Buying His Bride Of Convenience. Michelle Smart
steel her spine as she walked into the hotel’s atrium with her head held high. She wouldn’t allow herself to feel inferior even if she did look like a ragamuffin, despite her sixty-second shower.
A hotel employee headed straight for her. At close sight she saw the title of ‘General Manager’ under his name on the gold pin worn on his lapel.
‘Ms Bergen?’ he enquired politely, too well trained to even wrinkle his nose at her.
She nodded. She guessed she’d been easy to describe. Just look for the scarlet-haired woman who doesn’t fit in.
‘Come with me, please.’
Like a docile sheep, she followed him past an enormous waterfall, past the restaurant she’d dined in a month ago, past boutiques and further restaurants and into an elevator that came complete with its own bellboy. It was only when the manager pressed the button for the top floor that warning bells sounded.
‘Where are you taking me?’
‘To Mr Pellegrini’s suite.’
They’d arrived at the designated floor before he finished answering. The bellboy opened the door.
Eva hesitated.
Dining in a private hotel suite had very different connotations to dining in public. Under no sane marker could it be considered sensible to go into a rich man’s suite alone.
The manager looked at her, waiting for her to leave the safety of the elevator and be led into the lion’s den.
All she had to do was say no. That would be the sensible thing. Say no. If Daniele Pellegrini needed to see her so badly that he’d flown to the Caribbean for the sole purpose of talking to her, then he could dine with her in public. She could demand that and he would have no choice but to comply.
But, for all his numerous faults, including being a sex-mad scoundrel with no scruples over who he bedded, her gut told her Daniele was not the sort of man to force a woman into anything she didn’t want. She wasn’t being led into the lion’s den to be served as dinner.
She stepped out of the elevator and followed the manager up the wide corridor to a door on which he rapped sharply.
It was opened immediately by a neat, dapper man dressed in the formal wear of a butler.
‘Good evening, Ms Bergen,’ he said in precise English. ‘Mr Pellegrini is waiting for you on the balcony. Can I get you a drink?’
‘A glass of water, please,’ she said, trying very hard not to be overawed by the splendour of the suite, which was the size of a large apartment.
Having a butler there relieved her a little. It was good to know she would have a chaperone, although she couldn’t fathom why she felt she needed one.
The manager bade her a good evening and left, and Eva was taken through a door into a light and airy room, then led out onto a huge balcony that had the most spectacular view of the Caribbean Sea, dark now, the stars twinkling down and illuminating it. To the left was a private oval swimming pool, to the right a table that could comfortably seat a dozen people but was currently set for two. One of those seats was taken by the tall, dynamic figure of Daniele Pellegrini.
He got to his feet and strolled to her, his hand outstretched.
‘Eva, it is great to see you,’ he said, a wide grin on his face that was in complete contrast to the set fury that had been on it three days ago when he’d demanded she fix his nose.
Not having much choice, she reached her own hand out to accept his. Rather than the brisk handshake she expected, he wrapped his fingers around hers and pulled her to him, then kissed her on both cheeks.
Her belly did a little swoop at the sensation of his lips on her skin, diving again to inhale his fresh scent, which her senses so absurdly danced to.
As much as she hated herself for the vanity of it, she was thankful she’d so recently showered. Daniele looked and smelled too good, his easy, stomach-melting smile back in its place. And he was clean, his dark grey trousers and white shirt immaculately pressed. Everything here in this hotel, including the guests, was spotless. Standing before this beautifully smelling, impossibly handsome man made her feel, again, like a ragged urchin. No matter how hard she tried to keep herself presentable, living in a refugee camp where dust and mud were prevalent made it an impossible task.
She was even more thankful when he let her go, and had to stop herself wiping her hand on her jeans in an attempt to banish the tingles from where his fingers had wrapped around hers.
‘Your nose looks like it’s healing well,’ she said, for want of something to say to break the fluttering beneath her ribs. The swelling had gone down substantially and her vanity flickered again to see the butterfly stitches she’d applied were still perfectly in place. There was slight bruising around his left eye but that was the only other indication he’d been in a fight. Her curiosity still itched to know who his opponent had been. One of Caballeros’s corrupt officials? A jealous boyfriend?
‘You did a good job.’
She managed the smallest of smiles. ‘Did you see a doctor?’
He made a dismissive noise in his throat. ‘No need.’
The butler, who she hadn’t noticed leave the terrace, returned with a tray containing two tall glasses and two bottles of water.
‘I didn’t know if you’d prefer still or sparkling so I brought you both,’ he said, laying them on the table. ‘Can I get you anything else before I serve dinner?’
‘Not for me, thank you,’ she said.
‘Another Scotch for me,’ Daniele requested. ‘Bring the bottle in.’
‘As you wish.’
Alone again, Daniele indicated the table. ‘Take a seat. To save time, I’ve ordered for both of us. If you don’t like it, the chef will cook you something else.’
Eva bristled. She wasn’t a fussy eater—with her job she couldn’t be—but his presumption was another black mark against him. ‘What have you ordered?’
‘Broccoli and Stilton soup, followed by beef Wellington.’ He flashed his smile again as he took his seat. ‘I thought you’d be homesick for English food.’
Bemused, she took the place laid out opposite him. ‘Homesick for English food? But I’m from the Netherlands.’
‘You’re Dutch?’
His surprise almost made her smile with the whole of her mouth but not out of humour, out of irony. They’d spent a whole evening together in which he’d flirted shamelessly with her but not once had he cared to ask anything of substance about her. She’d just been a woman he was attracted to, whom he’d been determined to bed. He’d assumed she’d be so honoured to be singled out by him that she would accompany him to his suite—this suite?—like some kind of fawning groupie and climb into bed with him. ‘Born and raised in Rotterdam.’
A groove appeared in his forehead. ‘I thought you were English.’
‘Many people do.’
‘You have no accent.’
‘English people notice it but you’re Italian so it’s not obvious to your ear.’
The butler brought Daniele’s bottle of Scotch and asked if Eva wanted anything stronger to go with her meal.
She shook her head and fixed her eyes on Daniele. ‘I think it’s best I keep a clear head this evening.’
Daniele smiled grudgingly. He should keep a clear head himself but after the last few days he liked the idea of numbing everything inside him. The Scotch would also help him get through the forthcoming conversation.
‘What other languages do you speak?’ Eva spoke English so precisely and fluently it hadn’t occurred to him that she was any nationality but that. When he’d first