sleek, fresh-faced Phoebe who smelled of flowers. And then he realised he was expected to say something. ‘That was quick.’
‘Yup.’ She grinned. ‘It’s amazing what caffeine can do. And I still have five minutes to spare.’
‘I’m impressed. Is that it?’ he said, glancing at her suitcase.
‘Yes.’
‘You travel light.’
‘You sound surprised.’
‘I am.’
‘Not all women carry their entire worldly goods whenever they go anywhere, you know. My wardrobe is particularly capsular.’
‘Unlike your house. This is very different from your office,’ he said, indicating the room with a sweep of his arm.
Phoebe frowned. Generally people didn’t see both. She shrugged. ‘I don’t think clients would be too impressed to see this, do you?’
‘Do you care that much what people think?’
She smiled. ‘I’m in PR. It kind of goes with the territory.’
‘Got your passport?’
‘Hmm. Good point.’ The phone started ringing and Phoebe walked over to answer it. ‘Would you mind? It’s in the desk. Top drawer.’
Which reminded her, she needed to get it renewed. And not before time. That photo… The hair. Phoebe shuddered. No one apart from herself and a handful of international immigration officers had ever seen it.
And any second now Alex would be sliding open the drawer, taking it out and flicking through the pages…
‘No, wait,’ she practically shouted. ‘On second thoughts, I’ll get it.’
Phoebe dropped the phone and hurled herself at him. Her body slammed into his and Alex let out a gruff oomf at the impact. Her hand covered his, their fingerstangled in the chaos and for a moment she thought the room had started to spin. Showers of sparks shot up her arm. His scent engulfed her and she nearly swooned.
Fighting back a blush, Phoebe tugged her passport out of his grip. ‘Sorry about that. Terrible photo.’ She peeled herself off him and walked to the door on very wobbly legs. ‘We—er—should probably get going.’
CHAPTER SIX
W ELL, THAT HAD been gruelling, thought Phoebe, pushing her sunglasses up her nose and taking her first lungfuls of Atlantic air. The flight to the capital had been smooth enough and Alex’s skill as a pilot during the short hop to their final destination had been impressive. But having to spend close on to four hours in a confined space with him had been a nightmare.
Once on board his jet, she’d hauled out her laptop with the intention of reading up on her notes, but to her intense irritation her usually excellent powers of concentration had gone on strike. Instead, her body had decided to tune itself to Alex’s frequency. Every move he made, every frown, every smile, that flitted across his face registered on her conscience.
But if she’d thought that had been torturous it was nothing compared to the torment she’d suffered once they’d transferred to the tin pot of a plane that was to carry them to the party venue.
There’d barely been room to breathe. Alex’s shoulder had constantly brushed against hers. His denim-clad thigh had sat inches from her hand and her fingers had itched to reach out and find out if it was as firm andmuscled as it looked. And then his voice, coming through her headset, deep and sexy, had reached right down inside her, wrapping itself around her insides and twisting them into knots as he pointed out a pod of whales.
Her body ached from the effort of trying to plaster herself against the side of the plane. Her stomach was still churning. The minute they’d landed she’d been so desperate to get out of the plane she’d nearly garrotted herself.
‘Welcome to Ilha das Palmeiras,’ Alex said, taking her suitcase and throwing it into the back of the Jeep that was parked at the side of the grass runway.
‘It’s beautiful.’
‘I think so.’
‘But humid.’ Phoebe could already feel her hair beginning to frizz and rummaged around in her handbag for a hair clip.
‘The islanders say if you don’t like
‘Yup.’ She grinned. ‘It’s amazing what caffeine can do. And I still have five minutes to spare.’
‘I’m impressed. Is that it?’ he said, glancing at her suitcase.
‘Yes.’
‘You travel light.’
‘You sound surprised.’
‘I am.’
‘Not all women carry their entire worldly goods whenever they go anywhere, you know. My wardrobe is particularly capsular.’
‘Unlike your house. This is very different from your office,’ he said, indicating the room with a sweep of his arm.
Phoebe frowned. Generally people didn’t see both. She shrugged. ‘I don’t think clients would be too impressed to see this, do you?’
‘Do you care that much what people think?’
She smiled. ‘I’m in PR. It kind of goes with the territory.’
‘Got your passport?’
‘Hmm. Good point.’ The phone started ringing and Phoebe walked over to answer it. ‘Would you mind? It’s in the desk. Top drawer.’
Which reminded her, she needed to get it renewed. And not before time. That photo… The hair. Phoebe shuddered. No one apart from herself and a handful of international immigration officers had ever seen it.
And any second now Alex would be sliding open the drawer, taking it out and flicking through the pages…
‘No, wait,’ she practically shouted. ‘On second thoughts, I’ll get it.’
Phoebe dropped the phone and hurled herself at him. Her body slammed into his and Alex let out a gruff oomf at the impact. Her hand covered his, their fingerstangled in the chaos and for a moment she thought the room had started to spin. Showers of sparks shot up her arm. His scent engulfed her and she nearly swooned.
Fighting back a blush, Phoebe tugged her passport out of his grip. ‘Sorry about that. Terrible photo.’ She peeled herself off him and walked to the door on very wobbly legs. ‘We—er—should probably get going.’
CHAPTER SIX
W ELL, THAT HAD been gruelling, thought Phoebe, pushing her sunglasses up her nose and taking her first lungfuls of Atlantic air. The flight to the capital had been smooth enough and Alex’s skill as a pilot during the short hop to their final destination had been impressive. But having to spend close on to four hours in a confined space with him had been a nightmare.
Once on board his jet, she’d hauled out her laptop with the intention of reading up on her notes, but to her intense irritation her usually excellent powers of concentration had gone on strike. Instead, her body had decided to tune itself to Alex’s frequency. Every move he made, every frown, every smile, that flitted across his face registered on her conscience.
But if she’d thought that had been torturous it was nothing compared to the torment she’d suffered once they’d transferred to the tin pot of a plane that was to carry them to the party venue.
There’d barely been room to breathe. Alex’s shoulder had constantly brushed against hers. His denim-clad thigh had sat inches from her hand and her fingers had itched to reach out and find out if it was as firm andmuscled as it looked. And then his voice, coming through her headset, deep and sexy, had reached right down inside her, wrapping itself around her insides and twisting them into knots as he pointed out a pod of whales.
Her body ached from the effort of trying to plaster herself against the side of the plane. Her stomach was still churning. The minute they’d landed she’d been so desperate to get out of the plane she’d nearly garrotted herself.
‘Welcome to Ilha das Palmeiras,’ Alex said, taking her suitcase and throwing it into the back of the Jeep that was parked at the side of the grass runway.
‘It’s beautiful.’
‘I think so.’
‘But humid.’ Phoebe could already feel her hair beginning to frizz and rummaged around in her handbag for a hair clip.
‘The islanders say if you don’t like
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