Her expression shadowed. This time yesterday she had thought it would be through her father that she would experience her Greek heritage. Now it might be through Xandros.
And would that be unwelcome?
The answer was there as soon as she asked the question. Of course not! How could it be?
She knew now that he was far kinder than she’d originally thought him, and angered on her behalf by her father’s callousness. That must surely warm her towards him. Plus, she knew simply from the time she’d spent with him so far that he was easy to be with, interesting to talk to, good-humoured and well informed—without being in the least patronising about her lack of knowledge in things he took for granted thanks to his privileged background.
And then, of course, there was the most obvious, inescapable fact of all about how it would be if she accepted the extraordinary proposal he’d made to her.
The fact that a single glance from those incredible, dark, gold-flecked, long-lashed eyes of his could make her pulse race in ways she had never known... The fact that she just wanted to gaze and gaze at his absolute male perfection...drink in everything about him...
And how could she not be smitten with her limited experience? It had always been difficult, even impossible, looking after her poor, frail mother as she had, to have any kind of social life...any kind of romance... How could anyone compare with Xandros?
From the very first she had acknowledged his searing impact on her. How could it be otherwise? He was the stuff of dreams, of fantasies... But could she—would she—make them real?
And would he?
If she were really to go ahead and marry him, then what would he expect? Or want...? What would she want?
Even as she formed the questions the answers were there, in the quickening of her blood as she replayed, yet again, the soft, sensuous touch of his mouth on hers. It had engendered within her an ache, a yearning for something more... Oh, so much more!
The phone beside her bed started to ring, interrupting her hectic thoughts. She picked it up. It was Xandros.
‘Hi,’ he said.
His voice was warm and friendly. And good to hear.
‘Have you had breakfast yet? If not, how about brunch by the hotel pool? In half an hour?’
‘So...’ Xandros eyed her carefully as they sat at a table in the poolside bistro. ‘Do you think you’ve reached a decision yet?’
He didn’t want to pressurise her, but...
I want her to say yes.
Watching her, he was glad he was wearing sunglasses, for it gave him the opportunity to study her without her being aware of it. He was even more sure of what he wanted. He hadn’t seen her yet in leisurewear, and now that he was it was every bit as rewarding as seeing her in more formal daywear and evening wear.
The short, above-the-knee sundress in a swirling pattern of yellow and blue, its halter neck exposing her graceful shoulders, looked good on her. More than good. Her hair was not upswept this morning, but pulled back into a simple ponytail, and the long, lush sweep of it curved over her bare shoulder. She was wearing make-up, but minimal—just mascara, a trace of eyeliner and lip gloss. She looked fresh, natural...and breathtakingly lovely.
His mind went back to the way she’d looked that first day—with dirt smeared on her face and hollows under her eyes, fatigue in every line of her body.
Never again—never!
She hadn’t answered him and he stilled, watching her. He could see the expressions moving in her eyes, her lips pressing together as if she were nerving herself to speak. He saw her swallow.
‘Do you still want to go ahead?’ she asked. Her voice was low—diffident, even.
‘If you’re asking if I’ve changed my mind, the answer is no,’ Xandros said firmly. He paused, then said what he thought she needed to hear right now, softening his voice, seeking to reassure her. ‘It will work out. I promise you. You won’t regret it. I’ll make sure of that.’
He gave a wry, quirking smile, wondering off-hand how many other women of his acquaintance would have been so hesitant about accepting an invitation to marry him...
Then he sobered. Yes, well...Rosalie’s half-sister hadn’t been that keen, had she?
Even thinking about Ariadne made him feel all over again that underlying sense of relief he’d experienced when he’d read her text. His eyes rested now on her half-sister. He wondered how he could ever have truly imagined himself capable of marrying Ariadne...
She was beautiful, yes, but never—not once—had he felt that low purring desire go through him the way it was doing now, yet again, as he sat eating brunch with Rosalie.
She was who he desired... And if she said yes now—as he hoped beyond hope she was about to do—then his desire would be richly fulfilled...
He let his gaze continue to rest on her, waiting to see what she would say. ‘Do you need more time?’ he asked, searching her face.
She gave a quick shake of her head. ‘No—no, that wouldn’t help. I...I’ve thought it all through. I can’t really think more than I’ve thought already.’
Was there a slight flush to her cheeks as she spoke? A momentary dip in her gaze? His eyes stayed on her. He was waiting for her next words. Urging her to say them, and for them to be the ones he wanted to hear.
‘So?’ he prompted.
He felt the world was holding its breath. He was holding his breath. He saw her swallow again, inhale. Lift her chin. Look right at him. Give him a quick, decisive nod.
‘Let’s do it!’ she said.
The words rushed from her, as if she might suddenly change her mind. But he would give her no chance to do so—none.
He reached for her hand, took it in his. Held it fast. ‘Good call,’ he said.
Satisfaction rushed through him, his mood soaring. And why should it not? He was getting what he wanted—everything he wanted! She was his. Life had never seemed better, nor the bright sun brighter.
He couldn’t wait to make her his wife...
‘Do you like it?’ Xandros’s voice was enquiring.
Rosalie stared at the ring on her finger, glittering with diamonds.
Was this real? Had she really said yes to the idea Alexandros Lakaris had put to her less than twenty-four hours ago?
Should I have taken more time to give him my answer?
But she’d thought it through, and through, and through. Either she said yes or she went back to her grim, bleak, poverty-stricken life in the East End of London. And she couldn’t face that—not now! Not when she’d had a glimpse of escape from it, a taste of what luxury felt like. It might be venal to look at it like that, but that was easy to say if you were rich...