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 any ring. The squarecut emerald surrounded by diamonds that stared back at her was exquisite.
Wear it, he’d said; the very thought of it scared her silly. It had to be worth a small fortune.
There was a slight tremor in her fingers as she slid it onto her left hand. It was a perfect fit. The tears that filled her eyes were, she told herself, ludicrous. It wasn’t as if she were self-deluded enough to wish this were for real.
The woman who became Mathieu Demetrios’s wife would have the eyes of the world on her every move. Rose wouldn’t be surprised to see a candid shot of her unshaved leg change hands for tens of thousands on the open market.
While Rose was prepared to admit her take on the subject might lack balance, one thing she was sure of was that the woman who married Mathieu would have a husband other women coveted. God, she’d spend her life on a permanent diet and develop a nervous tic from keeping a watch out for younger, hungry women with designs.
It wasn’t a job description that appealed to her.
She had to ring Rebecca. She would be economical with the truth, or Rebecca would be jumping on the next plane. Their parents, enjoying a second honeymoon aboard a cruise ship, she could deal with at a later date.
‘It’s just a marvellous opportunity,’ Rose enthused.
‘Marvellous. But what exactly are you going to be doing on this Greek island? For that matter, what Greek island?’
Rebecca, who had interrupted several times during her twin’s rambling and deliberately vague description of her new and exciting opportunity, sounded suspicious.
‘And who exactly did you say you will be working for?’
Rose hadn’t, and the omission had not been accidental. She grimaced down the phone. ‘Oh, you wouldn’t have heard of him … the family is called Demetrios.’
‘Demetrios! You’re working for the Demetrios family?’
‘It’s probably a very common name in Greece.’
‘Do they happen to own the island you’re going to?’
‘I think they might,’ Rose admitted uncomfortably.
‘And which Demetrios are you working for, Rose?’
‘The son, I think … I really have to go, Rebecca,’ she said hurriedly. ‘But I’ll be in touch,’ she added brightly.
The dismay and shock echoed down the line as Rebecca said blankly, ‘My God, Rose, you’re working for Mathieu Demetrios. He used to be known as Mathieu Gauthier.’
‘I think that was his name,’ Rose admitted uncomfortably.
There was an audible sigh of relief. ‘Then you haven’t met him … if you had you really wouldn’t have forgotten his name or anything else about him.’ This wry aside was muttered. ‘The thing is, Rose, there’s something I have to tell you …’
Rose was desperate to spare her twin the embarrassment. ‘Actually I’ve met him, but I really don’t think I registered on his radar. Reading between the lines, I doubt if I’ll actually see much of him once we’re there.’
‘Really …?’ The relief in her twin’s voice echoed down the line.
She hung up pleading an early night and was just putting the phone back into her bag when there was a sharp rap on the door.
‘You are ready?’
She turned and saw Mathieu standing in the doorway wearing a pair of faded blue jeans, black tee shirt and worn leather jacket. The violent stab of lust that slammed through her body with the force of a sledgehammer left Rose momentarily both breathless and speechless.
The indentation between his darkly defined brows deepened as he studied her pale face. ‘Are you sick?’
Rose sucked in a deep breath and thought, Oh, you have no idea how sick! But it was just physical, she told herself, determined to maintain an objectivity about the entire knee-trembling, pulse-racing thing she suffered in his presence—after all, pretending something wasn’t happening implied you were scared of it.
And she wasn’t; she had it under control. It wasn’t as if her emotions were involved—she barely knew the man and what she did know she didn’t much like.
Not
