Her eyes skittered down from his face, landed on his chest and held. Color mounted in her face.
He gritted his teeth. It was a dangerous game she was playing. Whether she knew it or not.
“If you have something to say,” he said, his temper coming to an end point, “say it. I’m busy.”
“I can see that,” she said. “Do you suppose you could find a... You don’t have a shirt on hand, do you?”
He didn’t particularly care if she was uncomfortable. Not given the state of his own physical comfort over the last several hours. “No. And I’m in the middle of a workout. So I won’t be needing a shirt after you leave. It would be wasted effort. Continue.”
It was only then that he noticed she was clutching a portfolio in her hand.
She was still wearing the simple outfit that had been provided for her by the staff earlier in the day. Her hair was still loose, her face still free of makeup.
It was unconscionable, how attractive he found that.
He was a busy man. And consequently, his needs were simple. When he pursued a woman for a physical relationship, he liked her to be clearly sophisticated.
A very specific, sleek sort of look with glossy makeup, tight dresses and high-heeled shoes.
Obvious.
Because when you were short on time, obvious was the easiest thing.
Violet was anything but, particularly now, and yet she still made his blood boil.
Perhaps this was it. The taint of his father’s blood coming to the fore. Bubbling up the moment there was a woman in proximity who was forbidden. Who was forbidden to him? No one and nothing. And so what had he done?
What had he done? He had made the forbidden the most attractive thing.
And that was it. It had to be his body creating this situation. Because
there was nothing truly special about her.
Except that tongue of hers.
Razor-sharp and quick.
Her bravery in the face of an uncertain future.
He gritted his teeth again. None of those things mattered to him. A woman’s personality meant nothing. She would serve his brother well when it came to a choice of bride, provided Matteo could handle the sharper edges of her, that was. But those things, Javier presumed, would make her a good queen.
When it came to a bedmate... No. It wasn’t desirable at all. A construct. A fabrication.
Brought to him by the less desirable parts of him.
He and his brother had always known those things lurked inside of them.
How could they be of their father and consider themselves immune to such things? They didn’t. They couldn’t.
And so, Javier had to be realistic about it now.
“I have put together a portfolio. Everything I learned about your country. And the ways in which I think I could help by bringing my business here.”
“What do you mean?”
“You used to have manufacturing here. You don’t anymore. I do most of my manufacturing in the United States, but with products coming to Europe... I don’t see why I couldn’t have some of it manufactured here. In fact, I think it would be a good thing. It would allow me to keep costs down. And it would bring a substantial amount of employment to your country.”
“We are not impoverished.”