But despite his obvious disapproval of her question, he nonetheless accommodated her wishes, sauntering out of the bedroom in all his glorious nakedness and giving her time to snap the light on and scramble back into her clothes. He seemed unsurprised to find her fully dressed when he returned minutes later with the requested water and—rather disturbingly—the notebook she’d been scribbling in earlier, just before her jet-lagged state had caused her to pass out on the sofa. He yawned and positioned himself back on the bed, waiting until she had gulped down half a glass of water before holding the notebook aloft.
‘What’s this?’ he questioned, his finger jabbing at the grid diagrams she had drawn earlier.
She shrugged. ‘It’s life-coach stuff I use when I’m working with new clients. You know. All about reality and perception and fixed ideas. I’m guessing you probably don’t want a complete breakdown of the meanings?’
‘You’re right. I don’t.’
‘Mainly it’s about what it is possible to change in your life,’ she elaborated, as still he continued to look at her enquiringly.
‘And the M?’
There was a pause as Emily felt her cheeks growing warm. ‘You’re contemplating a massive change and you probably need to simplify your life. Stop jet-setting quite so much and make more of a base in Argentina, especially as that’s going to be your home when you go into politics.’
‘I asked about the M,’ he emphasised silkily. ‘Which you have circled and underlined several times.’
The hotness in her cheeks increased. ‘Part of your “problem”—which plenty of men wouldn’t actually define as a problem—’
‘Get to the point, Emily.’
She drew in a deep breath and watched his gaze flicker to the wobble of her breasts. ‘Is the woman thing.’
‘The woman thing?’
She nodded. ‘That’s what lets you down every time. Not just the book Colette wrote, which was probably motivated by bitterness that you didn’t marry her. But also the way you seem to attract women like a magnet. Like Marcus said earlier—you can’t seem to help it. The online edition of one of the Australian tabloids is even carrying a photo of you taken with Kate Palmer tonight—there must have
been a long-lens photographer at the harbour. And the author who took a surreptitious selfie at the same party has already put it up on her social-media page—and she’s got over thirty-one thousand followers.’
‘None of this is new,’ he pointed out.
‘No, but it only fuels your reputation as a commitment-phobe who plays the field like mad—and those are not the kind of qualities which ordinary people want from the person who is representing them.’ Somehow she met his bright green gaze without flinching. ‘The M stands for marriage. You need a wife, Alej. And before you look at me that way, why not? Would-be politicians have been making judicious marriages since the beginning of time. It would be an instant badge of commitment and respectability which would only help your career.’
‘But I don’t want to get married,’ he observed caustically. ‘I never did. Not with Colette. Not with anyone.’
She shrugged. ‘And that’s your dilemma.’
Yes.
His dilemma.
Or maybe not.
From his vantage point on top of the rumpled bedclothes, Alej studied the woman with whom he’d just had the best sex he could remember, and yet here she was calmly discussing his marriage to someone else. A wave of something like bitterness ran through him. Was she really such a hard-hearted bitch that she could coolly advocate he go and find himself a wife and not really care? Did he mean so little to her? Of course he did. Nothing new there, either. Yet the irony of the situation didn’t escape him because deep down he knew that if she’d displayed sadness and resentment at the thought of him marrying someone else, she wouldn’t have seen him for dust.
But maybe Emily was exactly what he needed. For now, at least. He’d thought she’d cared for him all those years ago but he’d been wrong, just as he’d been wrong about so many things. But back then she had been barely eighteen with the world at her feet. She must have believed anything was possible and had since discovered that it was not. Because surely it hadn’t been her life’s ambition to end up running some crummy little business and living in a tiny London apartment. Didn’t she miss the riches she had grown up with while she lived in Argentina and the kind of lifestyle which came as part of the whole package?
Even more pertinently, wouldn’t she have learnt by now that no other man came close to him when it came to giving her physical pleasure? Her gushing and instant response whenever he touched her would seem to indicate so. Wouldn’t marriage add a deliciously dark element to the revenge he was determined to extract from her? Wouldn’t it ensure she would never really forget him, because what woman ever forgot the man who slid a golden ring onto her finger?
‘I think you could be right, Emily,’ he said, easing himself up on the bank of squashed pillows and slanting her a slow smile. ‘I need a temporary bride—and you are the obvious candidate.’
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.