‘Señor Martinez. I didn’t—I thought you were in the library...’
Why was she stammering like a schoolgirl? He’d surprised her, that was all. It was disconcerting to turn around and find him standing there.
Arden’s throat constricted. Why did he have to be so damned handsome? Villains ought to look like villains, not like—like movie stars. At the very least, Conor should have looked more like Edgar Lithgow, with beady eyes, mottled skin, and a patch of shiny scalp peeping from beneath a swath of thin hair. There was no reason in the world for his eyes to be that incredible shade of green, for his lashes to be so dark they’d be the envy of any woman, for his hair to be so thick and lustrous and to curl like black silk against the collar of a black dinner suit that looked as if it had been custom tailored to fit those broad shoulders, flat stomach, and long legs...
‘Do I pass muster?’
Her eyes flew to his face. He was smiling in a way that sent a flood of crimson racing under her skin. Damn him, she thought, and her chin came up in defiance.
‘I was wondering,’ she said coldly, ‘what lucky soul it was who had the joy of breaking your nose.’
He threw back his head and laughed. ‘You’d like to have done that yourself, I’ll bet.’
She gave him a bright, fraudulent smile. ‘How ever did you guess?’
Conor chuckled. ‘Well, a guy beat you to it.’
‘Defending a lady’s honour, no doubt.’
‘We had a difference of opinion.’
‘Really.’ She smiled coldly. ‘I didn’t think that sort of thing happened very often between gentlemen.’
He smiled. ‘Gentlemen don’t generally work on banana boats.’
‘You? On a banana boat?’ Arden’s brows lifted. ‘Next you’ll expect me to believe in the Easter bunny.’
‘I did a lot of things that might surprise you, in my chequered past.’
‘Ah,’ she said sweetly, ‘I understand. You’re one of those who likes to go slumming.’
‘I was one of those who liked to eat,’ he said with no smile at all. ‘Working banana boats may be the only job you can get when you’re eighteen years old.’
‘What’s the matter? Did your father cut off your allowance one summer?’
Conor’s mouth narrowed. ‘Felix cut it off,’ he said.
Arden’s smile faded. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘You don’t have to.’ His smile returned, although there was a tightness to it. ‘I wanted to talk to you,’ he said. ‘I was going to come to your room, but—’
‘But you knew I’d slam the door in your face if you did. Yes, that was good thinking.’
‘Actually, I was running late. But when I heard you leave your room, I—’
‘Actually,’ she said, her voice echoing his, ‘I don’t know why you’d come to my room, Senor Martinez. We have absolutely nothing to say to each other.’
‘That’s just the point, Miss Miller. I think we do.’
‘You think wrong. And now, I believe your uncle said dinner would be served at—’
‘Dinner can wait.’
Arden smiled coldly. ‘Ah. Spoken like the true Master of El Corazon.’
‘I take it that remark is supposed to have some deep meaning?’
‘Only that I think your uncle made things very clear this afternoon, señor. You are not in charge here. He is.’