This was it.

This was the moment she’d yearned for, struggled against all her adult life. To know this, feel this.

To taste Max on her lips, feel the silk of his tongue stopping her angry words, showing her that she wasn’t alone. That he was suffering too…

Her arms wound themselves around his neck, her fingers made free with hair that she’d longed to touch, knowing in some dark corner of her mind that she’d wantonly engineered this, forced this moment.

She’d wanted this ever since that moment at the Valentine’s Day party when, sixteen years old and full of herself, she’d grabbed his hand, insisting on teaching him the steps of the newest dance. And then, as the music had changed to something slower, she’d seen something shift in the way he was looking at her, seen his eyes darken and felt something new, something dangerous stir, respond, deep inside her, wanting a lot more.

She’d known, as he pulled away, that everything had changed between them. That a touch was no longer innocent. That even to look was an invitation that damned them both.

Young, angry, stupid, she’d pushed him and pushed him to take what she could see he wanted, what she wanted, even while she’d known it was forbidden, could never happen, until that final eruption when he’d sacked her, humiliated her, driven her so far away that there had been no way back.

She understood now that he’d been protecting himself, protecting both of them, in the only way he knew how.

But the day her father had told her she was adopted, all that had changed.

We don’t have a problem…

He’d said it, but even then he’d held back, as if unable to overcome years of keeping the dark, unspoken need under tight control. Now, though, with his body hard against hers there could be no more pretence, no ignoring the truth between them. That she felt alive, wicked but alive as she never had before; knew that this was what she wanted, this was the token she’d demanded in return for coming back. Not just a kiss but his total surrender so that she could finally be free of the crippling desire for Max Valentine that had ruined every relationship she’d ever had.

Even as she clung to him he pulled back a little to look at her, his eyes dark, intense, yet giving nothing away, the habit of concealment too strong…

‘You were saying?’ he murmured, cool, self-possessed.

‘I was?’ Her body might be in flames, but she would match his cool…‘I don’t recall,’ she said, reclaiming her arms, understanding that, for now at least, the kiss was over.

Her composure would follow in its own good time.

His response was a slow, wide, seductive smile. ‘Then I believe, we have a contract, Louise,’ he said.

‘You think?’ she asked as he stepped back, picked up the glasses he’d brought with him. ‘I don’t believe I mentioned where exactly I wanted it. The kiss.’

She took the glass he was offering her before he actually spilled the contents, then continued, quite casually, ‘You do know you’re taking quite a risk giving me this? Track record would suggest that I’m as likely to toss it over you as drink it.’

‘Maybe if I told you that it’s Krug?’ he offered.

‘You think that would stop me?’

He managed a wry smile. ‘On the contrary. I imagine it would add to your pleasure.’

Pleasure? There was no pleasure in it. In the past, when she’d thrown things, all she’d wanted was for him to stop saying things that made her angry, stop him criticising her, making her hate him.

‘On the other hand, you do tend to respond in the heat of the moment. If you were going to throw it, you’d have done it already instead of talking about it.’

‘True.’ And besides, his way of putting a stop to a fight was so much more…interesting. ‘If I’ve leapt in with both feet, Max, I’m sorry. I’m used to working on my own, not having to answer to anyone except the client.’

‘I am the client.’

‘So you are. My mistake.’ She looked up, met his gaze directly then, with the smallest of shrugs, ‘I may have got a little carried away in my excitement.’ And he could take that any way he liked. ‘Tomorrow I’ll print out a note to stick on my computer-” TALK TO MAX”.’

‘Whilst I treasure the rarity of an apology from you, I suspect I’m the one who should be grovelling. This is what Jack wanted you on board for. Your quickness. Your vision. You weren’t stepping on my toes, Louise. On the contrary, you were giving me a lift.’ Then, ‘Not that I’m trying to dissuade you from talking to me.’

Anything but, Max thought.

He’d kissed her because it had seemed the only way to stop her saying words that would have ended everything, to exert the control that was slipping away from him. He’d lost that the moment she’d begun to kiss him back. He was still numb with the shock of it; the only thing on his mind her scent, faint, seductive, making him want to pull her back into his arms, bury his face in her skin…

He was walking and talking as if nothing had happened, but inside he was in turmoil, only able to think of kissing her again, this time not for himself but for her.

Kissing her throat, her breasts, every inch of her until she was whimpering with pleasure, with need, so that they could finish what he’d started. Begin anew…

But he could never do that again. Next time it really would have to be her call, and she’d made it clear enough that she would call, that they had unfinished business. He could only hope that she wouldn’t wait too long.

Even while he was sending urgent signals to his feet to step back, put a safe distance between them, she flipped her hair behind her ear out of the way in a give-away gesture that suddenly seemed as familiar to him as drawing breath.

She’d always done that, he realised, even when she was a little kid. When she was unsure of herself, out of her depth. Then, when she’d done it, she’d always looked at him for reassurance. Now she looked away.

‘It might be a good idea to schedule a regular daily meeting,’ she said, ‘just to keep one another in the picture about what we’re doing?’

Poised, composed, but now he knew it was all just an act. A very good one, to be sure, but it was no more than an ice glaze that hid a totally vulnerable core.

Beneath that apparent self-assurance her heart would be pounding, her mouth dry, her knees weak. He knew because that was the way he was feeling…

‘What time would suit you best-morning or evening?’ she prompted.

‘The evening,’ he said, without having to think about it. The evening offered all kinds of possibilities. A chat could become a drink, could become dinner, and after that anything was possible. ‘Seven?’ he suggested.

‘Six-thirty would be better.’ She waited, he had no choice but to nod. ‘I’ll slot half an hour into my diary.’

Not what he’d had in mind at all. But it was a start.

Her mouth lifted in a wry smile. ‘Just listen to us, Max. Being so-o-o polite to each other. Who would have believed it possible?’

He forced a grin in response. ‘Better make the most of it, Lou-it can’t possibly last.’

‘No.’ For a moment they just looked at one another. ‘But then who would want it to?’ And he knew without doubt that she would call him on that kiss and when she did he’d better be ready to deliver everything she wanted.

The very thought almost fried his brains.

‘You do realise that this job is going to take chunks out of any pretence at a personal life?’ he said, making an effort to change the subject, but failing dismally.

‘Is that why you can’t keep a girl, Max?’ she asked.

There was a time when that kind of remark would have brought him to the boil, hearing only the words, the implied criticism. Now all he heard was genuine concern.

‘Relationships need time, hard work. You have to work at them if you want them to last.’

‘No one has ever been that important to you?’

‘Apparently not.’ Then, because talking about his failures held no appeal, ‘What happened to the Honourable James the gossip columnists had you all but down the aisle with a year or so back?’

‘That was nearly three years ago.’

She reached for her hair again. Looked away. No…Look at me…

‘As always,’ she said, ‘they mistook a light-hearted flirtation for something more important.’

About to suggest that it had looked a lot more than a lighthearted flirtation, he took pity on her. Whatever had gone wrong it was clearly still too raw to talk about and he was torn between a need to hit James Cadogan, and to wrap his arms around her and make it go away.

Since neither of the above was anything like a good idea, he settled for, ‘There’s a lot to be said for light-hearted flirtation when everyone knows the score.’

‘My sentiments exactly, but then PR isn’t exactly a nine-to-five job, either,’ she said. ‘In fact this is the only evening I’ve got free for the rest of the week.’

‘Then it’s a good thing I made an effort this afternoon.’ And because he didn’t want to remind her of all the times he hadn’t made an effort, let her down, he raised his glass and said, ‘A toast? To Bella Lucia. The future.’

By way of reply she lifted her glass, clinked it against his, said, ‘Salute, Max!’

Before he could reply, Martin tapped on the open office door. ‘Your food is ready, Miss Valentine.’

‘Thank you, Martin.’ She made to move, then, when he didn’t follow, ‘Max? Risotto won’t keep.’

But food was the last thing on his mind. She hadn’t responded to his toast to the future of Bella Lucia, but had replied with the Italian equivalent of ‘cheers’.

Louise was exhausted. Her feet ached; her head was pounding from music so loud she couldn’t hear herself think. She’d spent the week not only orchestrating media involvement in the HOTfood launch, but clearing her desk of all the niggling little jobs that had to be done, leaving her free to concentrate on Bella Lucia. Free to fly to Meridia with Max after the weekend.

Max.

Their working supper had ended as soon as they’d eaten. She’d made the excuse of an early start. He’d found her a taxi but it had taken all her powers of reasoning to dissuade him from escorting her home. By then she’d been desperate to get away from him, to clear her head, afraid that if he saw her to her door she’d drag him inside, tear his clothes off, tear her clothes off.

Distance didn’t help.

Not even the coldest of showers could shift the memory of that kiss from her head. It was as if the lid had been lifted on desires she’d kept damped down for years and she’d got to the point where she was almost afraid to close her eyes, risk sleep, because when she slept she had no way of keeping them under control.

At least the week was over. Having spent what seemed like an endless evening at the HOTfood launch party the last thing she needed was to arrive home in the early hours of Saturday morning to find Cal Jameson camped out on her doorstep.

‘All the hotels full?’ she asked, irritably, as she fitted her key in the lock. Stupid question. Since his brother was now married to her half-sister, Cal apparently considered himself family. And family were put on earth to provide free food and accommodation whenever you were in town. Which, since Cal was in the travel business, was often.

Which was what you got when you took advantage of the innocent. She should never have fallen on his neck in gratitude when he’d obeyed her sister’s orders and turned up at Christmas, blond, wide-shouldered and to die for in a perfectly cut dinner jacket, thus saving her from the embarrassment of arriving at the family party without a date.

Max always had some stunning eye-candy in tow and it was a matter of honour that she should match him, point-for-point, with the desirability of escort. Cal had delivered on appearance and that was all she’d asked for. She’d been away so much last year, had had so many other things on her mind, that she’d left it too late to round up a gallant willing to brave the Valentine family en masse.

When she’d seen that Max was on his own she’d felt a momentary pang of regret, but then he’d started flirting with Maddie, while she…She sighed. No use regretting what couldn’t be changed.

‘I left a message on your machine to say I had a stopover,’ Cal said as he followed her upstairs like an eager puppy, totally oblivious to her lack of enthusiasm.

Maybe, she thought, she should send him over to Max, since he was so hot on the subject of family.

‘When?’ she asked.

‘Just before I left Dubai. Don’t ask me what time it was. I’ve crossed so many time zones in the last twenty-four hours I don’t know what day it is.’

She didn’t bother to enlighten him, but opened the door to her apartment, dropped the keys on the table, kicked off her shoes and tossed her coat over a chair. The red light on her answering machine was flashing, giving credence to his story. She ignored it.