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that it did dramatic things to your confidence levels. Or maybe it was just her ‘flight or fight’ reflex getting an airing. She stared him squarely in the face and tried not to let the steady, speculative directness of his gaze get to her.
    ‘What about you ?’ she asked coolly. ‘We haven’t said anything about what you’ve been up to...’
    ‘What’s there to say?’ Alessandro relaxed back, angling his body so that he could cross his legs. She really did have a face that made for compulsive watching. It was exquisite, yet with a guarded expression that made you wonder what was going on behind the beautiful mask. Even as a much younger woman, she had possessed that sense of unique mystery that had fired his curiosity and kept it for the duration of their strange dalliance.
    And now, yet again, he could feel his curiosity piqued.
    ‘I’m an open book.’ He spread his arms wide. ‘I don’t hide who I am and I don’t make a habit of leading anyone down the garden path.’
    ‘And is there a special someone in your life? Is there a Mrs Moretti dusting and cleaning in a house in the country somewhere and a few little Moretti children scampering around outside? Or are you still only into the fast and furious relationship without the happy ending?’
    ‘My, my. You’ve certainly become acid-tongued, Chase.’
    Chase flushed. Yes she had. And there were times when she stood back and wondered if she really liked the person she had become. Not that she had ever been soft and fluffy, but now...
    ‘I don’t like being trampled.’
    ‘And is that why you think I brought you here? To trample over you? Is that what you think I’m doing?’
    Chase shrugged. ‘Isn’t it?’
    ‘We’re exchanging information. How could that possibly be described as trampling all over you? And, in answer to your question, there is no Mrs Moretti in a country house—and if there were, she certainly wouldn’t be dusting or cleaning.’
    ‘Because you have enough money to pay for someone to dust and clean for you. Are you still working twenty-four-seven? Surely you must have made enough billions by now to kick back and enjoy life?’
    She used to listen, enraptured, as he’d told her about his working life: non-stop; on the go all the time. The lectures, he had said, were like comic relief, little windows of relaxation. She had teased him that, if giving lectures was his form of relaxation, then he would keel over with high blood pressure by the time he was thirty-five. She was annoyed to find herself genuinely curious and interested to hear what he had been up to. Having anything to do with Alessandro Moretti was even more hazardous now than it had been eight years ago.
    ‘None of my business,’ she qualified in a clipped voice. ‘Am I free to go now?’
    Alessandro’s lips thinned. He had found out precisely nothing. None of his questions had been answered. His brain was telling him to walk away but some other part of him wanted more.
    ‘Why did you decide to concentrate on pro bono cases?’ He asked softly. ‘Surely with a first-class degree, and law firms head-hunting you, there were far more profitable things to do?’
    ‘I’ve never been interested in making money.’ He had stopped attacking her and she realised that she had forgotten how seductive he could be when he was genuinely interested in hearing what she had to say. He would tilt his head to one side and would give the impression that every word she uttered was of life-changing importance.
    ‘I’d always planned on becoming a lawyer, although the two other options that tempted me were Social Services and the police force.’ She blushed, because she didn’t think that she had confided that in anyone before—not that she did a lot of confiding anyway.
    ‘Social Services? The police force?’
    ‘So please don’t accuse me of being materialistic.’
    ‘I can’t picture you as a social worker, even less a policewoman.’
    ‘I should be getting back to