Passionate Playboys: The Demetrios Bridal Bargain / The Magnate's Indecent Proposal / Hot Nights with a Playboy

Rose shook her head firmly. ‘Steven isn’t like that, Nick. He’s a very honourable man.’

‘I wonder if your marvellous Steven would be quite so honourable if his wife wasn’t the boss’s daughter?’

‘Becky, that’s not fair.’

‘Was it fair of him to tell you he was desperately in love with you?’

‘It wasn’t something he planned.’

‘In my opinion Steven Latimer plans everything. The man hasn’t a spontaneous bone in his body—which I admit isn’t bad.

He’s also the most calculating person I’ve ever met … and I’ve met a few.’

‘Steven might come over as a little ambitious sometimes.’

Her twin didn’t mince her words. ‘He’d sell his grandmother for a seat on the board.’

‘He went to Eton with a guy I know.’

Rose turned her head at the interruption. ‘Eton?’ Anyone else she might have accused of lying, but her brother-in-law was as straight as they came. ‘No, your friend must be mistaken. Steven went to an inner-city state school.’

‘Is that what he told you?’ Rebecca snorted, bending to pick up the shredded paper from the rug. Looking at her twin, she began to thread it between the perfectly manicured fingers of her right hand.

‘Why would he lie?’

‘Because he isn’t a nice man. The man you fell in love with only exists in your head, Rose,’ Rebecca said, tapping the side of her own blonde head with its new gamine crop. ‘He’s a self-serving bastard and you’re such a hopeless romantic.’ She sighed. ‘You know, I think you prefer a tragic unrequited love because it’s safer than the real thing—you’re a coward, Rose!’

Rose shook her head. This had been a hard decision to make but she knew it was the right one, no matter how Rebecca tried to twist things.

‘I’ve always wanted to go to the Scottish Highlands,’ she reminded her sister.

‘Go, not live,’ Rebecca exploded, running a frustrated hand over the hair. ‘I can’t believe you’re actually serious.’

‘I just need a break. This man needs his book collection catalogued. I only fell into the marketing job. I originally trained as a librarian—’

Rebecca gave an impatient snort. ‘Don’t try and pretend this is about musty old books, because we both know it isn’t. You’re running away; it’s a big mistake. For God’s sake, it’s not like anything happened …’ She stopped and gave her sister a sharp look. ‘Is it …?’

‘He’s married.’

Rose’s outraged expression had seemed to amuse her sister. ‘It has been known, Rose, for married people to have affairs,’ she taunted gently. ‘You do know you’re something of a rarity in the twenty-first century, don’t you?’

Rose had been stung by her sister’s affectionate mockery. ‘Because I won’t sleep with a married man?’

‘No, actually that doesn’t make you totally unique—even with my colourful history I might have a few qualms about that.’

Despite the levity in her sister’s tone Rose knew that she had strayed on sensitive ground. Rebecca could be pretty touchy about what she liked to call her ‘summer to forget’. It was a subject that by tacit agreement neither referred to.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean that you’re …’

‘That I’m an abandoned hussy?’ Rebecca suggested with a twinkle. ‘Relax, Rosie, Nick knows all about my chequered history, don’t you, darling?’

Her tall husband stretched laconically and offered her a lopsided grin with his nod of wry agreement. ‘A paragraph,’ he announced with a hint of complacence. ‘My past would fill several volumes.’

Behind his teasing there was profound love and commitment that brought an emotional lump to Rose’s throat. Her sister had found the man of her dreams too. Why couldn’t Rebecca recognise that the only difference between them was that Nick had been available?

Was everything in life merely down to timing?

‘The Scottish Highlands! You know I can’t believe you’re actually serious about this. You’re mad, totally insane!’

Rose had defended her sanity but as a second sickening splintering sound issued from under her feet and the crack in the ice spread rapidly she was forced to consider the very real possibility Rebecca might have had a point.

Mathieu had risen early, long before anyone else in the house was awake. He enjoyed solitude, time to recharge his batteries and gather his thoughts without the distractions of phones and faxes, but moments like this one had become increasingly rare over the past months.

Not that he was complaining. Against all the odds he found he loved what he was doing, and he was learning all the time.

It was a steep learning curve, but he relished the challenge and knew that even if it ultimately proved impossible for him to work with Andreos he would take these new skills with him when he left.

And, on a less charitable note, in the meantime he had the pleasure of knowing Andreos, who had never disguised the fact that he didn’t think his bastard son had what it took, was struggling to hide his frustration when he hadn’t fallen flat on his face.

Yet, he corrected himself with a mocking grin. You know what they say about pride and falls, Mathieu.

Someone had recently asked if he hadn’t found the restrictions of riding a desk after the freedom of the racing circuit crushing. They had not understood why he had laughed, but like many they hadn’t had the faintest idea of the sort of physical and mental discipline both required to compete at the level he had.

They saw the glamour but not the struggle to remain at the peak in a competitive environment.

He slipped his rucksack from one shoulder to the other and rotated his neck to ease the tension that still remained in his shoulders. The chair in Jamie’s study was not designed with human posture in mind and he had worked long into the night, poring over the accounts, a flattering description for the collection of papers and illegible scribbles in the ledgers that Jamie had supplied him with.

They did not make for happy reading. Far from exaggerating the situation as he had suspected, Jamie had if anything underplayed the seriousness of his position.

It had been dawn when he had tackled the climb so, with any luck—his glance skimmed his watch—yes, he ought to make it back in time for breakfast and to place a few calls.

The post-climb general sense of well-being combined with the dregs of the adrenaline rush were still circulating in his blood as he made his way to the spot where he had parked the Land Rover. He glanced once more at the metal-banded watch on his wrist and quickened his pace already planning his strategy, though he suspected it would come down in the end to plan B. it was always good to have a plan B.

He was about half a mile from the Land Rover when movement in the periphery of his vision made him turn his head in time to see a red-hatted figure moving below. Someone else who enjoyed the morning, he thought, moving off again. He had reached a steep slope of scree directly above the loch when some instinct made him stop and seek out the distant figure.

‘Nobody is that stupid …’ He held his breath for a moment as the figure stepped out onto what he knew to be paper-thin ice.

He hit the ground running. He didn’t waste his breath shouting, knowing the person below would never hear him above the wind that whistled through the valley.

He was fifty yards away when the stillness was rent first by a loud cracking sound, then a woman’s scream. A final sprint brought him to the edge of the ice in seconds.

A girlfriend had once accused him of having too little imagination to be sensibly scared of anything, but she was wrong.

He just saw little benefit under the circumstances of wasting time to linger on the lurid details of death by drowning in cold, icy water. Instead as he pulled off his light padded outer jacket he scanned the ice estimating his chances.

His actions were swift but not hurried, his brain working out all the factors. It was his ability to think clearly in situations like this that had made him a successful racing driver. That combined with lightning reflexes, nerves of steel and, according to some of his competitors, more than his fair share of ruthless cunning.

Mathieu didn’t think of it in those terms, but he did know that his thought processes were at their sharpest when the stakes were high. Right now they were as high as they got—a life.

The situation did not allow for further preliminary evaluation so, sucking in a breath, he tucked his ice axe into the belt of his trousers and lay down flat on his belly to distribute his weight as evenly as possible on the thin ice. Then Mathieu began to crawl as quickly as possible towards the hole that stood like a gaping black wound in the silvered surface of the frozen water.

He saw the top of a red hat surface, heard the stifled yell and pushed himself faster regardless of the warning creaks of the fragile ice underneath him. He reached the edge of the gash in the ice in time to see the white hand vanish beneath the water.

He hauled himself to the edge of the hole and thrust his ice axe into the water. Relief flooded through him as it snagged on something. His face set in lines of grim determination, the sinews in his neck pulling taut, he began to pull.

Even as she opened her mouth to scream for help Rose was very aware that the chance of anyone being around to hear her was, at the most optimistic, remote.

The second scream of visceral fear remained locked in her throat as the ice beneath her feet opened up and she fell. She had never imagined that cold could be this extreme. It enveloped her, freezing the air in her lungs, its icy tentacles infiltrating every cell of her body. After the first paralysing shock she began to struggle, kicking out wildly in panic as she fought her way to the surface.

Rose was a good swimmer but the extremely low temperature of the water sapped her strength within minutes.

‘Help me,’ she screamed as she felt herself sliding beneath the surface. Cocooned in the icy darkness, aware only of the heavy thud of her own heartbeat as it continued to pump the oxygen-starved blood around her body, she refused to accept the inevitable.

I am not going to drown.

But she was.

Still Rose refused to accept the reality of it. Clinging stubbornly to the last flicker of hope, she kicked weakly for the surface even though she knew she wasn’t going to make it.

Only she did. Just as she had used up the last reserves of strength and her lungs were burning she felt something snag in her coat, then she was being dragged upwards.

Holding the bedraggled girl’s head above the icy water, Mathieu could just about make out her muffled words. The damsel in distress had reached the inevitable ‘what happened?’ phase. He didn’t waste his breath replying, though if she asked, ‘Who am I?’ he would have a harder time restraining himself. People called him a risk-taker, but any risks he took were of the clear-headed, calculated variety. If this girl wasn’t suicidal to pull a stunt like this she was … she had to be one of the most criminally stupid women ever to draw breath!

‘It is important to stay calm and not struggle,’ Rose heard the deep voice above her say.

Struggle. Was he joking? At the moment breathing required all her energy and each raw breath she dragged in through blue lips hurt.

‘When I pull you clear …’

Now that sounded like a good idea. It was also good that he hadn’t suggested she do this herself as her limbs were not responding to any requests; she couldn’t even feel them.

‘I’m just going to—’

‘Wait!’ Rose protested, lifting her head in panic as she felt herself pushed briefly clear of the relative security of the ice. ‘N-no … don’t.’

Her warning went unheeded.

‘I’m just going to put this rope around you. It’s all right, just be still.’

Rose felt the rope her rescuer had just looped under her arms tighten.

‘That’s it, you’re perfectly safe now.’ Mathieu said this with a confidence he did not feel.

He shot a glance over his shoulder towards the shore and safety. As he had crawled out there had been several moments when the ice underneath him had threatened to give way.

She could feel the heat of her rescuer’s breath on her icy cheek as he bent closer. Her nostrils flared in response to the clean male scent of his body overlaid with a light citrusy scent. He represented safety but she really felt she ought to warn him that pulling her out of the water might not be so easy.

‘S … s … seven to ten p … pounds …’ Shut up, Rose, you sound unbalanced.

‘Seven …?’

‘Doesn’t matter.’ Still, it would be kind of ironic in a dark sort of way if the amount of excess the magazines said she needed to shed if she wanted any shot at happiness in this world was the amount that tipped the balance.

What if her determination not to end up a victim to the prevailing fashion for unrealistically thin women ended up being the reason for her demise?

She laughed and above her a man’s voice advised her once more to stay calm. She opened her mouth to tell him she wasn’t the type to have hysterics when the ice gave another loud warning creak and she changed her mind.

Perhaps she was the type to have hysterics? Under these circumstances perhaps everyone was the type. Then she remembered the sound of her rescuer’s deep, calm voice, and thought maybe he was the exception, which was lucky for her.

The situation was better than he had dared hope—there were no new major cracks visible. However, only an insane optimist would expect this situation to last for long. The window of opportunity for this rescue was small.

He took a deep breath and, totally focused on the task ahead, smiled slightly. He knew what he had to do; there were no fuzzy lines, no protocol or politics to consider. It was a simple matter of survival; these were factors he felt comfortable working with.

Mathieu braced his knees on the thin ice beside the woman who had given a scared whimper. ‘Let’s do this.’ She had reason to be scared. He probably ought to be, but the adrenaline pumping in his bloodstream sharpened his reactions and dulled his caution.

Do what? Rose thought.

‘Are you ready?’

Roused by the sheer inanity of this comment, Rose lifted her head. ‘No, I’m not ready!’ The indignation died from her face as her full lower lip quivered. ‘I don’t want to die …’ Her voice trailed away as her eyes connected with those of her rescuer.

They were the palest grey, almost silver, slanted upwards in the corners, the heavy lids fringed by long, curling, sooty lashes. Even this close to descending into gibbering fear she registered in some portion of her brain that they were the most excruciatingly beautiful eyes she had ever seen in her life.

The sort of eyes that a doctor might prescribe for someone who had just had a near-death experience to look into: beautiful. The rest of his face was a blur as she concentrated on those beautiful eyes, but she had the impression of sharp angles and intriguing hollows.

There was a fractional pause before he responded calmly and for a moment she imagined she saw something flicker in the silvered enigmatic depths … recognition …? Which made no sense, because if she had ever met a man with those eyes she would not have forgotten!

‘Nobody is going to die. I’m going to lift you out of the water.’

He made it sound so easy. She nodded, thinking again of that seven to ten pounds. ‘What do you want me to—? Oh!’ The breath huffed out of her chest in a noisy gasp as she landed face down on the ice. She lay there and felt the tears leak from her eyes. ‘I’m not going to drown.’

‘Not if you do exactly what I say,’ came the not exactly comforting response. ‘Are you injured? Do you have pain?’

She lifted her head, wiping the water-darkened strands of hair from her cheek … the shore seemed an awful long way away. She shook her head. ‘Just cold and tired. If I could just rest for a minute …’

A hand under her chin jerked her head up. ‘Open your eyes. Now!’

She obeyed the imperative command and saw the man with the beautiful eyes was totally unmoved by the tears that welled up in her own eyes. She blinked; she wasn’t after a sympathy vote.

As her misty vision cleared she registered properly several more details of her rescuer’s appearance beyond his spectacular eyes. The hair that waved smoothly back from a broad brow and fell silky straight to his collar—had he been wearing one—was dark. The sable shade echoed in his dark winged eyebrows was complemented by a clear olive-toned complexion.

His patrician face was long with high, razor-sharp cheekbones and an angular jaw that was lightly dusted with a dark shadow of stubble. His nose was strong and aquiline and his mouth wide and mobile. Rose found the overtly sensual outline of his lips almost cruel.

He was the most incredibly good-looking male she had ever seen or even imagined and yet when she looked at him she found herself almost repelled by his male beauty. Well, what other emotion could be responsible for the uncomfortable, lurching, shivery sensation in her belly when she looked at his saturnine face?

‘You will not fall asleep.’

Rose wanted to ask if he really thought she was that stupid. But she didn’t have the energy and, besides, he probably did think just that. Instead she just nodded and asked, ‘What do I do?’

‘Keep flat, move slowly.’

‘I’ll try.’

‘Trying is not good enough if you don’t want to kill us both. I will be behind you, but it is most important that we distribute our weight evenly, stay low and flat …’ he made a sweeping horizontal motion with one hand to indicate how he wanted her to move ‘… commando-style.’

‘Commando?’ Rose repeated, wondering if he did something along those lines for real.

Her glance skimmed the muscle-packed length of him. He had that lean, hard look that made it easy to imagine him being part of some élite group trained for covert operations. And then there was the air of authority. Not many people could give, let alone maintain, that kind of authority when lying belly down on thin ice!

‘You understand?’

She nodded. ‘But the rope … is it such a good idea …?’ She looked from the rope looped around her waist and followed it to his washboard-flat middle. ‘If anything goes wrong we are tied together.’ She didn’t want to be responsible for pulling this good Samaritan into the icy water.

‘Then we shall just have to make very sure that nothing goes wrong, won’t we?’ he inserted with the impatient air of someone not used to having his instructions questioned. ‘You are ready?’

She nodded, thinking there were some things a person was never ready for, but he had made it pretty clear she had very little choice.

The progress they made seemed torturously slow, though she knew it couldn’t have taken as long as it felt. Each time she felt she could go no further because her legs were shaking or she just couldn’t feel them her rescuer was there, encouraging her, though his encouragement at times bordered on coercion.

CHAPTER THREE

FINALLY on solid land, Rose simply lay there for several moments, too euphoric at being safe to even register the cold that every flutter of wind was driving deeper into her bones. Then, pulling her shaking knees up to her chest, she heaved herself into a sitting position, hugging her arms around her body.

The dark stranger was beside her. He had hunkered down to her level and was casually balancing on his heels with the inbred grace of a natural athlete.

‘Thank you so much; you saved my life.’

She found it slightly off-putting that there was not a flicker of expression in the spooky silver-grey eyes trained on her face.

‘I’m Rose, by the way, Mr …?’

Mathieu looked into the incredible amber eyes brimming with gratitude and innocent as a kitten, which could not be more different from the reckless, sexual challenge he recalled last seeing in those same eyes. If she intended to pretend they did not know one another it was nothing to him. He supposed it was just possible that she didn’t—his upper lip curled in fastidious contempt—she had been very drunk that night.

The win had clinched him the champion’s medal for the fourth year running. So for that reason alone the evening of the gala reception at the embassy would have lingered on in his memory, even if he hadn’t returned to his hotel room later that night to find a naked woman in his bed.

A woman who had smooth skin like cream, long hair the colour of pale caramel and golden eyes.

The golden eyes that were looking at him now.

‘Can you walk?’

She blinked at the abruptness of his question and the smile faded from her face. She was philosophical about the hostility in his manner. His life had just been put at risk because of her. He was bound not to look too kindly on the person responsible for his close encounter, although the level of cold disdain in his body language did seem excessive. He was looking at her as though she were something offensive on his shoe!

She attempted to struggle clumsily to her feet. ‘Of course.’

Mathieu, who had realised the moment he had formed the question that she could probably barely feel her limbs, never mind walk, ignored her optimistic assertion and bent to scoop her up. As he gathered her to him he was aware first of softness, then, before he had time to wonder at the heat that exploded inside him—cold, icy cold.

A glance revealed her skin had an unhealthy bluish tinge, which was hardly surprising considering what she had been through. He was well aware of the danger of hypothermia. It was imperative that she warmed up quickly.

‘I … what are you doing?’ Rose stuttered as she found herself slung unceremoniously over his shoulder.

‘Preventing you getting hypothermia. The Land Rover’s parked just up on the track,’ he explained, mentally assessing the time it would take him to reach it.

He didn’t say anything. Not another word until they reached the vehicle, which did not surprise her. What man could speak with an overweight—and that was dry—blonde over his shoulder? What did surprise her was that he could keep up a brisk running pace the entire way and still not be breathing very hard.

Pulling open the door, Mathieu dumped his shaking burden in the back seat before going around to the driver’s side and switching on the engine, sliding the thermostat on the heater to full.

‘Get the wet things off.’ He barely glanced in her direction before leaving the front of the Land Rover.

He returned a moment later carrying a metallic survival blanket and a heavy cable-knitted sweater, which he flung in the seat beside her. His dark brows drew into a straight line as he assessed her progress.

‘Did you not hear me? I said take those things off,’ he said, sliding into the driver’s seat and turning around.

Heater on full, the cab was hot, but Rose was still shaking. She actually couldn’t imagine ever stopping, ever being warm again. ‘Sorry. My fingers,’ she said, holding out the slim, pale tapering items under discussion apologetically; like the rest of her they were shaking. ‘I can’t f-feel them.’

His dark eyes slid from her face to her fingers. There was a tiny pause before he heaved a sigh that suggested exasperation. ‘Then I suppose I’ll have to do it for you.’

‘Do what?’ The dumb routine was a self-defence mechanism, because she knew if she let herself consider in any serious way what having this man remove her clothes, even in a totally clinical, I’m-saving-your-life sort of way, might feel like, she might do or say something terminally embarrassing.

There was a blast of cold air in response to her question, then another as the passenger door opened and he slid in beside her so close that their thighs touched and slammed the door shut.

The thigh beside her own had all the give of a steel bar. He was an extremely tall, athletically built man and pretty much all of him looked equally hard. He was the sort of man who could make an auditorium seem small!