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would let him make love to her. ‘Then let me be your teacher,’ he murmured.
    She wanted to tell him not to be so provocative—but what if that was simply her interpretation of his behaviour? A repressed single woman’s wildest fantasies. What if he was just being an affable host, out to give her an enjoyable time after the successful completion of a job? Who was to say that he wouldn’t have been behaving this way if she had been a man?
    But if she’d been a man, surely he wouldn’t have been standing quite so close to her, so close that she could smell his subtle scent—evocative of sandalwood and citrus and something else which seemed to symbolise everything that was masculine. From this near she could feel the heat radiating from his powerful frame, and see a tendril of dark hair which curled onto the olive sheen of his skin, so that at that moment she found herself wanting to curl that errant lock around her finger.
    ‘You know how to drink it—to best enjoy it? No? Then I shall show you. First, we look at it.’ Gianluca held his wine up, swirling the claret-coloured liquid around the bowl of the glass, so that it left sticky little trickles running down the side. ‘See its beauty? Like the richest rubies, sì?’
    ‘Y-yes.’
    He shot her a look before briefly lowering his nose to inhale deeply, his dark lashes arcing downwards to shield the dancing dark light in his eyes. ‘And then we breathe it in. We inhale its bouquet. We engage the senses before at last we feel it on our tongue to taste it, and then, at last, we savour it.’ His eyes captured hers over the rim of the glass before taking a slow mouthful of the dark red wine and moving it around his mouth in a gesture which was sheer eroticism.
    ‘You see, the anticipation of pleasure only adds to theeventual enjoyment—as it does with all the pleasures in life,’ he finished and waited for her to bristle with her very English disapproval. But to his surprise, she did no such thing.
    ‘I see,’ said Aisling faintly, completely mesmerised by the silken caress of his voice. She wondered what spell he had cast to root her feet to the spot like this, to make her want to carry on looking at that beautiful, rugged face until the end of time. To want to touch her fingertips to its glowing skin and trace the line of those perfect lips.
    Oh, Aisling, Aisling, you’ve started to commit that sad sin of women nearing thirty—who believe that fairy tales really can happen.
    At work, she was better equipped to deal with his charisma, yet it was as if by coming here tonight, and putting on these jeans—which were clinging rather suggestively to her bottom—she had removed whatever it was which usually kept her safe. She had put herself at risk, and she needed to do something about it. The question was what.
    ‘You like this wine?’ he queried.
    ‘I like it … very much.’
    ‘Perfetto.’
He took another sip, aware that his heart was pounding with a strangely slow and heavy beat. He could see the swell of her breasts brushing against the fine material of her top and, despite the warmth of the evening, how her nipples were perking in pert points.
    He was aware of the sweet pain of his erection, which was pushing against him, and suddenly he felt like a schoolboy, aware that the evening had cast him into a role in which he was unfamiliar. That for once he was playing a game and he didn’t know how it would end—or even which rules to engage. Normally, when he wanted awoman he didn’t even have to try. A glance, a murmur, a hint of sensual promise in his eyes was enough to capture his quarry.
    Yet with Aisling, it was different. The unthinkable had happened because he simply didn’t know whether she would be willing to be seduced. Or whether you should be breaking the rule of a lifetime and sleeping with someone with whom you have a professional relationship—someone you employ!
    But he ignored the voice of his conscience—for something much more