Undressed by the Boss. Nicola Marsh

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      As she glanced around the exclusive club Casey realised that some of the younger women present appeared to be glued to every word their companions had to say. They laughed on cue, stared in awe on cue, and rarely spoke unless they were asked a direct question. How long was she going to last here?

      It would be useful research, her business head reminded her.

      ‘Could we sit somewhere where I can people-watch?’

      ‘If you’d find it helpful …’ he replied. ‘Champagne?’ Raffa suggested once they were settled at a table.

      ‘I’d prefer juice?’

      ‘Juice it is.’

      This was new for him—this woman who could be one thing in the boardroom and a shy fawn-like creature in her private life. He supposed it was his reward for mixing business with pleasure; something he’d never done before.

      But this interview process must never become something more. Casey’s innocence prevented it. She was so tender and vulnerable outside her job, and that should never be exploited. And besides, with so much appetite on his side and so much untapped passion on hers, if their relationship ever did overstep the mark they would take off into sexual space and never come back to earth again.

      As he watched her moist lips embrace the straw plunged deep into fresh papaya juice, he could only be thankful she hadn’t agreed to champagne. He needed a clear head and all his sternest resolve if this apparently innocent meeting in a club was going to remain the safe side of sin.

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      ‘TELL me something about your family, Casey …’

      ‘My family?’ Casey’s throat constricted as Raffa leaned towards her. Was her family being considered for the job now? She made herself calm down by reasoning that this was a perfectly acceptable question for an employer to ask. It was by no means unique, and it allowed Raffa to paint a clearer picture of who she was. But still …

      ‘We’re nothing special.’

      ‘Nothing special?’ Raffa frowned, his dark eyes glinting in the discreet lighting. ‘Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?’

      ‘I’m sure you’d find us terribly boring.’

      ‘And I’m equally sure I won’t …’ As he spoke Raffa straightened up and put his hands flat on the table, where the delicious entrées they had ordered lay largely untouched.

      They had a lot to say to each other, Casey reflected, except when it came to their private lives; then both of them clammed up. But she didn’t have the option of holding out on him if she wanted this job. ‘You’ve read my file—’

      ‘So I know a lot about you on paper,’ he countered. ‘But I want you to tell me. My intention in bringing you here to A’Qaban is to go way beyond the printed page, Casey. I need to know you.’

      ‘I understand …’

      ‘And I understand that your parents’ job is a little unusual,’ he said in a reassuring voice. ‘So don’t feel embarrassed.’

      ‘I’m not …’ His hard mouth had softened fractionally, she noticed, and there was genuine warmth in his eyes.

      ‘Why don’t you tell me about them?’

      ‘I’m okay with their work,’ she admitted, hearing in her voice that she had made it sound like a lie.

      ‘Expand a little,’ Raffa encouraged, pouring a glass of water for her.

      How much did he want to know? She had never discussed her parents’ work with anyone outside the family before. How could she, when she could never take a man home to ‘meet the family’, knowing that any boyfriend would only end up as a lab rat to be quizzed and evaluated by her sex therapist parents before being added to their latest batch of trial statistics.

      ‘Do you know my parents’ work?’

      ‘I know their work well,’ he said, as casually as if her parents ran a market garden. ‘They’re world-renowned academics; it would be hard not to.’

      He wasn’t mocking her, as so many others had. He was genuinely interested, she realised.

      ‘I never forget we are all products of our background, to some extent, and so it’s only natural for me to be curious about your formative influences.’

      ‘And about whether I can talk of them without embarrassment?’ she said bluntly. ‘I’m proud of my parents’ achievements.’ She was. They had helped so many people. Except for her, of course. But it went without saying that that had never been on the cards.

      ‘So you’ve grown up in a loving family?’

      ‘Absolutely. My parents may seem unconventional to some people, but they always put me first and were very good role models.’

      Raffa eased back, appearing to consider this. She was overheating. It was the first time she had talked so openly about a side of her life that, for all the sex talk round the dinner table, was repressed. In spite of the casual way her parents discussed intimacy, she had never found it possible to open up. Her parents had heard it all before, she had reasoned when she was younger, and she knew it would only embarrass them to realise what a failure their daughter was in an area in which they specialised.

      ‘You’re very lucky,’ Raffa said. ‘Tragically, I never knew my parents.’

      His manner prevented further discussion, and she respected his silence. What she had so reluctantly revealed was insignificant by comparison to what Raffa had just told her. It was so totally unexpected she sat stunned for a moment. They had both opened up—perhaps more than they had intended to. How often did that happen? Casey wondered.

      ‘That’s why this country means so much to me.’ Raffa’s eyes were burning with passion. ‘I am investing everything I have, everything I am, in the future of A’Qaban. I have trained my whole life for this moment.’

      Raffa’s words moved her deeply and her own concerns paled into insignificance. But he didn’t need her to be ‘moved’, he needed action—and she was confident she could give him exactly what he wanted if he would give her the chance.

      ‘I’ll support you in any way I can,’ she assured him. ‘We’re going to make a success of this.’

      Raffa stood up, preparing to leave. ‘Why do I believe you, Casey Michaels?’

      ‘Because I haven’t let you down yet?’ The wry tug of her lips acknowledged that she hadn’t been tested yet either. But she would come through for him. She savoured the moment her hand remained in Raffa’s warm, secure grip. She would run this auction for him and his charity and make it work—whatever it took.

      Releasing her hand, Raffa shot a look at his no-nonsense steel watch. This was the signal that brought their informal lunch meeting to a close. There was a subtle change in him, she thought, as if he had returned everything to a strictly business footing. Which it always had been for him, she reminded herself.

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