Pointless to hold back now. ‘Mosaica.’

A young man came bounding up the stairs, and Gabriel Hudson’s firm hand on Rhiannon’s waist moved her aside as the man raced past them with a careless ‘Thanks.’

Her shoulder came up against hard male muscle, her hip just touching Gabriel’s, and she recognised the citrus-and-spice scent she’d noticed at their first encounter.

Even as her skin began to prickle, her throat tighten, he moved away and allowed her to continue hurrying up the stairs.

Reaching the next floor, she paused to let two vehicles sweep past. The elevator disgorged several passengers. Gabriel said, ‘Are you going to tell me your name?’

‘Rhiannon,’ she said, conquering long-formed habit. ‘Rhiannon Lewis.’

‘Ree-annon,’ he repeated, as if trying out the syllables on his tongue. ‘Welsh, isn’t it?’

‘Originally.’

‘I’d like to see the gallery sometime, and maybe we could go out for that coffee?’ His tone was casual, the winter-morning gaze holding mild inquiry.

This was a civilised man, a well-known, respected man, and surely so good-looking and successful that if she turned him down he wouldn’t have to search very far to find some more amenable female. He’d probably write her off without a second thought. Still she demurred. ‘I don’t like leaving my assistant alone for long.’

‘After work?’ he suggested.

‘I have to cash up.’

Gabriel’s head tipped slightly to one side and his eyelids lowered, his mouth quirking downward.

He thought she was being coy. Remembering her earlier resolution, Rhiannon said quickly, ‘That takes about twenty to thirty minutes. We close at six—except on Saturday it’s at two o’clock.’

Had she really said that? Tacitly accepted an invitation from a man? Her heart plunged, then righted itself.

Gabriel nodded, absorbing the information.

He walked her to her car, Rhiannon tongue-tied now and amazed at herself. He didn’t touch her but waited while she got in and fastened her seat belt. Then he closed the door, stepped back, and raised a hand in farewell as she drove off.

Heading for the stairs and his own car, Gabriel wore a preoccupied frown. After their first encounter he’d told himself the woman in the car park haunted him because he felt guilty about her fall. But when he spotted her again today he’d felt a quick leap of excitement, then a weird sensation of tightness attacked his chest, and his palms had dampened. He hadn’t felt that way since the first time he asked a girl out, when he’d been a gawky adolescent. Until today.

He’d wanted to grab her, make sure she stayed at his side until he knew all about her. But, he recalled, pressing the remote button on his key ring as he approached his car, at the first touch of his hand she’d skittered away.

The sight of the name on his card had thawed her a little. Cynicism intervened for a moment, reminding him of other women who had showed increased interest when they learned who he was. But even then Rhiannon had hesitated, so that her subsequent capitulation had surprised him.

He got into the Audi and started the engine. Rhiannon. He liked the flowing syllables of her name, just as he’d liked the look of her from when he’d first seen her.

Checking his mirrors, he backed out of the space, then headed for the down ramp. So she didn’t know him, but was that reason enough for her to be so unforthcoming? Was she like that with all men? What would make a woman that cautious?

A couple of things came to mind, and unconsciously his fingers tightened about the wheel. His jaw ached and he realised he had clenched his teeth hard. Consciously he eased taut muscles, telling himself not to jump to conclusions. Just because a woman hadn’t thrown herself into his arms at first glance, and seemed unaffected by the curse and blessing of his face, it didn’t mean there was something wrong with her.

Maybe that was what intrigued him about Rhiannon. She hadn’t reacted as most women did, even though he’d frankly shown his interest, without—he hoped—being crass about it. Her cursory glances held no answering spark of awareness. And she didn’t like him touching her.

That was something he intended to change.

CHAPTER TWO

GABRIEL planned his strategy carefully. It was two weeks before he strolled into Mosaica not long before closing time.

Rhiannon was at the counter serving a customer, and there was no sign of the assistant she’d mentioned.

He inspected the paintings, sculptures and other art, paying particular attention to several mosaics, and ran his gaze over the bookshelves lining the back wall, while eavesdropping on the conversation at the counter.

Rhiannon’s voice was warm and confident, describing the process of firing and glazing the ceramic piece the customer had chosen, and offering gift-wrapping and postage. When she’d closed the transaction, her thanks and farewell were pleasantly friendly.

A young girl and her mother who had been browsing among the displays left seconds later. Gabriel picked out a volume on traditional Pacific carving and took it to the counter.

Rhiannon blinked when she recognised him, her face tautening infinitesimally. Not the reaction he would have preferred, but at least it indicated he had some effect on her.

Giving her his most reassuring smile, he placed the book on the counter and pulled out a credit card.

She seemed uncertain then, maybe wondering if he’d forgotten her.

No way, he told her silently. She was even lovelier than he’d remembered. And she’d been teasing his memory powerfully since their last meeting.

She entered the transaction, wrapped the book with deft movements and handed it to him. Gabriel resisted the temptation to brush his fingers against hers as he took it.

‘Thanks, Rhiannon.’ He noted the slight widening of her eyes before he indicated a wall-hung mosaic depicting a long-legged pukeko with shining blue plumage stalking beside a watercourse edged with reeds and ferns. ‘Your work?’

She shook her head. ‘Not that one.’

‘The abstract designs around the doorway?’ He’d been able to pinpoint the location of the gallery easily by the colourful whirls and swirls that invited customers in.

‘Mine,’ she confirmed.

‘I’m impressed.’ Small talk, designed to put her at ease, but true all the same. He released her from his gaze and glanced about them. ‘It’s a classy place.’

‘Thank you. I hope you enjoy the book.’

‘I’m sure I will. Can you spare time for that cup of coffee later?’ He smiled again, a practised smile that made him despise himself.

Rhiannon hesitated, then she said in a little rush, ‘You’ll have to wait while I cash up.’

‘No problem.’ He shrugged. ‘Shall I help you lock the doors?’

She looked a bit disconcerted. ‘I’ll do it when I leave.’

Was she afraid of being locked in with him? Gabriel didn’t know whether to be insulted, appalled or amused.

She did swing the big glass door shut and turn a sign on it to ‘Closed.’ Then she cleared the cash register and before disappearing into a back room, said, ‘Feel free to look around some more.’

Making it clear he wasn’t invited into the inner sanctum. What secrets could she have in there?

Gabriel used the time to inspect some of the gallery’s wares more closely, lingering at a large, abstract mosaic panel propped against a wall.

Coloured stones, metallic paint and twisted copper wire added richness and texture to apparent randomness, clashing colours and broken lines. But like some kind of optical illusion, the colours and lines gradually resolved into intricate, mesmerising patterns.

When Rhiannon joined him at last, a bag swinging from her shoulder and a light jacket over her arm, he said abruptly, ‘I want that panel. It’s your work, isn’t it?’

‘You saw the signature?’

He hadn’t but now he noticed the initials unobtrusively scribbled in a lower corner, on a piece of tile.

Not wanting to spook her, he thought better of confessing that he’d guessed, inexplicably certain that he was right. Instead he just smiled and shrugged as if she’d caught him out trying to be clever.

‘Are you serious?’ she asked him.

‘Very serious.’

He was intrigued anew by the emotional play in her face—doubt, uncertainty, totally at odds with her manner to her previous customers.

‘I’ll pick it up another time,’ he said, ‘but I can pay now if you like.’

‘That’s all right. I’ll put a Sold sticker on it,’ she promised finally. ‘And if you change your mind—’

‘I don’t change my mind once I see something I want.’ He looked straight into her eyes and saw a flicker of alarm.

Back off, he warned himself. This one’s different. He tried another smile. ‘Shall we go, then?’

‘Um…yes.’

Gabriel nodded. ‘Do you need that?’ He reached out, ready to take the jacket she held.

‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘I don’t think so.’

It was a warm summer evening. But he wondered if she’d have let him put it on her even if she were freezing.

What was he getting into here?

Rhiannon flicked the automatic lock and watched Gabriel pull the door closed behind them. The street lamps made his hair gleam almost bronze, the fairer streaks turning to gold.

Across the narrow thoroughfare, music with a deep, insistent beat blasted from a darkened bar. Gabriel glanced at the neon sign above and said, ‘I’d like to find someplace quieter, if that’s okay.’

Rhiannon nodded jerkily. ‘Not too small.’

His look was mildly questioning, and she said, ‘I like a bit of room to move, don’t you?’ He was a big man; surely he’d want to be able to stretch those long legs.

‘I know what you mean,’ he conceded easily. ‘Those cubbyholes where two pairs of knees won’t fit under the table and you have to take care not to accidentally bump your neighbour with your elbow aren’t very comfortable.’

They walked side by side, Gabriel with one hand in his pocket, pushing back the edge of his jacket, the other swinging loosely at his side. Tonight his suit was dark, and he had no tie. The opened collar of his shirt showed a glimpse of lightly tanned skin.

A young couple heading in the opposite direction, arms about each other and oblivious to other pedestrians, almost ran into Rhiannon. Gabriel’s firm touch on her waist steered her out of the way, then he dropped his hand.

After turning at the next corner, he paused at a lighted doorway. ‘How does this look?’

Through the glass doors Rhiannon saw a spacious room with people at cloth-covered tables under glittering but muted chandeliers.

‘Expensive,’ she said.

He laughed and pushed open one of the doors. ‘I can stand it. Will it do?’

‘Yes,’ Rhiannon agreed hastily and stepped inside.

They were ushered to a table and Gabriel asked, ‘Would you like a real drink?’

She shook her head. ‘Just coffee, thanks. I’ll be driving later.’ Besides, she wasn’t sure she could cope with drinking and this man as well.

‘Have you eaten?’

‘Yes.’ She’d had a take-away salad earlier in the evening, bolting it down between customers.

‘What about a dessert? I could do with one myself.’ He asked the waitress for dessert menus, and looked over the top of his at Rhiannon. ‘I can recommend the chocolate-cherry gateau, but the crème brûlée is good too if you want something lighter.’

She hadn’t been sure she wanted anything at all but, glancing the menu, she found her mouth watering.

‘Do you come here regularly?’ That was a safe topic.

‘Now and then. It’s handy to my office and the service is usually quick.’

Which implied that he didn’t often have time to spare—or didn’t like wasting it. Well, she didn’t suppose he’d got where he was by sitting around eating desserts and drinking coffee. ‘I’ll try the crème brûlée,’ she decided.

Gabriel opted for the gateau, and ordered their coffee. Then he laid his arms on the table and said, ‘Tell me about yourself.’

Rhiannon looked down and untwined the hands tightly wrapped about each other in her lap. ‘The gallery is my bread and butter, and I do mosaics when I have the time.’

‘Do you take commissions?’

‘Sometimes. Mostly I do my artwork at home and sell from the gallery.’

‘Where would that be…your home?’

She shot a wary glance at him. ‘Mount Albert.’

Gabriel leaned back in his chair. ‘So, are you an Aucklander born and bred?’

It sounded like an idle question, mere chitchat. Rhiannon shook her head. ‘I was born and bred in Pukekohe.’

‘A country girl?’ he quizzed.

‘Not really. We weren’t into market gardening.’ That was what the rich red volcanic soil in the area was known for. Making an effort to relax, she added, ‘My father had an electrical service business.’

‘Had?’

She waited a moment. ‘He’s in a nursing home now. He was involved in a motorway accident, along with my mother.’

‘And your mother?’ Gabriel asked quietly, his eyes darkening in sympathy.

‘She died. My father has some brain damage. He needs twenty-four hour care.’ A familiar sadness touched her, for the man her father had once been.

‘That must be difficult for you, as well as for him.’ Gabriel paused, searching her face. ‘When did it happen?’

‘Nearly six years ago.’ She looked down at the tablecloth, and it blurred before her eyes. ‘I’ve had time to get over it.’ If a person ever did get over these things.

He laid one arm on the table, forefinger idly tracing a circle on the cloth before he looked up again. ‘Did you have family to help?’

‘My grandmother.’ Without her, Rhiannon didn’t know how she would have survived that horrible year. ‘She was wonderful.’

‘I’m glad. You were very young to be bereaved like that. Do you have brothers or sisters?’

Rhiannon shook her head. ‘Do you…?’

‘A younger brother who works for me, heading the Australian office, and a sister in the States. My parents are divorced but they both live in New Zealand with new partners.’

It was common enough and he didn’t sound particularly traumatised. ‘How old were you?’ she asked.

‘Ten.’

At ten he would have been vulnerable. She wondered how long it had taken him to get over his parents’ split.

‘Now,’ he said, ‘I’m thirty-two.’

Carefully she offered, ‘I’m twenty-three.’

He made a rueful face. ‘I was hoping you were older.’

She should laugh, but instead she looked away again, fiddling with a spoon on the table. ‘I feel older.’

‘Why is that?’

Studying the distorted reflection of the room, she answered, ‘I’ve been running a business since I was in my teens.’

‘Early ambition?’

‘Not really.’ Seeing he was waiting for more, she explained. ‘After the accident and…and my mother’s death, my grandmother decided to retire from her business and put me in charge.’ It had meant giving up her university studies, and sometimes she regretted that, but the offer had been a lifeline. She’d been too traumatised to concentrate on study and exams, and since her father couldn’t work and she’d used the money from the sale of his business to care for his needs, she’d had to earn a living.

‘Your grandmother ran a gallery?’ Gabriel guessed.

‘A suburban handcraft shop in Onehunga. Needlework, ceramics, a few paintings and carvings. I sold my first mosaics there after I took it over. The gallery evolved over time, and people began coming to it from all over the city.’ Rhiannon halted to steady her voice, replacing the spoon on the tablecloth. ‘I inherited the business when my grandmother died.’

Gabriel cast her a quick glance. ‘When?’

‘Almost three years ago.’ The cancer that killed her had been mercifully quick, but her death had left a huge hole in Rhiannon’s life.

‘Tough,’ he commented. Perhaps guessing she didn’t want to talk about that, he said, ‘Opening in High Street’s a bold move.’

‘It’s a risk, but I did my homework. I’m ready to move on.’

He gave her a thoughtful look. ‘You’re not given to taking risks lightly, are you?’ he said slowly.

How could he know, on such a brief acquaintance? Her neck stiffened warningly. ‘I like to know where I’m going.’

‘Sometimes it’s fun to take a step in the dark. You never know what it might lead to.’

His eyes had turned silver again, in the light from a chandelier overhead. They held hers for a long moment.

The waitress brought their desserts, and the moment broke. Rhiannon picked up her spoon, turning her attention to the dish before her.

After her first mouthful Gabriel asked, ‘How is it?’

She forced herself to look at him, finding nothing but polite inquiry in his eyes. ‘Very nice. Wonderful.’

He watched her take the next spoonful, then dug his own spoon into his gateau, asking, ‘You don’t have any trouble with the arm?’

‘It was only a bruise.’

Deceptively casual, he said, ‘Do you want to tell me why you were so frightened?’

Her hand tightened on the spoon. An unseen tremor passed through her. Without looking at him, after taking a breath to school her voice to an even tone, she said, ‘You startled me, that’s all.’

Steadily she went on eating.

After a few mouthfuls, steering him away from her life story, she asked, ‘How did you start in the air-freight business?’

He cast her a keen look but said, ‘I fell into it more or less by accident. I was working at the airport in the customs department, and when a freight firm was threatened with receivership it seemed a good chance to buy in and see if I could make a go of it.’

‘You had the money for it?’

‘The bank was good to me.’ He grinned. ‘Though I had to convince them I could turn the business around and make it a paying proposition.’

‘You must have been very persuasive.’

He had his coffee cup in his hand, looking at her over the rim. ‘I can be very persuasive when I want to be.’

The disconcerting glint that sometimes lurked in his eyes was there again. She had to make an effort not to look away.

‘And,’ he said, ‘my grandfather, bless him, offered to guarantee me for a loan.’

So he’d had a fond grandparent, too. Maybe that had helped when his parents split up.

Forking up a piece of gateau, Gabriel considered it. ‘The old guy’s gone now. He had a big globe on a brass stand in his living room, and I remember him explaining to me the concept of travelling around the world from one place to another until you arrived back where you started.’

‘How old were you then?’

Gabriel swallowed the morsel of gateau. ‘About five, I think. Ever since, a globe has reminded me of him. Maybe that’s why the idea of buying the air-freight company appealed.’

He lifted his cup to his lips. Her gaze slipped to his throat, caught by the movement under his skin. She watched with fascination until he lowered the cup and she hastily turned her attention to her plate. ‘It can’t have been easy when you started,’ she commented.

‘It was a challenge.’ He launched into a brief description of his career—the rocky beginning, the setbacks on the way, the eventual success—and she found herself caught up in his obvious enthusiasm.

Then he paused. ‘I guess that’s more than you ever wanted to know.’

‘No. It’s exciting.’

‘Is that what excites you? Talking business?’ His brows rose and his lips curved.

Rhiannon floundered. The innuendo was subtle and his eyes held laughter, but a flush rose from her throat and stung her cheeks.

Taking pity, he said, ‘I’d call downhill skiing exciting, parachuting, hang-gliding…and a few other things.’ For a moment a wicked gleam lit his eyes. ‘But biz talk?’ He shook his head. ‘You haven’t lived, baby.’

Rhiannon seized on the final word. ‘I’m not a baby!’

‘I’m nine years older than you,’ he reminded her.

‘Yes, Grandad.’

The gleam this time was retributive. ‘And I’m not your grandad.’

Rhiannon gulped down a mouthful of hot coffee. He didn’t look like anyone’s grandad. ‘Have you done those things? I mean…downhill skiing, hang-gliding…?’

‘And the rest?’ A crease appeared in his cheek. He was trying not to laugh. Held by that shimmering gaze with its veiled, provocative challenge, Rhiannon was suddenly breathless.

But not frightened.

Gabriel didn’t press her, to her great relief. This was too new a sensation to be taken at speed. He said nothing more until he’d demolished his gateau, then he sat back as she finished off her dish. ‘What did you do with those tiles?’

She told him about the church commission, answering his questions regarding tools and techniques. When she mentioned using tiles from demolition sites, he said, ‘The building next door to mine is being pulled down.’

‘Oh?’ She hadn’t been near there recently.

‘Maybe you should have a look.’ Pushing away his empty cup, he asked, ‘Do you want another?’

Rhiannon declined, not wanting any more coffee but curiously reluctant to move. She was, she realised dazedly, enjoying herself.

Only they couldn’t stay here all night. She fumbled for her bag and put on her jacket. ‘Thank you for this, it’s been nice.’

Rain had fallen while they were in the restaurant, and when they stepped outside the pavement was wet and shining under the streetlights, the tyres of passing cars hissing on the road surface. Still warm from the day’s sun, the asphalt steamed slightly.

‘It could be slippery,’ Gabriel said, his hand coming to rest on Rhiannon’s waist under the jacket. ‘Is your car in the parking building?’

‘Yes, but you don’t need to come with me.’

‘I’m going to pick up my car. And anyway, I wouldn’t desert you in the street.’

She was very conscious of his barely perceptible touch on her waist all the way there. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, and she didn’t pull away until she took out her keys and unlocked her car.

Before she got in he stopped her with a light hold on her wrist, and her gaze flew to his face. A whole colony of butterflies seemed to have taken up residence in her stomach, and she conquered the urge to pull away, standing very still while consumed by conflicting emotions of dread and curiosity.

A faint frown appeared between Gabriel’s brows. He bent his head quite slowly and brushed his lips against her cheek. ‘Goodnight, Rhiannon.’

Then he opened the door for her, standing back when she started the engine.

Watching the tail-lights disappear down the ramp, Gabriel flexed his fingers, then folded them into his palm. He could still feel the warmth that had emanated through Rhiannon’s thin blouse, and found himself fantasising about the smooth skin underneath the fabric, imagining tugging the garment from the imprisoning band of her skirt and running a finger along the groove of her spine, while he held her close…

It had taken considerable will-power to resist sliding his arm about her, resting his hand on her hip, nestling her shoulder under his. He’d felt the tiny tremor that seized her when he’d put his hand on her waist, and had made himself stop right there. In another woman he might have guessed the tremor indicated sexual awareness, but with Rhiannon…

He could hope, but she’d given no sign of welcoming his touch. And she’d been very composed, almost cool, since he’d walked into the gallery.

He went to the elevators, jabbing at the button.

Damn, she had been cool. Decidedly so. Cool and cagey. Not giving much away, except when he’d made an oblique, mildly sexual remark and she’d blushed like a schoolgirl.

So the coolness was a blind, a facade. Hiding what?

Fear. The word was stark, shocking.

He might never have suspected if he hadn’t caught her off guard that first day, scaring her witless with a single, asexual touch and an offer of help. She hadn’t been able to cover up so well then, her defences stripped for a few minutes by pain.

They were good defences.

The elevator doors slid open for him. A pretty young woman standing in the middle of the car gave him a small social smile as he entered and pressed the button for his floor. He could feel her covert glances but didn’t return them.

Rhiannon in the same situation had backed into the corner.

She’d been anxious from the moment he entered.

The woman he was sharing with now stepped forward when the elevator glided to a stop at her floor, and gave him a lingering sidelong glance as she left. He had no urge to follow her before the doors closed again.

In the gallery, on her own turf, Rhiannon had been perfectly sure of herself with her customers, and her manner had scarcely changed when Gabriel approached, except for that slight, involuntary alteration in her expression, like an invisible glass mask.

The mask had slipped when she spoke of her work, but it went right back at any hint of masculine interest. As though she had no idea how to deal with it.

She didn’t know how to flirt.

The doors opened and he stepped out. He smiled, unaware of the slightly tigerish quality of the smile.

Maybe he could teach her.

His purchase of the panel gave Gabriel an excuse to call at the gallery on Saturday, when Mosaica was open until two.

Ten minutes before closing time he found Rhiannon alone behind the counter, her head bent over a notepad.

‘Hi,’ he said, and she looked up, her eyes glazed for a moment.

When they cleared, her smile was uncertain. ‘Hello.’

‘You remembered?’ He glanced over at the mosaic and the red sticker fixed to it.

Rhiannon seemed to gather herself, assuming a professional air. ‘I was going to phone you on Monday and ask if you want it delivered.’

‘I’ll take it myself.’

‘Now? Certainly.’

The door chime momentarily drew her attention to a middle-aged Japanese couple entering. Then she turned to the door standing ajar behind the counter and called, ‘Peri?’

A broad-shouldered young man appeared, with smooth brown skin and large dark eyes, his black hair a mane of luxurious waves secured in a ponytail. A tie-dyed muscle shirt and purple leather pants hugged his lovingly honed chest and thighs, and he flashed a dazzling Tom Cruise smile at Rhiannon. ‘Yeah, boss?’

‘Mr Hudson’s buying the mosaic over there. Could you pack it for him please?’

‘Sure.’ Peri ambled over to the piece and lifted it with effortless care before shouldering his way back through the doorway.

Her voice crisp, Rhiannon said to Gabriel’s shirt-front, ‘How did you want to pay?’

Reaching for his credit card, Gabriel experienced a flash of annoyance. From her manner, he could have been any stranger off the street. And seeing Peri had shaken him a bit. When Rhiannon mentioned an assistant he’d assumed a female one, not a hunky young guy who believed in making the most of his obvious assets.

It called into question all Gabriel’s guesses and assumptions. If she didn’t mind having that around every day she was hardly man-shy.

Just shy of certain men. Him, for instance.

Handing over the card, he studied her bent head as she processed the payment, remembering with a certain relief that she’d denied being in a relationship.

The Japanese couple were holding a murmured debate over a large wooden bowl, turning it over and running their fingers across the smooth finish. Rhiannon handed back Gabriel’s card and said dismissively, ‘Peri won’t be long,’ then went to speak to them.

Peri reappeared with the mosaic encased in sturdy cardboard. ‘Here you are, mate. I mean, sir!’ He threw a comical glance at Rhiannon, but she was concentrating on the tourists, who didn’t have much English. ‘Want me to carry it? How far to your car?’

‘No thanks,’ Gabriel assured him shortly, not keen on following all that splendid musculature along the street. ‘Just leave it here for now. I’m waiting to speak to your boss.’

‘Sure.’ Peri leaned the parcel against the end of the counter, giving him a rather sharp glance.

The couple decided to buy the bowl and, as they approached the counter with Rhiannon, she asked Peri to find a box and prepare it for posting.

While he bore the bowl off to the back room and Rhiannon patiently deciphered where the couple wanted it sent and took their payment, Gabriel stood by. After they had bowed their way out, she turned to him and indicated the wrapped mosaic. ‘Is Peri going to carry that for you?’

She made to turn, presumably to call the assistant, and Gabriel reached out a hand but dropped it before his fingers touched her arm. ‘I don’t need Peri.’ As she paused, he said, ‘Have you eaten?’

‘On Saturday we’re usually very busy, and I don’t bother until the shop closes.’

‘Have something with me?’

‘Why?’

Hadn’t she ever heard of a date? He raised his brows and she looked flustered, biting her lip as her cheeks coloured.

Gabriel went to Plan B. ‘I want to discuss a possible commission.’

Her eyelids flickered. ‘What kind of commission?’

‘Let me buy you a late lunch and we can talk about it.’

Her gaze lowered, and he saw the front of her blouse—teamed with dark green jeans—flutter as she took a breath. Then she raised her head and her eyes met his. ‘All right.’

Gabriel was unprepared for the surge of triumph that made him want to grab her and kiss that gorgeous, tempting mouth. Instead he nodded and said, ‘When you’re ready.’

He found them an umbrella-shaded outdoor table at a café-bar. Rhiannon was glad to be offered the choice instead of going inside.

Over her Niçoise salad and Gabriel’s curried kumara fritters he asked her, ‘How long has Peri been with you?’

‘Since I moved into the new place. I’d sold some carvings for him over the last couple of years, and he helped out before Christmas.’

‘He’s a carver?’

‘His uncle taught him traditional Maori carving, and Peri’s particularly interested in incorporating Maori motifs into modern design. But it doesn’t pay enough to live on, and I figured I’d need an assistant when I moved into town, so I offered him the job.’

Peri had jumped at it, and she’d had no qualms about employing him.

Gabriel’s look was oddly penetrating. ‘I guess he’s an asset to the shop.’

‘He’s keen, and strong.’ Some of their stock, like the mosaic Gabriel had bought, was heavy and awkward; she’d been glad of Peri’s muscle. ‘And he did his degree in art.’

Gabriel nodded, spearing a potato chip with his fork.

Rhiannon ate a shiny black olive and carefully placed the stone on the side of her plate. ‘What’s the commission you wanted to talk about?’

Reminding himself he’d told her it was a business lunch, Gabriel said, ‘There’s a blank concrete wall in the Angelair Building.’ There was, since yesterday when he’d decided the huge tapestry hanging there was dusty and dated, and had it taken down. ‘It needs some kind of artwork—like a mosaic.’

If he’d thought she’d jump at the opportunity to decorate the pride of his company, which had won a building industry award, he would have been wrong. She went very still, her fork poised with another olive on it. ‘Why me?’ she asked quietly.

Because I can’t get you out of my mind. Because he wanted to pin her down, make sure she couldn’t easily escape him while he delved under that fragile shell she adopted in public, and discovered what was beneath it. Because he wasn’t sure that she wouldn’t back away from him when she found out just how intensely he wanted to know her—in every sense of the word.

And because he had a hunch his supposedly irresistible charm wasn’t going to work its magic with this woman.

He said, ‘I like your work.’

‘You want an unknown artist to do this?’ She sounded sceptical.

‘I’ve found out quite a lot about you, and—’

‘What?’ The fork in her hand lowered, and the skin on her cheeks went taut and pale. ‘How?’

‘Just by asking around,’ he answered, pausing as her eyes widened and darkened, ‘among people in the art scene.’ And in the business world. Anywhere he could think of. Alerted by her reaction, he didn’t mention how many feelers he’d put out in various directions. ‘You’re a young artist to watch, they said.’ Which was about all he’d been able to discover.

She looked surprised, but the colour gradually returned to her face. Pushing her fork into her salad, she stirred the frilled lettuce leaves. ‘Wouldn’t you rather have someone who’s a big name?’

‘I’d get more satisfaction out of sponsoring an emerging artist.’ He smiled at her. ‘When you’re famous I can say I spotted your talent early.’

‘What if I never become famous?’

‘Don’t you believe you will?’

‘I haven’t really thought about it. I just like doing what I do.’

She’d told him she wasn’t driven by ambition, despite her successful retail business. What did drive her? Love for her art? Or perhaps a simple need for money. He might turn that to useful account. ‘Will you consider my proposal? I expect to pay a good price for it.’

‘I don’t have a lot of time right now, with the new gallery, and I have to finish my present commission.’ She still seemed uneasy.

‘I can wait.’ If he had to. Not naturally patient, Gabriel had learned that sometimes patience was necessary in order to get what he really wanted. Deferred gratification, they called it. He had the distinct impression that Rhiannon had been deferring for a long time.

Absently stirring her salad again, she inquired, ‘What size is the space?’

‘Approximately three by five metres.’

Her eyes lifted. ‘That big?’

He saw the spark of interest in her expression and pressed his advantage. ‘Roughly. It’s not flat, and it curves up at one end. I can show you after lunch if you have the time.’

Rhiannon picked out another olive with her fork and stared down at it as if it were a crystal ball. ‘All right,’ she said at last. ‘I’ll have a look.’

Gabriel let her into the foyer of the Angelair Building, pressing a button on a remote control to disable the alarm.

An elegant central stairway rising before them dominated the space, flanked by ground-floor businesses, their doors firmly closed. Gold lettering on a glass-enclosed board proclaimed that the Angelair offices were on the third floor while other firms occupied the remainder of the building.

‘Up there.’ Gabriel waved toward the stairs. Halfway up, the flight divided and curved around a convex, half-circular concrete wall, the top edge shaped upward from right to left.

‘The central lift shaft is behind it,’ Gabriel said. ‘The other side is glass.’

She vaguely remembered it from visiting the building in the past. An architectural showpiece, although there were more conventional elevators at the rear of the shopping arcade.

‘Could you do a mosaic there?’ Gabriel asked.

‘It would be a challenge.’ Both in design and execution. ‘And expensive,’ Rhiannon warned, but with a stirring of excitement.

‘Not a problem.’

Climbing the stairs, she asked, ‘I suppose you’d like a design relating to your business, since your firm owns the building?’ She went to the wall, raising her eyes to gauge the height, and stroked a hand along the curve, getting a feel for it. The finish wasn’t too smooth to take a bonding agent, she noted.

‘That would be good.’ Gabriel spoke absently, watching the movement of her hand. Then he transferred his intent gaze to her face. ‘But not a replica of the company logo.’

Rhiannon contained her smile. ‘That’s a relief.’

‘You don’t like our logo?’

‘It isn’t that I don’t like it, but I don’t want to reproduce someone else’s design.’

‘I was thinking of something more imaginative. Unique.’

‘It will take some planning, and I can’t work on it full time.’

‘I told you I’m prepared to wait for what I want. And I think you can give me that.’ His eyes were intent, and something in their expression made her breathing momentarily uneven. She had a peculiar sense that she was standing on the brink of some possibly hazardous edge, not on a solid marble landing.

Forcing her mind to practicalities, she banished the bizarre fantasy. ‘It will have to be done outside business hours.’

‘All the better. Less disruption to traffic on the stairs.’

‘I’d need a scaffold. I’m afraid that will take some room.’

‘Hm.’ He glanced up at the wall. ‘Of course. We’ll organise that. I’ll talk to the guys who did the scaffolding next door when they started the demolition. They might like another small job.’

‘Which firm is doing the demolition? I’d like to get hold of them and ask if I could have any damaged tiles.’

He wrote it down for her, and then said, indicating the wall, ‘What do you think?’

There was no logical reason to turn down a promising commission. Gabriel was willing to pay out good money, the concept was exciting, and the exposure in a prominent position to hundreds of people entering the building every day would surely boost her reputation and perhaps bring more commissions. If she ever got to earn enough from her art, she could hire extra staff for the gallery and spend more of her time creating new works.

‘If you’re sure it’s me you want,’ she said, taking the plunge, ‘then I’d like to take it on.’

He smiled as though she’d amused him. ‘I’m sure I want you, Rhiannon.’ His voice was low and there was a note in it that sent a spiral of peculiar, astonishingly pleasurable sensation down her spine.

Making her own voice crisp, she said, ‘Do you have any definite ideas?’

His lips momentarily curled upward, his brows rising a fraction, but he said, ‘About the design? That’s up to you. But I’d appreciate some consultation.’

‘Of course. I could make some sketches, and work out an estimated price and time frame before we go ahead.’

‘I’ll be looking forward to it.’ He sent her a slow smile, almost intimate, and her breath hitched for an instant.

She put a hand on the smooth polished stair rail to steady herself, and began to descend, watching her feet.

Gabriel came to her side, his hands nonchalantly buried in his pockets. ‘Maybe fate brought us together,’ he said. ‘The perfect match.’

Her step faltered, and swiftly he turned, an arm stretched across in front of her, his hand closing over the railing just below hers. He was one step down from her and their eyes were level. ‘You and my blank wall,’ he said. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes.’ But her heart was jumping.

He’d thought she might fall, she realised. He wasn’t trapping her.

He didn’t move away instantly. ‘You’re safe,’ he said, ‘with me.’

Rhiannon swallowed. ‘I wasn’t falling.’

His smile was enigmatic and a little tight. ‘I wouldn’t mind, and I’m here to catch you.’

‘I don’t need to be caught.’ Her throat felt as though there were a tiny moth helplessly imprisoned there.

‘And don’t want to be.’ Gabriel spoke slowly, his eyes searching her face.

Rhiannon shook her head, not trusting her voice. New sensations bewildered her; a kind of excitement that was half fear and half something else, absolutely alien to her.

Dizzying warmth started at her toes and weakened her knees, rising to heat her cheeks and dry her mouth. She moistened her lips and Gabriel’s gaze became riveted on them. Her heartbeat increased to suffocation point.

Then he said, his voice oddly muffled, ‘So. We’d better get out of here.’

He went just ahead of her and she hurried down the remainder of the steps, ignoring the hand he offered when he reached the bottom.

He didn’t comment on that, but something flared in his eyes, and Rhiannon didn’t dare speak until he let them out of the building, using a side staff door down a short flight of concrete steps. ‘This way it’s a shorter walk back to your gallery,’ he explained as he re-armed the alarm.

‘You’ll want to collect your mosaic,’ she realised.

Once there she unlocked the door and stood by while he hoisted the bulky package into his arms.

‘I’ll let you know when I’ve had time to consider your project,’ she told him.

‘Aren’t you leaving now?’

‘I have stuff to do here.’ She was still setting up the back room so she could do mosaics there.

‘I’ll see you again, then.’ Gabriel smiled into her eyes, and then she was watching him stride away from her.

It was seconds before she roused herself to turn the other way and head for the back of the gallery.

Several times in the next few days Rhiannon almost phoned Gabriel’s office to tell him she couldn’t take on his project after all.

She was too discomfited around him, too aware of the frailty of the protective barriers she’d painstakingly built about herself.

He was the first man who had seriously threatened them.

She didn’t know how to deal with the occasional gleam in his eyes, the crease of amusement in his cheek when he made some remark that seemed to hold a hidden meaning, only to give her a bland look when she became flustered, allowing her to pretend she hadn’t noticed.

The evening he’d escorted her to her car after their coffee and cake, when he bent his head and she’d known he intended to kiss her, she’d stood like a possum caught in headlights, giving him no hint of reciprocation, no encouragement, and he’d deflected the kiss to her cheek.

Hours afterwards she’d fancied she could still feel the warmth of his lips on her skin.

It’s called sexual attraction, she acknowledged with dawning surprise on Thursday morning, as she knelt on the floor of the workroom, packing a large glass vase into a shipping box. A normal, healthy emotion.

She sat back on her heels, incongruously struck by the revelation. It was several minutes before she roused herself.

After taping the box she reached for an air-freight label, peeled off the backing and smoothed the label with its familiar embossed angel wings onto the box. Her finger traced its outline.

Gabriel. The name of an angel, but angels were sexless, genderless. And Gabriel Hudson was all male.

Rhiannon had recognised that at their first meeting. Her predictable reaction had been alarm, but when he’d shown his concern after her fall the alarm was tempered by other less expected emotions, so foreign to her that she hadn’t at first recognised them.

She was attracted to Gabriel. Not just distantly, aesthetically appreciative of his quite spectacular good looks, but physically affected.

And he’d quietly but unmistakably signalled that he found her…at least interesting.

An echo of the shock recoil she’d felt when he’d told her he’d ‘asked around’ about her sent out a warning signal. Reaching for a felt-tip pen, she waited a moment to steady her hand before writing an address on the Angelair label.

She’d been mistaken about his reason. Gabriel had wanted to know if she was good enough at her craft to work on his mural. That was natural, and perfectly legitimate. She couldn’t go through life being suspicious of the motives of every male who crossed her path.

Fear was a prison. Maybe this was her chance to break out of it. Many women of her age had already had several lovers.

The pen slipped in her fingers, making a smudge. Lovers?

She tightened her grip, took a shaky breath and completed the label with care as the door chime indicated someone had entered the shop and she heard Peri offer his help.

Gabriel hadn’t suggested he wanted to be her lover. Was she was reading too much into the warmth of his smile, the lurking appreciation in his eyes? Perhaps she’d mistaken simple courtesy and his unnecessary remorse for reciprocation of her own tentative and muddled feelings.

That would be a change. She stifled a nervous laugh. After all, Gabriel Hudson must have his pick of glamorous women, and although Rhiannon was aware she had been given an attractive face and figure, she made little effort to enhance them beyond meticulous grooming. ‘You could wait until you’re asked,’ she muttered aloud, with a small grimace.

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