His smile could have brought a corpse back to life. ‘I’m sure,’ he said, all cool and composed.

She sighed, then sighed again. ‘Oh, God … you’re so annoying.’ And don’t forget kick-ass hot, her could-we-please-get-laid little voice pointed out.

‘It shouldn’t take long,’ Dominic offered, gracious and conciliatory. ‘A half hour, I’d guess.’

‘You’re not going to be there, are you? Because that would be fucking embarrassing.’

‘I won’t be there. Tell me what you want in order to do this for me. I insist.’

She grimaced. ‘Don’t say insist.’

‘I apologize. I would be grateful if you told me what you wanted.’

She suddenly grinned. ‘God damn, are you kissing my ass?’

‘Don’t push your luck, Miss Hart.’

But he looked amused – and handsome as sin and so awesomely sexy standing there that maybe pushing her luck wouldn’t be a whole lot of fun. Her belly did a little flutter of anticipation just thinking about it. ‘OK, give me a ride on one of those fantastic Chinese junks and we’re even,’ she said, refusing to ask for things.

‘Done. I have one. We’ll go for a sail tonight. That’s not enough though. Ask for something else.’ In his world, everything had a large price tag.

She gave him a look from under her lashes. ‘You understand I came here for sex.’

‘Absolutely. There’s no question in my mind.’

‘OK, then. A ride on your boat and sex.’

This wasn’t the time to explain the difference between his full-rigged, beautifully restored nineteenth-century sailing vessel and a boat. Nor was it worth further argument about degrees of gift-giving. ‘You have yourself a deal, Miss Hart,’ he warmly said. Leaning forward, he took the book from her lap, set it on a nearby table and pulled her to her feet. ‘I’ll show you my dressing room.’

CHAPTER 13

By the time he returned downstairs, Mrs Hawthorne had been ushered into the green sitting room, her car had been emptied of boxes and she was having a cup of tea.

‘Thank you for coming on such short notice,’ Dominic said, as he walked into the large reception room with sweeping views of the harbour. The formal furniture was original to the house, gilded, brocaded, some fine eighteenth-century pieces. Dominic had brought in a decorator to temper the ceremonial pomp and Mrs Hawthorne was seated on one of the more comfortable sofas. ‘Leo tells me everything was unloaded. The boxes are being taken upstairs. You didn’t have any trouble finding the place?’

‘No. None at all.’

‘I’m Dominic Knight,’ he said, taking a seat opposite her. He smiled at the well-dressed, slender woman of indeterminate age. ‘Call me Dominic, please.’

‘Elizabeth, then,’ she said with an answering smile, surprised to find him so young and informally dressed. He didn’t conform to the image of a wealthy oligarch in his sweater and slacks, although the clothes were expensive, as were his custom glove-leather shoes. His dark hair was slightly long and in disarray, as though he’d recently run his hands through it. And he was much more start-lingly handsome in person than in his photographs – his bone structure superb. The kind of arrestingly beautiful man that in her younger days would have generated thoughts of a gratifying afternoon of sex in some discreet hotel room.

He leaned forwards slightly, curtailing her illicit thoughts.

‘I wanted to speak to you first,’ he said, resting his elbows on the oatmeal linen of the chair arms, his voice courteous and soft-spoken. ‘The lady you will be fitting is – ah’ – he briefly opened his palms in a considering gesture – ‘let’s say, independent in nature. So I wanted to warn you that a certain amount of tact might be required.’ He dipped his head faintly. ‘I apologize in advance.’

‘You needn’t concern yourself, Mr Knight.’ She found it difficult to address him casually despite his suggestion. ‘Tact is a requisite in my business. You might even say the essence of my business.’

She may or may not have smiled, he wasn’t certain. Her mouth barely moved. But then she added, ‘Telling a woman who’s thirty pounds overweight that she might like to consider a sturdier undergarment requires a great deal of tact.’

His smile was instant, like a ray of sunshine. ‘Thank you. I’m relieved. My friend and I had a minor disagreement about the suitability of this situation, event, occasion – whatever best describes it. She was concerned that some of the – er – garments might be … I believe her word was “weird”. I assured her they should be perfectly normal lingerie. I hope that’s the case.’

‘Yes, of course. My stock is of the finest quality, most of it hand-made, some one-of-a-kind. I’m sure she’ll be pleased.’

He came to his feet. ‘We can only hope. If you should need my help,’ he said, his tone deliberately bland, ‘I’ll be next door in my study. It’s the first door on your left as you leave the bedroom.’

In the course of their journey up the broad staircase and down the hushed upper hall, Dominic conversed pleasantly about local matters, asking Mrs Hawthorne about Hong Kong’s massive rebuilding projects, whether she found the increased traffic congestion a deterrent to her business, if she was often called from her shop for fittings.

She found him very American, casual in speech and manner, cordial and friendly, unlike most men of great fortune when dealing with a small business owner. She wondered what this woman found to resent in such an attractive man.