LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      THERE WAS A moment of stillness, when time seemed to be suspended as Emily stared at Alej in astonishment. Her nails dug into the bed sheet. He had just asked her to marry him! The hunky Argentinian billionaire had just asked her to be his bride! And wasn’t it weird how easily the mind could distort reality and allow fantasy to take over for a few disbelieving seconds? Why else would a rush of joy have flooded through her body at the thought of being joined with the man she had once loved so fiercely? The man who could still make her feel more alive than anyone else. Who, even now, could take her into his arms and make her dissolve with longing.

      Until she reminded herself that this was no romantic moonlit proposal, inspired by his certainty that they were meant for each other and he couldn’t live without her. This was a cold and calculated public-relations exercise. A marriage made not in heaven, but within the scribbled pages of a moleskin notebook—by her!

      She prayed that she’d managed to hide her initial delight because if Alej had any idea how much the idea had thrilled her, it would put her in a poor bargaining position. But she didn’t have to bargain with him, she reminded herself. She was a free agent. An employee. And yes, she’d just had sex with him, but so what? She certainly didn’t have to marry him.

      ‘Is that a joke?’ she questioned as coolly as she could, though her heart was still crashing against her ribcage and she found herself wondering if he’d be able to notice its thundering movement beneath her vest.

      ‘You know it isn’t.’

      She stared up at him—sprawled there unashamedly, his naked olive body outlined against the white covers. His eyes were bright, his jaw much darker than usual, and he exuded the air of a man who was physically satisfied. He looked utterly delectable and completely sexy—but she wasn’t going to think about that. She couldn’t afford to. ‘You must realise that I can’t possibly marry you, Alej.’

      ‘Why not?’ he said.

      ‘Because...because it’s a crazy idea.’ She shook her head, trying to inject some conviction into her voice as she found herself fantasising about a big white dress and a bunch of scented flowers the size of a rugby ball. What was the matter with her? She got up off the bed, mainly to protect herself from the allure of his proximity. ‘Crazy,’ she repeated.

      Outside, the moon was gleaming silver over the Melbourne skyscrapers and the sense that she was living in some strange kind of parallel universe descended on her again. As if she would ever take part in a marriage of convenience to a man she’d once been in love with! Wouldn’t that be like playing a kind of high-stakes emotional Russian roulette, with her the guaranteed loser?

      She drank some more water and then walked over to the window, still trying to get her head around what had happened. The sex had been amazing, but something had been missing during that erotic encounter which had definitely been there before. Something in him. It had taken a while for her to work out what it was, and the answer had arrived in a heart-sinking moment of understanding. Because he hadn’t been like the loving and tender Alej of old. He had been like a machine, not a man. A warm, breathing machine who could bestow inordinate amounts of pleasure—but a machine nonetheless.

      And she was most definitely not a machine. She had never felt so vibrantly and deliciously alive and the reason for that was because Alej had awoken something in her. Something which thrilled her because she’d thought she’d lost it for ever—the ability to feel emotional intensity and physical pleasure. But her reaction scared her, too. Because wasn’t it dangerous to feel those things, when the man involved had a heart of ice?

      ‘Before you give me all the reasons why you shouldn’t,’ he said, ‘let me list some of the reasons why you should.’

      She sank down into a cross-legged position on a white leather window seat and stared at him. ‘Go ahead.’

      ‘I will pay you a lot of money to be my wife,’ he said tonelessly. ‘For a limited period, of course.’

      ‘Of course you will, Alej. You’re a very rich man.’

      She could see in his green eyes a flicker of scorn, and his lips twisted as he spoke.

      ‘Don’t tell me the thought of a seven-figure sum doesn’t turn you on, Emily?’

      It was a vulgar statement, which made her wonder what kind of circles he’d been mixing in. The same kind as her mother, probably, she reflected painfully. The ones where women made no secret of adoring diamonds and fast cars and luxury yachts anchored in city harbours. Did he think she was cut from the same cloth as the woman who had birthed her? ‘Money often creates more problems than it solves,’ she suggested.

      ‘An admirable sentiment. Though one I find difficult to believe and only ever expressed by people who don’t have any.’ He paused, his green eyes glinting. ‘If the money offends you, then give it to charity—nobody is stopping you from being altruistic. Think about it, Emily,’ he urged silkily.

      So she did. She thought about being able to help Great-Aunt Jane. To really help the woman who had sacrificed so much for Emily’s mother and been given barely a word of thanks in return. The last time her mother had entered rehab to try to conquer her tranquilliser addiction, it had been Emily’s great-aunt who had somehow managed to scrabble together enough money to pick up the bill. At the time it had been doable—just—because Jane had been working as a legal secretary, but now she was existing on a tiny pension and getting frailer by the day. Wouldn’t it be great to free her from the worry of future medical bills incurred by the inevitability of aging? To not just present her with a one-off cheque, but enough money to look after her for the rest of her days.

      Emily bit her lip as she thought about being able to take a proper holiday herself—her first in years, because she’d been ploughing all her time and any spare money into the business. She could wear a floppy hat and sarong and finally get to read the stack of books stashed away by her bed back home. There would probably even be enough to pay off some of her mortgage. Wouldn’t it be good to cut herself a bit of slack for once?

      But none of these considerations addressed the way she felt about Alej, because she recognised that marriage would be a velvet-lined trap, which would pose all kinds of hidden dangers. She’d just had sex with him and she couldn’t seem to control her reaction whenever he laid a finger on her. So what if her feelings for him intensified? What if she found herself falling in love with him all over again? She couldn’t do it. For sanity’s sake, she must refuse.

      ‘No, Alej.’

      He gave a slow smile. ‘Before you give me your final answer, perhaps it is time for me to be blunt—as you English sometimes say.’

      ‘That remark is usually the forerunner to some kind of insult.’

      ‘Or a home truth, perhaps?’ He ran a lazy finger reflectively along the sensual outline of his lips. ‘You are—how old, now?’

      She wanted to tell him that he knew exactly how old she was, but maybe he didn’t. Maybe she was crediting herself with more importance in his memory than she really had and he’d simply forgotten. ‘Twenty-six.’ His eyes were boring into her. Was it that which made her elaborate, like a child trying to make themselves seem more mature? ‘Nearly twenty-seven, actually.’

      He nodded. ‘And there has been no engagement? No close brushes with

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