Читать книгу The Platinum Collection: A Diamond Deal: The Flaw in His Diamond / The Purest of Diamonds? / In the Brazilian's Debt - Susan Stephens, Susan Stephens - Страница 13

CHAPTER FIVE

‘DO YOU SERIOUSLY think anyone will notice what I’m wearing?’ she said, starting to worry.

‘Everyone will notice what you’re wearing.’

‘Because I’m with you,’ she scoffed.

‘They’ll be curious,’ Roman admitted with a shrug.

I bet they will. ‘Why don’t you just say I’m an employee who turned up unexpectedly?’

For the first time he seemed amused. ‘No one will believe that, Eva. They know me too well to think I could be surprised that way.’

‘Because all your employees do what you tell them, I suppose.’

He gave her a sleepy look that suggested everyone did as he told them—with one notable exception. ‘Maybe they’ll think I’m a roadie with the band?’ Lifting her shoulders, she let them drop again.

‘Is that what you want people to think?’ Roman’s lips pressed down attractively.

‘I don’t care what they think—’

‘But I think you do,’ he said. ‘These are good people, Eva. I think you’ll want them to like you.’

That was the one answer she hadn’t expected—the one answer she didn’t have a smart retort for. Concern from Roman was so unexpected that, quite inappropriately, her eyes filled with tears. She wasn’t used to people other than her sisters showing concern for her. They were generally afraid to in case she bit their head off. She had never been so wrong-footed before. And had never felt quite so out of place.

‘I’m just trying to be practical, Eva,’ Roman pointed out. ‘I’m trying to help you. Why can’t you accept that? And we don’t have much time.’

As he glanced at his watch she knew he was right. It would be rude if the one man who was surely a valued guest arrived late at the party. ‘So what do you suggest?’ she said, shrugging unhappily.

‘That belt,’ he murmured.

‘What belt?’ she said, frowning impatiently.

‘The one you’re wearing on your jeans. It’s very pretty.’

She was surprised he’d noticed. It was a good belt. She’d bought it when she had bought a few things in memory of her mother who had been über feminine. It was just a slim leather belt inlaid with polished turquoise set in silver.

The belt was giving him a welcome distraction from the sight of Eva’s spectacular breasts pressing against her too-tight top. They were just one more attribute she seemed totally oblivious to. The belt had given him an idea. Yes, he could do without attending his cousin’s wedding with the complication of such an unconventional ‘plus one’, but as she was going, and as, contrary to Eva’s opinion of him, he wasn’t in the habit of humiliating people, he wanted to help her out.

‘Where are you going?’ she called after him as he backed off and strode away down the corridor.

He had never found a good enough reason to explain himself.

He was back in a few short seconds with a new white tee still in its packet.

‘What am I supposed to do with that?’ she said as he handed it over.

‘You’re supposed to go back inside your room and put it on.’

Taking it out of the wrapping, she shook it out. ‘Are you joking? This will drop straight off me. I’m guessing it’s yours. You’re twice my size, Roman.’

‘At least twice.’

‘So...?’

‘So just put it on for me. If it doesn’t work, we’ll park the idea. Just try it,’ he coaxed, masking a grin at her expression. ‘You never know. You might like the look.’

‘I very much doubt it.’

‘Just do it, Eva, or we’ll be late.’ His tone had changed, and with a mutinous look she retreated behind the door, slamming it, for the second time in their short acquaintance, in his face.

Pride vied with her natural caution, but eventually practicality won the day. Roman was right. She didn’t want to look like a complete idiot at the party, and at least if she tried to make a dress out of his top she wouldn’t look so wildly out of place. It was a party on a beach. She’d give it a try, anyway. Why not?

The tee did not fit.

Of course it didn’t fit. Why had she ever thought it would? Twisting her hair, like her temper, into an even tighter knot of fury, she opened the door.

‘Problem?’ Roman murmured, easing away from the wall.

Apart from the fact that her hair was half falling down, while the tee had no such inhibitions and would have dropped straight off if she hadn’t grabbed hold of it.

‘No. No problem. I always go out for the night dressed like this.’ She garnished the denial with a withering look.

Did he have to look quite so relaxed...so hot, so amused?

‘The problem is glaringly obvious. The top gapes everywhere. What do you imagine will happen if I let go?’

‘I’d rather not imagine.’ But the sexy mouth tugged as Roman slouched on one hip. ‘I think you need help.’

‘Is that meant to be funny?’

‘You’re so touchy. Do you have a guilty conscience, Eva Skavanga?’

‘Why?’

‘Maybe you shouldn’t have come here after all.’

‘And maybe I shouldn’t have trusted you to give me a bed for the night as you promised. I had no idea there’d be so many complications.’

‘Come here.’

‘I will not.’ She backed away as he beckoned to her.

‘Eva...’

His voice was soft.

Like a lion tamer hiding the whip. She retreated another step. She didn’t like that look on his face one bit. She almost shot out of her skin when he put his hands on her shoulders. The knack was to remain calm, she told herself firmly. Don’t react. Look him in the eyes. She tottered round stiffly as he slowly turned her in front of him. ‘What the hell?’

‘Where’s the belt, Eva?’

‘The belt? I left it with my jeans. And if you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, I can tell you now that a belt isn’t going to save this situation.’

‘Just get it, will you, and let me be the judge of that?’

Another order? She huffed and narrowed her eyes. But, hey, what harm did it do to go get the belt? At least she could prove him wrong.

He fastened the belt loosely round her waist.

‘Almost there,’ he murmured, slipping the neck of the tee off one shoulder.

She tried not to flinch when his hand brushed her neck, but a shiver ran through her as he brushed her naked flesh.

He stood back to take a look. ‘Just one more tweak—’

She gasped as he released her messy hair, allowing it to cascade in wild abandon around her shoulders.

‘Now look what you’ve done.’ She pulled a face as she tried to scrape her hair back.

‘Bellissima...’ Roman moved her hand away. ‘Now you’re ready.’

She swung away from him in fury. And caught sight of herself in the mirror. Goodness. She looked almost feminine.

‘From temperamental tomboy to pale, Botticelli waif,’ Roman observed with the irony back in his voice. ‘I’ve no doubt you’ll be the toast of the party.’

He’d be toast if he tried anything like that again. ‘I very much doubt it,’ she scoffed. ‘And if you’re trying to suggest that I look anything like Botticelli’s painting of the Birth of Venus—I’m not naked. And I’ve certainly no intention of standing in a shell.’

‘Just make sure you don’t stand on one when you’re down on the beach,’ he said, not the least bit fazed by her heated expression.

More mockery. More...everything. Wicked eyes...Fabulous teeth...Bad, bad sexy mouth.

‘Are you ready, Eva?’

For anything. ‘If you say so,’ she conceded grudgingly, somehow managing to drag her gaze away.

She pointedly ignored Roman’s offer to hook her arm through his and walked past him. ‘Thank you so much for helping me to style my outfit... It’s almost impossible to find a good stylist these days.’

‘Don’t push it, signorina,’ he growled somewhere far too close behind her.

Her spine tingled at his proximity, but if Roman Quisvada happened to be lifting one of his arrogant ebony brows right now, he could stick his courtly airs and graces where the sun didn’t—

‘You look great,’ he said, catching up with her easily, and matching his stroll to her purposeful stalk towards the stairs.

‘Thank you,’ she managed tightly. Her voice was about the only thing that was tight. Unfortunately for her, Roman gave great sensation in places she normally didn’t waste much time thinking about. Would blanking sensation even be possible with this man? To distract herself she fell back a few paces to see what all the fuss was about. Apart from obviously looking amazing, Roman Quisvada exuded confidence and moved with the ease of an athlete. He wore his thick, wavy black hair long, which she liked, especially when it was still damp and wavy from the shower—

‘Keep up, Eva. I don’t want to be late.’

She pulled a face behind his back as he started across the hall, but not before her senses had registered the curve of his sensual mouth as he turned his head to issue this instruction. He was certainly one arrogant piece of work. She had never encountered anyone like Roman Quisvada before—

‘Eva,’ he rapped, swinging the front door wide.

Did he have to stand waiting for her with his thumb tucked inside his belt with his long lean fingers directing her gaze to the main attraction?

‘Shall we?’ he invited mockingly.

Not if I can help it, she thought, having taken in the size of the attraction.

* * *

By the time they reached the beach it was already packed with party guests. Roman was greeted like returning royalty. Which was great for Roman and a whole new experience for Eva—especially the compliments she received from the men. Not for the first time since she landed in Italy, she was glad she spoke the language. It wouldn’t have been half so much fun if she hadn’t understood all their chat.

‘I feel like Cinderella at the ball,’ she admitted, hot-faced after the latest round of attention from a hunting pack of Roman’s male friends.

He didn’t seem too impressed. ‘My friends find you...intriguing.’

‘Because they haven’t seen me before?’ she guessed. ‘Or because they wonder what I’m doing with you?’

‘Neither. You’re attractive and they’re hot-blooded men with a healthy interest in attractive women.’

Attractive? She was attractive? That was news to her. And it was the first time any man had said that about her in her hearing. Stubborn. Argumentative. Competitive. Tempestuous. Or just plain stroppy—these were all labels she was familiar with. Could the ‘attractive’ label account for the black look Roman was giving his friends?

Really?

She wanted to smile.

‘Something amusing you?’ he said, turning back to her, frowning deeply.

‘No,’ she said, acting surprised. Seeing his face, she could almost believe Roman was jealous. That probably didn’t sound like much to a normal woman, but it was certainly unique in Eva’s experience. Men shied away from her in Skavanga, unless she was dressed in jeans and giving them a hard time, while here in the Med they flocked around. And, actually, she was quite enjoying it, especially as she knew she was at absolutely no risk at all—not from Roman and not from his friends. At least, not while he was around. Roman had made it quite clear that he was leader of the pack and no one trespassed on his territory.

As Roman chatted to some more guests who eyed her up speculatively, she toyed with the pretty belt and thought of her mother. Utta Skavanga had made no secret of the fact that she despaired of Eva ever developing feminine traits. And the harder she’d tried to instil her femininity in Eva, the more Eva had rebelled. She’d felt a failure compared to her beautiful sisters, and had chosen to become a tomboy instead. The tomboy she still was today.

Correction: the tomboy she had been until today. Trust an Italian to breathe life into that side of her. Roman’s innate flair had brought his friends flocking around.

‘Your friends are nice,’ she said when he turned back to her.

‘Nice?’ he queried, turning to see some of the men were still staring at Eva. ‘They’re unscrupulous villains, every one of them.’

She had to hide a smile seeing Roman glowering. Maybe he did care a little bit—

And now she was being ridiculous. Roman was a hot-blooded Mediterranean man, interested in every woman with breath in her body, because that was his default setting. But it was good to have his interest, if only for one night. It was new and different for her. And not unpleasant. Men generally showed an interest when they wanted her to change a tyre, so they didn’t get their suits dirty, or maybe to operate a heavy-lifting machine down the mine if someone wanted to go home early. Apart from that, her encounters with the opposite sex had been restricted to darts practice, snooker matches, and keeping score ringside at the gym, none of which exactly offered an opportunity to flex her femininity muscle.

‘And you didn’t need to be quite so friendly,’ Roman added, turning to give her all his attention.

‘And why do you care?’ she said, giving him the cold eye.

She waited in vain for some flattery.

‘I don’t care.’

‘Well, you could have fooled me.’

‘You look cute in that outfit. Dangerously cute.’

‘Oh, please! Cute? Pass the sick bucket, will you?’ She was transported back down the mine, jousting with the men. She was so sure Roman was mocking her, she had to hit back first. And, for goodness’ sake! Belligerent, laddish, abrasive, any of those adjectives would suit her. But cute?

‘If you don’t believe me, just look at yourself,’ he said, turning her to face the bar.

There was a long mirror behind the counter and in between the bottles and darting bartenders Eva could see the reflection of a girl she hardly recognised—a girl with flushed cheeks and bright eyes, and a wild tumble of glittering copper hair—a slim girl standing next to a colossus who looked like every woman’s dream. But instead of feeling thrilled or flattered, she felt her stomach clench with apprehension. The old Eva was back and ready to defend against hurt and ridicule, and against all those things Eva had never quite got the hang of, like accepting a genuine compliment with a simple ‘thank you’.

‘If I’d had anything else to wear, I’d have worn it,’ she flashed ungraciously.

Roman’s lips twitched suspiciously.

‘Are you laughing at me? Did I say something funny?’

She was totally out of her comfort zone, feeling increasingly hot and awkward. She couldn’t compete with the other girls at the party with their sleek, immaculately groomed hair and their expensive designer gowns. She should have known Roman would end up teasing her. It was probably the only reason he had invited her to the party. It was probably his way of punishing her for causing disruption at the mine and for arriving on his island uninvited—

‘Where do you think you’re going?’

He caught hold of her arm as she stormed away.

‘I’m going back to the palazzo—’

‘Oh, no, you’re not,’ he said. You’re staying here with me. You don’t seriously think I’d let you loose on my home, do you?’

‘One of your homes—’

‘Don’t get bogged down in detail,’ he snarled, drawing her close.

Roman’s eyes were so dark and compelling. He radiated power. She tried to subdue the urge to wriggle away from him so she could bolt as far and as fast as she could. Lifting her chin, she matched his stare. ‘I’ll stay at the party and play my part.’

She would stay on his island until they had that talk. Let them see how cute he thought her then.

‘Excellent,’ he said coldly.

She relaxed and stopped fighting him, and he let her go.

With no option but to stay at his side, she began to notice how popular he was—revered even. Why were some of the older people kissing his hand? He was chatting to them like old friends. It was such a warm village, family oriented. That was what she was missing. And it was all her fault. She had worn her family out with her tantrums. She had chosen the wilderness and the wildlife that lived there over them. No one had been able to answer the emptiness inside her when she lost her ma and fa, and only the mighty Arctic landscape seemed to dull the pain. Spending time with people like this only proved how much she took her sisters for granted. When was the last time she had given much thought to the blessings of family life, or swallowed her pride to apologise after a row, which she normally started?

‘You’re seeing another side of life, I think,’ Roman said with his usual perception. ‘You appeared to be enjoying yourself and now you’ve gone all serious again.’ He stared at her keenly.

‘I’m having a lovely time,’ she admitted, ‘though I’m curious as to why everyone makes such a fuss of you.’

‘My good points are buried so deep you can’t see past my disreputable appearance?’ he suggested with amusement.

She opened her eyes wide. ‘Do you mean you have some good points? What I really want to know,’ she said, changing tack, ‘is why do some of the older villagers kiss your hand?’

‘Would you rather they spat in my eye?’

She rolled her eyes, knowing she wasn’t going to get anywhere like this. ‘I’m just curious, that’s all.’

And Roman’s look said she could remain that way.