Dante's Twins

Vibrantly conscious of the electricity sparking between them and wreaking devastation on her composure, Leila had struggled to project an air of professional detachment. Refusing to crane her neck to meet his gaze, she’d addressed his mouth instead and murmured coolly, “How do you do, Mr. Rossi? I’m very honored to be here. Poinciana Island is beautiful.”

In all fairness, he tried to match her aloofness. “We both know you’re very lucky to be here,” he corrected her, his handsome lips enunciating the word quite distinctly.

She’d lifted her chin a fraction. “You’re referring, no doubt, to the fact that it’s rare for such a very new member of the company to earn a place at its annual retreat.”

“Among other things,” he replied, taking her elbow and steering her toward a quiet corner where their conversation wouldn’t be overheard.

None of the others had tried to join them but they noticed that he’d singled her out and they watched, some with slightly malicious anticipation and a few—mostly the women who’d befriended her—with sympathy and encouragement

“So,” he said, swirling his glass of rum punch and raising it in a brief salute, “how did you manage it?”

“What?” she’d replied, deciding two could play at being obtuse. “Getting myself hired by Classic Collections Limited?”

“We can begin with that, if you like.”

He’d spoken as if it was immaterial to him how she answered; as if he didn’t really give a rap who she was or how she’d managed to wheedle her way into this select gathering, and that he was merely going through the motions of pretending an interest in her.

But the tension in his tall frame had betrayed him for all that he lounged so casually against the terrace balustrade and declined to look at her, choosing instead to stare out to sea. Behind that veneer of indifference he was as conscious of her as was she of him.

The intense awareness that had sprung to life the moment their eyes met continued to writhe between them, its threat not if it would strike, but when. It left her heart pulsating unevenly and the palms of her hands clammy with foreboding.

But if some parts of her had shrunk from the danger of him, other parts had thrilled to it Underneath her clothing, in places no man had ever seen let alone touched, her flesh grew warm and alive. For the first time in her life she had found herself in thrall to an attraction so uncontrollable, it left her breathless.

He was the most compelling, the most exciting man she’d ever met. That she should have leaped to such a momentous conclusion in a matter of minutes had made not a whit of difference. She simply knew, as surely as she knew her own name. He was her destiny.

“I came across your company ad in a trade magazine and decided to apply for the job,” she’d said, somehow managing to disguise her inner commotion with a calm that was as superficial as the smile shaping her mouth.

“Why?”

Money and the debts she’d undertaken to honor were too squalid a topic to mention when magic swirled in the air. “Because,” she said lightly, “it sounded interesting and I was ready for a change.”

He favored her with a slow, engaging grin. “You must also like a challenge. From what I understand, you’ve not had much experience in the Canadian import business.”

“No,” she admitted, warmed to the soul by his smile, “but I’m willing to learn. I do speak Mandarin fluently, and I’m intimately acquainted with the way business is done in the Orient.”

“Intimately?” He’d purred the word with such a wealth of meaning that, fleetingly, she wondered if she’d misread his interest in her. She knew that some of her male colleagues, in particular Carl Newbury, believed it had taken more than talent for her to come by her job.

“I was born and raised in Singapore and have traveled extensively through the Far East,” she’d said rather stiffly. “How would you describe that?”

He’d brushed his fingers up her arm, the way one might soothe a nervous animal. “What does it matter? The important thing is, you made the move to Vancouver and you’re here now. Why did you, by the way—leave Singapore, that is? It’s a beautiful city.”

“My mother wanted to return home after my father’s death.”

“She’s Canadian?”

“Yes.”

“And your father?”

“Was half English and half Sri Lankan.” But the pride she’d once taken in speaking about her father had been swallowed up in disappointment. As had become her habit since his death, she veered the conversation elsewhere. “Is there some point to all these personal questions?”

“I like to know about the people who work for me. If I’d been present at the time of your final interview, I’d have asked you then.”

“Your partner seemed more than satisfied that I could handle the job, Mr. Rossi.”

“He was obviously right. And the name, by the way, is Dante.”

“But you’re still not entirely sure he made the right decision in hiring me?”

His gaze had drifted over her again. “I wouldn’t go that far. The simple fact is, I’m intrigued by you, Leila Connors-Lee. Women seldom perform so well on foreign assignments, especially not their first. They find the travel too demanding, intimidating even. Their ambitions lie closer to home as a rule.”

He’d made ambition sound like a dirty word. “Is there something wrong with a person wanting to succeed?”

He’d shrugged, an elegant shifting of his shoulders beneath the exquisite Armani jacket. “The degree of wanting might be a problem.”

“Why should it be, as long as the company benefits?”

“Theoretically, it shouldn’t,” he’d said, his glance taking inventory of the blush-pink Thai silk of her dress, the Sri Lankan sapphires at her ears, “but if other factors enter the picture....”

For a moment, her poise had almost shattered. Was he really telling her that he paid attention to the sort of innuendo Carl Newbury apparently was not above spreading around, or did a more subtle text underlie his words: one which acknowledged the sexual attraction pulsing between the two of them and, at the same time, that he rebelled against it?

“Other factors being the objections voiced by some of your executives at my appointment?” she’d said, and when he once again shrugged dismissively and turned away, went on, “Well, Mr. Rossi—Dante—I’d like to voice a few objections of my own, most specifically to your judging me on the strength of idle gossip. I know what’s being said and I find it only a little less insulting than your willingness to accept as truth something which has absolutely no basis in fact. Frankly I expected a more enlightened attitude from a man of your presumed intelligence.”

That had cured him of his urge to study the incoming tide! “The day I come to depend on the office grapevine in order to form an accurate assessment of any employee will be the day I retire from business,” he said sharply, swinging back to face her. “I’m not sure who’s been talking or what’s been implied, Leila, but let’s get one thing clear from the start I consider myself a good enough judge of character to arrive at my own conclusions without relying on input from other people.”

She’d been very firmly put in her place, no doubt about it, but before she could respond, one of the native Caribbean houseboys had appeared at the top of the steps leading into the house and banged a dinner gong. Its tones had rolled over the guests, cutting melodiously through the noise and laughter.

Barely able to contain his resentment at being excluded from his employer’s conversation with the upstart newcomer, Carl Newbury didn’t waste a second of the opportunity to intrude. Like a trained Rottweiler out to protect its master, he’d insinuated himself between her and Dante. “We should move inside, Dante. Nobody else is going to sit down to eat until you do,” he’d brayed, all false amiability. “So sorry to interrupt your little chat with the boss, Leila.”

“Don’t be,” she said, ignoring him and staring at Dante. “Mr. Rossi and I have finished everything we have to say to each other, haven’t we?”

Dante had flicked a minute speck of lint from his otherwise immaculate jacket cuff and shot her a glance from beneath the sweep of his lashes. “Not quite, Leila,” he’d said ambiguously, “but it will have to do for now.”

The same dinner gong which had brought that first conversation to an end echoed through the old plantation house again, now summoning stragglers to that night’s formal banquet and reminding her that almost an hour had passed since she’d stepped out of the shower. Dante would be waiting, wondering what was keeping her.

Yet how could she go down to meet him as planned, knowing that to do so would be adding fuel to the gossip already spreading like wildfire? He deserved better.

On the other hand, to remain in hiding suggested a guilt neither of them had reason to feel. They were consenting adults, free to pursue a relationship if they chose.

Granted, it would have been easier, wiser even, had they not been employer and employee. But love didn’t acknowledge such trivial obstacles. Still, perhaps they should wait until they returned to Canada. Unlike Poinciana, the city of Vancouver was large enough that they could conduct their love affair away from the prying eyes that followed their every move here on this tiny island.

The sudden shrill of the telephone brought an end to her indecision. “Leila, what’s keeping you?” Dante asked when she answered.

“I was...daydreaming,” she said, for want of a better word.

“I’ve done a bit of that myself in the last hour or two.” Even from a distance, his voice made her ache with longing to see him again, to be possessed by him. “Hurry down, sweetheart. The cocktail hour’s over and the banquet about to begin.”

“I’m afraid I’ll be a few more minutes,” she said, searching through a drawer for fresh lingerie. “Don’t wait for me.”