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place, of that you may be sure.’
    Lucy wondered how many more ways there could be for him to dress up the obvious behind lots of protective packaging. He was telling her that he did not find her attractive. She had been a warm body at a time when he had needed it and, fool that she was, she had succumbed because her heart had won the battle with her head. But that was it. In a sober state, she was as sexless as the two framed prints he had hanging on his wall.
    â€˜Oh, good,’ she said flatly, her face still averted so that he was unable to see the expression in her eyes. And her eyes were very expressive. He was surprised that he had not noticed that before. Huge brown eyes framed with long, dark brown eyelashes that somehowseemed at odds with the blondeness of her hair and the paleness of her skin.
    He shook his head irritably and walked back to his chair, but instead of sitting down he stood behind it, leaning casually against the high back, his forearms hanging loosely over the front.
    Oh, good? Was that all she had to say on the subject?
    â€˜You’re not my type,’ he informed her, lowering his eyes and missing the hurt wince that had Lucy drawing her breath in on a hiss.
    He might think that spelling it out would somehow make her more comfortable, put her mind at rest that she had nothing to fear from him should they find themselves working late together in an empty building, as they often had in the past.
    He was wrong. Every word he uttered was another nail in her heart.
    She looked at him, at his dauntingly beautiful face. She knew every groove of that face as though it were her own. Had committed it to memory, even though she had tried hard not to.
    No, she wouldn’t be his type. She was as physically ordinary as he was impressively, compellingly handsome. He would always be drawn to women like his wife. Stunningly beautiful women with big hair and breasts.
    She fancied she saw something ruefully patronising in his expression.
    â€˜And I feel I ought to make this clear if we are to resume our working relationship,’ he continued slowly, frowning, as if uncertain as to how he should say what he had to say.
    What more? she wondered numbly.
    For a few seconds, Nick didn’t go on. He simplylooked at her assessingly, as if weighing up in his mind whether he should proceed or not, then he sighed.
    â€˜Perhaps this is something best left unsaid.’
    Lucy drew her lips together in a stubborn line. ‘If you feel you have something further to add then I really do wish that you would tell me. I’ve been very…happy working here and, as you say, we have to clear the air if we can continue our working relationship…’ She could be as coolly controlled as he could, she thought to herself. The fact was that she loved what she did, whether Nick was her boss or not. She enjoyed the work and she doubted she would ever have been able to find a job that paid as well anywhere else in London.
    â€˜All right.’ He shrugged his broad shoulders with typically Mediterranean expressiveness and swung his chair around, turning it to face her once he was sitting. ‘If you insist…’
    â€˜I insist.’
    â€˜You are young and I would not want you to harbour any notions that our few hours together might be the start of an agenda. Nor would I wish you to think that you are now somehow privileged in any way whatsoever. You are an excellent secretary and I personally feel that it is imperative that we maintain the boundaries between us.’
    â€˜In other words, you’re cautioning me not to rip my clothes off and fling myself at you,’ Lucy said slowly, appalled at his line of thinking.
    The disparaging tone of her voice, which only just managed to escape being insolent, was not sufficient for his mind to ignore the image she had presented of herself. Wild, abandoned, coming towards him with her arms outstretched and her naked, creamy body offering itself for