her face, couldn’t see just how desperate she was not to meet any sort of bachelor, eligible or otherwise. She stood on the spot where Ayisha had been gesturing and waited for the big reveal, her inner monologue not giving her a minute’s rest in its utter contempt for putting herself in this situation.
The screen rolled back, with a wobble and a creak, and then she saw him, and realised she had been right. It was him, the athlete her brain had clocked and ogled, and then apparently saved half-naked images of in some deviant part of her mind, just in case it came in useful one day. His dark hair, not slicked back this time, but rebelling from a side parting, showed a hint of red—a dash of chilli hidden in the chocolate—and the shoulders dominated the rest of his body, making his waist look narrow, although she remembered abs that would make a lesser woman dribble. His wheelchair was small and space-age-looking, and the least interesting thing about this mountain of a man. An open shirt collar showed a triangle of tanned skin below his neck—and for just a moment Amber remembered that bronzed torso, thrust out of the pool by powerful forearms.
She shook her head. This should not be happening. He should not have picked the woman who had chosen her brain, when asked what her favourite part of her own body was. But the presenter of the show had grabbed her hand and was dragging her across to meet Mauro.
‘Mauro, meet your date—Amber Harris. Amber, how do you feel to have been chosen?’
As if this was all a big joke, and she was the punchline. If he’d been able to see all three women she knew for a fact that he would have chosen one of the others.
‘Erm...surprised,’ she choked out, and didn’t know whether to be pleased or not at the look on Mauro’s face, the one that suggested that he liked catching her off guard, that maybe he’d done it on purpose.
‘Well, Amber, just you wait until you see what we’ve got in store for you. You’ll be jetting off on a romantic week-long break to sunny Sicily. Mauro has generously allowed us to use his luxury villa, complete with swimming pool, private beach and no fewer than seven beautiful bedrooms to choose from. Over the course of your week you’ll be wined and dined by the owners of the Castello Vigneto, and tour the grounds of their beautiful vineyard before feasting on local foods and wines. You’ll take jet-skiing lessons from Mauro himself, and can choose from any of the other water sports equipment available at his private pontoon. There will be a hike up the Mongibello, otherwise known as the live volcano Mount Etna, and to top it off we’ll be flying you, by helicopter, to view the volcanic eruptions of the island of Stromboli! Amber, what do you say?’
* * *
Mauro watched Amber’s shell-shocked expression as the presenter outlined the romantic week in Sicily that had been planned for his date. Well, he’d planned a large part of it himself, actually. When the charity had approached him about appearing on the show, he’d gone one better and offered the use of his home—it seemed to defeat the object of money-raising if they were to shell out on accommodation. And it was entirely unnecessary when he had his very own villa sitting empty most of the time. Anyway, as the patron of a charity that helped disadvantaged children through sport, he wanted to do more than just sign big cheques.
His villa in Sicily, the country of his mother’s birth, was one of his favourite places on earth, so it was hardly a chore to spend a week there, especially a week in the company of a beautiful woman. Her blonde hair fell just to her collarbones in waves that seemed deliberately messy, and her eyes had grabbed his attention as he tried to work out whether they were more green or brown. But none of that was the reason that he’d decided to ignore the script the presenters had briefed him on, of course. Celebrity edition or not, he hadn’t known who she was. The reason he’d picked her was simple: he’d been intrigued by her and wanted to know more. She was funny, for a start: he’d smiled at her answer to his first question, chuckled at her second and full-out belly laughed at her third.
And then there had been that attitude. The one that had said that she didn’t for a second buy into the show’s attempt at stirring up romance. The producers had told him that everyone involved knew that they were all just doing this as a money-raiser, that none of the women were actually interested in starting a relationship. But there had been one way to be sure that he wasn’t getting involved with someone who had different expectations of this show from him—pick the woman that had Keep Out prickling her voice and written in neon letters so big he could see them above the screen that was keeping them apart.
She’d seen straight through his questions, straight through every pep talk and manipulation of the producers and refused to deliver the smut that Holi-Date had been leading her towards. She would have been a killer whale—who wouldn’t have picked her after that?
She leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. Not exactly by choice—he was sure that he wasn’t the only one who had instructions from the production team on what they were to do after the big reveal. What surprised him was that she was going along with it. The peck on the cheek was brief, gone almost before it started, but the scent of her shampoo, something earthy and familiar—rosemary, perhaps—lingered a second longer, teasing his senses. Two beautiful women had just sashayed past him—a singer from a girl band and a regular from one of the soap operas, apparently. But Amber...she marched. And though her expression wasn’t quite a scowl, it wasn’t the TV smile that everyone else in the studio was wearing either. No, she was definitely different. Good. Different was what he had wanted. Dating show or not, he wasn’t in the market for a girlfriend, and no one had shown that they weren’t interested in a relationship as eloquently as Amber had.
‘And, Mauro, what do you think about your gorgeous date?’ Julia, the presenter, asked him.
He took a moment to think about it. She was hot—there was no doubt about that. Slim legs were encased in dark jeans, and a hint of silk was revealed beneath her black blazer. The look was almost academic, it was so serious. And yet...something about it drew him in. Perhaps it was the thought of that silk, imagining the smooth warmth of it beneath his fingers if he managed to peel off that blazer, peel back the layers of protection that she had so clearly shown already that evening.
She hadn’t given his chair more than a cursory glance—always a good start. Now she took a couple of steps back, guided by the presenter’s hand on her waist, but her eyes hadn’t left him yet. They’d dropped to his chest, he noticed, but they were making their way back up now, and...there. He had her again, her gaze locked into his. He wasn’t going to let her go easily. He wanted to play with this—it wasn’t as if he had to worry that she might want him to get involved.
‘Oh, Julia, I’m very much looking forward to getting to know her better.’
Julia turned to the autocue and began to wrap up the show, but already he’d lost interest, could see only Amber as the audience were directed to clap and cheer. Then he realised he’d missed his cue. The two women were turning towards him and he realised they were meant to be making their way backstage. At this rate it’d look as if he was chasing Amber out of the studio—not the best of starts. He spun on the spot and caught up with her quickly then stopped at the mark they’d been given to turn and wave at the audience. He let out a breath of relief, and surprise. It took a lot to surprise him these days. He liked to think he’d seen it all—he’d spent the last ten years of his life trying to see it all in the wake of his accident. But somehow, after just half an hour in her company—and a large part of that without even being able to see each other—Amber had him chasing after her without his even realising how she’d done it.
He rarely had to chase. Normally, with women, he put in a little groundwork, a little charm; laid the bait and then waited for a bite. It never took long. Whether he was throwing a party, hanging out in a nightclub—hell, he’d picked women up in the supermarket—he always had this under control. He took advantage of every opportunity to experience something new, but always
