weeks earlier a Sunday paper had decided to dedicate half their glossy supplement to him. The Man with the Midas Touch was to his mind shockingly unoriginal and a perfect example of the dumbing-down of the press…ten pages that said nothing new.
He had everything? He supposed he did. But to Isandro his wealth represented not luxury or self-indulgence but the freedom to live his life just as he wanted. Did that make him selfish? Did it make him happy…? Was anyone happy?
He shook his head. Dios, this was not the time for a philosophical debate. This was definitely a time for action, decisive action, and the priority was warming up Zoe before she became hypothermic.
It did not take him long to weigh the options. Decision-making was, as the article author had suggested, Isandro’s area of expertise.
‘Chloe gave me her copy,’ she admitted between chattering teeth. ‘The entire village bought the paper. They were sold out. You’re a local hero…for real now…’
‘Even if you didn’t need my help.’
Her lips twisted into a grimace. ‘I really am grateful…Stop! You can’t—!’
Isandro took no notice of her protests as he began to stride up the path from the river.
‘I can walk! Put me down…please put me down.’
He flashed her a look. ‘You won’t jump back in the river?’
‘Don’t be stupid.’
‘Seriously, though, you’re chilled through. You need to dry off and warm up.’
‘I need to see the twins.’
‘You think that’s a good idea, looking this way? You’ll scare the life out of them,’ he predicted. ‘Which in Georgie’s case might not be such a bad thing. But seeing you like that is likely to give Harry nightmares for a month.’ He arched a brow. ‘What, no “you know nothing about children, so butt out”?’
Zoe shook her head, biting her lower lip to stop it quivering. He had summed up the twins pretty accurately.
‘You’re right. It’s me who knows nothing about bringing up children,’ she wailed.
A hissing sound of exasperation left his lips as he hefted her a little higher with apparent ease. On another occasion when she wasn’t busy contemplating her failure at parenting, Zoe might have been impressed. She was not exactly petite. ‘I find it infinitely preferable when you are defensive and rude. This self-flagellation is boring.’
Finding herself unexpectedly placed on her feet, Zoe waited a moment for her head to stop spinning before she raised her swimming eyes to him, her quivering lips tightening. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry I bored you.’
He smiled. ‘Better,’ he approved. ‘Now, come on. What you need is a hot bath, a brandy—or maybe not brandy, you might kiss the concierge—and a change of clothes before you return to your niece and nephew.’ Placing a hand on her elbow, he guided her past the selection of gleaming top-of-the-range cars parked in front of the hotel whose gardens went down to the river.
‘Nice thought, but unless you have them in your pocket…’ She tried a smile but her teeth were chattering too hard. Every squelchy footstep was uncomfortable. ‘Where are you parked?’
‘I’m not. Alex took the twins back to Ravenwood. I’ll ring him, and he’ll tell the twins we’ll be back later.’
Belatedly Zoe realised his intention.
‘You’re kidding—no way!’ She shook her head and shrugged off the guiding hand on her shoulder as she stared up at the recently restored art deco façade of the five-star hotel with a reputation that drew a lot of people to the area.
She’d often thought it would be nice to sample the food there—but not looking like this!
‘Why would I be kidding?’
‘You can’t just walk in there looking like this.’ She glanced at him and made the mental adjustment that while he could, she couldn’t. Isandro’s clothes might be sodden, but he had not been swimming, and even if he had, she acknowledged reluctantly, he would still have the presence to make any door open for him.
‘Why not?’
‘Well, I don’t know what the dress code is but I’m pretty sure this isn’t it.’ She held her hands wide to reveal her sodden muddy clothes. ‘They’ll throw me out. They won’t even let me walk across the hallowed threshold.’ She took a step backwards, shaking her head in response to the gleam in his eyes. ‘And before you suggest it, being carried won’t change anything.’
Except possibly her pulse rate. She knew that later that night she was going to remember every little detail of being carried in his arms, which would have made her a disgrace to modern liberated womanhood had she not suspected that inside most modern independent women lurked a secret desire to be swept off her feet. And if a man like Isandro was doing the sweeping, she suspected that few would find the experience objectionable.
She couldn’t help but wonder what it would have felt like if his motivation had not been totally practical—a scenario that would have required her not looking like a drowned rat and for him to not be her boss…
But this is the real world. And once more, as far as he’s concerned, you’ve shown yourself to be a pain in the backside.
‘I was not about to offer. The fact is you’re not as light as you look, especially wet.’ His grin widened in response to her indignant squeak. ‘Who exactly do you think is going to stop us?’
Zoe, who felt oddly light-headed, didn’t react to the question. ‘Just take me home, Isandro.’ She clutched her spinning head, suddenly feeling nauseous as frames of the past hour flashed before her eyes. ‘I turned around and they weren’t there, and I…’
Observing the blue discoloration of her beautiful lips, Isandro released a hissed imprecation from between clenched teeth before taking her chin firmly between his thumb and forefinger. He turned her face up to his. The problem was not so much her imminent collapse or her stubborn refusal to enter the hotel as his struggle to maintain the necessary level of objectivity.
‘Look, adrenaline was the only thing that kept you on your feet, and it’s crashed.’ So had she.
‘I do feel a bit…’
‘You look a bit, too.’ His glance drifted over the curve of her cheek, delineated by classic high cheekbones. Her perfect skin was marble pale, the only colour in her face was supplied by her eyes, which stood out as a flash of startling colour in a monochrome film.
‘You didn’t succeed in drowning yourself, so now you are inviting hypothermia.’ The effort to conceal the concern her fragility evoked in him made Isandro’s voice cold and flat. ‘We need to warm you up, get you out of those wet clothes.’
The words had barely left his lips before a stream of images that Isandro could have done without flashed through his head. He was regaining his shattered control when a sly voice reminded him that skin-to-skin contact was a well-known treatment for hypothermia His control went out of the window!
Even
