The Flaw in His Diamond(3)

She had to stop this. Was she trying to psyche herself out before she  had even confronted him? Think fail and you would fail. That was Eva's  motto. Think success, and at least you stood a chance.

He was strong. She was too. She did stand a chance of convincing him to  slow down the drilling programme. Quisvada was also obscenely rich,  and, though she disapproved of ostentatious displays of wealth, she  couldn't deny a certain curiosity in seeing how the other half lived.  All in all, safe had never been an option for her. She needed a  challenge like this. She needed to leave the Arctic Circle and test  herself in the wider world, and she cared so passionately about the mine  this was her chance to prove it. There was no doubt in her mind. She  would make Quisvada listen.

Shifting her backpack into a more comfortable position, she continued  on up the path, wondering about the fluttering in her chest. What did  she have to worry about? She was in no danger from the count. He was  hardly her type-

No man is your type.

Having run out of things to argue with herself for the moment, she  stopped again. It didn't help that she was overdressed. Her hectic  decision to come here had ruled out sensible planning, so she was pretty  much wearing what she had in Arctic Skavanga: boots, jeans, and the  thermal vest she had stripped down to. There was even a heavy parka  strapped to her backpack. Great, when what she needed here was a pair of  shorts, a flimsy top, and an extra large tub of sunblock.

She wouldn't have had to come if the count had been more reasonable.  And was that the real reason, or was this the last-chance saloon for Eva  Skavanga as far as men were concerned?

'Meaning?' she flashed out loud, then glanced around guiltily to make  sure no one had heard her talking to herself. She really was wound up.  Meaning, she reasoned as she plodded on, Count Roman Quisvada threw off  the sort of confidence that said he would be very good in in bed... Now  she had to take a moment to think about that.

Planting her hands in the small of her back, she was forced to accept  that she wouldn't know too much about being good in bed. She wasn't  completely innocent. She wasn't exactly experienced, either. She'd had a  few fumbles, none of which had encouraged her to try the experience  again. She frightened men off. If they weren't limp to begin with, they  certainly were by the time she'd finished with them. And then somehow  the time for experimenting passed her by. She got too old for it. She  missed the boat. She told herself it didn't matter. She just wasn't  interested in sex.

Until she met the count.

Allowing her backpack to slide to the ground, she rested her hands on  her knees to catch her breath. Lifting her head, she weighed up the  gates guarding his lair. They were big, but not so big she couldn't  climb over them. Chucking her backpack over first, she followed,  scrambling up the ornamental ironwork like a monkey. They'd told her in  the village that with the big wedding on it was unlikely that anyone  would be home, which was great for her purposes. It gave her a chance to  have a snoop around before the count returned.                       
       
           



       

She quickly spotted some cameras, but no alarms went off. Lots of  people had cameras, but very few were switched on, she'd heard.  Undeterred, she started to march up the broad, impressive drive.  Bottle-green cypress trees stood on parade on either side, providing  some welcome shade, while the neatly groomed gravel crunched beneath her  feet. The palazzo was framed against a brilliant blue sky, and with its  towers and crenellations, the count's island home looked like something  from a fairy tale. It certainly wasn't what she had expected. Festoons  of purple bougainvillea softened the walls and hung in swags around the  windows, while more fringed the top of the impressive front doors.  Colour was mostly grey in Skavanga, but here the blaze of colour was a  huge assault on her senses-not unpleasant, though the count's home was  certainly a confident reflection of his power and wealth.

Even she had to admit his gardens were exquisite. Colour blazed at her  from every side, and there was such an amazing variety of planting. How  many people must he employ? she wondered as she ran her fingertips  across the immaculate white wall. The count probably had homes like this  across the world, she concluded, and none of them could mean as much to  him as the simple log cabin she shared with her sisters on the shore of  a frozen lake. That was where they had taken their holidays for as long  as she could remember. There weren't many luxuries, but she didn't  care. Thinking about the symbols that defined her, and those that  defined the count, she realised they couldn't be more different.

Having reached the entrance, she raised the heavy knocker and rapped forcefully on the door.

Silence.

Shading her eyes, she peered through the window. They hadn't been  exaggerating in the village when they said everyone would be at the  wedding. The palazzo appeared to be deserted. Untying her neck scarf,  she mopped the grit and sweat from her face as she decided what to do  next. Maybe there'd be someone round the back...

There wasn't a soul to be seen, but there was a fabulous pool...

'Hello?'

'Hello? Is anyone there?'

The rhythmical chirruping of the cicadas was her only answer. Her gaze  returned longingly to the limpid stretch of cool, clear water. She was  melting and dead on her feet. Surely, a quick dip in the pool wouldn't  hurt anyone?

Dumping her backpack, she stripped off down to her underwear and  padding to the edge of the pool, she performed a perfect swallow dive.

Oh...the sensation...the indescribable bliss...

She stayed underwater for a whole length, and then, because the feeling  was just so wonderful, she relaxed into an easy freestyle stroke.

'What the hell?'

The roar hit her out of nowhere. Barely recovered from inhaling half  the pool, she somehow made it to the side, where she pressed herself  against the blue tiles, horribly aware that she was almost naked.

'Eva Skavanga?' the same angry male voice roared.

It was Roman Quisvada! After months of her doing battle with a name, he  was standing at the edge of the pool glaring down at her.

'Yes?' she called back, putting some force behind her voice. Clinging  to what little dignity remained to her as she choked on a mouthful of  chlorinated water, she shot a combative look up.

Dear God, his shirt was open to the waist. She had never seen so many  muscles. Her body responded instantly, and without the slightest regard  for Eva's feelings. Her nipples tightened. A pulse beat insistently  between her legs. Pool water that had only been cool and refreshing was  suddenly titillating against her heated skin. The sun beating down on  her shoulders was a warm caress instead of a punishment, and the count  looked even better than she remembered.

Holding a jacket, slung over his shoulder with his forefinger thrust  through the loop, his sharply cut formal trousers clung lovingly to a  tight butt and hard-muscled thighs. His shirt was crisp and brilliant  white, and he was very big. He was also ridiculously good-looking-if you  went for the rugged type. He was ripped. He was tan-

He was madder than hell. She could feel his fury washing over her. And  why wouldn't it, when she'd been a thorn in his side for long enough,  and now here she was, swimming in his pool? How the hell was she going  to get out of this one?                       
       
           



       

* * *

The girl in his pool was the troublemaker, Eva Skavanga? Incredible!  The alarm at the palazzo was connected to his phone and had warned him  of an intruder. The cameras had shown the shadowy figure of a girl  climbing over his gates. Reason had discounted the possibility that it  could be anyone he knew, let alone Eva. Thank God his instinct had got  him back here fast. 'Get out of my pool now!'

Positioning himself between the slight, pale figure in the pool and the  towels left for him to use, he was determined to make her suffer for  this intrusion.

'Could you pass me a towel, please?' she asked as if he were the pool boy at a hotel.

'I said get out!' His voice would have sent grown men scuttling for cover.

Eva just stared at him. 'I heard you the first time,' she flared, 'but I can't-'

'Can't what?' he rapped. 'Can't move? Can't face me? Can't think up an excuse for why you're here?'

Putting her small palms flat on the tiles at the side of the pool, she  sprang out lithely. He took in the vibrant, waist-length mermaid hair,  the fabulous breasts, the trim figure, long, long legs, and tiny feet.

She stared at him in silence for a moment and then tried to reach past him for a towel.

He stood in her way. 'When I said I didn't have time to meet with you, I  meant it, Ms Skavanga. What the hell are you doing on my island  uninvited? We have nothing to discuss.'