Passionate Playboys: The Demetrios Bridal Bargain / The Magnate's Indecent Proposal / Hot Nights with a Playboy. Элли Блейк
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spun around. Her heart gave a lurch as she looked at Mathieu. He represented all the reckless excitement she’d been avoiding all her life.
And if you wanted to learn about sex he would probably be a pretty good guide. And there would be no possibility of emotional complications because it didn’t seem a big leap to assume he wasn’t into deep and meaningful relationships.
‘I came back.’
‘So I see. Is there a problem?’
‘Not really.’ Only if you count the fact I’ve gone insane as a problem, she thought as his tactile voice sent an illicit shiver down her spine. That alone should have warned her she was making a mistake. ‘I came back.’
‘We covered that. I’m surprised.’
‘Good surprised or bad surprised?’
‘That kind of depends if you’re going to take another swing at me.’
‘That depends on how rude you are to me. Do you find me attractive?’
The question seemed to throw him; she suspected not a lot did.
‘Or do you say the stuff you do because people expect you to?’
‘Is this,’ he asked, ‘some sort of test? Multiple choice, perhaps?’
‘It doesn’t matter, you don’t have to say. I was thinking …’
His winged brows lifted in the direction of his dark hairline. ‘I’m not sure if I should ask …? But what were you thinking about?’
‘Were you serious?’ she blurted out.
‘Rarely,’ he admitted solemnly. ‘But few people appreciate my sense of humour.’
She slung him an irritated look. ‘About the job.’ If you could legitimately call pretending to be engaged to a Greek millionaire a job. ‘Were you serious?’
His expression sharpened. ‘You’ll do it?’
‘Don’t look smug just yet,’ she warned quickly.
Mathieu watched her hair blow in the wind and struggled to control a sudden overwhelming compulsion to mesh his fingers into the silky strands … then he could draw her face up to his and. He sucked in a deep breath.
‘But you’re thinking about it …?’ he suggested while his own thoughts stayed stubbornly fixated on the soft lush outline of her lips.
‘I’m thinking about it.’
‘Just thinking? Why the sudden change of heart?’
She shrugged. ‘I’m assuming it pays well.’
‘You expect me to believe your motives are purely mercenary?’ He laughed, baring his white teeth in a wolfish grin.
‘And what is so funny about that?’
‘I meet people every day of the week who would sell their souls for a profit margin. I can smell avarice a mile away …’ Around her the only scent he was aware of was the light floral scent of the shampoo she used. Brow creased, he shook his head positively. ‘No, this isn’t about money.’
‘I’d be touched if it wasn’t for the fact you were accusing me of trying to screw money out of you twenty minutes ago.’
‘I jumped to the wrong conclusion,’ he admitted, drawing a hand across his jaw.
‘Jumping to the wrong conclusion is a lifestyle choice with you. Look, do you want me to do this or not?’
Something flashed into his eyes that Rose couldn’t quite put a name to. There was a pause. ‘I want,’ he agreed.
Rose swallowed. ‘There will be conditions,’ she warned.
Amusement flickered in his eyes, but his expression was sombre as he nodded his head and wondered who or what had put that reckless glow in her golden eyes. ‘Fine.’
‘You can’t say that when you don’t know what they are,’ she retorted.
‘When a man wants something badly enough he is generally prepared to take the rough with the smooth.’ And she was smooth, very smooth, and he wanted her. He glanced at his watch and did a quick mental calculation. ‘I have to be in Edinburgh this afternoon. You’ll have to go on ahead to London. I’ll book you on a flight and—’
‘Today? But I thought …’ No, Rose, you didn’t think, and that, she reminded herself, was the point of the exercise. You’re being spontaneous. Oh, God, leaps into the unknown were a lot easier when they weren’t real.
‘And on to Nixias in a couple of weeks. I’ll arrange the rings and the itinerary,’ he said, taking her elbow and urging her towards the entrance.
‘What? But,’ she protested as she was hustled forward, ‘what is Nixias?’
‘It’s where I’m going to show off my blushing bride-to-be to my family.’
‘But two weeks … I thought …’
He stopped on the steps of the entrance and raised an enquiring brow. ‘You thought what, ma douce amie?’
‘What did you call me?’
‘Ma douce amie … my sweet love,’ he helpfully translated. ‘Just putting in a little practice, but don’t worry, you don’t have to reciprocate.’ Their eyes connected and a sardonic smile twisted his mobile mouth as he added, ‘I’ll settle for you not calling me a bastard.’
‘I’ve never called you that,’ she protested.
‘Not out loud,’ he agreed, casually tucking her heavy case under his arm while he dealt with the big door that swung inward with a loud creak. ‘But you have very expressive eyes,’ he observed, wondering what expression he would see in those eyes at the moment her climax peaked and sent ripple after ripple of pleasure cascading through her taut body.
He was not a man normally inclined to think or speak in terms of destiny or fate, but in that moment he truly believed that one day he would find out.
His molten silver eyes focused on her mouth and her eyes and hoped for the sake of his mental health that it was sooner rather than later.
‘This is all so fast,’ she said, stepping past him into the hallway. ‘I wasn’t expecting this to be so fast.’
‘What can I say? A man in love doesn’t let the grass grow under his feet.’
‘Well, as you asked, you could try not saying that again for a start,’ she grumbled, feeling the rush of blood to her cheeks.
He laughed, then said, ‘Well, at least you won’t have time for second thoughts.’
And he was right. The next hours flashed by in a blur: the private flight down to London; being installed in a swish hotel suite—apparently his London flat was undergoing a total renovation—and having her dinner alone in the same suite.
That next morning the memory of the previous day’s events seemed like a dream.
The dreamlike quality vanished the moment a hotel employee delivered a small red box with the compliments of Mr Demetrios.
There was an envelope with her name on it handwritten in a bold scrawl. She opened the envelope first. It was short and to the point.
‘Be ready for dinner at nine-thirty. Wear this.’
He had signed his signature at the bottom. It was about as personal as a cheque, which was not a problem—she had not expected him to send love and kisses—but his Christian name would have been nice rather than the damned squiggle of his signature.
She was still frowning with discontent when she opened the box. The breath left her lungs in one shaky gasp.
On the red silk lay a ring, and not just