God, that man just don’t know the meaning of the word quit,’ complained Ruby.Jane, her PA, brought the huge bouquet of creamy-white roses into Ruby’s office over the flagship store. It was the third bouquet she’d received from Michael Ward.‘Don’t knock it,’ said Jane with a wry smile. She was a plump, immaculate and silver-haired matron, extremely efficient, long-married and merry-eyed. ‘Mine don’t even know what flowers are for.’Ruby stood up and took the bouquet from her. ‘Is there a note . . . ?’‘Yeah, it’s here, look.’Ruby read it.Roses for a Ruby. Call me.His number was written underneath.Ruby gazed at it, and wondered. Mr Ward was a very handsome man with his iron-grey hair and his steely grey eyes. He oozed a brutal confidence. He scared her. All right, he attracted her too. She had to admit that.But . . .She’d already done the whole love thing once, in her youth, with Cornelius. It had been painful beyond belief. To start over again, try again with another man .
