lurch. ‘Didn’t I warn you about the dangers of making assumptions?’
‘You did. So enlighten me.’ She blew on her coffee and took a fortifying sip. ‘Where is it?’
‘Ilha das Palmeiras.’
Hmm. Phoebe riffled through all the bars, restaurants and clubs that she knew of, but it didn’t ring any bells. ‘I might need a bit more to go on than that. Where’s Ilha das Palmeiras?’
‘It’s an island in the mid-Atlantic.’
An island in the mid-Atlantic? Phoebe blinked in confusion. He wanted her to go to an island in the mid-Atlantic? Today? For a party? She needed way more caffeine.
‘The current temperature is in the mid twenties,’ Alex was saying, ‘but it gets chilly at night, so you might want to pack something warm.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We need to leave in the next half an hour so I suggest you go and get ready.’
Go and get ready? Phoebe could barely get her head around the implications of what he’d told her. Itappeared that not only had he set her a challenge way outside her remit, he also intended her to complete it miles out of her comfort zone.
Devious didn’t even begin to describe the workings of his mind, she decided darkly. Machiavelli himself would bow down in awe.
She should have guessed he’d pull a trick like this. It wouldn’t have surprised her if he’d deliberately kept the location of the party from her just so he could spring it on her when she was least expecting it. Because in her line of work surprises were never welcome and he must know that.
‘Chop chop,’ he said mildly, looking at her as if surprised to see her still standing there.
Phoebe huffed, shot him a filthy look and stormed out.
Alex took his coffee into the sitting room and, not for the first time since he’d laid eyes on her scantily clad form, wondered if taking Phoebe with him to the island was really such a wise idea.
The challenge that he’d set her would prove her determination and her commitment and would satisfy his promise to Jo without compromising the vow he’d made to himself in the aftermath of losing everything he’d worked so hard to acquire.
However, the glimpses of long tanned leg that he’d got whenever Phoebe’s robe slithered open had tested his control to the limit. That ridiculous eye mask perched on top of her mussed-up hair had got him thinking about blindfolds and silk scarves and hours of lazy sensory exploration and he’d nearly stalked over and pinned her against the counter just to see if she felt as warm and soft as she looked.
There was a thump as something hit the floor above, then a yelp of pain and a string of expletives. Alex snapped back to reality and grinned. Phoebe first thing reminded him of a very grumpy, very put out sprite.
He took a look around. Fat cushions sat at random on the two deep sofas that faced each other either side of a coffee table laden with books. Bright splashes of artwork lined the walls. Piles of magazines were stacked high either side of the fireplace. A book lay open face down on the floor beside the sofa.
The room wasn’t messy, but compared to her office it was a tip. If he didn’t know otherwise he’d have thought that two very different people occupied each space.
But then nothing about Phoebe was quite as it seemed, he realised, making his way over to the bookcase. Was she the cool, efficient PR executive? The whimpering goddess he’d held in his arms, who’d stared up at him with stars in her eyes and passion infused in her face? Or was she a combination of all of them and more?
‘I can’t imagine you’ll find anything there to interest you.’
Alex swung round and his pulse spiked. Phoebe stood in the doorway, dressed in jeans that hugged her legs and a little cardigan that clung to her curves and pulled tight across her breasts. Dark sunglasses held her hair back from her face.
For a moment Alex couldn’t decide which version he preferred. The sleepy, tousled Phoebe who smelled of bed or this
‘You did. So enlighten me.’ She blew on her coffee and took a fortifying sip. ‘Where is it?’
‘Ilha das Palmeiras.’
Hmm. Phoebe riffled through all the bars, restaurants and clubs that she knew of, but it didn’t ring any bells. ‘I might need a bit more to go on than that. Where’s Ilha das Palmeiras?’
‘It’s an island in the mid-Atlantic.’
An island in the mid-Atlantic? Phoebe blinked in confusion. He wanted her to go to an island in the mid-Atlantic? Today? For a party? She needed way more caffeine.
‘The current temperature is in the mid twenties,’ Alex was saying, ‘but it gets chilly at night, so you might want to pack something warm.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We need to leave in the next half an hour so I suggest you go and get ready.’
Go and get ready? Phoebe could barely get her head around the implications of what he’d told her. Itappeared that not only had he set her a challenge way outside her remit, he also intended her to complete it miles out of her comfort zone.
Devious didn’t even begin to describe the workings of his mind, she decided darkly. Machiavelli himself would bow down in awe.
She should have guessed he’d pull a trick like this. It wouldn’t have surprised her if he’d deliberately kept the location of the party from her just so he could spring it on her when she was least expecting it. Because in her line of work surprises were never welcome and he must know that.
‘Chop chop,’ he said mildly, looking at her as if surprised to see her still standing there.
Phoebe huffed, shot him a filthy look and stormed out.
Alex took his coffee into the sitting room and, not for the first time since he’d laid eyes on her scantily clad form, wondered if taking Phoebe with him to the island was really such a wise idea.
The challenge that he’d set her would prove her determination and her commitment and would satisfy his promise to Jo without compromising the vow he’d made to himself in the aftermath of losing everything he’d worked so hard to acquire.
However, the glimpses of long tanned leg that he’d got whenever Phoebe’s robe slithered open had tested his control to the limit. That ridiculous eye mask perched on top of her mussed-up hair had got him thinking about blindfolds and silk scarves and hours of lazy sensory exploration and he’d nearly stalked over and pinned her against the counter just to see if she felt as warm and soft as she looked.
There was a thump as something hit the floor above, then a yelp of pain and a string of expletives. Alex snapped back to reality and grinned. Phoebe first thing reminded him of a very grumpy, very put out sprite.
He took a look around. Fat cushions sat at random on the two deep sofas that faced each other either side of a coffee table laden with books. Bright splashes of artwork lined the walls. Piles of magazines were stacked high either side of the fireplace. A book lay open face down on the floor beside the sofa.
The room wasn’t messy, but compared to her office it was a tip. If he didn’t know otherwise he’d have thought that two very different people occupied each space.
But then nothing about Phoebe was quite as it seemed, he realised, making his way over to the bookcase. Was she the cool, efficient PR executive? The whimpering goddess he’d held in his arms, who’d stared up at him with stars in her eyes and passion infused in her face? Or was she a combination of all of them and more?
‘I can’t imagine you’ll find anything there to interest you.’
Alex swung round and his pulse spiked. Phoebe stood in the doorway, dressed in jeans that hugged her legs and a little cardigan that clung to her curves and pulled tight across her breasts. Dark sunglasses held her hair back from her face.
For a moment Alex couldn’t decide which version he preferred. The sleepy, tousled Phoebe who smelled of bed or this
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