‘You have nothing to fear. This arrangement is strictly business. The bride and groom both come from religious families and will put us in separate rooms for the sake of appearances.’
After a terrible night when his brain had refused to shut down, even after he’d thrown the best part of a bottle of bourbon down his neck to assist it, he’d come to the conclusion that this deal had to be platonic. In any other circumstance he would go all-out to seduce Aislin but seduction would add too many complications. He needed to keep his head focused on salvaging the business deal, and that was before he added the small detail of Aislin being the sister of his father’s secret love-child.
If he didn’t believe she was the perfect woman to make Riccardo D’Amore believe him to be a changed man he would have called the whole thing off. But she was perfect. Not only was she not of their world but she had a working brain in her beautiful head and a firm commitment to family Riccardo would adore.
All Dante had to do was keep his hands off her, which he had a great feeling would be easier said than done.
Promises made in the twilight hours were much harder to keep in daylight when her scent coiled around his senses. In the daylight, Aislin was more than beautiful, her beauty enhanced now her hair was dry and its vibrant colour there for him to glory in, a deep russet that reminded him of fallen autumn leaves. It made him think of a fox, which he thought an apt word to describe her. She’d stolen into his cottage like a fox. An exquisite fox.
Today she’d dressed in black leggings, an oversized khaki jumper fraying on the left sleeve and scuffed black ankle boots. These were clothes designed for comfort, obviously old and worn, yet he found them as sexy as if she were wearing a tight cocktail dress with all her currently hidden cleavage on show.
She rubbed her hands over her arms, inadvertently pushing against those same breasts he’d just been imagining. ‘As long as we’re clear on things being platonic then that’s grand.’
‘Is there anything else you want to bring up? Because we need to get going.’
Those strange eyes were back on him again, penetrating like lasers. It was the strangest of feelings; unnerving yet weirdly erotic. ‘I want half the money now.’
‘No.’
‘I need a guarantee. A form of surety. I don’t want to spend a weekend pretending to like you only to have you then refuse to hand the money over.’
‘You don’t like me?’
‘How do I know if I like you? I don’t know you, certainly not well enough to trust you.’
Her lack of sycophancy was refreshing. She was direct, her mouth as unfiltered as her inherent sexiness. ‘Ten thousand.’
‘That’s peanuts.’
‘How much money do you have in your bank account?’
‘The dust of a bag of peanuts.’
He bit back a laugh at her phrasing and spread his hands in a ‘there you are’ gesture.
She fixed
him with a stare that made him think she would make an excellent teacher. It was a look that would shut a classroom full of screaming kids up.
He shook his head and gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Va bene. I can be reasonable. Fifty thousand up front, in cash or transferred into a bank account of your choice, the remainder on Sunday evening. Deal?’
Her exquisitely beautiful face took on the expression of someone sucking an extra-sour lemon. Then she jerked her head into a nod. ‘Yes. Deal.’
He rubbed his hands together and got to his feet. ‘Eccellente. Let’s get going.’
‘Transfer the money and then we can go.’
‘You don’t want it in cash?’
‘I’d prefer it transferred.’
He sighed and pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket. ‘Name of the account?’
‘Miss Orla O’Reilly.’
He looked up briefly with a frown. ‘You don’t want it in your own account?’
‘The money’s not for me. It’s for our sister and nephew. Orla’s skint and the money you’re going to give her once you’ve had the DNA test could take weeks to come through.’