The Tycoon's Instant Family. Caroline Anderson

suggested, and the wall of glass slid effortlessly aside and he gestured for her to go out.

      It was gorgeous. Huge, for the roof terrace of a London apartment block, and, as she walked all the way round past what must be the bedrooms and back to the doors they’d come out of, it gradually sank in just how much money he must have.

      The car had been a bit of a giveaway, but his one indulgence? She didn’t think so. Not by a country mile.

      And yet it was curiously homely. The furnishings were simple, the plants on the deck were well cared for, and she had the feeling he didn’t take his privileged position for granted. Unless he just had a designer with a gift for homemaking and a gardener to keep the roof terrace in order. Goodness knows it was big enough to demand it.

      And then there was that other indulgence that was purely medicinal, the cedar hot tub that kept drawing her eye. She could see it was made of solid wood, not one of the timber-clad moulded-acrylic ones which, although very comfortable and easy to install, just wouldn’t have had the same understated dignity as the cedar planks.

      This was like a huge, shallow barrel set into a raised area, and with the wooden lid in place it acted as a seat. She perched on it to sigh over the view again, and felt the warmth seeping through the timber. ‘It’s on!’ she said, surprised, and he grinned.

      ‘Of course. This is the best time of year for them. We can go in if you want—sit in it and unravel and talk about the plans.’

      She did want to. She was aching to, but she didn’t quite trust herself, and she wasn’t sure of the clothing etiquette, and anyway, she was here to work, she reminded herself firmly.

      ‘Don’t you want to look at the ideas on paper first?’ she said with a touch of desperation, and he shrugged and ushered her back inside, to her disappointment and relief. No, just relief…

      ‘We’ll look at them now while we eat. There’s always later,’ he added, and the relief gave way to a flutter of nervous anticipation.

      ‘Maybe,’ she agreed, and, picking up the long cylindrical case she carried her drawings in, she un-screwed the end and pulled the sketches out.

      ‘They’re only rough,’ she warned, but he just shrugged, helped her spread them out on the huge coffee-table and stood a little statue on one corner to hold it down.

      She blinked. She recognised the artist, and that piece had probably cost more than she’d earned last year. Oh, dear God, why on earth had she let him talk her into this? There was no way he was interested in what she had to say. He was so far out of her league—

      ‘Right. Talk me through them. What’s this thing here?’

      She dragged her eyes back to the plans, took a deep breath and launched her sales pitch.

      ‘That was amazing!’

      He laughed softly at her as she pushed her plate away and sighed with contentment. ‘I said they did good food.’

      ‘You lied. It was perfection. Good doesn’t even begin to do it justice.’

      ‘Coffee?’

      She nodded. ‘Please—if it’s not too much trouble?’