The Flaw in His Diamond(5)

'Do you blame me when you will never agree to see me? I had to come  here. You might not care about Skavanga or the people who live there,  but I do. All that's at stake for you is your money.'

'So pumping in my money to keep the town and mine alive, saving people's jobs along the way, means nothing to you?'

'You'll just leave us with a desolate site when you've taken what you want.'

'You don't know what you're talking about, Ms Skavanga. Now are you coming inside or not?'

She couldn't risk alienating him. Had she forgotten that?

He led the intruder across his spacious orangerie at a rate of knots.  He didn't welcome unexpected visitors to his sanctuary on the island,  least of all trouble-making girls with an agenda.

'I'm not a whinger or a troublemaker,' she shouted after him. 'I'm  simply concerned about the speed of your drilling programme.'

He stopped dead. 'Do you have an alternative suggestion, Ms Skavanga?'

She almost cannoned into him.

'Maybe...' Her cheeks flushed red when she realised how close she'd  come to touching him. 'I don't have an engineering background like you,'  she admitted, surprising him with the speed of her recovery. He was  also surprised she had done her research. 'I don't have as many academic  qualifications, either,' she added, 'but I do have local knowledge.'

And a good degree, he remembered, wondering why she had never used it.

'Let me reassure you, Ms Skavanga, that the finest minds have assembled to make this project a success.'

'The finest minds, maybe,' she agreed, growing heated. 'But no one  local is involved at a decision-making level, so you run the risk of  applying the wrong criteria to your thinking.'

'What about your sister, Britt?'

'Britt is just a figurehead-a sop to keep the locals quiet.'

He drew back his head to stare at her. 'How sad that you don't know your own sister.'

'I know enough,' she blustered, but there was guilt in her eyes.

'Your sister is an excellent businesswoman. Decisive and  clear-thinking, Britt had led the family business in the absence of your  parents and her brother, and now she runs the mine for the consortium-'                       
       
           



       

'I know all that.'

And he knew Eva had lost the mother who might have softened her at a  critical age. Reports said that she now liked to think of herself as a  frontierswoman, happier under canvas than in a bed. Or, as others  described her, the sister who was all balls and belligerence and a crack  shot with a gun. Britt worked for the consortium on merit alone, while  Eva had positioned herself against them. Eva didn't want things to  change, and had made it widely known that she believed the future of  Skavanga lay in the type of tourism that would preserve and pay homage  to her unique Arctic landscape, rather than mining, which could only  scar the land. He believed the two could co-exist.

'Your sister Britt is a lot more valuable to the future of this project  than you seem to think. Perhaps you should speak to her.'

Now she looked thoroughly miserable. He'd found her Achilles heel. Eva  cared passionately about her family and the mine, more than she cared  about herself.

* * *

She was reeling, both at the shock meeting with the count and him  inviting her into his fabulous home. They had crossed the gracious  glass-walled building opening onto the pool, and had entered a grand,  light-filled entrance hall, complete with a sweeping marble staircase  that housed a grand piano beneath its curve.

The fabulous setting and the fact that she was wearing a towel had  really thrown her. This wasn't her debating outfit of choice, and she  felt even worse about the fall out with Britt since the count had made a  point of talking about her sister. She knew what Britt had achieved at  the mine and couldn't have admired her sister more. Why did everything  always come out wrong? Why couldn't she control her tongue for once? For  the sake of the mine, she had to try to make amends. 'All I'm asking  for is the chance to talk to you, and then I'll go.'

A flash of humour lit his eyes. 'Do I have your word on that?'

'The sooner the better, as far as I'm concerned,' she fired back, unsettled by his worldly, mocking stare.

'And what am I supposed to do with you until then?'

'Listen to me?' she suggested, lashing out again before she could stop herself.

'I set the terms, Ms Skavanga. I speak. You listen.'

As the count's lazy gaze washed over her, every part of her warmed.  However much she resented him and his autocratic ways, her body remained  incredibly impressed.

'And now, as much as I have enjoyed talking to you, I have a wedding to  get back to. So if you will excuse me, Ms Skavanga?' He moved towards  the stairs.

'Don't worry. I'll still be here when you get back.'

'Oh? Will you?'

She watched in fascination as he ran strong, tanned fingers through his  thick black hair. The count was fiercely masculine. He had just enough  polish to keep him this side of barbarian, but it was a close run thing.  All the designer clothes in the world couldn't hide his warrior frame.  He'd been born to fight, and it was hard to imagine him in some cosy  aristocratic setting-

'Done staring at me, Ms Skavanga?'

She gave a start. She hadn't realised she was examining him quite so  intently. And that smile was back on his mocking lips. Her throat dried.  She was used to straightforward emotions: black and white. She was not  accustomed to this level of sophisticated banter. 'Please don't let me  keep you. I'm quite happy to stay here-'

'In the hall?' He gazed around with a sardonic expression curving his  firm, sexy mouth. 'I'm sure you are. But if you think for one minute  that I'm happy to leave you unattended in my home? I don't think so, Ms  Skavanga. You're coming with me.'

'What?' Shock raced through her body at the thought of an evening with the count.

'You're the last person I'd leave alone in my house. Your reputation  precedes you, Ms Skavanga. How do I know you won't change the locks  while I'm away?'

Mock all you like, but I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. But...if  she did go with him, someone might be able to give her a room for the  night. 'Fine,' she agreed. 'I'll come down with you when you leave and  wait for you in the village.'                       
       
           



       

'My same concerns apply,' he said. 'I won't risk you upsetting people.  You're here and I'm responsible for you, which means I'm not letting you  loose on any unsuspecting villagers. You're going to stay close by me  where I can keep an eye on you. You're coming with me to the wedding.'

'A wedding?' She laughed. 'Impossible. I don't have anything remotely suitable to wear.'

'Then you will have to improvise. I'm not leaving you here on your own,  and that's final. And I will be leaving the palazzo in half an hour.  You need to be ready by then.'

'But if I could find a bed for the night in the village, surely you would prefer that?'

'I wish you joy of your search. Every bed is taken for the wedding,  and, as I have no intention of letting you out of my sight, you have no  alternative but to stay here for the night.'

'With you?'

'Well, I'm not going anywhere. Of course, you could return home?' The  count glanced at his watch. 'If you hurry, you might catch the last  ferry.'

'Do you have any idea how hard it has been to track you down so I can  express my concerns to you face to face? Do you seriously think I'm  going to leave without doing that?'

The count gave her a look. 'That is one option to consider.'

'Not a chance.'

'In that case,' he murmured in a mocking tone, 'my home is your home  for the next twenty-four hours, Ms Skavanga. But don't get any ideas.'  His voice hardened. 'You leave when I say you leave. And the next item  in your diary is a wedding party, and I am never late.'

She flinched at the count's tone. She wasn't used to being talked to  like that. She drove situations in Skavanga. She did not take  instruction. The count's stare was steady and appraising, and not the  least bit amused, when she was more accustomed to good-humoured  tolerance of her laddish ways.

'Roman Quisvada.'

'I beg your pardon?' She gazed up, bewildered for a moment as he spoke.

'Introductions,' he said. 'As you're coming to stay in my home, I think  we should at least be civil to each other.' He took her hand in a firm  grip.

The handshake might have lasted no more than a few seconds, but the effect lasted a lot longer.

'Call me Roman,' he murmured, staring down at her.

As in emperor? Conqueror?

The count's stare suggested either description was apt. One thing was  sure, Roman Quisvada only accepted one rank, and that was  Commander-in-Chief. Where he led others followed. When he spoke others  listened. And much as a wolf wouldn't trouble himself about the ants he  trod on, she barely registered a blip on his radar.

Were those black eyes laughing at her again? Arrogant man!

Infuriatingly, her body didn't seem to care. There didn't seem to be an  insult he could deal her that could stop her wilful body craving him.  Or her eyes devouring him, Eva reluctantly conceded. 'Well, I'm glad  I've got your interest at last,' she said coolly, checking her towel was  securely fixed.