Awakened By His Touch. Nikki Logan

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      ‘I’m not talking about shelf presence,’ Elliott said in his best boardroom voice, eager to take back some control. ‘I’m talking about market presence.’

      ‘Wilbur!’ Ellen Morgan scolded the dog, who had shoved his soggy face between her and her coffee for a pat. He wagged an unremorseful tail. ‘Honestly, Laney...’

      The woman made a noise halfway between a whistle and a squeak and the dog abandoned its efforts for affection and shot around the sofa and into the kitchen to stand respectfully beside Helena.

      Laney.

      The nickname suited her. Still feminine, but somehow...earthier.

      ‘Our customers know exactly where to find us,’ Laney defended from the kitchen.

      ‘Do new ones?’

      She paused—the reboiled kettle in one hand and two fingers of the other hooked over her coffee cup edge—and looked towards him. ‘You don’t think we do well enough on the ones we have?’

      One Morgan parent watched her; the other watched him. And he suddenly got the feeling he was being tested. As if everything hinged on how he managed this interaction.

      ‘All markets change eventually,’ he risked.

      ‘And we’ll change with it.’

      She poured without taking her eyes off him, and his chest tightened just a hint as steam from the boiling water shimmied up past her vulnerable fingers. That was a fast track to the emergency room. But it certainly got his attention.

      As it was supposed to.

      ‘But we’ve never been greedy, Mr Garvey. I see no reason to start being so now.’

      Her use of his name gave him the opening he needed as she walked back into the living room with her fresh coffee. ‘You have the advantage of me.’

      Half challenge, half criticism. And formal, but not out of place; she had a very...regal...air about her. The deliberate way she moved. The way she regarded him but didn’t quite deign to meet his eyes.

      ‘Apologies, Mr Garvey,’ Robert interjected, ‘this is our daughter and head apiarist Helena. Laney, this is Mr Elliott Garvey of Ashmore Coolidge.’

      She stretched her free hand forward, but not far enough for him to reach easily. Making him come to her. Definite princess move. Then again, the Morgans did hold all the power here. For now. It was a shame he had no choice but to take the two steps needed to close his hand over her small one. And a shame his curiosity wouldn’t let him not. Maybe her skin wasn’t as soft as it looked.

      Though it turned out it was. His fingers slid over the undulating pads of hers until their palms pressed warmly and his skin fairly pulsed at the contact.

      ‘A financier?’ she said, holding his hand longer than was appropriate.

      ‘A realiser,’ he defended, uncharacteristically sensitive to the difference all of a sudden.

      And then—finally—she made formal eye contact. As if his tone had got him some kind of password access. Because he was taller than her—even with those legs that had seemed to go on for ever down at the beach—her looking up at him from closer quarters lifted her thick lashes and gave him a much better look at deep grey irises surrounded by whites of a clarity he never saw in the city.

      Or in the mirror.

      Healthy, fresh-air-raised eyes. And really very beautiful. Yet still not quite...there. As if her mind was elsewhere.

      Some crazy part of him resented not being worthy of her full attention when this meeting and what might come out of it meant so much to him. Perhaps cautious uninterest was a power mechanism on the Morgan property.

      Effective.

      ‘I studied the proposal you emailed,’ she said, stepping back and running the hand that had just held his through her dog’s wet coat, as if she was wiping him off.

      ‘And?’

      ‘And it was...very interesting.’

      ‘But you aren’t very interested?’ he guessed aloud.

      Her smile, when it came, changed her face. And instantly she was that girl down by the beach again. Dancing in the surf. The mouth that was a hint too big for her face meant her smile was like the Cheshire Cat’s. Broad and intriguing. Totally honest. Yet hiding everything.

      ‘It sounds terrible when you say it like that.’

      ‘Is there another way to say no?’

      ‘Dozens.’ She laughed. ‘Or don’t you hear it very often?’

      Her parents exchanged a momentary glance. Not of concern at their daughter’s bluntness, rather more...speculative. She ignored them entirely.

      ‘I’d like to learn more about your new processes,’ he risked, appealing to her vanity since their new processes were her new processes. ‘And perhaps go further into what I have in mind.’

      She dismissed it out of hand. ‘We don’t do tours.’

      ‘You’ll barely notice me. I’m particularly good at the chameleon thing—’

      Two tiny lines appeared between brows a slightly lighter colour than her still damp hair and he realised that wasn’t the way in either.

      ‘And your Ashmore Coolidge health-check is due soon anyway. Two birds, one stone.’

      That, finally, had an impact. So Laney Morgan was efficient, if nothing else. His firm required biennial business health-checks on their clients to make sure everything was solid. By contract.

      ‘How long? An hour?’ she asked.

      His snort surprised her.

      ‘A day, at least. Possibly two.’

      ‘We’re to put you up on no notice?’

      Who knew a pair of tight lips could say so much?

      ‘No. I’ll get a room in town...’

      ‘You will not,’ Ellen piped up. ‘You can have a chalet.’

      He and Laney both snapped their faces towards her at the same time.

      ‘Mum...’

      ‘You have accommodation?’ That wasn’t in their file.

      Ellen laughed. ‘Nothing flash—just a couple of guest dwellings up in the winter paddock.’

      That was the best opening he was going to get. Staying on the property, staying close, was the fastest way to their compliance he could think of. ‘If you’re sure?’

      ‘Mum!’

      Laney’s face gave nothing away but her voice was loaded with meaning. Too late. СКАЧАТЬ