Dani Collins - Modern Romance March 2019 5-8

‘As for the financial problems resolving—’

‘She doesn’t know... Nobody—’ Her long lashes lifted and he was on the receiving end of the full resentful glare of her cerulean-blue eyes. ‘I thought nobody knew.’

‘It never crossed your mind to ask for help?’ Stupid question, he realised—she was too stubborn and independent to ask for a sticking plaster if she was bleeding out! ‘Has anyone ever mentioned the downsides of sticking your head in the sand?’

The sarcasm brought an angry flush to her cheeks. ‘If I did go along with this, this... arrangement ...’ not a bad word for insanity ‘... I’d need some guarantees,’ she said, resisting the feeling that she was just being swept along.

He arched a sable brow. ‘Such as?’

‘I will need my own...space.’

His mouth quirked. ‘ Space is not a problem, but you’re not talking about space, are you, cara ?’ he drawled, his smile deepening as she flushed like some sort of virgin. ‘You’re talking about beds. You will have your own private suite, and rest assured I never enter a lady’s room without an invitation.’

There would be no shortage of those coming his way, she thought with a scowl. ‘Like a vampire.’ There was nothing even vaguely undead about his vibrant colouring. Flora found the vitality he oozed exhausting at close quarters.

‘A creature of the night, hmm?’ he drawled, rubbing his chin. ‘I’ve been called worse.’

‘Of that,’ she retorted tartly, ‘I have no doubt.’

‘So, any other demands?’

‘I’d say common courtesy but I’m a realist.’

His deep, warm, appreciative chuckle tickled her nerve endings in a not entirely unpleasant way.

‘So when I decide to return home there will be no attempt to prevent me... and Jamie.’

‘ Your decision every step of the way.’

She frowned, for some reason worried about how easy he was making this. ‘I suppose...’

‘So that’s a yes, then, you agree.’

‘But how—?’

His voice, implacably cool, cut across her protests. ‘Agree or not? Leave the how to me.’

‘I agree,’ she said, turning a deaf ear to the voice in her head that said she had just signed away her soul for security.

IF HE HAD shown any hint of smug complacency she would, Flora decided, have slapped him.

But he didn’t. There was zero reaction on his lean, dark face as, without missing a beat, he angled a speculative brow and said, ‘How does forty-eight hours sound?’

Her hands, which had been clenched into fists, relaxed but she was mystified by his question. ‘Sound for what?’

He gave a sardonic smile. ‘To organise things this end.’

Her eyes flew wide, her lashes fluttering like trapped butterflies against her cheek. ‘So soon? But I thought that...’

‘I’d give you time to change your mind?’

Her lips tightened. ‘I agreed!’

‘And your word is your bond. Good to know. However, the situation is somewhat urgent. Salvatore is dying.’

The obvious response to this reminder was—when?

He couldn’t see the thought but he could see the guilt that followed in its wake move across her transparent face.

This was a woman who should never play poker.

Her being too nice to press the issue worked well for him because the truth was he didn’t know. The truth was Ivo would be more shocked to learn that his grandfather was really dying than if it turned out to be another of his imaginative manipulations.

His factory setting was extreme scepticism where Salvatore was concerned, but he would deal with any surprises once he got Flora and Jamie to Italy.

‘Look, I’ve got some things to keep me busy in London—you just organise you and the baby and I’ll be back for you.’

He made it sound ludicrously simple, as if you could just walk away from your life and it would be waiting for you when you returned. ‘But this place.’ With a shake of her head she looked around the room. ‘The bookings We have an arrangement with local artists and artisans...’

‘Yes, I’d noticed. Good marketing. Symbiotic. I’ll buy everything—how will that work?’

She blinked at the casual way he said it. ‘That sculpture over there.’ She nodded towards the window embrasure where a stone carved otter stood.

He nodded. ‘Nice.’

‘And expensive. Neil has five more works displayed around the place.’ The local sculptor had some of his larger pieces of work displayed in government buildings.

‘It looks good there.’

‘So is that your plan? If there’s a problem throw money at it.’

‘Do you have a problem with that?’

She lowered her eyes, knowing that if she said yes she could be accused of hypocrisy—after all, she wasn’t complaining about the money he was throwing at her.

‘Just so long as you know.’

‘Fine, then just email me the details and I’ll arrange refunds and throw in an expenses-paid break later in the year. I can’t see many people complaining.’

He was knocking down her objections like skittles before she even had a chance to line them up. Before she had a chance to think through the implications of what desperation had led her to so recklessly agree to.

The desperation hadn’t gone away, she reminded herself.

Could he genuinely not see problems or was he just ignoring them? she wondered, her frustration growing at his leave-it-to-me attitude. She didn’t like leaving it to anyone. Flora took responsibility for her own decisions. ‘But how are we going to explain closing?’

His broad shoulders lifted in a negligent elegant shrug. ‘A full refurbishment?’

‘We don’t need refurbishing!’ she protested indignantly.

‘I’ll think of something, don’t worry.’

She bridled at the verbal-pat-on-the-head attitude; she could almost see him moving on in his head. Well, no one could accuse him of letting the grass grow, that was for sure!

‘Right, I’ll be back Friday.’ Moving towards the door, he turned back. ‘I almost forgot.’

He strode back towards her. Unprepared for the action, she didn’t resist, and he caught her wrist, turned her hand over and one by one curled her clenched fingers open to reveal her palm.

Flora was conscious of a strange, breathless sensation as she looked at his brown fingers against her own. The breath caught in her chest escaped in a long, slow, sibilant breath when he tipped up a velvet pouch and a ring landed in her palm.

Her eyes lifted to the lean dark face of the man bent over her hand. ‘What’s that?’ she asked, her voice a throaty whisper.

It invited a sarcastic comeback but he didn’t accept the invitation.

Ivo took hold of the ring and slid it onto her extended finger. ‘Believe you me, cara , this is something I never thought I’d be doing.’ Never wanted to, and yet even though his feelings were not involved, the symbolism—yes, it had to be the symbolism—made things shift inside him. ‘I suppose I should be looking to you for guidance?’ Why should the thought of another man putting a ring on this finger make him feel so...? Not jealous, that would have been absurd, but he just felt angry because she hadn’t seen her ex for the loser he clearly was.

She stared from the finger that held a gleaming diamond to Ivo’s face for a moment and back; her confusion was not feigned. For a moment she had no idea what he was talking about and then she realised... Callum!

She clenched her fingers and pulled her hand back. The ring glittered against her skin.

It wasn’t as if she had forgotten, or the moment hadn’t seemed special at the time, but quite crazily she remembered nothing approaching this heart-pounding shock, even though Callum had proposed prettily.