‘Oh...’ Her heart, already going like the clappers, hit warp speed.
‘Of course you could wait for Brian Ramsey to find some free time in his diary but he isn’t particularly happy with my choice of sales agent so he won’t be in any hurry.’
‘No, thanks. I talked to Brian Ramsey about cleaning up the house. He was barely polite when I was representing an agency he had engaged.’
‘Then I’ll see you tomorrow. You can bring lunch.’
‘Blokes do windows, women do food?’
‘You could take me to the pub if you’d prefer, but I was thinking of your budget.’
‘A picnic it is. Any allergies?’ she asked. ‘Anything you won’t eat?’
‘Just save the wussy lemon cake for your legions of admirers. You know what I like.’
He disconnected before she could reply and Tash had to fight the insane urge to run back to the studio and write her address in lipstick on his sketch pad. On his chest. Across his stomach...
‘Are you all right, dear?’ A woman waiting for the bus was looking up at her with concern.
‘Um... Yes... Thank you.’ She sat down on the bench beside her, flapped her shirt collar to create a bit of breeze around her face. ‘I’ve just, um... It’s a bit warm, isn’t it?’
* * *
Darius was at the door on the dot of eight and despite a sleepless night—or maybe because of it—Tash was waiting for him. No short skirt, no dangerous buttons with a mind of their own, no sexy high heels. Today she was kitted out in a pair of comfortable jeans, a baggy T-shirt and a pair of running shoes, bought when she’d decided to get a grip on her weight and decided to go running with Toby. Once had been enough and any wear on the soles was down to the occasional dash to the corner shop for emergency baking supplies.
Her laptop bag was ready for business, lunch was packed; she hadn’t left herself with a single excuse to delay so that she would have to invite him up while she gathered her stuff. No excuse to offer him coffee, or invite him to try the spiced cookies she’d been baking at three that morning.
There was work to do, her career to save, Hadley Chase to sell and when he buzzed from the front entrance she was ready to go.
Strictly business.
She ran down the stairs, swung through the door...
Oh, good grief.
He didn’t say anything when she skidded to a stop on the pavement and the casual hi that she’d been mentally rehearsing died on her lips at the sight of him leaning back against the door of an elderly Land Rover.
If the vehicle was well past its prime, Darius, in a black polo shirt and faded denims that clung to his thighs, was looking like every kind of sin she’d ever wanted to commit.
He was just so damned beautiful that every one of her nerve endings sent out a ‘touch me’ tingle and she was seriously wishing she’d gone for a shirt with unreliable buttons and a bra that pushed her boobs up to her chin. He might keep a poker face when he was looking down her cleavage but she knew exactly what he was thinking. Right now she hadn’t a clue.
She’d run through this moment over and over as she was taking a shower, picking out what to wear for exploring a dusty old house, cutting sandwiches. Imagining what he’d say, what he’d do. Rehearsing every possible combination of responses.