She hurried down the short flight of stairs into the display area of her shop, banging on the lights at the bottom.
It was cold and dark outside, and the January air was heavy with the promise of snow, predicted but thus far yet to fall.
A miserable time of thick cardigans and coats and waterproofs and the dreary daily trudge, fighting the elements and the crowds to get to the Tube.
The Closed sign was on the door, clearly visible to anyone with twenty-twenty vision.
She pulled open the door, mouth half open to state the obvious, hand raised to indicate the sign on the door, and then it fell back.
Startled eyes travelled up and up and up to a face that was so absolutely perfect in its olive-toned symmetry that her mouth fell open and for a few seconds her head went completely blank.
Leandro stared back at the redhead in front of him in silence.
So this was the woman whose name had been mentioned with increasing regularity for the past year. Not quite what he had been expecting although, to be fair, he hadn’t had any clear image of anyone in his head.
‘Can I help you?’ She pointed to the sign that he had seen and ignored. ‘I was just about to head off...perhaps whatever you want could wait until tomorrow morning? I’m here most days by eight.’
He detected a thread of annoyance in her voice and conceded that she had every reason to be annoyed but needs must. He didn’t want to be here any more than she wanted him here. ‘I’d rather not,’ he drawled.
‘You’drather not?’
‘I’d rather not.’ He tempered his bluntness with something of a smile, although it was damned difficult because this was no smiling situation. Not by a long shot. He raked his fingers through his hair, glanced away with a frown and then added, carefully, eyes pinned to her face, ‘Believe me, I don’t make a habit of showing up unannounced anywhere...but I assure you, this is important and it’s urgent I talk to you.’
He watched carefully as she digested what he’d said. She had a remarkably transparent face. A useful asset in a wedding-dress designer, he imagined, programmed as he was from a young age to be cynical. A bride-to-be would want an emotional and empathetic listening ear at an emotional and exciting time. All those happy-ever-after endings in sight...all those fairy tales about to turn a corner and come true...what better than someone pinning and sewing with an encouraging smile and appealing, puppy-dog eyes?
Appealing puppy-dog eyes the colour of green glass washed up on a beach?
Everything about the woman oozed just the sort of softness that would encourage a bride to open up and share her secrets.
Leandro, who had received a three-sentence message from Julie two days previously, was in no doubt that, whatever was going on, the small redhead in front of him would have the explanation and he wasn’t leaving until he got it.
Where the heck was his fiancée?
He’d thought he and Julie had a pretty good understanding of the situation. No blurred lines or room for error. But he’d been wrong.
I’m so sorry but I can’t go through with the wedding, Leandro. It’s not you. It’s me.
What the hell didthatmean?
Nor had she graced her father with anything more illuminating and that in itself had infuriated Leandro, because the old guy deserved better.
Were there dots waiting to be joined? Had he missed the link somehow? He never missed links and he was excellent when it came to joining dots so what was going on here?
‘You’re interested in commissioning a dress... Mr...?’
‘I’m interested in the whereabouts of someone who’s recently commissioned a dress from you, Miss Drew,’ he said quietly.
‘Whoareyou?’ Celia’s heart was thudding. She wasn’t used to the impact of a guy on her like this and she didn’t like it. It made her feel exposed, because she had spent so long distancing herself from involvement with the opposite sex, happy to bide her time until the right guy came along. She’d been hurt once and she could still remember how that had felt, could remember it enough to know that if she held back, if no one could really get to her, then she would never be hurt again.
She hadn’t budged from where she was standing, blocking entry to the shop.
The man, whoever he was, commanded her full attention, pinning her to the spot. An aura of dark danger emanated from him.
She wasn’t used to this sort of powerful, self-assured and masculine presence.
‘Let me in, Miss Drew. Please.’
‘Sorry, but no.’