Rose blushed. “Yeah,” she muttered. “Funny, huh?”
“I guess it’s all right to tell you now that I never liked Lars, Rose.”
“You didn’t like him?” Rose said in surprise. “You never said so.”
Her mother shrugged. “What business is it of mine whom you choose to love? But I always hoped when you finally settled down,” she said wistfully, “you would bring home a man who’s just regular folk, like us.” She paused. “A man like the one who’s sleeping right now in Tom’s room down the hall.”
Rose nearly snorted peppermint tea out of her nose hearing Xerxes Novros, the international Greek millionaire, described by her mother as regular folk.
“Anyway, thank heaven your gran is better.” Her mother rose from the bed with a tender smile. “And you’re home. Everything is all right now.” She paused at the door, her hands on her hips as she swiveled around, her eyes narrowed. “But I meant what I said, Rosie. No funny business in our house.”
“All right, Mom,” Rose said, rolling her eyes. But she could see why her mother had felt the need to repeat the warning. As she walked down the hall later to brush her teeth, her feet slowed down of their own accord as she passed by her brother’s old room where Xerxes slept.
She loved him. Why hadn’t she told him when she had the chance? Why couldn’t she be brave enough to tell him now?
After washing her face and brushing her teeth in the bathroom, she paused again at his closed door as she returned down the hall. Raising her hand to knock, she hesitated. Then with a deep breath, she rapped softly.
There was no answer.
She exhaled. He must be asleep already. She sighed, filled with a jumble of nerves and disappointment.
Tomorrow, Rose vowed to herself. She would tell him that she loved him before they reached Las Vegas. Tomorrow, before he traded her for Laetitia and her chance was lost forever.
She’d already experienced so many miracles in her life. The miracle of a good family. Of a home. Of a grandmother who was steadily getting better.
Having Xerxes love her back would be too much to ask. But tomorrow, Rose would take her courage in her hands and do it.
Xerxes heard a soft knock on his door.
Rose. She’d come to him, in spite of her mother’s warning. With an intake of breath, he hurried from the bed and reached for the door.
Then he stopped. He knew what would happen if he invited her into the bedroom. He knew. Making love to Rose was all he could think about. Especially here, where there was so much love everywhere. He felt awash in it. Enveloped in love. And he knew it wasn’t just the house.
It was Rose. She loved him.
She hadn’t spoken the words. But he’d been able to see it on her beautiful face. She’d never learned to lie. Her expressive eyes were an open book for him to read.
She’d seen him at his worst, she knew what he’d done, and yet she loved him. How was it possible?
Clenching his hands into fists, Xerxes took a deep breath. He heard her waiting on the other side of the door, waiting for him to open it and let her in. It was like agony, knowing she was there and still doing nothing. Finally, he heard her give up and her footsteps disappear down the hall.
He exhaled. Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the door.
He wanted her. Now more than ever.
But it was more than that. It had become far more than lust. More then admiration. More even than respect.
She was the most loving woman he’d ever met. Honest. Sweet. Kind. Brave. She was the kind of woman who could make any man—even him—become decent and true, just by the effect of her presence. He loved her.
His body straightened, his eyes opened, wide with shock.
He was in love with her.
Xerxes, a man who had nothing in this world but money and power—nothing of value—had fallen in love with a woman who made everything glorious and new. The most precious, adorable, passionate woman in the world.
He wasn’t remotely worthy of her. And yet he ached to be. He ached to take her in his arms, to tell her he loved her, to make her his wife and treasure her forever. Eagerly, he grabbed the door handle.
Then he froze.