The Demetrios Bridal Bargain (17 page)

‘That,' he mused half to himself, ‘is something you do not share…'

He was running the tip of his forefinger very gently across the curve of her upper lip and it was actually quite hard to respond at all, but she managed a husky, ‘What is?' before her eyes closed, and a deep sigh shuddered through her body.

But pretending that she wasn't wildly attracted in a fatal moth-to-a-flame sort of way had never been a serious option. And Mathieu knew exactly what effect he had on her. But had he realised yet that she was in love with him?

She gave a fatalistic sigh. If he hadn't it was only a matter of time.

‘An ego.'

‘What?' she asked, confused.

‘Your sister appears to think that she is irresistible to men.'

It was news to Rose that she wasn't.

‘You, on the other hand…' He shook his head slowly, his voice fading as he continued to study her face with an intensity that bordered on compulsion.

Slowly a smile so incredibly tender that it made her heart skip several beats spread across his face, softening the hard contours and bringing a glowing warmth Rose had never seen before to the mirrored surface of his spectacular eyes.

‘What about me?' she whispered. It could do no harm to listen if she didn't lose sight of the fact none of this was true. Mathieu's objective was laying claim to his child and making sure history did not repeat itself.

‘You,
mon coeur
,' he observed with a husky catch in his voice, ‘appear not to have the faintest idea of the effect you have on men.'

It wasn't the effect she had on men that Rose was concerned about—just one man. As her eyes lingered with a mixture of fascination and longing on the familiar stark purity of a face that would have made a sculptor's fingers tingle a tiny sigh bubbled past her clenched teeth—he was nothing less than beautiful. The sort of beauty that made a person's heart ache.

Her hand went to her stomach. Would their baby inherit his stunning looks?

‘Look, you don't have to say these things.' She actually didn't need to be reminded of what she was missing. ‘I'm fine with the fact that Rebecca is the sexy one and, for the record and just to save time, energy and your inventive powers, I wouldn't dream of trying to cut you out of the baby's life.'

The corners of his mouth lifted in a smile that left his grey eyes hard. ‘I'd like to see you try.'

Rose flung up her hands and, grabbing hold of the billowing skirt of her gown, stood up. ‘Oh, for pity's sake, I try to be nice. Offer you an olive branch and what do I get? Bloody-minded macho belligerence. Why does everything always have to be a fight with you?' she asked wearily.

‘You expect me not to challenge you when you say stupid things?'

‘I mean it,' she protested as he dragged a frustrated hand through his hair. ‘I'm not trying to cut you out. You can be as much a part of—'

‘Who told you that Rebecca is the sexy one?'

‘I thought you were here because of the baby. You seem more interested in Rebecca.'

‘I am here because of the baby…but mostly I'm here because I can't…' He stopped dead and searched her face. ‘My God, you're jealous.'

‘It's your fault,' she wailed. ‘I never have been jealous of Rebecca before and, God knows, I've had enough cause. I've been fine with it, her being the sexy one.'

‘You're talking rubbish and you know it.'

Rose's jaw tightened. ‘What would you know? You're not a twin. You think because we're identical, give or take the odd fifteen pounds, that if one is sexy so is the other. Sexiness isn't just about looks…though it doesn't do any harm if you are a size eight.' In another century her curves might have given her the edge, but not in an era when you were judged on the smallness of your jean size.

He heard her out but his impatience was obvious. ‘Have you finished? Is this the end of the lecture? You think I don't know these things are more than skin-deep?'

Rose swallowed. She had asked for honesty so it wasn't really logical to feel hurt when she got it.

‘I'm sure your sister is a perfectly nice woman, but even if she put on enough flesh to lose that androgynous look the entire mood of my day would not be changed for the better by hearing her voice.'

Rose's jaw dropped. ‘But Rebecca has the perfect figure.'

‘No,' he contradicted firmly, ‘you have the perfect figure.' His lips lifted into a smile of satisfaction as his eyes slid over her voluptuous curves. ‘But we have a good deal of time to address your body issues.'

‘I don't have body issues.' Her protest was automatic but not firm as she read the need in his taut expression. ‘I'm just realistic.' If only that were true, she thought sombrely. She only had to catch a glimpse of him looking like all her romantic fantasies made flesh, and pretty perfect flesh too, and realism and practicality flew out the window.

He gave an expressive and very Gallic shrug. ‘What reason would I have to lie, Rose? You have already said you will give me what you think I am here to claim.'

‘Are you're saying you're
not
here because of the baby?' She was unable to keep the quavering note of hurt out of her voice as she added, ‘If that were so, Mathieu, why did you wait ten weeks?' Ten weeks when she had waited and hoped, then finally faced reality. He wasn't coming.

‘The baby is part of the reason I came, certainly,' he agreed quietly. ‘But not the whole.' He passed a hand across his eyes and sighed, knowing too well how it looked. ‘And I had every intention of following you the very next day, but…'

Her face stiffened as his eyes slid from hers. Clearly he couldn't look her in the eyes when he lied. ‘Something else came up?' she suggested.

‘In a manner of speaking, yes, it did. About eight years ago I had an accident.' His head lifted and he smiled bleakly. ‘An occupational hazard.'

Rose did not smile back. The idea of Mathieu risking his life on a race track was not one that made her feel like smiling. It made her sensitive stomach muscles clench.

‘I came out of it fairly unscathed. Abrasions, a few cracked ribs and—' he gestured vaguely towards his back ‘—a compression fracture of my thoracic spine.' He saw her eyes fly wide in alarm and added quickly, ‘It was asymptomatic, no treatment required, it healed, was considered stable, and that was that.'

Rose, her heart thudding with dread, swallowed. ‘And something changed?'

‘I had some pain.' A man expected pain when he had slammed his fist repeatedly into a stone wall to vent his frustration because he'd let the woman he loved leave without a fight. ‘I didn't think much of it, then, when I was on the helicopter the next day following you—'

‘You followed me?' she said wonderingly.

‘I'm stupid enough to let you go, but not
that
stupid. Of course I followed you,
mon coeur
. Only problem was by the time I reached Athens I had a slight numbness in my hand.'

She watched, horror spreading over her like an invisible freezing veil as he flexed his right hand.

‘It actually got worse, quite quickly.' Nothing in his tone hinted at the terror and revulsion he had felt when the healthy body he took for granted had failed him and he had been forced to recognise the possibility it would remain that way. ‘It turned out that the fracture had moved and was compressing some nerves.'

When he had told the doctors he couldn't have surgery yet because he had things to do they had informed him bluntly that delay could result in the damage being permanent.

‘The best surgeon and rehabilitation was in New York, and I'm a Demetrios,' he reminded her with a self-disparaging grin. ‘We always have the best.'

‘You were in hospital?' How could he sound so casual? Rose felt emotionally numb as she struggled to get her head around what he was saying. As she stared she began to notice for the first time details that she had missed in the initial shock of seeing him.

Mathieu had always come across as a man with limitless reserves of energy; his dynamism was one of the things she had first noticed about him. Once she had moved beyond the sinfully sexy body and fallen angel face. The vitality he projected was almost combustible and if asked before that moment she would have confidently predicted that his reserves were limitless.

Looking at him now suggested her confidence had been misplaced; if he had been anyone else she would have said he was surviving on caffeine and adrenaline.

Normally immaculately groomed, he looked as if he hadn't shaved in a couple of days and there were crescent-moon-shaped shadows she had never seen before under his deep-set eyes that emphasised their extraordinary colour and made them look, if it were possible, even more striking

The strong, elegantly sculpted bones of his narrow oval face had acquired a sharper edge, giving his cheekbones a knifelike prominence. Her concern grew as she saw that the skin stretched over the dramatic dips and hollows had a greyish tinge normally associated with extreme exhaustion and stress or illness.

He'd been ill, seriously ill, and she hadn't been there for him.

‘For a while,' he agreed, nodding. ‘I was honoured Andreos came to visit, though he spent most of the time telling me that it is my fault that Sacha has accepted a place at the Sorbonne because I broke her heart.' At least one thing he had done had gone according to plan.

She hardly heard him, her head was buzzing. ‘You were in hospital and I didn't know? You didn't tell me?' Her voice rose a shrill decibel with each disbelieving addition before falling to a husky sob as she added, ‘And you have the nerve to say I mean something to you.'

‘Tell you?' He pushed a hand through his dark hair. ‘How could I tell you? So the guy does the operation a dozen times a week, it's a walk in the park for him. There was still no guarantee it would work, I could have been left a cripple.' His lean face spasmed as his molten-silver gaze raked her face. ‘How could I ask you to take me like that, Rose?'

‘How can you say that? I wouldn't…how can you think for a second it would make any difference to how I feel?' she protested furiously.

His chin lifted. ‘I did not want your pity.'

Rose snorted. ‘Pity,' she echoed. ‘I could kill you for doing that alone.' A deep sob suddenly welled up from deep inside her and emerged as a shocking whimper of distress. ‘How could you think it would matter to me, Mathieu?'

‘It would matter to me. I want to be a whole man for you.' With a groan Mathieu took her face between his hands. ‘Please don't cry,' he begged. ‘Smile. I've been dreaming about your smile all these weeks. A day that passes not seeing you smile makes me feel cheated, Rose.'

Her cheeks wet with tears, her heart so full she could hardly breathe Rose reached out blindly to steady herself before she found support. His warm fingers closed over hers and she found her hand placed and held firm against his chest.

Outside the door there was the noise of a bleeper shrilling and the sound of running feet, but the din did not register with Rose. ‘You like my smile?'

‘Like is not quite the right word…'

She swallowed, still not quite daring to believe what she was seeing stamped into those sternly beautiful features, but wanting more than anything to allow herself to.

‘I used to think my life was stimulating and productive.' A fleeting self-derisive smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he contemplated his naïvety. ‘I used to think that needing someone was a weakness, now I realise that the reverse is true. It requires strength, and also admittedly a little insanity, to care for someone, to put into their hands the power to hurt or heal.' While he spoke he took Rose's hand in his and unfurled each finger like the petals of a flower. ‘Such a pretty hand too,' he murmured, lifting her hand to his mouth and brushing her palm with his lips, all the time holding her eyes with his.

Rose's eyes filled with emotional tears as she blinked up at him. ‘Needing someone…
me
…?'

‘You are infuriating and ridiculously stubborn and also totally adorable. I have known I loved you almost from the start. I was just too afraid to admit it to myself.'

Mathieu was saying things she had never expected to hear him say outside her dreams, but she felt strangely dispassionate. Her clinical detachment wavered under the hungry, searching scrutiny of his narrowed eyes.

‘You are still wary of my motives.'

‘I don't want to be,' she admitted.

He ran a finger down the furrow between her feathery brows and nodded. ‘Before I met you I was arrogant enough to imagine that a man had a choice about who he loved.'

‘So you love me against your better judgement?' More than you expected, Rose, she reminded herself, but not enough even had she been inclined to take what he said at face value. ‘Because I don't fit into your life.'