Dante's Twins. Catherine Spencer

Canadian?”

      “Yes.”

      “And your father?”

      “Was half English and half Sri Lankan.” But the pride she’d once taken in speaking about her father had been swallowed up in disappointment. As had become her habit since his death, she veered the conversation elsewhere. “Is there some point to all these personal questions?”

      “I like to know about the people who work for me. If I’d been present at the time of your final interview, I’d have asked you then.”

      “Your partner seemed more than satisfied that I could handle the job, Mr. Rossi.”

      “He was obviously right. And the name, by the way, is Dante.”

      “But you’re still not entirely sure he made the right decision in hiring me?”

      His gaze had drifted over her again. “I wouldn’t go that far. The simple fact is, I’m intrigued by you, Leila Connors-Lee. Women seldom perform so well on foreign assignments, especially not their first. They find the travel too demanding, intimidating even. Their ambitions lie closer to home as a rule.”

      He’d made ambition sound like a dirty word. “Is there something wrong with a person wanting to succeed?”

      He’d shrugged, an elegant shifting of his shoulders beneath the exquisite Armani jacket. “The degree of wanting might be a problem.”

      “Why should it be, as long as the company benefits?”

      “Theoretically, it shouldn’t,” he’d said, his glance taking inventory of the blush-pink Thai silk of her dress, the Sri Lankan sapphires at her ears, “but if other factors enter the picture....”

      For a moment, her poise had almost shattered. Was he really telling her that he paid attention to the sort of innuendo Carl Newbury apparently was not above spreading around, or did a more subtle text underlie his words: one which acknowledged the sexual attraction pulsing between the two of them and, at the same time, that he rebelled against it?

      “Other factors being the objections voiced by some of your executives at my appointment?” she’d said, and when he once again shrugged dismissively and turned away, went on, “Well, Mr. Rossi—Dante—I’d like to voice a few objections of my own, most specifically to your judging me on the strength of idle gossip. I know what’s being said and I find it only a little less insulting than your willingness to accept as truth something which has absolutely no basis in fact. Frankly I expected a more enlightened attitude from a man of your presumed intelligence.”

      That had cured him of his urge to study the incoming tide! “The day I come to depend on the office grapevine in order to form an accurate assessment of any employee will be the day I retire from business,” he said sharply, swinging back to face her. “I’m not sure who’s been talking or what’s been implied, Leila, but let’s get one thing clear from the start I consider myself a good enough judge of character to arrive at my own conclusions without relying on input from other people.”

      She’d been very firmly put in her place, no doubt about it, but before she could respond, one of the native Caribbean houseboys had appeared at the top of the steps leading into the house and banged a dinner gong. Its tones had rolled over the guests, cutting melodiously through the noise and laughter.

      Barely able to contain his resentment at being excluded from his employer’s conversation with the upstart newcomer, Carl Newbury didn’t waste a second of the opportunity to intrude. Like a trained Rottweiler out to protect its master, he’d insinuated himself between her and Dante. “We should move inside, Dante. Nobody else is going to sit down to eat until you do,” he’d brayed, all false amiability. “So sorry to interrupt your little chat with the boss, Leila.”

      “Don’t be,” she said, ignoring him and staring at Dante. “Mr. Rossi and I have finished everything we have to say to each other, haven’t we?”

      Dante had flicked a minute speck of lint from his otherwise immaculate jacket cuff and shot her a glance from beneath the sweep of his lashes. “Not quite, Leila,” he’d said ambiguously, “but it will have to do for now.”

      

      The same dinner gong which had brought that first conversation to an end echoed through the old plantation house again, now summoning stragglers to that night’s formal banquet and reminding her that almost an hour had passed since she’d stepped out of the shower. Dante would be waiting, wondering what was keeping her.

      Yet how could she go down to meet him as planned, knowing that to do so would be adding fuel to the gossip already spreading like wildfire? He deserved better.

      On the other hand, to remain in hiding suggested a guilt neither of them had reason to feel. They were consenting adults, free to pursue a relationship if they chose.

      Granted, it would have been easier, wiser even, had they not been employer and employee. But love didn’t acknowledge such trivial obstacles. Still, perhaps they should wait until they returned to Canada. Unlike Poinciana, the city of Vancouver was large enough that they could conduct their love affair away from the prying eyes that followed their every move here on this tiny island.

      The sudden shrill of the telephone brought an end to her indecision. “Leila, what’s keeping you?” Dante asked when she answered.

      “I was...daydreaming,” she said, for want of a better word.

      “I’ve done a bit of that myself in the last hour or two.” Even from a distance, his voice made her ache with longing to see him again, to be possessed by him. “Hurry down, sweetheart. The cocktail hour’s over and the banquet about to begin.”

      “I’m afraid I’ll be a few more minutes,” she said, searching through a drawer for fresh lingerie. “Don’t wait for me.”

      “I’ll keep a seat at the head table.”

      And set the tongues to wagging more furiously? “No!”

      “Leila?” An edge decidedly more suited to a CEO sharpened his tone. “Is something wrong?”

      “No,” she repeated more moderately. “But singling me out that way will raise more than a few eyebrows.”

      “I can handle raised eyebrows.”

      “I’m not sure I can,” she said. “Not quite yet.”

      “Our being seen together isn’t hurting anyone, Leila. We’ve done nothing wrong.”

      “I know. It’s just that I’m new here and....”

      And there are some in the company who’ve made it pretty clear they think I’m prepared to sleep my way to the top. But if she told him that, he’d insist on names and he’d act on the information. And she’d got off to a bad enough start with some of her colleagues without making matters worse.

      A moment of silence hummed along the line before Dante said, “Okay, we’ll do it your way for now. Come down as soon as you can. If I can’t sit next to you, at least let me be able to look at you.”

      “Of course,” she said, her fears somewhat allayed.

      Who was she going to listen to, after all: the man to whom she’d given herself in love and trust—or Carl Newbury and his misplaced moral indignation?

      CHAPTER TWO

      NEWBURY divided the dinner hour between shoveling food down his throat and harping on the fact that Leila had elected to sit at a table other than theirs.

      “Glad to see you’ve managed to pry her off, Dante,” he leered, swabbing a chunk of bread through the remains of his fish soup. “The way she gravitated toward you the first chance she got, I thought we were going to have to call in the troops to rescue you. It’s no wonder the guys are up in arms about her. A woman like that can undermine the stability of the whole company.”