you go, but things did not go according to plan. If you don’t want to stay here out of sight, then I have a compromise to offer.’
‘What sort of compromise?’ she asked suspiciously.
‘One you’re not going to like, but it is as far as I’m prepared to go. Tomorrow we’ll fly back to London and you’ll move in with me. I want you to act as my—call it my latest interest—for at least a couple of weeks, possibly longer.’
‘What?’ Leola had been sure she couldn’t feel any more astonishment, but this—this outrageous suggestion deprived her of speech again. ‘Your latest interest? What the hell does that mean?’
‘As my mistress—lover, new best friend—whatever,’ he elaborated, his tone cool and inflexible.
‘No.’
‘Then—you stay here.’ He smiled without humour when her head came up and her chin jutted, and his eyes were cold when he added, ‘Osita is lovely in the spring. Cyclamen and crocuses bloom everywhere—’
‘I can’t stay here,’ she stated, frustrated and furious together, and afraid, because in spite of his dangerous charm there was something completely, coldly implacable in his tone. ‘If I don’t go back people will notice. The police will be contacted.’
She hoped.
He said coolly, ‘I can assure you, once I let it be known that you’ve decided to extend your holiday for a time as my guest, everyone will accept that.’ Cynically he finished, ‘Even if you were still working for Tabitha Grantham she would accept your absence in the hope that you’d bring added sales.’
Leola’s hands clenched at her sides. Reluctantly she admitted that he was correct; Tabitha would have considered her temporary absence as the lover of a very rich man to be an excellent career move.
The Magnati princes were not just rich—they had huge power and influence, and they were part of a very exclusive upper circle, being related to most of the royal houses in Europe.
If she moved—even for a few weeks—in their world, she’d have gone from being a nobody from the other side of the world to a person with valuable contacts…
Not that it mattered any more, since Tabitha had dumped her. ‘My landlord—’
‘Was told by your employer that your tenancy had been terminated the day you came to the Sea Isles.’
Leola felt herself being backed inexorably into a corner. Flushed and angry, she blurted the first thing that came to mind. ‘It wouldn’t work. I’m no actress and we don’t know each other—’
Then she stopped, eyes widening as he advanced across the room in long, silent strides, his expression decisive. Nervously she licked her lips, and saw his ironic glance take in the betraying little movement.
He stopped in front of her, just close enough to remind her that even when he’d abducted her so brutally she’d noticed his subtle masculine scent. Her heart quickened, and her gaze slid down so that he couldn’t read what she was thinking.
‘You’ll be perfectly safe with me,’ he said quietly. ‘I told you I prefer willing women. For your own safety, this is necessary.’
Her voice uncertain, Leola asked, ‘Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?’
He scanned her face with penetrating eyes, as though he could see into her soul. ‘Because you’re safer not knowing. You do have a choice, Leola Foster. You can either agree to stay with me in London, or stay here as my guest.’
Take it or leave it, his tone implied, leaving no room for negotiation.
Pride fought with pragmatism. If she agreed to his suggestion she’d be for ever tarred with the stigma of being his temporary mistress. If she refused, she’d be stuck here until he let her go—and who knew how long that might be?
In London at least she’d be able to look for another job and try to find accommodation.
As though he could read her mind he said casually, ‘When this is over, I might be of some use in helping you find another position, possibly even better than the one you were so unceremoniously relieved of.’
She bit her lip, ambition warring with a cold common sense that told her nobody got something for nothing. ‘You don’t have to do that. I can make it on my own.’
Of course it would be much, much easier if she had Prince Nico Magnati batting for her. It galled her that she’d end up with the stigma of being a discarded mistress without the pleasure—
Whoa! No, it didn’t. The last thing she needed was any sort of romance with him.
Abruptly she made up her mind.
‘Is there anything illegal in what you’re doing?’ she asked abruptly, watching him keenly.
‘No.’ The denial was prompt and uncompromising.
Instinct told Leola she could trust him; she hoped it wasn’t influenced by her humiliating physical response to him. ‘Morally ambiguous?’ she pressed.
He shrugged. ‘Possibly, because I am forcing you to choose between two equally distasteful alternatives. However, as each will protect you from possible death, I feel that the risk is worth it.’
‘Death?’ She felt the colour fade from her skin, but rallied to say disbelievingly, ‘Oh, come on…’
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