She didn’t always fully understand the topics that were presented at these meetings, especially when complex matters like profit and loss margins, marketing strategies, and labor negotiations were discussed. But Ian seemed to know everything about everything, and it was evident that he was an extremely intelligent and well educated man. She would, she thought with an inner smile, happily listen to him read entire chapters from the most boring book ever written simply for the pleasure of hearing his voice.

And of course the real pleasure was in sneaking covert little glances at him from time to time, at his handsome, aristocratic features, his intense hazel gaze, his firm, expressive mouth. His hands were large, with long, capable fingers, the nails neatly clipped and meticulously cleaned. He was always so impeccably dressed, his expensive designer suits perfectly pressed and custom tailored to fit his tall, muscular frame. Today’s suit was of a light gray pinstripe, and he’d likely selected it because of the warm, early summer weather. He always wore white shirts, no matter the color of his suit, and they were always pristine, with French cuffs. His cufflinks today were a gleaming silver with a dark blue stone, coordinating with the watch that was undoubtedly exorbitantly expensive. His blue and gray striped silk tie, as usual, was expertly knotted.

He could have been a male model, thought Tessa dreamily, except that he was likely too big and brawny and, well, just too male to fit that role. She also couldn’t see someone as thoroughly masculine as Ian Gregson ever consenting to pose for a fashion magazine, or wear clothing that he hadn’t personally selected. He dressed very conservatively, and if Gina and Alicia’s gossip could be believed, he paid a small fortune for his custom made suits and designer ties.

No, he was more like a movie star, or perhaps even the prince or the king of some small European country. He would fit in effortlessly wherever he went, would be at ease in any sort of surrounding or event, and would always be the center of attention whenever he entered a room, no matter who else might be present. Tessa knew that if she was in a crowd of thousands, Ian would always stand out, would be the only one she noticed or had eyes for.

She watched him covertly as he rolled an expensive looking black fountain pen between his fingers, and then wrote something in the leather portfolio he always brought with him to meetings. She fantasized about how those long, elegant fingers would feel against her skin – cupping her cheek, holding her hand, caressing her body. She stifled a tiny whimper, feeling her nipples harden beneath the thin fabric of her blouse, as she imagined his hand fondling her breast, the thumb brushing over the peak. Her eyelids fluttered shut for a brief moment as she wondered how it would feel to nuzzle the side of his neck, breathing in deeply of his clean, masculine scent, or how wonderful it would feel to be held tightly against that broad, powerful chest. She just knew somehow – she whose knowledge about men and sex was almost laughably nonexistent – that Ian Gregson was the sort of man who would be as controlled in the bedroom as he was in the boardroom. And she would willingly allow him to do whatever he liked, would give herself over to him freely and eagerly. There was virtually zero doubt in her mind that he would be an expert at sex, and would know exactly how to drive a woman over the edge every single time.

Tessa gave herself a little mental shake, forcing her eyes open, and returning her focus to the presentation Nathan Atwood was currently giving to the rest of the attendees. She scribbled notes intently, whether they were relevant or not, and resisted the urge to once again glance towards the far end of the room where he was seated.

But her self-control buckled before too long, and she dared to steal a furtive peak at the object of her naughtiest fantasies – only to gasp when her gaze met a very perceptive pair of hazel eyes.

He was unsmiling, his firm mouth fixed into something of a frown, and he looked almost angry. Tessa’s cheeks flushed hotly, and she swiftly looked away, mortified at having been caught staring at him that way. She hoped fervently that he wasn’t angry at her, at something she’d inadvertently done or said, or even just because their eyes had happened to meet across the room.

It was long minutes later before she risked sneaking another brief glance in his direction, and Tessa breathed a little sigh of relief to notice he seemed entirely focused on the architectural sketches of the new hotel that Nathan was describing in detail for the group.

‘Stop being silly, Tessa,’ she scolded herself. ‘And stop thinking about him, for God’s sake! See, he doesn’t even notice you’re in the room, doesn’t even give you a second’s thought. You’re just a lowly little admin assistant, and that’s all you’ll ever be to a man like him. I’m surprised he even remembered my name earlier. So stop having these ridiculous fantasies about Ian Gregson, because you are so far beneath him it doesn’t even register on the scale. Not to mention the fact,’ she added sternly, ‘that you shouldn’t be having these kinds of thoughts about any other man.’

Tessa consoled herself with the thought that she was probably just missing Peter more than usual, and that when he arrived home next week she’d feel lots better. She was going to work up the nerve to reopen the discussion about marital counseling, suggest that maybe he’d feel more at ease talking things over with a therapist if she was there to offer support. It was doubtful that he’d agree, but she was beginning to feel a sort of desperation at times, a feeling that she had to do something to try and make her marriage work. And equally desperate to hold on to her husband, to keep their relationship intact, so that she didn’t have to face the reality of being alone.

But deep down Tessa knew that the days of her marriage to Peter were numbered, and that like it or not eventually she was going to have to come to grips with that hard fact.

September

“More wine?”

Rebecca Mellor shook her sleek, dark head at the question her very handsome dining companion had asked. “God, no. I’ve got an early morning meeting, and I’m already halfway to being tipsy. In fact, I hate to be a party pooper, Ian, but do you mind if we duck out soon?”

Ian grinned. “I was hoping you’d ask that question, actually. Considering I’m still dealing with jet lag from my latest trip, I wouldn’t mind an early evening myself. Come, let’s say our good-nights and then head out. I’ll text Simon to meet us downstairs in five minutes.”