Not a dream, she thought, as finally awake she recalled where she was, who she was with. Every word, every touch, every little whimper as she begged him to love her. Every fierce sound she’d wrung from him in return…

She turned her head, opened her eyes.

Propped on an elbow, he’d clearly been watching her, waiting for her to wake. The fact that he’d grown impatient sent a ripple of delight coursing through her veins and she slid her fingers through his hair, fantasy fulfilled; she had never seen his short, thick, perfectly groomed hair without wanting to do that. Disturb the outer perfection, shatter his control. She’d done that, she thought, in a moment that was pure victory. Then she rolled over onto her back, drawing him to her.

She’d wanted to be free of him, of the dark primal need for him that had destroyed every other relationship. But there was no hurry. She had until the fourteenth to put together her PR and marketing plan. All the time in the world.

‘Did anyone ever tell you, Max,’ she said, ‘that when you wake a woman from her dreams, you have to replace them with something more…substantial?’

‘First you have to tell me your dreams, my sweet,’ he said, his smile slow and lazy, his eyes smoky-soft in the early-morning light. ‘Tell me all your dreams, your wildest fantasies, and I promise you that I’ll do whatever it takes to make them come true.’

‘You promise?’ The word sent a tiny shiver of apprehension sweeping through her. She dismissed it, said, ‘Have we got that long?’

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘WELL, that’s a give-away smile. Who is he?’

Louise, lost in her thoughts, hadn’t realised she was smiling and abruptly straightened her face. ‘He?’

‘Oh, come on.’ Gemma, her PA, was grinning fit to bust herself. ‘Only a nomination for an award, or a new man in your life, could put a smile that wide on your face. Since it isn’t the award season…’ She held out her hands, palms up, in a gesture that said ‘case proved’. ‘So, come on. Give.’ Then, slapping her forehead, ‘No, don’t tell me-’

‘If you insist,’ Louise replied, more than willing to change the subject. ‘Did Max send over the artist’s impressions of the Qu’Arim restaurant? He said he’d have them here by lunchtime.’

Was her voice quite steady as she said his name? Should saying ‘Max’ be quite such a secret pleasure when she was supposed to be clearing him from her system?

‘You’ve used your royal connections to hook yourself a Meridian prince,’ Gemma continued as if she hadn’t been interrupted. ‘That’s the reason you stayed over for an extra day.’

‘Just call me Princess Louise,’ she agreed. ‘The drawings?’

‘Hmm, not a prince. You didn’t blush.’

‘I’m a PR consultant, Gem. I do not blush.’

‘If you say so.’ Then, ‘You can’t have any secrets from your PA, Lou. It’s not allowed. If I don’t know what you’re up to,’ she said, sitting down and propping her elbows on the desk, ‘I won’t be able to fend off questions from the press when they get wind of it.’

‘Don’t worry about it. In the unlikely event that the press should show any interest in who I’m dating you have my full permission to tell them everything you know.’

‘Unlikely? Are you kidding? You dropped off the gossip planet when you split with James. As far as the diary hacks are concerned, you owe them three years’ worth of copy.’ Then, her chin in her hands, ‘So, you are dating?’

‘No, Gemma.’

‘Sorry, not convinced. A girl doesn’t get that kind of glow without some serious attention from a man who lights up her soul.’

Max did not light up her soul. She wasn’t that kind of fool. Every other part of her, maybe…

‘I’ve been taking vitamins,’ she said.

‘What kind? I want some.’ Then, ‘Really not dating?’

‘You mean the institution where a man asks a woman out, takes her out to a concert or for a meal or whatever he believes is the fastest way between her sheets?’

Gemma nodded expectantly.

‘No. I’m not doing that.’

It was true.

Dating was part of the getting-to-know-you ritual in which a couple circled around each other, tested each other against their own lives to see if they were a fit. Or, failing that, whether the sexual attraction was powerful enough to counteract common sense…at least for the time being.

With Max it wasn’t like that.

They didn’t have to play that game. They’d known each other all their lives. Why waste time sitting opposite one another in a fancy restaurant where the whole world could see them making small talk and leap to its own conclusions, when they could be sharing supper in bed? Why waste time providing gossip for the tabloid diary writers?

Besides, the secrecy added a certain piquancy, an extra level of excitement to their affair.

‘You’re smiling again,’ Gemma said.

‘I can’t think why when I’m still waiting for those drawings.’

‘They haven’t arrived yet.’ Then, turning her head as someone came into the outer office, ‘Correction, the boss has brought them himself.’

‘Max?’

Louise saw the exact moment when Gemma realised the truth. Not that she said anything. She didn’t have to. She looked at Max standing in the doorway, holding not just the large envelope containing drawings of the Qu’Arim restaurant, but a spray of dusky pink roses, glanced back at Louise and then pointedly removed herself from the office, closing the door behind her.

‘Were all the couriers busy?’ Louise asked as he dropped the roses on her desk.

‘The message I’m delivering is far too personal to entrust with a spotty youth on a motorcycle.’

His hands braced on the arms of her chair, he bent to kiss her, taking his time about it.

The thrill, the tiny shock of delight, was still as new, as startling as the first kiss they’d shared. It made her feel like a giddy eighteen-year-old. And as old and knowing as time.

He pulled back an inch. ‘Besides, I’m on my way to talk to the accountants.’

‘And you decided to take the long way round?’

He grinned, propped himself on the desk. ‘Not because I need the exercise.’

‘Oh, please, I’m not complaining,’ she said, laughing. ‘But I fear that we’ve just been rumbled.’

‘Rumbled?’ He glanced at the closed door. ‘Gemma?’

‘I think the flowers might have been the give-away.’

‘A gift from a grateful employer.’ Then, ‘What, Oliver Nash never sent you flowers?’ he asked, glancing at the vast arrangement that had been delivered to the office, a personal thank-you for the HOTfood launch.

‘He sends Flowers,’ she said, emphasising the capital F with a broad gesture that suggested vast quantities of hothouse blooms. ‘And they are delivered by messenger. He doesn’t drop by with a bunch of roses from the flower seller on the corner.’

‘His mistake.’ He grinned, looked at the roses. ‘Although I didn’t set out with flowers in mind, I have to admit. It was just when I saw these they reminded me of you.’

‘You needed reminding?’

She picked them up, ruffled the velvety petals beneath her fingers and then, aware that he was waiting for her to ask in what way exactly they had reminded him of her she looked up, inviting him to elaborate.

‘Reminded me specifically of the moment when you dropped your dress at your feet. They’re exactly the colour of the incredibly small amount of underwear you were wearing, wanton hussy that you are-’

‘Sh!’ she said, her face turning the same colour as the roses.

‘A wanton hussy who blushes like a schoolgirl.’

‘I don’t!’

He didn’t argue, just reached out, hand closed, and rubbed her hot cheek with the back of his fingers.

‘Is it such a big deal, Lou? Gemma knowing? People saw us dining with Patsy and Derek last week.’

‘No one we knew.’

‘Maybe not. But the maître d’ recognised me and when one Valentine eats in a restaurant that’s not his own, it’s gossip. When two of us do it, it’s news. You’re not exactly low profile, Lou, and Patsy didn’t opt for discretion in her choice of restaurants. She wanted to show you off.’

Louise groaned. ‘I know. Half the staff at that place are probably Diary stringers for the redtops, but I couldn’t bear to disappoint her when she was so excited.’

‘No, of course you couldn’t.’

‘From now on we’ll have to be more discreet.’

‘Will we?’

‘Please, Max,’ she said, imploring him to understand.

‘You have a problem being seen out with me?’ He shook his head. He was still smiling, but not right up to his eyes. ‘And I thought the reason we stayed in was because you couldn’t get enough of my body.’

‘Well,’ she said, desperate to tease him back to a smile, ‘there’s an upside to everything,’

‘But?’

‘But nothing. I don’t care about other people, Max, only Dad. He’s just getting over his heart attack…’

‘And you think if he knew that I was sleeping with his little princess the shock would kill him?’

‘I’m not…I’m not prepared to take the risk, are you?’ she said, flaring up briefly at his lack of sympathy. Then, silently begging him to understand. This affair was too hot to sustain itself for long; it would burn itself out in its own heat soon enough…‘You know how he feels about your father.’

‘Bitter. Chip on his shoulder a mile high.’ Max was not with her on this one. ‘But I’m not my father. Besides, don’t you think he should have got over that at his age?’

‘Try to understand, Max. Your father was the son of an adored second wife while my father saw his own mother abandoned, without support, dying of pneumonia.’

‘The country was at war, Louise. Life was hard for everyone.’ Then, ‘It’s not just that, though, is it?’

She shook her head. ‘No. Your father had everything. Not just two loving parents, but looks, charisma, women falling at his feet.’