That evening Sorcha looked at the clothes she’d laid out on the bed. Even though tonight wasn’t a formal occasion, she itched to put on something that would assert cool professionalism. Romain scrambled her brain, her senses, and she needed all the armour she could muster. She’d been lacking in control ever since she’d come face to face with him in New York, and it had to stop or she’d never get through the job.

      She reached for jeans and flat ballet pumps, and a soft cashmere wraparound cardigan. It didn’t need anything underneath, but the sensual feel of the fabric—why did it suddenly have to feel sensual?—made her team it with a plain white vest top. The deep sapphire colour of the cardigan made her eyes a dark smoky blue. Pulling her hair back and up, she clipped it haphazardly. Stuck on her glasses. She looked at her image, somewhere between a sixteen-year-old cheerleader and a student.

      Sticking her tongue out at herself, she ignored the two spots of bright colour on her cheeks and left the room, only to walk smack-bang into a hard, unyielding chest.

       CHAPTER SIX

      THE wind was driven out of her more as a result of her reaction to coming into contact with his hard chest than because of the impact. Sorcha looked up with dazed eyes. Big hands encircled her upper arms and she could feel his body heat enveloping her. They were so close that all she’d have to do was stretch up slightly and her mouth would be close enough to—

      With an almost violent movement she pulled free and jerked away, rubbing her arms. She glowered at Romain, who stuck his hands in the pockets of his dark trousers and leant against the doorjamb. A dark shirt made him look dangerous, foreign, in the gloom of the corridor. The grey of his eyes stood out.

      Nervously she touched a hand to her glasses. ‘Do you always lurk outside people’s doors? Or were you just afraid I was turning my room into a den of iniquity?’

      A smile quirked his mouth up at one side, making him look even more rakishly handsome. She wasn’t ready to face him—had been counting on the space, however brief, between her room and the dining room to gather herself.

      ‘I was merely coming to escort you downstairs. Everyone is here.’

      ‘I’m quite capable of walking myself down some stairs.’

      He fell into step beside her. She wanted to turn away from his presence but the corridor was old and tiny.

      ‘Prickly, aren’t you? I hope this means you’re a morning person.’

      She scowled at him briefly and preceded him down the stairs.

      Romain followed with a thoughtful look on his face. His jaw tightened as his eyes were drawn to the sway of her bottom in the tight, faded jeans. The force of her cannoning into him had shocked him too. Or rather, the feel of her soft breasts crushed against his chest had shocked him—with how badly he’d wanted to walk her back into the room and shut the door behind them.

      In the large drawing room everyone was gathered, drinking aperitifs. Local girls in black trousers and white shirts walked through with canapés. Sorcha was relieved to see some familiar faces—and one in particular.

      ‘Sorcha, you gorgeous girl, come here!’

      She was grabbed around the waist and lifted high by a tall, handsome man—the hairstylist. When he finally put her down she was laughing and red-faced. ‘Val! You nearly stopped the blood supply to my middle region.’

      ‘How is the smartest model in the world?’ He pretended to think for a second. ‘Now, was it a first, or a second? I can’t remember…’

      Sorcha punched him playfully. ‘It was Summa Cum Laude to be precise, but really it’s not that amazing, lots of people got the same mark.’

      He looked mock-shocked. ‘Maybe so, but you came in the top five of your class, girlfriend. If that isn’t—’

      ‘What’s this?’

      Sorcha’s back straightened. For a brief moment she’d forgotten Romain was right behind her. How much had he heard?

      Before she could stop him, Val was fluttering his lashes in his campest mode and chattering with scant regard for discretion. ‘Our girl here has just graduated with flying colours from—’

      ‘Val, you never showed me your wedding ring.’

      Acting on a panicked impulse, desperately counting on Val’s extreme yet lovable self-absorption, Sorcha breathed a sigh of relief when he promptly forgot about relaying her news and proceeded to show off the heavy platinum band, regaling them with stories about his recent marriage in London to his boyfriend. This was all punctuated with hot, heavy looks at Romain, who Sorcha could see was completely unfazed. She’d seen other men driven almost to violence by Val’s unwanted flirtatious attentions, but Romain was so sure of himself that he was totally at ease, bantering back and forth. It made a funny feeling lodge in her chest.

      Val got distracted by someone and walked away just as a bell sounded for dinner. Sorcha already felt wrung out. She made to move, but was blocked by Romain’s tall body.

      ‘What did you stop Val telling me?’

      She should have known he wouldn’t let it go—and she had diverted Val with all the subtlety of a brick. Hemmed in between a chair and Romain, she could see everyone filing out to the dining room across the hall and looked after them wistfully.

      ‘Nothing.’ She sounded evasive.

      ‘What was he talking about, and why did you distract him from telling me?’

      Why was she feeling so self-protective? It wouldn’t mean anything if she told him…if anything it might make him respect her more. She opened her mouth. Nothing came out. She didn’t want to tell him because she didn’t want him to know anything about her. And if he knew this…well, it might make him curious about other things. She needed to keep him at a distance. And then she remembered his scathing response to her involvement with the outreach centre.

      She looked up and held her gaze to his, even though it wasn’t easy. That intense grey seemed to enmesh her every sense. The room was silent. Everyone was gone, and again it was just the two of them. She willed ice into her eyes and into her veins, which seemed to be far too heated of late.

      ‘He was talking about something that would be of no interest to you. It was personal and private, and he’d forgotten that I’d asked him not to mention it to anyone, that’s all. Anyway, how could you possibly be interested in anything about me?’

      ‘Oh, but I am, Sorcha—very interested. You’re mine for the next two weeks. And you’re an expensive commodity.’

      Her eyes blazed with sudden fury, and she hated the frisson that had skittered down her spine at the way he’d said ‘very interested’.

      ‘That does not give you the right to pry. I told you before—stay out of my private life.’