Rags To Riches: His Wish, Her Command: The Last Summer of Being Single / An Enticing Debt to Pay / A Navy SEAL's Surprise Baby

He had reacted so oddly when he found out that Nicole was not going to be back until Monday at the earliest. From what Nicole had told her, they were not close and never had been, but he did seem genuinely concerned that she had been delayed.

What was it that he wanted from her friend and employer that he could not ask over the phone, or in an email? What was he here for?

Whatever the reasons, this real live version of Sebastien Castellano looked as though he needed a good meal followed by decent sleep in a soft bed.

Failing that, a power nap in a warm garden would do him good.

Which meant two things; first she had to head off attacks from both the dogs who had disappeared once they had been fed, and her son who should be arriving home from school at any minute.

Turning carefully on the balls of her feet, Ella lifted her basket of peas as quietly as she could—and almost dropped them when Seb’s cell phone started ringing.

He stirred twice, sighed loudly, and sat up, quickly grasping onto the cell phone, flicking it open and saying, Yes, before his eyes had even come into focus.

The image was of someone living on a knife edge and suddenly her envy was replaced with pity.

The familiar ring tone broke the deep sleep Seb had been enjoying and he yawned widely and uncreaked his neck muscles as he checked the caller identity and blinked a few times.

‘Matt? How are you doing? Oh. Insect bites? Ah, yes. The infamous Camargue mosquito. Should have warned you about those. Sorry, mate.’ He chuckled briefly with a closed mouth before getting back to business. ‘I take it you’ve had a call from PSN Media?’

Seb’s left hand rubbed vigorously along the line of his powerful jaw and the longer-than-normal designer stubble, then his mouth curved into a knowing smile. ‘I knew they would come around on the employee benefits in the end. You’ve done a great job, Matt. What’s that? His private yacht? Trying to impress us, is he? Interesting.’

His hand lifted, then dropped onto his knee. ‘If Frank Smith wants to fly a corporate lawyer down from Paris on Monday morning so that we can sign the contract on his yacht, then I’m happy to turn up and enjoy his hospitality—providing the numbers add up.’

Then a sniff. ‘Right. In that case, we’ll go through the fine print Sunday evening before dinner. Close the deal Monday. Thanks. You too.’

The fingers of both hands clenched hard into his palms as his brain reeled with the implications of the news.

Yes! PSN Media had come up with a compromise on the benefits package. And the chief executive of PSN Media was remarkably choosy when it came to inviting people onto his private yacht. This was a first. It was actually going to happen!

And he knew exactly who to share it with.

In an instant he swiped his finger across the touch screen on his top-of-the-range cell phone, found the contact number he was looking for, and the call was answered in his Sydney office within three rings.

‘Hi, Vicky. Seb. It’s good news. You’ve got the green light to start planning the phase two Foundation projects.’

Seb smiled at the shriek of delight and laughter that burst out from the talented project manager he had hired to look after the Helene Castellano Foundation.

‘Thought you’d like that. I’ll be back in the office next Wednesday and want to see the projected timelines and budgets some time before Friday’s meeting. Think you can manage that? Thought so. What else are weekends for, right? Thanks, Vicky. You too. Yes, it is brilliant news.’

Seb closed his eyes, shook his head with a relaxed grin, then stretched out the length of his body on the lounger like a cat waking from a long sleep, with both arms behind his head.

Vicky was the best in the business and one of the most passionate and enthusiastic people he had ever met. She had chosen to spend her retirement making best use of the contacts she had made during forty years in investment banking. This time next week she would have a dream budget to work with and Seb could get on with the hands-on work implementing the communication systems.

All he had to do was ensure that the offer on the table was signed with no last-minute problems.

Then he would really feel like celebrating. It might be winter back in Sydney but he didn’t see any reason why he could not take his team down to the beach for the day! They had worked for this just as hard as he had. They deserved a decent party before the real hard work kicked in. He could not wait to get back to Sydney and get the ball rolling!

He allowed himself a smile.

Then spun around, suddenly conscious that he was not alone, and for a few seconds he had to work out where he was. Then his fists clenched in anger at the intrusion into his private business and thoughts.

He had let his guard down for a moment. Stupid!

Ella recoiled for a second with Seb’s sudden movement. A handful of pea pods fell onto the patio stones and she leant down to scoop them up.

Only as she did so Ella recognised that three things had become quite apparent.

Two of them were attached to her chest and she was pointing them quite brazenly under strained cotton and a low-cut sundress at the man whose eyes were now at the same height as her own.

Idiot! She was not used to having men around the house. She really had to think about her clothing for the next week if she wanted to avoid this happening again.

And then came number three. Sebastien Castellano was looking at her.

Amber eyes the colour of beech trees in autumn met hers, flashed with startled energy and widened slightly in surprise that he was being observed so closely. And then those eyes seemed to warm as though melting in the summer heat.

Suddenly she understood what the fuss in the gossip columns was all about.

His eyes were not just amber, they were the deepest dark caramel brown flecked with gold, with a dark centre that pulled you in, like a pool of deep, deep water so dark she would be scared to dive into it for fear of never reaching the bottom. Or of never being able to swim back to the surface.

She had seen a tiny glimpse of that look when he had looked down the front of her dress earlier—which had been completely her own fault. And he had been gentleman enough to look away as soon as he could. But now she was taking in the full blast and the depth and intensity were only too clear.

Ella could feel the beat of her heart in her neck and wrist respond to the power of something very primal that came from a very masculine man who had started to relax once the tension of answering the call had ebbed away, warm and stretching sensuously in the sunshine only inches away from her.

He didn’t say anything, or move from his recliner, he simply turned his head and looked back at her. The moment stretched until she could feel it like an elastic band pulled tighter and tighter until she was frightened about what would happen when all of that energy was released.

Heart racing, she opened her mouth to speak but didn’t get the chance, because in that fraction of a second doors started slamming all over the house, a car crunched away on the gravel drive and a distinctive voice called out in the local French dialect, ‘Mum-m-m! Milou got out again!’

Seb stared at the dog-shaped apparition that joggled towards him to make sure that he was not still dreaming, and blinked hard a couple of times.

Nope. He was awake.

The child’s voice had emerged from behind the huge armful of dog that had grown tired of being carried, and the bundle of fur and paws had now decided to come alive and was struggling like a wild thing to be free now he was home.

The child made it as far as the table before he released the furry creature that dropped into a heap of low woof and flying fur and dust onto the patio tiles.

Seb wasn’t dreaming after all. And the creature looked remarkably like the old griffon hound that had almost ended up under his tyres on the path.

The cherub of a dark curly-haired boy who emerged tried to brush some of the dog hair from his school shirt, looked at the mess and claw marks, then looked up in astonishment as he realised that there was a strange man lounging on one of the recliners.

‘Daniel Charles Bailey Martinez. You. Have not been doing your job.’ Ella was bending forward now, her head tilted to one side as she spoke to her son.

The child looked up from the dog towards Sebastien, and then back to his mother, shrugged and turned around, dropping his shoulders.

‘Sorry, Mum.’

‘Don’t apologise to me, young man. He made it as far as the traffic this time. If Mr Castellano here didn’t have good brakes on his car, your old pal Milou might have been injured, and you—’ she was pointing now ‘—you would have to explain how Milou came to be taking a nap in the middle of the road. And that would be. Serious. So, you know what to do.’

She gestured with her head over one shoulder towards Seb, and nodded.