Читать книгу The Flaw in His Diamond - Susan Stephens - Страница 9

CHAPTER TWO

SHE HAD NEARLY reached her destination and paused for a moment to catch her breath. She could see the count’s magnificent home on the top of the cliff, a citadel of power glittering white and menacing in the heat haze. The steep path she was climbing snaked up a white cliff overlooking an azure sea. It might be someone’s idea of a heavenly walk, but she was hot and sweaty and had to keep her mind firmly fixed on her goal and her reasons for coming here so that anger powered her steps.

Having researched the fastest route from Arctic Skavanga to the count’s island, she had unfortunately given rather less thought to local topography, let alone the climate. And a hill was a hill was a hill, anywhere but here, it seemed, where the path to the count’s eyrie was treacherous and packed with slippery shale.

Throwing herself down on a prickly bank, she threw her arm over her face. The sun was like a flaming torch and she hadn’t even thought to bring a bottle of water with her from the plane. There had been very little forward planning. She had rushed into the trip after a furious row with Britt, during which she told her caring older sister to butt out and mind her own business—something she now felt sick and wretched about. Why did she always shoot off her mouth and then spend the rest of her time regretting it?

She had left without apologising, jumping on the first flight out of Skavanga. She caught a connecting flight to the Italian mainland, and from there a ferry to the count’s private island. It was a ferry packed with exuberant wedding guests, all of whom were in a very different mood from her, though they’d got round her in the end. They were all so happy as they headed for what they described as the wedding of the year. She had ended up playing a round of darts with a group of older men, and had scored the winning double. She was one of the boys, they had assured her, patting her on the back as she glowed with pride.

Now she just glowed. All over.

Getting up, she brushed herself down and started determinedly up the cliff again. The closer she got to the palazzo, the faster her heart was beating. She wasn’t frightened of anything or anyone, but just to herself she would admit she was a little bit scared of the count—mainly because she had never met anyone like him before. He’d towered over her at Britt’s wedding, his face tough and battle-hardened. He was older than she was, and Roman centurion rather than Roman effete. She remembered the lips of a sensualist. She’d thought of little else since. His hair was glorious—too long, too thick, too black. Perfect. And his eyes were keen, dark and dangerous. He had a ridiculous amount of stubble on his swarthy cheeks, considering it couldn’t have been long since he shaved when she met him. But it was that something behind his watchful eyes that had intrigued her, because that had hinted at something hidden and dangerous in his past.

She had to stop this. Was she trying to psyche herself out before she had even confronted him? Think fail and you would fail. That was Eva’s motto. Think success, and at least you stood a chance.

He was strong. She was too. She did stand a chance of convincing him to slow down the drilling programme. Quisvada was also obscenely rich, and, though she disapproved of ostentatious displays of wealth, she couldn’t deny a certain curiosity in seeing how the other half lived. All in all, safe had never been an option for her. She needed a challenge like this. She needed to leave the Arctic Circle and test herself in the wider world, and she cared so passionately about the mine this was her chance to prove it. There was no doubt in her mind. She would make Quisvada listen.

Shifting her backpack into a more comfortable position, she continued on up the path, wondering about the fluttering in her chest. What did she have to worry about? She was in no danger from the count. He was hardly her type—

No man is your type.

Having run out of things to argue with herself for the moment, she stopped again. It didn’t help that she was overdressed. Her hectic decision to come here had ruled out sensible planning, so she was pretty much wearing what she had in Arctic Skavanga: boots, jeans, and the thermal vest she had stripped down to. There was even a heavy parka strapped to her backpack. Great, when what she needed here was a pair of shorts, a flimsy top, and an extra large tub of sunblock.

She wouldn’t have had to come if the count had been more reasonable. And was that the real reason, or was this the last-chance saloon for Eva Skavanga as far as men were concerned?

‘Meaning?’ she flashed out loud, then glanced around guiltily to make sure no one had heard her talking to herself. She really was wound up. Meaning, she reasoned as she plodded on, Count Roman Quisvada threw off the sort of confidence that said he would be very good in in bed... Now she had to take a moment to think about that.

Planting her hands in the small of her back, she was forced to accept that she wouldn’t know too much about being good in bed. She wasn’t completely innocent. She wasn’t exactly experienced, either. She’d had a few fumbles, none of which had encouraged her to try the experience again. She frightened men off. If they weren’t limp to begin with, they certainly were by the time she’d finished with them. And then somehow the time for experimenting passed her by. She got too old for it. She missed the boat. She told herself it didn’t matter. She just wasn’t interested in sex.

Until she met the count.

Allowing her backpack to slide to the ground, she rested her hands on her knees to catch her breath. Lifting her head, she weighed up the gates guarding his lair. They were big, but not so big she couldn’t climb over them. Chucking her backpack over first, she followed, scrambling up the ornamental ironwork like a monkey. They’d told her in the village that with the big wedding on it was unlikely that anyone would be home, which was great for her purposes. It gave her a chance to have a snoop around before the count returned.

She quickly spotted some cameras, but no alarms went off. Lots of people had cameras, but very few were switched on, she’d heard. Undeterred, she started to march up the broad, impressive drive. Bottle-green cypress trees stood on parade on either side, providing some welcome shade, while the neatly groomed gravel crunched beneath her feet. The palazzo was framed against a brilliant blue sky, and with its towers and crenellations, the count’s island home looked like something from a fairy tale. It certainly wasn’t what she had expected. Festoons of purple bougainvillea softened the walls and hung in swags around the windows, while more fringed the top of the impressive front doors. Colour was mostly grey in Skavanga, but here the blaze of colour was a huge assault on her senses—not unpleasant, though the count’s home was certainly a confident reflection of his power and wealth.

Even she had to admit his gardens were exquisite. Colour blazed at her from every side, and there was such an amazing variety of planting. How many people must he employ? she wondered as she ran her fingertips across the immaculate white wall. The count probably had homes like this across the world, she concluded, and none of them could mean as much to him as the simple log cabin she shared with her sisters on the shore of a frozen lake. That was where they had taken their holidays for as long as she could remember. There weren’t many luxuries, but she didn’t care. Thinking about the symbols that defined her, and those that defined the count, she realised they couldn’t be more different.

Having reached the entrance, she raised the heavy knocker and rapped forcefully on the door.

Silence.

Shading her eyes, she peered through the window. They hadn’t been exaggerating in the village when they said everyone would be at the wedding. The palazzo appeared to be deserted. Untying her neck scarf, she mopped the grit and sweat from her face as she decided what to do next. Maybe there’d be someone round the back...

There wasn’t a soul to be seen, but there was a fabulous pool...

‘Hello?’

‘Hello? Is anyone there?’

The rhythmical chirruping of the cicadas was her only answer. Her gaze returned longingly to the limpid stretch of cool, clear water. She was melting and dead on her feet. Surely, a quick dip in the pool wouldn’t hurt anyone?

Dumping her backpack, she stripped off down to her underwear and padding to the edge of the pool, she performed a perfect swallow dive.

Oh...the sensation...the indescribable bliss...

She stayed underwater for a whole length, and then, because the feeling was just so wonderful, she relaxed into an easy freestyle stroke.

‘What the hell?’

The roar hit her out of nowhere. Barely recovered from inhaling half the pool, she somehow made it to the side, where she pressed herself against the blue tiles, horribly aware that she was almost naked.

‘Eva Skavanga?’ the same angry male voice roared.

It was Roman Quisvada! After months of her doing battle with a name, he was standing at the edge of the pool glaring down at her.

‘Yes?’ she called back, putting some force behind her voice. Clinging to what little dignity remained to her as she choked on a mouthful of chlorinated water, she shot a combative look up.

Dear God, his shirt was open to the waist. She had never seen so many muscles. Her body responded instantly, and without the slightest regard for Eva’s feelings. Her nipples tightened. A pulse beat insistently between her legs. Pool water that had only been cool and refreshing was suddenly titillating against her heated skin. The sun beating down on her shoulders was a warm caress instead of a punishment, and the count looked even better than she remembered.

Holding a jacket, slung over his shoulder with his forefinger thrust through the loop, his sharply cut formal trousers clung lovingly to a tight butt and hard-muscled thighs. His shirt was crisp and brilliant white, and he was very big. He was also ridiculously good-looking—if you went for the rugged type. He was ripped. He was tan—

He was madder than hell. She could feel his fury washing over her. And why wouldn’t it, when she’d been a thorn in his side for long enough, and now here she was, swimming in his pool? How the hell was she going to get out of this one?

* * *

The girl in his pool was the troublemaker, Eva Skavanga? Incredible! The alarm at the palazzo was connected to his phone and had warned him of an intruder. The cameras had shown the shadowy figure of a girl climbing over his gates. Reason had discounted the possibility that it could be anyone he knew, let alone Eva. Thank God his instinct had got him back here fast. ‘Get out of my pool now!’

Positioning himself between the slight, pale figure in the pool and the towels left for him to use, he was determined to make her suffer for this intrusion.

‘Could you pass me a towel, please?’ she asked as if he were the pool boy at a hotel.

‘I said get out!’ His voice would have sent grown men scuttling for cover.

Eva just stared at him. ‘I heard you the first time,’ she flared, ‘but I can’t—’

‘Can’t what?’ he rapped. ‘Can’t move? Can’t face me? Can’t think up an excuse for why you’re here?’

Putting her small palms flat on the tiles at the side of the pool, she sprang out lithely. He took in the vibrant, waist-length mermaid hair, the fabulous breasts, the trim figure, long, long legs, and tiny feet.

She stared at him in silence for a moment and then tried to reach past him for a towel.

He stood in her way. ‘When I said I didn’t have time to meet with you, I meant it, Ms Skavanga. What the hell are you doing on my island uninvited? We have nothing to discuss.’

‘That’s your opinion. I’ve come here to change your mind.’

‘I wish you luck with that.’ The water had made her underwear translucent. It left nothing to his imagination where her naked body was concerned. And as she stood confronting him pool water cascaded down her body, highlighting every line and curve. It was even trickling down the crack in her butt, he noticed as she turned away to grind her jaw and tap her foot. Maybe she’d think twice about wearing such a tiny thong next time she planned to invade a stranger’s pool.

‘Please pass me a towel,’ she ground out, turning back to him. ‘They’re just behind you,’ she informed him, tilting her chin at a combative angle.

She could wait. He knew the expression in his eyes offered no reprieve. Eva stared back at him without blinking. Somehow she managed not to fold her arms across her chest during this standoff, though he suspected she dearly wanted to. She needn’t have worried. He wasn’t interested.

Seriously?

As he held her gaze with what was supposed to be disinterest, something unique happened inside him: a slight relaxation of his muscles and a fleeting warmth in his empty heart. He pushed the sensation away, but then the desire to laugh, and not in a cruel way, overcame him. She was just so damn cute.

Until she reminded him icily, ‘A towel? When you’re ready, Count Quisvada.’

‘Certainly, Ms Skavanga.’ He reached for one without breaking eye contact.

Eva Skavanga didn’t have the slightest idea of the effect she was having on him, and long might it remain that way. She was defensive because she thought herself unattractive to men, he concluded. That was why she tried to frighten them off rather than wait for them to push her away. She was a refreshing change. He was used to glamorous, confident women whose sole aim was to insinuate themselves into his life. There was only one thing worse in his opinion, and that was the ambitious parents with a daughter to trade. He was interested in neither option. He would rather live and die a single man than endure some fake arrangement.

‘Thank you,’ she said grudgingly when he finally gave her a towel.

Failure was not an option for Eva Skavanga, and neither was caution, apparently. He had to admit, he liked her style. Maybe he wouldn’t despatch her on the next ferry home, but would keep her here while it suited him. At least while she was here she couldn’t cause trouble at the mine, and by the time he did send her home the work that needed to be done would have been completed.

* * *

This was not what she had planned. This was not what she had planned at all. Being caught red-handed by the count—swimming in his pool, trespassing on his grounds—confronting the man himself, when she might as well have been naked and he was elegantly clothed. It was hardly the surprise encounter she had envisaged when she set off from Skavanga, but of course that was the one where she seized the initiative, while the count was still reeling from his surprise at seeing her. There wasn’t much reeling going on right now.

‘So, Ms Skavanga?’ he demanded. ‘Do you intend to launch a protest at the side of my pool? Or may I continue on into the palazzo, where I can make arrangements for your immediate removal from the island?’

Not reeling. And definitely not in the mood for negotiations. The count was hostile, and embarrassingly unmoved by her all-but-naked body.

‘You can’t have me removed.’

‘I assure you, Ms Skavanga, I can do anything I want to do.’

‘But I’ve come all this way to see you.’ And, damn it, her voice was trembling. She hadn’t expected him to be so aggressive. She had imagined a man with an aristocratic pedigree would soften for a woman. How wrong could she be? ‘Please—’

‘Please, would you forgive me breaking in to your home? Or, please don’t deport me from the island?’ His voice was wholly mocking.

‘Both,’ she managed, angry at his tone.

‘Begging now, Ms Skavanga?’

‘Hardly. I’m merely appealing to your better nature.’ She raised a brow as she spoke, as if to say she realised now how unlikely it would be that he had one.

He might have expected a trespasser to be mortified to have been caught out, or to beseech him with pleading in her voice, and maybe even a few crocodile tears thrown in, all that was reflected in Eva’s face was challenge. So much hung on this meeting with him, according to her, so couldn’t she even manage a climb down this time? Of course she couldn’t. It wasn’t in her nature. And that was half her appeal, he realised. ‘You have a very high opinion of yourself, Ms Skavanga.’

For the first time her gaze flickered. It reinforced his opinion that beneath the braggadocio she was insecure.

* * *

Eva shifted uneasily from foot to foot. In her world she was confident, because people knew her and knew what to expect. She was never intentionally rude to anyone. She was just forceful. At least, that was how she liked to think of it.

Guilt flashed into her mind as she remembered the much-regretted argument with her sister.

And sometimes she was just plain rude, she accepted, but now she must keep the count listening long enough to convince him that the reason she was here overrode anything she might have done to see him. Extracting diamonds from the Skavanga mine at any cost couldn’t be right. But his expression suggested she would have to eat some humble pie, or there’d be no discussion.

‘I’m sorry,’ she managed to grind out. ‘I realise we’ve made a bad start.’

‘You have,’ he agreed.