She looked away, but not before she noticed the speculation in his stare. Raffa missed nothing. He could read the smallest shift in body language and never took anything for granted. He was scanning her now for any sign of emotion to suggest she was a clinging vine who might make demands on him after what had happened between them at the party.
Composing herself, she lifted her chin to meet his gaze. Britt had mentioned the fact that Raffa’s questing nature had contributed massively to his success, and that he was unparalleled when it came to spotting things other people missed, and that this was what kept him so far ahead of the pack. She would do well to remember that.
‘You’re well, Leila?’
Her cheeks flushed red at that simple question. Well? She was blooming. ‘Yes, very well, thank you. You?’
He nodded briefly.
Raffa looked amazing, in nothing more than a pair of worn jeans and a dark, close-fitting top. She inhaled a faint tang of his cologne. He was standing so close she could see the amber flecks in his sepia eyes and feel his familiar power warming her. It was impossible to forget what had happened between them, or the consequences of their one night together.
‘Let me carry your case,’ he said, reaching for her bag.
‘I can manage, thank you.’
‘You don’t have to manage, Leila.’
Raffa sounded faintly impatient and she couldn’t blame him as she thought back to the last time they’d seen each other—glimpsed each other, really, across a crowded ballroom at Eva’s wedding. She’d been too busy to speak to him, and yet the night before she’d been lost in his arms—wild in his arms. And now the consequences of that night, consequences that Raffa didn’t know about yet, would have to be brought out into the open and discussed. There was an awkward time ahead of them, to say the least.
She followed him to the Jeep, determined she would keep her head, but once the doors closed and they were contained in the small cab she was all too aware of the tension swirling round them.
‘You’re very quiet,’ Raffa remarked as he started the engine. ‘Don’t you have any news for me, Leila?’
‘About the museum?’ Her throat tightened on the question.
‘Of course about the museum.’ Slipping his sunglasses on, Raffa put the vehicle into gear and released the brake.
Of course. What else could they possibly have to talk about? The conversation between them was so stilted and awkward, she wasn’t sure she could rescue the situation. Bracing her arm against the dashboard as Raffa bumped the Jeep over the rutted track that led to the highway, she glanced at his rugged face in profile. There was no softness in his expression. ‘Did you see the mail I sent you?’
‘Mail?’ He frowned, his swarthy features more forbidding than ever. ‘What mail?’
‘The mail I sent to your company in advance of my arrival here. The mail I sent to introduce myself to your team. I copied you in.’
Raffa’s frown deepened.
No one got under her skin as he did, and far from being the peacemaker, her usual role back home, she was screaming inside and had to say something. ‘Were you ever going to read it?’
Pulling his head back, Raffa flashed a glance across at her. ‘If it’s in my inbox I’ll get round to it.’