Ruth didn’t know what to do.
Go…or stay and face the dangerously exciting possibilities that lay ahead?
’
CHAPTER TWO
‘MAY I pour you some coffee, signorina? Or would you prefer tea?’
Ruth had not needed to hear the question, delivered in that knee-weakening, huskily accented voice, to know that Dr Linardi had moved up beside her in the informal queue at the self-service refreshment table. She had felt his approach. Every atom of her being was attuned to him. Had been since the moment their gazes had first met.
His talk had been mind-blowing, displaying the breadth of knowledge and passion for the subject that had been so evident in his emails. He had inspired and enthralled her then but even more so in person. Once she had overcome the shock of him, and their inexplicable connection, she had forced herself to focus on her notes. In part because it stopped her looking at him. So she had written copiously, struggling to put the sound of his voice and what it did to her out of her mind. She’d already learned so much over the last month, and listening to Dr Linardi’s talk only made her more fascinated with the often obscure and puzzling worlds of allergy and immunology.
That she was also fascinated by the man himself, Ruth tried to ignore. But she had been aware every moment of him watching her. And the knowledge that they would soon meet face to face, that she would most likely be alone with him later in the day, had brought back the urge to run, as if for her very life. He was going to turn her whole world upside down. She knew it. Was scared of it. But she hadn’t been able to move a muscle to save herself.
What shocked and puzzled her was that a traitorous part of her didn’t want to escape…wanted, instead, to discover where this blaze of attraction might lead. That it should be Dr Linardi who had caused reactions and responses she had never experienced before made things all the more complicated. What if he did offer her a job? Could she work with him if every time she saw him or heard his voice she felt the burn of desire? She couldn’t imagine he would want an employee who acted like a teenager going through her first crush.
Dr Linardi had been waylaid by several people as he had attempted to leave the stage and head in her direction at the start of the mid-morning break. Thankful for the temporary reprieve, Ruth had slipped on her jacket and, leaving her briefcase under her chair as other people had done, she had gone in search of the refreshments. Feeling nervous, self-conscious and incredibly confused, she had needed as much time as possible to compose herself. All the while she had known there would be no escape, had sensed that he was closing in on her—stalking her as a hunter did its prey.
Now he had caught her and he was waiting for her answer. Unable to resist the magnetic pull, she turned her head and met the full force of that compelling gaze. ‘Thank you. Coffee, please.’ She silently cursed herself, feeling like a tongue-tied schoolgirl rather than a thirty-year-old doctor.
‘Milk and sugar?’
‘A splash of milk but no sugar,’ she managed, finding the mundane nature of their first actual encounter bizarre given the frighteningly real electric current that flowed back and forth between them.
Half turned away from him as they waited in line at the table, Ruth found herself hemmed in and jostled by the press of other delegates as someone in the line tried to manoeuvre out, carrying a tray of cups and saucers. As she lost her balance, Dr Linardi’s arm came out to steady her, an instinctive gesture of protection as he moved to place himself between her and the crowd. The action brought her even closer to him. So close that when she drew in a shaky breath she caught a teasing hint of his scent. Cedar. She recognised it thanks to her best friend Gina’s interest in essential oils. On him, the aroma was warm and exotic, masculine and arousing, heightening her awareness of him. Even more disturbing was the way the touch of his palm resting on her hip seemed to brand her right through her clothes.
‘You are all right?’ he asked with evident concern.
‘Yes. Thank you.’
He hesitated, and they shared another moment of silent connection before he released her and turned to busy himself with their drinks. Ruth exhaled a shaky breath, feeling unaccountably light-headed. She pressed one hand to her throat, feeling every throb of her pulse against her palm. Up close he was imposing…six feet of impressive, male perfection. Unable to look away from him, she watched as he filled two cups with fresh, richly scented coffee, adding milk to one and a teaspoon of sugar to the other.
He had nice hands, she noted, well cared for, capable and dexterous. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring and there was no tell-tale paler band of skin to betray that he had ever worn one. The sleeves of his pale blue shirt had been turned up to the elbows, revealing leanly muscled forearms, the olive-toned skin dusted with dark hairs. A functional watch with a plain black strap circled his left wrist. Nothing flashy or ostentatious for this man. Her gaze slid upwards. He wasn’t wearing a tie and the top couple of buttons of his shirt were open, allowing a view of the strong column of his throat. Again her gaze roved on, over his handsome profile, just as he turned his head and caught her assessing him.
Ruth felt warmth bloom across her cheeks. Then he smiled, and she feared she might melt into a puddle at his feet. Gentle laughter lines crinkled at the corners of his eyes and the hint of a dimple teased his right cheek, adding to his roguish appeal. Being so gorgeous ought to be illegal. Once more her gaze locked with his and, close to, she discovered that his eyes were an unusual dark hazel with intriguing speckles of gold in them. And they were fringed by the kind of thick, long lashes women yearned for—or paid to imitate—but which in no way softened his overwhelming masculinity.
‘Come, signorina, let us find somewhere away from this melee to enjoy our coffee and talk.’
Trying to ignore the effect the sound of his voice had on her, Ruth accepted the cup and saucer he gave her, fearing she would spill her drink because her hands were shaking so much. As he drew her away from the milling throng and the noise of myriad simultaneous conversations, he smiled and exchanged greetings with several people, but refused to allow them to detain him. His hand settled possessively at the base of her spine, keeping her close to him and guiding her through an open door and into a small, empty side room where a few tables and chairs had been laid out. Ruth set down her coffee and undid the button on her jacket, thanking him as he solicitously drew out a chair for her to sit down before pulling his own chair nearer to her.
‘We have not been properly introduced. I am Dr Riccardo Linardi. But my friends call me Rico.’ He rested one arm on the table as he faced her. ‘I feel that you and I are going to become very close friends.’
Wondering quite how close, Ruth took a fortifying sip of her coffee. As she leaned forward to replace her cup back on its saucer, her jacket parted, revealing the name badge pinned on her jumper. She saw his gaze follow the movement but, before she could speak, shocked surprise registered on his face.
‘You are Dr Ruth Baxter?’ Incredulity laced his voice, while the possessive nature of his next words stunned her and made her pulse race. ‘My Ruth?’
It took Rico a moment to recover from the initial amazement that this woman, who had all but brought him to his knees from the first moment he had looked at her, was the woman he had been emailing for a month, the woman he had invited here in the hope she would accept his offer of a job. His Ruth. The coincidence did not escape him. Rico didn’t know how it had happened, but it was destiny. Fate. They had been meant to meet.
There was nothing remotely scientific about the knowledge, but deep inside Rico knew it was true—knew that the special moment of recognition that had happened first to his father and then to Seb when they had met their future wives had now happened to him. Ruth was his dream woman come to life, the one he had been waiting for. Not that he could tell her that. Not