The Demetrios Bridal Bargain (9 page)

‘S
O DO
you want me to wait?'

Rose took the notes from her wallet and handed them over. ‘No, thanks.' She was burning her bridges—no escape route to allow her to chicken out.

She stood, her case at her feet, and watched as the taxi vanished. When it was gone she stayed where she was, staring after it.

‘Have you any idea what you're doing, Rose?'

Good question.

She spun around. Her heart gave a lurch as she looked at Mathieu…He represented all the reckless excitement she'd been avoiding all her life.

And if you wanted to learn about sex he would probably be a pretty good guide. And there would be no possibility of emotional complications because it didn't seem a big leap to assume he wasn't into deep and meaningful relationships.

‘I came back.'

‘So I see. Is there a problem?'

‘Not really.' Only if you count the fact I've gone insane as a problem, she thought as his tactile voice sent an illicit shiver down her spine…That alone should have warned her she was making a mistake. ‘I came back.'

‘We covered that. I'm surprised.'

‘Good surprised or bad surprised?'

‘That kind of depends if you're going to take another swing at me.'

‘That depends on how rude you are to me. Do you find me attractive?'

The question seemed to throw him; she suspected not a lot did.

‘Or do you say the stuff you do because people expect you to?'

‘Is this,' he asked, ‘some sort of test? Multiple choice, perhaps?'

‘It doesn't matter, you don't have to say. I was thinking…'

His winged brows lifted in the direction of his dark hairline. ‘I'm not sure if I should ask…? But what were you thinking about?'

‘Were you serious?' she blurted out.

‘Rarely,' he admitted solemnly. ‘But few people appreciate my sense of humour.'

She slung him an irritated look. ‘About the job.' If you could legitimately call pretending to be engaged to a Greek millionaire a job. ‘Were you serious?'

His expression sharpened. ‘You'll do it?'

‘Don't look smug just yet,' she warned quickly.

Mathieu watched her hair blow in the wind and struggled to control a sudden overwhelming compulsion to mesh his fingers into the silky strands…then he could draw her face up to his and…He sucked in a deep breath.

‘But you're thinking about it…?' he suggested while his own thoughts stayed stubbornly fixated on the soft lush outline of her lips.

‘I'm thinking about it.'

‘Just thinking? Why the sudden change of heart?'

She shrugged. ‘I'm assuming it pays well.'

‘You expect me to believe your motives are purely mercenary?' He laughed, baring his white teeth in a wolfish grin.

‘And what is so funny about that?'

‘I meet people every day of the week who would sell their souls for a profit margin. I can smell avarice a mile away…' Around her the only scent he was aware of was the light floral scent of the shampoo she used. Brow creased, he shook his head positively. ‘No, this isn't about money.'

‘I'd be touched if it wasn't for the fact you were accusing me of trying to screw money out of you twenty minutes ago.'

‘I jumped to the wrong conclusion,' he admitted, drawing a hand across his jaw.

‘Jumping to the wrong conclusion is a lifestyle choice with you. Look, do you want me to do this or not?'

Something flashed into his eyes that Rose couldn't quite put a name to. There was a pause. ‘I want,' he agreed.

Rose swallowed. ‘There will be conditions,' she warned.

Amusement flickered in his eyes, but his expression was sombre as he nodded his head and wondered who or what had put that reckless glow in her golden eyes. ‘Fine.'

‘You can't say that when you don't know what they are,' she retorted.

‘When a man wants something badly enough he is generally prepared to take the rough with the smooth.' And she was smooth, very smooth, and he wanted her. He glanced at his watch and did a quick mental calculation. ‘I have to be in Edinburgh this afternoon. You'll have to go on ahead to London. I'll book you on a flight and—'

‘Today? But I thought…' No, Rose, you didn't think, and that, she reminded herself, was the point of the exercise. You're being spontaneous. Oh, God, leaps into the unknown were a lot easier when they weren't real.

‘And on to Nixias in a couple of weeks. I'll arrange the rings and the itinerary,' he said, taking her elbow and urging her towards the entrance.

‘What? But,' she protested as she was hustled forward, ‘what is Nixias?'

‘It's where I'm going to show off my blushing bride-to-be to my family.'

‘But two weeks…I thought…'

He stopped on the steps of the entrance and raised an enquiring brow. ‘You thought what,
ma douce amie
?'

‘What 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 square-cut 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 like him and yet you planned to sleep with him…?

The guilty colour flew to her cheeks and her eyes fell from his.

Sanity had returned about two-thirty in the morning when she had sat bolt upright in bed, a horrified groan escaping her lips.

The only crumb of comfort she could take from this momentary madness was that Mathieu would never,
ever
know the underlying reason she had agreed to go along with his scheme. Neither he nor anyone else would ever know that she had ever got it into her head that she would throw caution to the wind and sleep with a man she didn't love, and not just any man, this man. She schooled her features into a smile and lied. ‘No, I'm fine. Am I overdressed?' she asked, hating that she was asking for his approval, but it was preferable to saying she was immobilised with lust.

Mathieu's eyes, concealed from her behind the dark fringe of his lashes, slid down her body.

In his opinion she was overdressed only in that she was wearing anything at all.

He toyed briefly with and almost immediately discarded the idea of explaining to her that she was the sort of woman who looked better without clothes.