She was falling in love with him, Eva realised, hugging herself as she leaned her head against the bathroom door. There would be no one after Roman Quisvada. How could there be? But love was out of the question; he’d always made that clear. Roman had never once allowed her to think that there was anything in his heart for anyone. He approached sex like food and ate when he was hungry. She knew the deal.
Closing her eyes, she allowed herself a few self-indulgent seconds of self-pity before reminding herself that she had come here for a purpose, and that her goal was still in sight. Hadn’t Roman said they were going somewhere tomorrow that would fill in the gaps for her, and that it had everything to do with the mine? She should thank him for bringing this farce to an end. He had forced her to refocus on the only thing that mattered, and that was Skavanga.
So why did she feel so empty?
Because now she knew that Roman was so much more than she had imagined. She had fallen in love with a fantasy hero, but Roman Quisvada was all too real.
She ran a bath and still he was in her head—and it had nothing to do with his incredible body, or the force field of sex that swirled around him. Or even the humour in his eyes. It was the man. Stripped of his wealth and his obvious attractions, Roman was special, while she was too shy, too awkward, too inexperienced, to have a hope of holding his attention. He made her see things differently. He made her want to rush home and hug her sisters, and tell them they must never fall out again—that she must never fall out with them again. He made her see that sometimes it was better to hold back and think things through before rushing off in her usual headstrong way. But she wasn’t the only one with secrets. Roman had his share. She wanted to know him better. She wanted to know his secrets...
She thought about Roman for so long the water grew chilly. Was there a chance he would come to her tonight?
There was always a chance...
There were no sounds in the big house when she padded barefoot into the bedroom. It was so romantic with moonlight streaming into the room and across the covers on the bed. And it was all wasted on her. Awkward Eva had done it again. Drawing the toweling robe a little closer, she firmed her jaw. Tomorrow was another day. And Roman had promised they would talk. Look at it that way, and it was mission accomplished.
But then she would go home and nothing would change, and the idea of becoming an increasingly embittered old shrew held scant appeal.
It didn’t have to be this way.
Padding over to the main door, she opened it a crack, and then a little bit more. It wasn’t exactly an invitation. It could even be taken for a door left open by mistake. But if Roman should happen to notice, and came in...
Was that likely?
Throwing back the covers, she climbed in between the cool sheets and stretched out. Closing her eyes, she steadied her breathing. She lay tensely listening for what felt like hours. Once she even heard a door open, but it was somewhere far away and soon closed again. After that, silence mocked her, and, defeated, she fell back on the pillows. Roman had no intention of visiting her tonight—or any other night—and she was a fool to think he might.
She tossed and turned throughout the endless night, searching for sleep and finding very little, so that by the time she woke it was with surprise that she had slept at all. There wasn’t even time for breakfast—just a quick shower. She made it down into the hall at the same moment that Roman powered through the door.
‘Ready?’ he said, already turning to go.
It took her a moment to reply. She was still reeling from the slam into her senses of seeing him again. ‘Where are we going?’
‘To open your mind, Signorina Skavanga.’
‘That sounds interesting.’ And if she didn’t rush he’d be gone.
They were together again. She couldn’t help a little inward jig, because right now that was enough.
Striding at speed down the path that led through the gardens, Roman took her through a rose arbour, which was a miracle in itself in such a hot climate, and then on across to a perfectly manicured lawn where sprinklers were on active duty. The tall, arching spray glittered a frame around the outline of a sleek white helicopter. The helicopter was empty. So Roman must be the pilot. Of course he was.
‘Duck your head,’ he warned as they approached the long blades. Opening the door, he gestured for her to get in. Once she was settled, he passed her a set of headphones. ‘Put these on. I’ll help you strap in.’
She braced herself for the moment when his hands brushed her body. It was important that she behaved as if nothing had happened between them—as if he hadn’t seen her naked—as if he hadn’t taken her to the door of paradise and slammed it in her face.