The Platinum Collection: A Diamond Deal. Susan Stephens
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.’
‘That’s your opinion. I’ve come here to change your mind.’
‘I wish you luck with that.’ The water had made her underwear translucent. It left nothing to his imagination where her naked body was concerned. And as she stood confronting him pool water cascaded down her body, highlighting every line and curve. It was even trickling down the crack in her butt, he noticed as she turned away to grind her jaw and tap her foot. Maybe she’d think twice about wearing such a tiny thong next time she planned to invade a stranger’s pool.
‘Please pass me a towel,’ she ground out, turning back to him. ‘They’re just behind you,’ she informed him, tilting her chin at a combative angle.
She could wait. He knew the expression in his eyes offered no reprieve. Eva stared back at him without blinking. Somehow she managed not to fold her arms across her chest during this standoff, though he suspected she dearly wanted to. She needn’t have worried. He wasn’t interested.
Seriously?
As he held her gaze with what was supposed to be disinterest, something unique happened inside him: a slight relaxation of his muscles and a fleeting warmth in his empty heart. He pushed the sensation away, but then the desire to laugh, and not in a cruel way, overcame him. She was just so damn cute.
Until she reminded him icily, ‘A towel? When you’re ready, Count Quisvada.’
‘Certainly, Ms Skavanga.’ He reached for one without breaking eye contact.
Eva Skavanga didn’t have the slightest idea of the effect she was having on him, and long might it remain that way. She was defensive because she thought herself unattractive to men, he concluded. That was why she tried to frighten them off rather than wait for them to push her away. She was a refreshing change. He was used to glamorous, confident women whose sole aim was to insinuate themselves into his life. There was only one thing worse in his opinion, and that was the ambitious parents with a daughter to trade. He was interested in neither option. He would rather live and die a single man than endure some fake arrangement.
‘Thank you,’ she said grudgingly when he finally gave her a towel.
Failure was not an option for Eva Skavanga, and neither was caution, apparently. He had to admit, he liked her style. Maybe he wouldn’t despatch her on the next ferry home, but would keep her here while it suited him. At least while she was here she