Powerful Persuasion. Margaret Mayo

doing here?’

      He smiled unnervingly. ‘I’m checking that my flowers arrived safely.’

      Celena’s eyes were guarded. ‘A phone call would have sufficed. And yes, they have, thank you very much, though I can’t think why you sent them.’

      ‘I hope you like white roses.’ His thickly fringed eyes made a slow and thorough appraisal of her body, starting at the tip of her pink-painted toenails, rising slowly, pausing fractionally on her breasts, and again on her mouth, then coming to a complete halt when they reached her eyes.

      Celena felt breathless. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. They were her favourite, though he couldn’t have known that.

      ‘It’s a pity that when one orders flowers one never actually gets to see them.’

      ‘If you’re after an invite into my house then you’re out of luck.’ She desperately tried to quell the surging of her senses. He had changed into a pair of lightweight blue trousers and a matching cashmere sweater, the casual clothes emphasising his hard-muscled body, making him an even more dangerous adversary. Her mind might tell her that he was not to be trusted, but her body certainly had no such reservations.

      ‘I thought perhaps we could go out for a drink, get to know each other better, discuss my offer in more detail.’ He smiled as he spoke, his brown eyes still intent on hers.

      The audacity of the man! Celena’s heart leapt but she made herself frown, saying crossly, ‘Don’t you ever take no for an answer?’

      ‘Not if I really want something.’

      ‘And you want me?’ It was the wrong thing to have said; she felt a flush coming to her cheeks, which was insane—she hadn’t blushed in years. Celena decided to rephrase her question. ‘I mean, you want me to work for you?’

      His lips twitched as he recognised her discomfiture. ‘You’re perfect for the job.’

      ‘I think there’s more to it,’ she retorted.

      He frowned. ‘What ever gave you that idea?’

      ‘Your insistence, for one thing.’

      ‘And for another?’

      ‘Feminine intuition.’ Her tone was cool. She had herself in control now.

      He smiled. ‘Ah, that.’

      ‘Yes, that,’ she snapped. ‘Are you denying that I am right?’

      ‘It’s an interesting theory. How about we go out and discuss it?’

      Celena let out an impatient sigh. ‘I don’t want to go out I’ve had a hell of a day, with no thanks to you; I planned on an early night.’

      He shot a glance at his watch—an expensive gold affair. Cartier probably, she decided, seeing the Roman numerals on its face. Everything about this man spelt wealth, and he seemed to think that it could get him whatever he wanted. She had no doubt that he intended to offer her an even higher salary.

      ‘It’s early yet—only a little after eight,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we could talk here? I promise to take up no more than an hour of your time.’

      She felt a fresh surge of apprehension. ‘I never allow strangers into my house.’

      Thick brows lifted. ‘I don’t think we’re entirely strangers, and I promise you, Miss Coulsden, that my intentions are strictly honourable.’ He chuckled as he said it. ‘An old-fashioned turn of phrase. Let me put it another way. I have no designs on your body, beautiful though it is. You’ll be perfectly safe.’

      And Celena surprised herself by believing him. She found him dangerous in many ways, but felt instinctively that she could accept his word on this occasion. ‘Very well.’ She stepped back reluctantly. ‘Though I promise you you’ll be wasting your time; I never change my mind once it is made up.’

      His lips quirked. ‘And I never accept no for an answer. An impasse, no less. It will be interesting to see who wins.’

      The character of the house changed as he stepped inside. It had always had a relaxed, comfortable feeling, but the instant this man entered the whole atmosphere became charged—as it had in his office! It was going to be a difficult meeting, Celena decided.

      She led him down the hallway to her sitting room at the back, which overlooked a pleasant courtyard which she had filled with tubs and containers growing a profusion of colourful plants and climbing shrubs, making the small area look almost Mediterranean.

      ‘Please sit down.’ She indicated a dumpy armchair that she had recovered in rust linen, but sat on the opposite side of the room herself on a straight wooden chair with her back to the French windows. It put him at a disadvantage because the low evening sunlight slanted right into his eyes.

      She had reckoned without his guessing her tactics. He got up and smiled—that wolfish smile which hinted that he was in complete control. ‘You take the comfortable chair.’

      He held out a hand and she had no choice, but she ignored his offer of help, pulling the curtains slightly before she sat down. But not enough. The sun still caught the chair and made her squint as she looked at him.

      ‘The hot spot?’ he queried. ‘Good try, Miss Coulsden, but I prefer to be the one in control.’

      She said nothing, hiding her embarrassment, looking at him with her lips clamped together, her grey eyes stormy. ‘OK, make your offer.’

      Their eyes met and held for several long, suspenseful seconds—seconds during which Celena’s heart catapulted once again with violent emotion.

      ‘I think,’ he said, his tone low and meaningful, ‘that first of all we ought to analyse your motives for refusing.’

      She lifted one eyebrow. ‘Analyse? There is nothing to analyse.’

      ‘No?’ he asked sceptically. ‘No one except the very rich wouldn’t like to earn more money.’

      Her eyes flashed. ‘And you’re one of that élite band, thinking that your money can buy anything you’ve set your heart on. Let me tell you this, Mr Segurini—I refuse to be bought Didn’t I make myself clear?’

      ‘Did you check on the situation with your present employers?’

      She inclined her head. ‘You were right,’ she admitted grudgingly.

      ‘And you have a mortgage on this house?’

      ‘I don’t see that that is any business of yours,’ she retorted. He probably knew anyway; it was very likely one of the pieces of information stored in his computer system. Her parents’ house hadn’t fetched all that much, and property here was so much dearer, so yes, she did have a mortgage.

      ‘And then, of course,’ he said with a slow, knowing smile as he delivered his pièce de résistance, ‘there are your sister’s school fees. It must be quite a struggle for you, Celena.’

      Celena gasped, even though she knew she ought not to be surprised, and jumped to her feet, moving so that the sun was not glaring into her eyes. ‘Get out of here, you swine. You have no right prying into—’

      ‘You’re even more beautiful when you’re angry,’ he cut in softly. ‘It amazes me that some man hasn’t snapped you up before now. You need the job, Celena; why don’t you take it?’

      He was right—she did need it; she could not afford to turn him down a second time. But there was still defiance in her eyes. ‘Only if you triple my present salary,’ she declared, chin jutting.

      A wide smile softened the harsh contours of his face; white teeth gleamed. ‘Done.’ He stood too and held out his hand and Celena was compelled to take it ‘I knew you would come to your senses. Everyone has their price.’

      His grip pulverised her hand, but more shocking than that were the waves of electricity that ran through her—the chemical reaction that she had