Passionate Playboys: The Demetrios Bridal Bargain / The Magnate's Indecent Proposal / Hot Nights with a Playboy. Элли Блейк
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door behind him, ‘did you hear?’
‘Pretty much all of it.’
Enough to know he had loved his brother; she could hear it in his voice. She was just amazed that his father seemed deaf to his remaining son’s pain. As for Mathieu’s relationship with his father, that was even rockier than she had imagined. Ironically if his father had not pushed the union it was entirely possible that Mathieu would have fallen in love with the eligible Sacha, if she was beautiful, and Rose was sure she would be.
Maybe he already was in love with her?
‘I didn’t mean to, the door was open and …’
‘You decided to listen in.’
He didn’t look annoyed, which surprised her. ‘Well, you weren’t exactly quiet.’
‘So why were you following me?’
‘I asked Spyros to tell me where you were.’ She nodded towards the man who was standing by the wall being selectively deaf. ‘My phone was charging on the plane; you put it in your pocket. I want to ring my sister.’ Want was actually the wrong word, but she did feel obliged to assure Rebecca she was all right.
‘So I did,’ Mathieu said, digging the phone from his pocket and handing it to her.
Rose sucked in a tiny breath when his fingertips—was the contact accidental?—brushed hers. It was easier to hide your reaction when you knew what was coming.
‘You have a sister?’
She nodded, wondering what Mathieu’s reaction would be if he ever discovered he had already met Rebecca.
‘Just the one?’
She nodded.
‘And you’re close?’
‘Pretty close,’ she agreed, ‘though she’s married now, so … well, we don’t see as much of one another.’
Mathieu said something to the waiting Spyros, who vanished. ‘Come, you look exhausted. You should lie down before dinner.’
Rose couldn’t pretend the idea did not appeal; the day was beginning to catch up on her with a vengeance. She had to make a conscious effort to put one foot in front of the other.
‘This is my suite.’ He pushed open a door and preceded her into a large, elegantly furnished sitting room. ‘Your room is there.’ He pointed towards a closed door to her left. ‘And that is mine,’ he added, indicating the one next to it. ‘And your parents— they are alive …?’
For a moment the edit function on her vocal cords disconnected and Rose was horrified to hear herself say, ‘Is Sacha beautiful?’
‘Yes, she is.’
‘Then why don’t you want to marry her?’ she wondered as she moved around the room looking at the artwork on the walls. ‘Are these all genuine …?’
‘I should think so,’ Mathieu said, not looking at the artwork.
‘You should know—they’re yours.’
‘Then, yes, they are genuine.’ The soft wide-legged trousers she wore clung to the warm womanly curves of her hips and thighs as she moved.
‘You’re a beautiful woman too.’
Startled, Rose spun around, the heat rushing to her cheeks. ‘Are you trying to change the subject?’
Her beauty was a subject that was never very far from his thoughts, but he judged that this might not be the best moment to mention it.
‘No, I am trying to give you a compliment. Who would have thought,’ he murmured, moving towards her, ‘that it would be this hard?’
‘Well … all right, thank you. I think,’ she added cautiously. ‘Why don’t you want to marry her?’
Mathieu sighed and sank into an upholstered armchair. He propped his chin on steepled fingers and looked at her. ‘Are we talking about Sacha again?’
‘Well, if she’s beautiful your children would be winners of the genetic lottery,’ she mused, a frown of dissatisfaction settling on her soft features as her thoughts lingered on a mental image of golden-skinned little boys with grey eyes and jet hair. And pansy-eyed little girls with curls and sweet cupid-bow mouths.
‘I think that was a compliment.’
‘Like you’re totally unaware that you’re good-looking,’ she retorted, having some sort of heat rush and not the good kind— if there was a good kind. Concentrate, Rose, she told herself, sucking in a deep breath and saying crossly, ‘What are you doing?’ as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her down onto the arm of the chair.
‘I am looking at your neck,’ he explained huskily.
‘Well, don’t. I don’t like it.’ Like wasn’t the last word she would use to describe the slow-burning heat that was invading every cell in her body.
‘You want to know about Sacha? I will tell you. She loved my brother. She needed someone after Alex died and I was there.’
‘Your father said she loves you.’
‘It is a crush, nothing more,’ he said, sounding irritated. He loosed his grip on her arm and Rose got hastily to her feet.
‘I think that I’ll take that nap if you don’t mind,’ she said, backing quickly towards the door.
The interconnecting door between their rooms was ajar, Rose presumed left this way by the maid who had just brought fresh flowers into her own room.
Lips compressed, she tapped on the interconnecting door loudly. It made her feel odd to know that Mathieu could have walked in any time when she was asleep.
Not that she could imagine he would have unless he had a thing for snoring women.
‘It’s open.’
Rose stepped inside. ‘I have a slight problem with that.’
He was standing at the window gazing out to sea.
‘There is a key if you’re worried for your virtue.’ Mathieu, who had been standing at the open French doors, turned as he spoke.
Rose was conscious of her already tumultuous pulse giving several loud erratic thuds as it banged against her ribcage. Mathieu looked conspicuously sexy in a beautifully formal dark dinner jacket, and she barely noticed the stunning backdrop of the turquoise sea crashing onto the rocks below.
Her lashes came down in a protective sweep and she swallowed, ashamed of the silky heat between her thighs.
‘And don’t think I won’t use it.’ She could only hope he’d do the same because it would be good to have temptation removed.
And there was no point pretending that Mathieu wasn’t temptation. Head tilted a little to one side, Mathieu looked her up and down. Being the subject of his silent and critical perusal made Rose’s temper fizz, but she fought to control it, aware that flushed cheeks would ruin the aloof but sexy look she’d aimed for. ‘Pity.’
Her head came up. ‘I’m so sorry if I don’t meet with your approval.’ Anxious not to give him the totally false impression— she actually wanted it—she refused to ask him what was wrong with the way she looked.
‘Oh, you look fine,’ he said, his glance dropping once more to skim the pale blue silk shift dress she had taken a good deal of care to select.
She had also taken care with her hair and make-up and until he had turned up his nose she had been feeling confident that whatever else let her down it would not be her appearance.
Rose’s temper flared to the surface as she fixed him with a hostile look. ‘I look fine?’ she repeated in a dangerously quiet voice.
She didn’t want to look fine, she wanted to look outrageously