Rose rolled her eyes while her heart did a double flip. ‘I can hardly wait,’ she grunted. What had she let herself in for?
He accepted the file without comment when she distastefully handed it back to him, though he actually sounded serious when he said, ‘You’ve got a point—it is probably best if you try as much as possible to be yourself.’
‘Well, it would be kind of hard to be anyone else, wouldn’t it? And what would be the point?’
He gave her a strange look. ‘Most people, Rose, spend most of their life pretending to be someone they’re not.’
‘Well, I—’ She stopped dead as she saw the private jet that was waiting for them. ‘Oh, God!’ she groaned. ‘This is so not me. I will never carry this off. I’m just not billionaire’s bride material.’
Mathieu grinned at her dismay and nodded to the man who greeted them. ‘Don’t knock it until you try it, ma petite’
Rose slung him a disgruntled look. ‘Some things, you know, don’t fit without trying.’
‘Oh, I think we fit perfectly.’
Not unnaturally his purred comment reduced her to red-cheeked silence. It was a silence that Mathieu seemed in no hurry to break.
By the time the private helicopter circled the island five hours later she doubted that she and Mathieu had exchanged more than a dozen words. He had been immersed in his laptop for the entire journey totally oblivious, it seemed, to her growing resentment.
It wasn’t as if she expected him to hold her hand, but neither had she expected him to tune her out. Every time she had made an attempt to initiate conversation he had given a monosyllabic response. In her opinion it would have occurred to anyone with an ounce of sensitivity that she was nervous, that she required a little reassurance.
‘So we’re here, then.’ Mathieu looked up as if finally remembering she was there.
She looked in the direction he indicated, taking in the long, low, sprawling villa built into the rock and surrounded by acres of manicured grounds.
The private jet that had brought them to Athens, the transfer by helicopter, and now the private island retreat—it was just hitting home how seriously off-the-scale rich the Demetrios family was.
Her smooth brow pleated as she caught her full lower lip between her teeth and nibbled nervously. Nobody, she thought, staring down at the island retreat—not the other guests and, more importantly, Andreos Demetrios—was going to swallow the engagement story.
Mathieu lived in a different world from the one she inhabited. She fought to maintain her calm as panic nibbled at the edges of her composure.
She slid a surreptitious sideways glance towards her travelling companion, who had abandoned his computer and was also looking through the window. She supposed the wealth thing should have been a consideration earlier. Rose supposed she hadn’t really thought about it earlier because, unlike many people who needed to flaunt their wealth and position to establish their superiority, Mathieu didn’t labour the fact he was staggeringly wealthy.
Not because he had any leanings towards modesty and self-deprecation. In fact, thinking of Mathieu and those worthy qualities in the same sentence made her lips twitch into a wry smile.
No, Mathieu didn’t need to remind people of who he was because he was one of those rare people who possessed a confidence that went bone-deep—a confidence that would have been there if he hadn’t had a penny to his name.
Besides, far from wanting to be an object of envy or surrounding himself with fawning flunkies, he had a genuine disregard for what anyone thought about him, too arrogant to much care what anyone thought about him.
‘I can see now why you don’t just tell your father to mind his own business…’ Honesty was the best policy in theory, but it would take an unusual man to risk losing all this.
‘There’s no chance of me losing all this,’ Mathieu said, his voice just loud enough for her to hear above the noise. ‘I own it.’
‘You own what?’
‘The island.’
She turned and tilted her head back to look into his face. ‘You own the island…’ she echoed, shock stripping her voice of all expression. Her eyes slid to the vista below and she gulped. ‘All of it?’ she added faintly.
He nodded and explained. ‘It never belonged to Andreos, it belonged to my stepmother’s family. She had originally intended that Alex and I share it, but he…’ He stopped, swallowing, the action causing the muscles in his brown throat to ripple, and said, ‘It came directly to me after she died.’ Andreos had been furious, taking the bequest as a personal slight.
Her head was spinning. ‘It didn’t occur to you to mention this to me?’
He raised his brows and looked mildly surprised by the heat in her husky enquiry. ‘Why should I? It isn’t relevant.’
‘I like that you thought it might be relevant for me to know what your father’s favourite colour is but you didn’t think it relevant to mention you own a whole damned island paradise.’ She flung up her hands in exasperation and glared at him.
‘It is only paradise now that you are here, mon coeur,’ he drawled, clasping a hand dramatically to his chest.
Rose took an irritated swipe at him, which he evaded with a laugh. ‘If you keep that up I will just laugh in your face,’ she warned him, wishing with all her heart that laughter, instead of the heavy weakness that affected all her limbs, were her response to his mocking endearment.
CHAPTER TEN
‘NO RECEPTION committee,’ Rose said, sounding relieved.
‘No,’ Mathieu agreed, not sounding as though he shared her relief.
She shot him a curious look. ‘You’re annoyed?’
Mathieu’s eyes, cold as steel, flickered briefly over her face. ‘You’re my fiancée—not to come out to meet you is a deliberate snub.’ Andreos could be as rude as he liked to him, it was water off a duck’s back, but Mathieu would make sure that his father treated his future wife with the respect she deserved.
‘But I’m not.’
Mathieu flashed her a strange look, then retorted, ‘He doesn’t know that.’
He probably will about five minutes after seeing us together, she thought, pressing a hand to her churning stomach.
‘There’s no need to be nervous.’
Rose tried to smile. ‘And here I was thinking that I was hiding it well,’ she quipped.
‘Come in, it’s been a long day. You’ll feel better after a shower.’
It was silly, she knew, but the light pressure of his hand in the small of her back made her feel more confident.
Halfway up the path to the villa they were met by a man in uniform. He bowed slightly to Rose, then turned to Mathieu and made what sounded to Rose like a profuse apology.
Mathieu responded to him in the same language and he walked a little ahead of them the rest of the way. When they reached the entrance, a glass atrium from which several corridors radiated, Mathieu turned to her and said, ‘Spyros will show you to your room.’
‘You’re not coming?’ Hearing the sharpness of anxiety in her voice, she frowned, but she need not have worried. Mathieu appeared not to notice anything amiss.
‘I need to speak to Andreos.’
She watched him stride away and tried not to feel deserted.
‘Miss…?’
She turned to the uniformed man smiling encouragingly at her and followed him further into the villa.
His father was in his study. He glanced up when Mathieu walked in, then almost immediately returned his attention to the newspaper he was reading.
Mathieu walked straight across to him, grabbed the newspaper and threw it on the ground.
The older man looked at him in open-mouthed astonishment. ‘What do you think you are doing?’ he thundered.
‘I’m laying down a few ground rules, Andreos.’
‘You’re laying down rules to me?” The older man gave a snort of scorn.
‘Rule one … actually there is only one rule,’ he revealed, flashing a cold smile that
made the other man look wary for the first time. ‘In future you will not slight Rose in any way; you will treat her with the respect she deserves.’
Andreos got to his feet. ‘You are very sensitive all of a sudden. Who is this Rose, anyway?’
‘The woman who is wearing my ring … that is all you need to know. Do we understand one another?’
‘Oh, I understand you. You march in here as if you own the place.’
‘I do.’
The soft intervention caused the older man’s already high colour to deepen. ‘If Alex had been alive none of this would be happening.’
‘Alex isn’t alive.’
‘You were always jealous of him,’ Andreos accused, stabbing a finger towards his first-born.
‘If he had been someone else I might have,’ Mathieu conceded. ‘But he wasn’t, he was Alex.’ It was hard to explain but nobody could be jealous of Alex—he just didn’t inspire negative emotions in people.
Or hadn’t. Sometimes even after eighteen months Mathieu still expected him to breeze into a room with that grin that was impossible to resist.
‘I’ve stepped into my brother’s shoes because you asked me to, Andreos.’
The reminder earned him a dark scowl.
‘But this is one area where I am not prepared to step into my brother’s shoes … not even to see the Constantine fortune swell the Demetrios coffers. I will marry the woman of my choice, not someone you chose for me.’
‘She’s half in love with you already.’
‘She thinks she is.’
And that was the problem. She’d been hurting after Alex’s death and he’d been there. He’d shown her a little kindness and she had developed a crush. In the natural course of things the crush would have died a natural death. But their respective parents kept it alive by continually contriving to throw them together.
The poor kid was so vulnerable. Couldn’t the old foxes see how cruel they were being to the girl? In his opinion they needed their heads banged together, but that not being an option, all he could do was not play their little game.
Hand on the door handle, Mathieu turned. ‘Just don’t try and manipulate me, Andreos. I don’t bend.’
Outside the room Mathieu almost collided with a still figure. Hands on her shoulders, he steadied Rose before firmly pushing her away from him so that he could look into her face.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I was looking for you.’
‘Well, you found me. How much,’ he asked, nodding towards the door behind him, ‘did you hear?’
‘Pretty much all of it.’
Enough to know he had loved his brother; she could hear it in his voice. She was just amazed that his father seemed deaf to his remaining son’s pain. As for Mathieu’s relationship with his father, that was even rockier than she had imagined. Ironically if his father had not pushed the union it was entirely possible that Mathieu would have fallen in love with the eligible Sacha, if she was beautiful, and Rose was sure she would be.
Maybe he already was in love with her?
‘I didn’t mean to, the door was open and …’
‘You decided to listen in.’
He didn’t look annoyed, which surprised her. ‘Well, you weren’t exactly quiet.’
‘So why were you following me?’
‘I asked Spyros to tell me where you were.’ She nodded towards the man who was standing by the wall being selectively deaf. ‘My phone was charging on the plane; you put it in your pocket. I want to ring my sister.’ Want was actually the wrong word, but she did feel obliged to assure Rebecca she was all right.
‘So I did,’ Mathieu said, digging the phone from his pocket and handing it to her.
Rose sucked in a tiny breath when his fingertips—was the contact accidental?—brushed hers. It was easier to hide your reaction when you knew what was coming.
‘You have a sister?’
She nodded, wondering what Mathieu’s reaction would be if he ever discovered he had already met Rebecca.
‘Just the one?’
She nodded.
‘And you’re close?’
‘Pretty close,’ she agreed, ‘though she’s married now, so … well, we don’t see as much of one another.’
Mathieu said something to the waiting Spyros, who vanished. ‘Come, you look exhausted. You should lie down before dinner.’
Rose couldn’t pretend the idea did not appeal; the day was beginning to catch up on her with a vengeance. She had to make a conscious effort to put one foot in front of the other.
‘This is my suite.’ He pushed open a door and preceded her into a large, elegantly furnished sitting room. ‘Your room is there.’ He pointed towards a closed door to her left. ‘And that is mine,’ he added, indicating the one next to it. ‘And your parents—they are alive…?’
For a moment the edit function on her vocal cords disconnected and Rose was horrified to hear herself say, ‘Is Sacha beautiful?’
‘Yes, she is.’
‘Then why don’t you want to marry her?’ she wondered as she moved around the room looking at the artwork on the walls. ‘Are these all genuine…?’
‘I should think so,’ Mathieu said, not looking at the artwork.
‘You should know—they’re yours.’
‘Then, yes, they are genuine.’ The soft wide-legged trousers she wore clung to the warm womanly curves of her hips and thighs as she moved.
‘You’re a beautiful woman too.’
Startled, Rose spun around, the heat rushing to her cheeks. ‘Are you trying to change the subject?’
Her beauty was a subject that was never very far from his thoughts, but he judged that this might not be the best moment to mention it.
‘No, I am trying to give you a compliment. Who would have thought,’ he murmured, moving towards her, ‘that it would be this hard?’
‘Well … all right, thank you. I think,’ she added cautiously. ‘Why don’t you want to marry her?’
Mathieu sighed and sank into an upholstered armchair. He propped his chin on steepled fingers and looked at her. ‘Are we talking about Sacha again?’
‘Well, if she’s beautiful your children would be winners of the genetic lottery,’ she mused, a frown of dissatisfaction settling on her soft features as her thoughts lingered on a mental image of golden-skinned little boys with grey eyes and jet hair. And pansy-eyed little girls with curls and sweet cupid-bow mouths.
‘I think that was a compliment.’
‘Like you’re totally unaware that you’re good-looking,’ she retorted, having some sort of heat rush and not the good kind—if there was a good kind. Concentrate, Rose, she told herself, sucking in a deep breath and saying crossly, ‘What are you doing?’ as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her down onto the arm of the chair.
‘I am looking at your neck,’ he explained huskily.
‘Well, don’t. I don’t like it.’ Like wasn’t the last word she would use to describe the slow-burning heat that was invading every cell in her body.
‘You want to know about Sacha? I will tell you. She loved my brother. She needed someone after Alex died and I was there.’
‘Your father said she loves you.’
‘It is a crush, nothing more,’ he said, sounding irritated. He loosed his grip on her arm and Rose got hastily to her feet.
‘I think that I’ll take that nap if you don’t mind,’ she said, backing quickly towards the door.
The interconnecting door between their rooms was ajar, Rose presumed left this way by the maid who had just brought fresh flowers into her own room.
Lips compressed, she tapped on the interconnecting door loudly. It made her feel odd to know that Mathieu could have walked in any time when she was asleep.
Not that she could imagine he would have unless he had a thing for snoring women.
‘It’s open.’
Rose stepped inside. ‘I have a slight problem with that.’
He was standing at the window ga
zing out to sea.
‘There is a key if you’re worried for your virtue.’ Mathieu, who had been standing at the open French doors, turned as he spoke.
Rose was conscious of her already tumultuous pulse giving several loud erratic thuds as it banged against her ribcage. Mathieu looked conspicuously sexy in a beautifully formal dark dinner jacket, and she barely noticed the stunning backdrop of the turquoise sea crashing onto the rocks below.
Her lashes came down in a protective sweep and she swallowed, ashamed of the silky heat between her thighs.
‘And don’t think I won’t use it.’ She could only hope he’d do the same because it would be good to have temptation removed.
And there was no point pretending that Mathieu wasn’t temptation. Head tilted a little to one side, Mathieu looked her up and down. Being the subject of his silent and critical perusal made Rose’s temper fizz, but she fought to control it, aware that flushed cheeks would ruin the aloof but sexy look she’d aimed for.
‘Pity.’
Her head came up. ‘I’m so sorry if I don’t meet with your approval.’ Anxious not to give him the totally false impression—she actually wanted it—she refused to ask him what was wrong with the way she looked.
‘Oh, you look fine,’ he said, his glance dropping once more to skim the pale blue silk shift dress she had taken a good deal of care to select.
She had also taken care with her hair and make-up and until he had turned up his nose she had been feeling confident that whatever else let her down it would not be her appearance.
Rose’s temper flared to the surface as she fixed him with a hostile look. ‘I look fine?’ she repeated in a dangerously quiet voice.
She didn’t want to look fine, she wanted to look outrageously gorgeous, although on a more realistic level she would have taken presentably pretty.
The dangerous note in her voice awoke a gleam of humour in his steely grey eyes, but his expression remained serious as he observed with a note of regret, ‘It’s just a pity you didn’t choose something that showed.’ His glance sank significantly to her breasts, which began to heave against their covering.
‘Show what, exactly?’
‘A little more cleavage. My father would have been too distracted to ask any awkward questions.’
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