her eyes higher to meet his.
‘A few months,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t asking for forever. I’m not that much of a masochist.’
Something flickered in his eyes as he leaned dangerously down over her, and she wondered at the logic of throwing insults at the only man who could help her. Though that had been before he’d laughed her proposal down without even bothering to listen to her. Now there was obviously nothing to gain by being polite—and nothing to lose by telling him exactly how little she wanted this for herself. ‘If there was any other way, believe me, I’d grab it with both hands.’
His dark eyes searched hers, his chin set, the tendons on his neck standing out in thick cords. ‘What kind of game are you playing? Why are you really here?’
She might have told him if she thought he might actually listen. ‘Look, there’s no point going on with this. Let me go now and I promise never to darken your door again. Maybe there’s even a slight chance we might forget this unfortunate event ever took place.’
‘Forget a scrawny slip of a girl I’ve never met asking me to marry her? Forget a proposal of marriage that comes dressed in barbs and insults from a woman who, by her own admission, wishes there was some other way? I don’t think I’m going to forget that in a hurry. Not when she hasn’t even explained why.’
‘Is there any point? I’d say you made your position crystal clear. Obviously there’s no way you’d lower yourself to marry “a scrawny slip of a girl”.’
Her eyes flashed cold fire as she spat his words back at him, anger mixed with hurt. She was smarting at his insult, he could tell, and maybe she had a point. Maybe she was more petite than scrawny, though it was hard to tell, her body buried under a chain-store cotton skirt and top that left everything to the imagination. But she was no mere girl. Because, from his vantage point above her he could see the slight swell of her breasts as her chest rose and fell. This close he could see her eyes were more blue than grey, the colour of early morning sky before the sun burned away the mist from the hillsides. And this close he could smell her scent, a mix of honey and sunshine and feminine awareness, the unmistakable scent of a woman who was turned on.
His body responded the only way it knew how, surprising him, because she was nothing like his usual type of woman and he wasn’t interested. If he had been interested he would have known it the moment he’d opened the door and laid eyes on her, the way it usually worked.
And once again he regretted the sudden absence of Bianca. Clearly it had been too long if he was getting horny over any random big-eyed waif who turned up on his doorstep. He willed the growing stiffness away, his decision not to put any clothes on intended more to amuse himself rather than any attempt at seduction. And then his eyes drifted down again, lingering over the spot where the neckline gaped, exposing skin that looked like satin.
Admittedly a big-eyed waif with unexpected curves …
‘Then again, maybe not so scrawny,’ he said, unable to resist putting a hand to her shoulder in spite of the fact he wasn’t really interested, his thumb testing the texture of her skin, finding it as smooth as his vision had promised.
She shivered under his touch, her blue eyes wide, her bottom lip trembling, right before she shot away sideways. ‘Don’t touch me!’
He turned, amused by his unexpected visitor and her propensity to move from flight to fight and back again in a heartbeat. ‘What is this? You ask me to marry you and then say I can’t touch? Surely you must have come prepared for an audition.’
She wrapped her arms tightly around her waist. ‘No! There will be no audition! The marriage is for Felipe. Only for Felipe.’ Outside the windows the light was starting to fade, the afternoon sun slipping away, while inside her cheeks were lit up, her eyes flashed cold blue flame and her hands were balled in fists so tight that, unlike the rest of her, her knuckles showed white. ‘Haven’t you got a robe or something?’
He smiled at the sudden change in topic, holding his arms out by his sides innocently. ‘Do you have a problem with what I’m wearing?’
‘That’s just it. You’re not really wearing anything.’ She paused suddenly, biting her lip, almost as if she’d said too much and revealed too much of herself in the process. Then she hastily added, ‘I’d hate for you to catch cold or something.’
As if that was her reason. His amusement was growing by the minute, his visitor unexpectedly entertaining. It wasn’t just because the idea was so crazy he wondered how this woman, who seemed more timid than tigress despite her attempts, had found the courage to carry it off, but maybe because his mother had been here not an hour ago berating him on his reluctance to find a wife. He half wished she’d been here to witness this. Though no doubt she would be more appalled than amused, but then, that thought only amused him even more.
‘Then you will be relieved to know I have a very healthy constitution,’ he said, ‘but the last thing I wish is for you to feel uncomfortable.’ He excused himself for a moment to pull on fresh clothes, though not so much for her comfort level but because it suited him to do so. He’d had his sport and the last thing he wanted was for her to think he was interested in her sexually. He was intrigued, it was true, and now that the shock of her surprise proposal was over, he was curious to hear more, but there was no point encouraging her.
She was still here. Simone let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding and turned to gaze out of the windows over the million euro view. He hadn’t thrown her out and neither had he let her flee. She was still here and he was going to cover himself up.
Surely that counted as success on two counts?
And now, for whatever reason, he actually seemed willing to listen to her.
Even better, maybe once he had covered up that chest and all that toned olive-gold skin, she might even be able to think straight. She could only hope. Being forced to look at all that masculine perfection without actually looking like she was looking at it was one hell of a distraction otherwise. When he’d had her backed against the door and touched his fingers to her shoulder, she’d felt the sizzle shoot straight to her core. Although maybe it was the hungry look in his eyes that had turned his touch electric …
God, what must it be like to be a woman who actually wanted him to touch her? She shivered, her body remembering the electric thrill. Dangerous, she thought, definitely dangerous. Thank God she wasn’t going there.
‘I apologise for keeping you waiting.’
His richly accented voice stroked its way down her spine, almost convincing her that he meant every word he said. She turned to find him dressed not in a robe, as she’d been half-expecting, but in light-coloured trousers and a fine knitted top that skimmed over the wall of his chest in a way she really didn’t want to think too much about. So she pushed her wayward hair behind her ears and looked elsewhere and found his feet instead. ‘Nice shoes,’ she said lamely, for want of anything better to say.
He glanced down at his leather loafers. ‘I have a man who makes them for me. He is very good.’
Handmade shoes, she pondered, really studying them this time, wishing she could hide away her own scuffed ballet flats. She’d known he had money, sure, but what was this world she’d dared enter, a world where he probably spent more on a pair of shoes than she had on her entire wardrobe? And it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t know that. It was a wonder he hadn’t let her flee while he’d had the chance. It was a wonder he hadn’t slammed the door in her face.
‘But
