For His Eyes Only(18)

                ‘I found her wandering up and down the street looking for your studio. Your name on the door would be a real help,’ she said, apparently not the least bit intimidated by the growl.

                ‘That would only encourage visitors. People who interrupt me while I’m working,’ he said, looking over Patsy’s head to where she was hovering just inside the doorway.

                Maybe it was just the sunlight streaming in through the skylight above him, but today his eyes were molten slate, scorching her skin, melting the starch in her shirt, reducing her knees to fudge frosting.

                It wasn’t just his eyes. Everything about him was hot: the faded, clay-smeared jeans hugging his thighs, midnight-black hair curling into his neck, long, ropey muscles in his forearms. And those hands...

                She had tried to convince herself that she’d imagined the electricity, the fizz, the crackle... There had been a shock factor when she’d seen him in Miles’s office, but he’d been in her head for days and not just because he was her only chance to get back to work.

                She’d been dreaming about those hands. How they’d feel on her body, the drag of hard calluses against tender skin...

                ‘I know I’m the last person on earth you want to talk to, Mr Hadley,’ she said quickly before he could tell her to get lost, ‘but if you can spare me ten minutes, I’ve got a proposition for you.’

                ‘Proposition?’

                The word hung in the air.

                Darius looked down at the shadowy hourglass shape of Natasha Gordon, backlit by sunlight streaming in over the city rooftops.

                It was just a word. Morgan couldn’t possibly be using her as a sweetener. But then again, maybe it was her idea...

                ‘If you could spare me ten minutes?’ From above her he could see straight down the opening of her blouse, the way her luscious breasts were squished together as she raised her hand to shield her eyes from the light pouring in from the skylights. ‘Maybe we could sit down,’ she suggested, lifting her other hand a little to show him a glossy white cakebox, dangling from a ribbon. ‘I’ve brought cake. It’s home-made. I’ll even make the tea.’

                He picked up a damp cloth and wiped his hands, giving himself a moment to still his rampaging libido. He should send her packing but how often did a man receive a proposition from a sexy woman bearing cake? And now she was here he’d be able to capture the look that had eluded him, draw her out of his head.

                ‘I hope you or your mother can cook,’ he said and Patsy nodded, apparently satisfied that it would be safe to leave him alone with her, and left them to it.

                ‘Would I come bearing anything less than perfection?’ she asked.

                Not this woman, he thought. She’d pulled out all the stops... ‘How did you find me?’

                ‘Does it matter?’ she asked, the wide space between her brows crumpled in a tiny frown that didn’t fool him for a moment. Not many people knew where he worked. She’d had to work hard to locate him.

                ‘Humour me,’ he suggested, taking a step down the ladder, and she caught her breath, muscles tensed, barely stopping herself from taking a step back. She was nowhere near as cool as she looked. Which made two of them.

                ‘I did what anyone would do. Ran an Internet search,’ she said quickly, ‘and there you were. Darius Hadley, award-winning sculptor, presently working on a prestigious commission to create a life-size bronze of one of the greatest racehorses of all time.’ Lots of details so he’d forget the question. He was familiar with the technique. His grandfather had been a past master at diverting him whenever he’d asked awkward questions. ‘There was a photograph,’ she added.