Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Boss? Page 5

  Now that—she shivered in the icy wind—would be nice.

  Exhaling slowly, Toni glanced from side to side to find a gap in the stream of people who had their heads down, their umbrellas braced forward against the driving sleet and rain and oblivious to anyone who might walk in their way.

  Seizing on a momentary lull, Toni dashed out onto the road in the stationary rush hour traffic. She had almost made it when she had to dive sideways to dodge a bicycle courier and planted her right foot into a deep puddle. Dirty cold water splashed up into her smart high heeled ankle boots and trickled down inside, making her gasp with shock.

  Hissing under her breath, Toni stepped up onto the kerb and inside the porch.

  A brass plaque set into the old stone read: ‘Elstrom and Sons. Map-makers’ in the most stunning cursive script.

  Blowing out hard, Toni rolled back her shoulders and tried to think positive thoughts. A flutter of nervous apprehension winged across her stomach.

  This was so ridiculous.

  She was here to paint Scott’s portrait. That was all. The small fact that he did not actually want his portrait painting was not important.

  Much. She peered through the tiny squares of thick old glass set into the door but couldn’t see a thing—no lights or movement.

  She ran her hands down the front of her raincoat and lifted her chin, stretched her hand out and rang the doorbell.

  Instantly a low buzzing sound came from the door and a green light flashed.

  Oh. Right. Security door. Well, that made sense.

  She turned the handle, pushed the door a little and stepped inside.

  Water dripping from every part of her, Toni shook the rain from her hair and instantly inhaled the glorious deep, rich aroma of antique wood, polished leather and that certain delicious muskiness that came from old manuscripts and bound books.

  Laughing and half choking in the slightly dusty air, a sudden smile caught her unexpectedly.

  Strange, Toni thought. That smell. It was so distinctive. She inhaled deeply and instantly recognized it. Of course. Her mother used to have a tin of beeswax and linseed oil mixed with lavender under the sink and brought it out whenever she dusted her father’s studio, which wasn’t often, considering how rarely any flat surface remained uncluttered with paperwork and art exhibition catalogues and letters and, occasionally, bills.

  She hadn’t thought about that polish for years. Perhaps she should make some up when she got back to the house to protect the furniture against the ravages of a new tenant?

  The door buzzed behind her, demanding to be closed, breaking the spell.

  Then she stood, frozen and blinking, trying to take in what she was looking at.

  It was like stepping back in time. Light streamed into the space from long, narrow stained glass window panels at the other side of the room that seemed to lead into a corridor. But in front of her, on either side, the walls were covered in rows of square wooden panels probably not wider than her arm above a tough-looking, very weathered wooden floor.

  No carpet or textiles. Just hardwood panelling.

  Cupboards and cabinets were lined up to her left and at head height along each wall were sea charts and maps in heavy gilt frames.

  Well, that explained the security door!

  The last time she had seen anything like this was at a stately home which had not been touched for hundreds of years. The financial demands of keeping the place going had finally caught up with the family and they had very reluctantly opened their home as a film set for historical dramas. The media company she worked for had been there for months, filming what they needed.

  But this room? This was more like a museum.

  Toni strolled over to a stunning wide table decorated in marquetry which stretched the full length of one wall. It was covered with scrolls, brightly coloured documents inside plastic sheets and an assortment of what looked, to her uneducated eyes, like antique survey equipment and sextants.

  She was so engrossed in admiring the stunning elaborate engraving on the handle of a brass magnifying glass that it took a blast of cold air on her neck to snap her back into the real world. Toni whirled around in surprise and inhaled sharply.

  Little wonder. A towering dark blond-haired man filled the entrance to the corridor, blocking out the light. He was wearing a navy blue round-necked light sweater with the sleeves rolled up, oblivious to the cold and wet outside.

  His deeply tanned face was glowing from the rain and wind and he ran the fingers of his right hand back through his long damp hair from forehead to neck in a single natural motion. That simple movement only made his paler heavy eyebrows and pepper-and-salt moustache and beard even more pronounced.

  Last night at the town house, his eyes had seemed dark and cloudy. But here Toni realised just how wrong she had been.

  Despite the lack of a comfortable bed, the exhaustion had faded to a slight crease between those eyebrows, drawing her gaze to eyes the colour of a Mediterranean sea.

  His square jaw was so taut it might have been sculpted. But it was his mouth that knocked the air out of her lungs, and had her clinging on to the edge of the table for support.

  Plump lips smiled wide above his light beard, so that the bow was sharp between the smile lines.

  His button-fly denims sat low on his slim hips but there was no mistaking that he was pure muscle beneath those tight trousers. Because, as he stood there for a second, his hands thrust deep into his trouser pockets, looking from table to table, scanning the horizon that was the confines of the shop, every movement he made seemed magnified.

  The entire room seemed to shrink around him.

  How did he do that? How did he just waltz in and master the room as though he was in command of the space and everyone in it?

  This man was outdoors taken to the next level. No wonder he worked in Alaska. She could certainly imagine him standing at the helm of some ice-breaker, head high, legs braced. The master of his universe.

  The hair on the back of her neck prickled with recognition.

  Instead of giving her the up and down once-over, his gaze locked on to her face and stayed there, unmoving for a few seconds, before the corner of his mouth slid into a lazy smile.

  The corners of those amazing eyes crinkled slightly and the warmth of that smile seemed to heat the air between them. And, at that moment, this smile was for her. And her heart leapt. More than a little. But just enough to recognize that the blush of heat racing through her neck and face were not due to the extra-warm coat and scarf that she was wearing.

  In that instant Toni knew what it felt like to be the most important and most beautiful person in the room. Heart thumping. Brain spinning. An odd and unfamiliar tension hummed down her veins. Every cell of her suddenly alive and tuned into the vibrations emanating from his body.

  Suddenly she wanted to preen and flick her hair and roll her shoulders back so that she could stick her chest out.

  It was as if she had been dusted with instant lust powder.

  Standing a little straighter, Toni quickly focused her gaze on the engraving on the glass that she was still holding, trying to find something to do with her hands, only too aware that he was still watching her.

  She could practically feel the heat of that laser beam gaze burning a hole through her forehead and was surprised that there was no smell of smoke or a scorch mark on the wall behind her.

  ‘Miss Baldoni. I’m surprised to see you here at this time on a Sunday morning. I thought that you might be enjoying a lie-in. I do hope that I didn’t wake you up on my way out this morning. It was very early.’

  ‘I didn’t hear a thing, Mr Elstrom. As for my being here?’ Toni very carefully put down the glass and lifted her chin. ‘As I explained last night, I have a contract to paint the head of Elstrom Mapping. No matter whom t
hat may be.’ She braved a small smile. ‘I am so looking forward to painting your portrait. Perhaps we can get started with some photographs? Show me your best pose. I dare you!’

  FOUR

  Scott’s reply was to rest his hands, splayed out, on the table, his left hand loose and relaxed, the right bandaged around the fingers. He leaned the top half of his long wide frame towards her from the hips so that she had to fight the urge to lean back against the display table and protect her space.

  She liked hands, always had. It was usually one of the first things she noticed about a person. She could tell from the way he protected his bandaged fingers that he must be in pain. His left hand had long slender fingers with clean short nails. The knuckles were scarred and bruised as though they had been bashed at regular intervals and the veins on the back of his hand stood out in prominent raised rivers. Sinewy. Powerful.

  They were clever, fast, working hands.

  No manicures for Scott Elstrom.

  The neck of his top stretched open and revealed a hint of deeply tanned skin around the neckline and more than a few dark blond chest hairs.

  At this distance, she could have reached out and touched the curved flicks of thick blond slicked-back hair that had fallen over one side of his temple, but she had the idea that he would like that far too much so she simply lifted her chin and inhaled a long calming breath through her nose.

  Big mistake.

  Instead of a background aroma of leather and lavender and old books, she was overwhelmed with the scent of gentle rain on freshly cut grass blended with lime zest which was tangy and fresh against the sweetness of the air.

  He had certainly made good use of the bath at Freya’s!

  He smelt wonderful. Expensive, distinctive and on a scale of one to ten on the testosterone level she would give him a twelve. From the sun-bleached hair on his arms and the way the muscles in his neck flexed when he moved, to the know-it-all confidence in the smile he was giving her at that moment, he was off the scale.

  He was about as different from Peter as it was possible to be—on the surface.

  He was a fashion photographer’s dream. She knew several professionals who would have signed him on the spot if they had seen him like this. And somehow she had to paint his portrait! Wow! Thank you, Freya.

  So what if she was attracted to him? It was only natural.

  Until now, she had believed that she was immune to such charms. After all, she had been exposed to this type of infection many times before and just about survived. Working in studio photography exposed her to egos the size of small planets most days of the week, girls and boys.

  But this man was a carrier for a super-powerful version of charm that no amount of previous experience had a chance of fighting off.

  For a moment her heart went out to him.

  He had travelled thousands of miles to come back to take over a family business with frostbitten fingers. The last thing he needed was a pest like her turning up to annoy him.

  Then his gaze shot to her face. It was fierce and intense, and for one microsecond she had an insight into the power and strength of this man who could freeze her to ice with just one glance.

  She might have guessed. He probably expected everyone to jump when he clicked his fingers and not complain in the process.

  ‘There seems to be a misunderstanding, Miss Baldoni. I thought that I made it clear last night that the situation has changed. And I have no plans to have my portrait painted by you or anyone else for that matter.’

  His voice came from the depths of his chest and was no doubt intended to intimidate lesser mortals who got in his way.

  Not this time! She was way too used to dealing with the divas of the media world to let a feeble excuse like logic stop her from getting her way.

  She needed this commission!

  ‘Oh, I understand what you’re telling me perfectly, Mr Elstrom. Plans do have a nasty habit of changing on us without warning, don’t they? It’s most inconvenient.’

  Rubbing her hands together in delight, Toni dived into her capacious shoulder bag and pulled out her digital camera. ‘My motto? Let’s look at this as an opportunity. In fact, I was just telling Freya this morning that I have a wonderful feeling that this project is going to be something extra special.’

  His nose wrinkled and a sound close to a low, deep grunt escaped his lips. ‘You spoke to Freya?’

  ‘Well, of course I had to clarify my position. Seeing as she has already paid me half my fee. And guess what? Your father is so looking forward to seeing your final portrait! He can hardly wait to see it join the others in your boardroom.’

  Then she grinned, fluttered her eyelashes at him, raised the camera to her eyes and fired off a flash photograph of his stunned face before he could say a word.

  ‘Excellent. Now, shall we peek at the gallery?’

  ‘The gallery?’ he asked with a less than happy expression on his face, eyebrows high.

  ‘The Baldoni collection, of course. I would love to see my father’s work again. And you can talk to me about the Elstrom family history at the same time. What fun!’

  His lips formed the word ‘fun’—at least she thought that the word was fun—and he made that low groaning sound again.

  ‘Only if you promise not to even try to take my photograph again.’

  ‘No photographs? That’s going to make it tricky.’

  ‘Camera-shy,’ he murmured.

  ‘Okay—’ she winced ‘—that’s a first but I can handle that. It will mean more work but I can run a few sketches and make notes on your ideas.’

  ‘No ideas. You’re on your own, Miss Baldoni. But if you want to see the other portraits before you go, the boardroom is on the first floor.’ He nodded to the narrow polished wooden staircase at the other end of the reception area. ‘After you.’

  * * *

  ‘What a wonderful table,’ Toni said as she strolled into a long narrow room with wood-panelled walls which was dominated by a stunning table which ran almost the full length of the room. The surface of the table was decorated by inlaid pictures crafted from fine marquetry and gold bands which had been inserted into the golden wood.

  She ran her fingers along the wood, which was worn down by wear and slightly rough under her fingertips, and then strolled over to the four large windows which ran from waist to head height. ‘Is this stained glass original?’

  ‘The whole building was bomb-damaged during the war so some of the glass was replaced with replicas.’

  ‘It’s lovely work.’

  Then, with one deep breath, she swung around and, with her back to the windows, plunged her hands deep into the pockets of her coat to try and get some warmth.

  Facing her was a collection of some of the most stunning and unusual portraits that she had ever seen.

  Looking from left to right, it was immediately clear that the oldest full length paintings were on the wall directly facing the chair at the head of the table. She dashed across the room so that she could take a closer look, moving from picture to picture, nodding and smiling in appreciation of the remarkable workmanship. And chatting to herself as she went.

  ‘Now that older gent with the sea charts and sextant—that has to be of the seafaring Elstrom shipping clan. All beards and rough and tough dangerous sea crossings. But this one.’ She paused and tapped her lower lip and tilted her head to one side. ‘This Elstrom looks more studious. Was he a scientist?’

  She turned around to ask Scott but he was standing at the other end of the room, close to the door, with his gaze totally focused on the centre of the table. Deep in thought and totally oblivious to her and what she had been asking.

  Toni had staged photo shoots long enough to recognize that something was very wrong with the man she was looking at.

  His sh
oulders were braced hard, his jaw was locked tight shut and those eyes were not blue at all but had turned as grey and steely as the ocean waves on the portraits she had just been looking at. Dark. Stormy. And troubled.

  Everything about Scott’s body language screamed out to her that he took absolutely no pleasure in being in this room.

  Well, that made sense. The last twenty-four hours must have been quite a roller coaster. His father was ill and he’d had a terrible journey from Alaska to take over a job when he wasn’t expecting it. She would be totally wrecked! Maybe she should be a little more forgiving? Her journey this morning had been a short ride on a heated bus.

  She quickly glanced away and pretended to move to the next portrait and then the next until she came to an Elstrom in a business suit and a painting style that was totally familiar to her. Instinct and a slight rustle of papers behind her back told her that Scott had moved.

  ‘Ah. Look at that classic pose,’ she called out in a cheery voice. ‘Your grandfather must have been a wonderful chairman of the board. So dominant. My grandfather really did capture something about him. There is real spirit behind those eyes.’

  Toni glanced across at Scott but he seemed more interested in scanning through a bundle of mail he had brought with him from the reception area.

  ‘But we can be more creative if you want,’ she suggested and stepped closer to him. ‘Maybe even take it out of doors and have more of an action shot. Sailing could work. Or mountaineering? Just pass me some action shots and let me work my magic. All good control metaphors.’

  ‘Control metaphors,’ he repeated. ‘That sounds good. Do you do this a lot?’

  Suddenly Toni’s patience ran out. ‘My CV is with Freya and your father sounded very keen on me painting something worthy of hanging on these walls next to your family. Is there a problem I don’t know about here? Or is the problem with me? Because, for the record, I don’t normally spend my evenings modelling lingerie.’

  That got his attention and the mail hit the table.