Billionaire's Mediterranean Proposal

Now he was a stripling no longer, but a seasoned man, in his thirties, sure of himself, and sure of what he wanted and how to get it. Sure of his relationships with the women he selected for his amours. Women who were nothing like the one now sitting opposite him, taking money for her time here.

That was what he must remember. She would—that was for certain. It was the reason she was here…the reason she’d accompanied him from the fashion show. She’d made it perfectly clear then—and again when she’d so brazenly upped what he’d been prepared to offer her to come out here now. That was warning enough, surely?

However stunning her face and figure—however powerful her appeal—his relationship with Tara Mackenzie must be strictly professional only. She was here, as he reminded himself yet again, only to do a job.

It was, therefore, in a brisk, businesslike tone that he continued now. ‘The Neubergers are arriving this evening. From then on, until they leave, you will assume the role you are here to play. What is essential, however,’ he went on, ‘is that you understand you are here to act the part only. You are not to imagine we actually have a relationship of any kind whatsoever or that one is possible at all. Do you understand me?’

* * *

Tara felt herself bridling as his dark eyes bored into hers. He was doing it again! Putting her back right up. And not just in the way he’d said things—in what he had said.

Warning me off him. Telling me not to get ideas about him. Oh, thank you—yes, thank you so much, Monsieur Derenz. It was so necessary to warn me off you! Not.

Would she really ever consider a man with the personality of a lump of granite, who clearly thought every woman in the world was after him?

Indignation sparked furiously in her. ‘Of course, Monsieur Derenz. I understand perfectly, Monsieur Derenz. Whatever you say, Monsieur Derenz,’ Tara intoned fulsomely, venting her objection to his high-handed warning.

His eyes flashed darkly and his arched eyebrows snapped together in displeasure. ‘Don’t irritate me more than you already have, Ms Mackenzie,’ he said witheringly.

‘And don’t you, Monsieur Derenz,’ she shot back, bridling even more at his impatient put-down, ‘entertain the totally unwarranted assumption that I have any desire to do anything more than act the part I am here to play! And,’ she continued, refusing to be cowed by the increasingly black look on his face, ‘I expect you to do likewise. There is to be no repeat of that little wrist-kissing stunt you pulled just before I went back into the fashion show!’ She saw his expression stiffen and ploughed on. ‘No unwarranted body contact at all. I appreciate that my role must be convincing—but it is for public view only.’

Even just pretending to be on intimate terms with him was going to be a challenge. A challenge that, now she was seeing him again, was making a hollow form inside her. Oh, what did the wretched man have that got to her like this?