A Price Worth Paying(9)
She wrapped her arms tightly around her waist. ‘No! There will be no audition! The marriage is for Felipe. Only for Felipe.’ Outside the windows the light was starting to fade, the afternoon sun slipping away, while inside her cheeks were lit up, her eyes flashed cold blue flame and her hands were balled in fists so tight that, unlike the rest of her, her knuckles showed white. ‘Haven’t you got a robe or something?’
He smiled at the sudden change in topic, holding his arms out by his sides innocently. ‘Do you have a problem with what I’m wearing?’
‘That’s just it. You’re not really wearing anything.’ She paused suddenly, biting her lip, almost as if she’d said too much and revealed too much of herself in the process. Then she hastily added, ‘I’d hate for you to catch cold or something.’
As if that was her reason. His amusement was growing by the minute, his visitor unexpectedly entertaining. It wasn’t just because the idea was so crazy he wondered how this woman, who seemed more timid than tigress despite her attempts, had found the courage to carry it off, but maybe because his mother had been here not an hour ago berating him on his reluctance to find a wife. He half wished she’d been here to witness this. Though no doubt she would be more appalled than amused, but then, that thought only amused him even more.
‘Then you will be relieved to know I have a very healthy constitution,’ he said, ‘but the last thing I wish is for you to feel uncomfortable.’ He excused himself for a moment to pull on fresh clothes, though not so much for her comfort level but because it suited him to do so. He’d had his sport and the last thing he wanted was for her to think he was interested in her sexually. He was intrigued, it was true, and now that the shock of her surprise proposal was over, he was curious to hear more, but there was no point encouraging her.
She was still here. Simone let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding and turned to gaze out of the windows over the million euro view. He hadn’t thrown her out and neither had he let her flee. She was still here and he was going to cover himself up.
Surely that counted as success on two counts?
And now, for whatever reason, he actually seemed willing to listen to her.
Even better, maybe once he had covered up that chest and all that toned olive-gold skin, she might even be able to think straight. She could only hope. Being forced to look at all that masculine perfection without actually looking like she was looking at it was one hell of a distraction otherwise. When he’d had her backed against the door and touched his fingers to her shoulder, she’d felt the sizzle shoot straight to her core. Although maybe it was the hungry look in his eyes that had turned his touch electric …
God, what must it be like to be a woman who actually wanted him to touch her? She shivered, her body remembering the electric thrill. Dangerous, she thought, definitely dangerous. Thank God she wasn’t going there.
‘I apologise for keeping you waiting.’
His richly accented voice stroked its way down her spine, almost convincing her that he meant every word he said. She turned to find him dressed not in a robe, as she’d been half-expecting, but in light-coloured trousers and a fine knitted top that skimmed over the wall of his chest in a way she really didn’t want to think too much about. So she pushed her wayward hair behind her ears and looked elsewhere and found his feet instead. ‘Nice shoes,’ she said lamely, for want of anything better to say.
He glanced down at his leather loafers. ‘I have a man who makes them for me. He is very good.’
Handmade shoes, she pondered, really studying them this time, wishing she could hide away her own scuffed ballet flats. She’d known he had money, sure, but what was this world she’d dared enter, a world where he probably spent more on a pair of shoes than she had on her entire wardrobe? And it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t know that. It was a wonder he hadn’t let her flee while he’d had the chance. It was a wonder he hadn’t slammed the door in her face.
‘But you didn’t come here to compliment me on my footwear,’ he prompted, gesturing towards a sofa as he sprawled himself into a wide armchair, ‘I am curious to hear more—a marriage between you and me, but for Felipe? How does that work, exactly?’
She lowered herself down tentatively on the edge of the sofa, her heart racing with the possibilities. He wanted to hear more. Was he was simply curious, as he claimed, or was he actually entertaining her proposal? ‘You really want to know? You won’t laugh this time?’