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her.
    She’d also been seen.
    His eyes locked onto her and for a moment he looked as poleaxed as she felt. Then he frowned.
    She straightened, determined that not by an inflection in her voice or the blink of an eyelash should he see how angry she was—although she wasn’t quite sure with who, nor how foolish she felt. She headed over.
    Men were looking at her. Men always looked at her. She was tall and blonde and for some guys she was a prize. What they didn’t know was that she wasn’t available to be won.
    She did the prize-keeping and the awarding.
    ‘Mr Blue, I presume?’ She offered her hand unsmilingly.
    He wasn’t smiling either, but he took her extended hand with common courtesy.
    Lorelei told herself to relax. So they’d had a little moment this morning? He was a professional and she was...well, volunteering her time. Surely this could be polite and...oh...
    His hand closed around hers, warm and dry and secure, and she melted just a little behind the knees. Was he holding on a little longer than necessary? Lorelei felt the colour mounting her cheeks. As he released her hand his thumb shifted and gently brushed over the hardened skin at the base of her palm.
    A faint look of surprise lit those blue eyes and Lorelei snatched her hand back, feeling exposed. She could hear her grandmother’s voice. ‘Lorelei, a lady is known by the softness of her hands.’
    Silly, old-fashioned, not true, and yet...
    Another man stepped between them. ‘You’ll deal with me, Miss...St James.’ He read her name off an email printout that Lorelei could clearly see had the Aviary Foundation’s logo.
    Lorelei wanted to take a step back but she held her ground. She knew a cut-them-down-to-size gesture when she was on the receiving end of one. She’d experienced enough of them over the weeks when she’d attended her father’s trial in Paris. Nobody wanted her to be the unrattled loyal daughter, especially the media, but that was exactly what she had been. Even if it had meant sitting in the shower every night, crying her heart out.
    ‘Lorelei St James,’ she said coolly, drawing on the self-control she had perfected during that awful period. ‘Let me guess—you must be Mr Cullinan, the delightful man who spoke to our foundation’s receptionist yesterday and left her in tears.’
    The guy bristled, but Nash’s cool, deep voice brushed him aside.
    ‘It goes with the territory, Ms St James. Sometimes John doesn’t know when to turn it off. Do you have paperwork?’
    A little thrown by finding herself under the intent scrutiny of those blue eyes again, for a moment Lorelei had to think. What paperwork? Then she pulled herself together and unclasped her handbag, producing the small glossy folder. Nash handed it over, sight unseen, to the scowling Cullinan.
    ‘You can go, John. I’ll handle this.’
    Lorelei tried not to appear startled.
    ‘Don’t you want to discuss it?’ She indicated the folder being carried away by Mr Cullinan. The foundation’s president had been very clear: she was expected to go over the schedule with Blue’s management.
    ‘No,’ he said simply.
    To the point. Direct. Like any woman, Lorelei liked decisiveness in a man, but it also left her on the back foot. He’d taken away her reason for being here in a single gesture.
    Now they were alone she felt even more exposed. Would he think she had some hand in this? That she’d known exactly who she’d been dealing with up at the house?
    She decided to come right to the point. ‘Mr Blue, was there a reason why you didn’t introduce yourself this morning?’
    Although she already knew the answer...
    ‘At the time names didn’t seem relevant.’ His eyes moved with interest over her face. ‘And it’s Nash.’
    Because he wasn’t going to be seeing her again. Lorelei remembered how obvious she had made her interest in him and found herself cringing. What was it he’d said about not wanting to discuss it? He can’t make it any more clear,