Red-Hot Affairs. Lucy King

a mental note to get someone to investigate the air-conditioning options. Then at least he’d be able to control the temperature, if nothing else.

      He was just about to turn back to grab his laptop and head off to his meeting when he heard the rap of heels on stone and caught a movement out of the corner of his eye.

      Something, he had no idea what, made him pause. Made him train his focus on the woman walking across the patio.

      For some reason his breathing faltered. The floor beneath his feet lurched. His pulse jumped. She was walking away from him, and he couldn’t be sure, but that looked just like Laura.

      Matt blinked and gave his head a quick shake. No. That was nuts. It couldn’t be Laura. Because what would she be doing in his palace on his island? It was his feverish imagination working overtime, that was all. Lack of sleep, too, probably. And this damn stifling heat.

      Nevertheless something about the way she moved had his eyes narrowing and awareness prickling his skin. Maybe it was the graceful sway of her hips. Or maybe it was the way she suddenly reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. She might be wearing a nifty little suit instead of a T-shirt and hot pants, but those curves looked very familiar.

      As she stopped and turned to say something to the security guard accompanying her Matt caught a glimpse of her face and any lingering doubt fled.

      His head swam for a second. His heart pounded. Hell. It was Laura.

      He ran a hand over his face. Rubbed his eye and pinched the bridge of his nose. Then frowned.

      What on earth was she doing here?

      Had she come to apologise?

      Had she decided she wanted more than just a one-night stand?

      Or had she come to see what she could get out of their brief liaison?

      She wouldn’t be the first, Matt thought, his mouth twisting into a cynical smile as he shoved his hands in his pockets and watched her gazing at the pillars and arches of the colonnades that surrounded the patio.

      Several of the women he’d known in the past had got in touch to suggest that if he was ever on the lookout for a queen they’d be more than happy to occupy the position. And more than willing to provide heirs.

      If Matt could have been bothered to reply he’d have told them they were wasting their time. Marriage and children did not feature on his agenda. He’d been engaged once and look what a disaster that had been. No. His jaw tightened. He wasn’t even cut out for a relationship, let alone anything more, so anyone who hoped otherwise could think again.

      But if any of his suspicions were correct about Laura’s presence on Sassania, why hadn’t she asked to be led straight to him? Why was she now shaking the hand of his culture minister?

      Matt frowned as his mind raced. Then the brief conversation he’d had with Giuseppe Ragazzi about the state of the country’s public buildings and the urgent need to restore them flashed into his head and realisation dawned.

      Oh, damn. His heart sank. Laura was here for the job.

      With the arrest of the former president on his mind at the time, he’d agreed to the request to hire an architect without really thinking about it. Now, he thought, his jaw tightening, he ought to have paid more attention. Imposed certain conditions, at the very least. Such as not engaging the services of one Laura Mackenzie.

      No way could she be given the job. If she got the job she’d be there. In the palace. All the time. Screwing up his concentration and messing with his head. What with everything else going on, he did not need that kind of complication.

      Laura held her breath. She’d done everything she could. She’d answered all the questions she’d been asked confidently and correctly. Outlined the vision she had for Sassania’s public buildings. Talked passionately about the career she loved, and clarified the reasons for her redundancy.

      Now she was waiting on tenterhooks while Signore Ragazzi flicked through her portfolio with agonising thoroughness.

      She wanted this job so badly. Apart from the fact that the idea of working on something she’d drooled over at college made her chest squeeze with excitement, it was such a prestigious project.

      If she got it, she’d be made. Her battered professional pride would recover and she’d have her pick of jobs. Her former employers would read the sensational series of articles she’d write for Architecture Tomorrow and shake their heads at their stupidity in getting rid of her quite so speedily.

      But if she didn’t … Where would that leave her?

      The worries she’d managed to keep at bay crept into her head. What if Signore Ragazzi didn’t like her work? What if they’d had thousands of other applicants, all of whom had more and better experience than she did? What if she wasn’t up to the job? What if—?

      Oh, for goodness’ sake. Releasing her breath before she passed out, Laura gave herself a quick shake and pulled herself together. What was the point of working herself up into a state? She’d take whatever decision he came to graciously and professionally, and face the consequences later.

      Nevertheless when Signore Ragazzi closed her portfolio and looked up, she had to sit on her hands to stop them from whipping up and covering her eyes. Which was a good thing because if she’d had her eyes covered she wouldn’t have been able to see the wide smile he gave her.

      Hope flared in her heart and her ears buzzed. Surely he wouldn’t be smiling like that if he was going to say thanks but no thanks.

      ‘Signorina Mackenzie,’ he said, and her breath caught. ‘I’m delighted to inform you that you have the job.’

      The words took a couple of seconds to register. But when they did Laura felt like punching the air. Would it be completely inappropriate if she hurdled the desk, leapt into his lap and gave him a big kiss? Hmm. Perhaps. Just a little. Instead she settled for a grin. ‘I do?’

      He smiled and nodded. ‘You do.’

      A bubble of delight began to bounce round inside her. ‘That’s fantastic,’ she said, thinking that was quite an understatement.

      He opened a drawer and extracted a sheaf of papers. ‘We think so. To be honest, you’re the only person we’ve called in for an interview, so the outcome has never been in doubt. The only obstacle we had foreseen would have been your lack of availability.’

      He pushed the document across the desk and Laura glanced down at it, faintly stunned. ‘Oh.’

      ‘I’ve seen your work before. The Church of St Mary the Virgin?’ She managed a nod. ‘I particularly liked your sense of balance.’

      Crikey. She’d never felt less balanced. ‘I’m so glad,’ she murmured.

      ‘We’d like to begin with the palace.’

      ‘Of course.’ Excitement clutched at her stomach. She’d studied every fabulous inch of the palace. Pored over photos and reports. Salivated over the flying buttresses and crumbling gargoyles and idolised every one of the six thousand windows. No amount of books and papers could get across the smell of the place, the vitality of the stone and the feel of the warm breeze on her skin when she’d stood outside the gate, the same warm breeze that must have caressed these walls for centuries. Walls that were now crumbling and collapsing.

      ‘When would you be able to begin?’

      Right now would be fine with her. Or would that seem a little desperate? Not to mention totally impractical. She’d come with only her passport and her toothbrush. She was going to need a lot more than that. ‘In a week?’

      ‘Excellent.’ He beamed at her. ‘I’ll arrange for a suite to be made up for you.’

      ‘Thank you.’

      ‘If you’ll just sign here …’

      He handed her a pen and Laura felt thrills scurrying