The Banker's Convenient Wife

‘Please put me down…’ Hilary pressed in an enervated rush. ‘You’re supposed to be resting, Roel.’

Roel lowered her down onto a massive bed with exaggerated care. ‘I have every intention of doing so…but only if I have company to do it with, cara.’

Hilary rolled over and off the other side of the bed. Her face was pink with embarrassment. ‘That wouldn’t be restful—’

Lean fingers jerked loose his silk tie, pulled it free and discarded it. Glinting golden eyes flared back at her in blatant challenge. ‘I don’t need to recall the last five years to know that I’m not a restful individual or given to lazing about doing nothing. If I’m not working, I require occupation—’

‘But not this,’ Hilary slotted in breathlessly. ‘You only think that you want to sleep with me but you don’t…not really, you don’t. You just want to make me feel more familiar—’

‘I can’t believe I married a woman who makes a three-act major production out of sex,’ Roel incised with biting derision.

‘I’m trying to think of you, that’s all.’ Hilary twisted her hands together in an unwittingly revealing gesture of stress. ‘This isn’t what you need right now—’

‘Allow me to decide that.’ But Roel had fallen still and his brilliant eyes no longer appeared to be focused on her. His wide sensual mouth twisted and then set into a grim line.

‘What is it?’ Hilary asked worriedly.

Roel glanced back at her, his stunning dark gaze bleak and bitter, hard cheekbones prominent below his olive skin. ‘Clemente, my grandfather, is dead…that’s why the Matisse painting is here in our home instead of at the castello. Am I right?’

As he spoke Hilary lost colour.

‘On this score, you don’t withhold information,’ Roel warned her icily.

Eyes stinging with tears of sympathy, Hilary nodded confirmation with pained reluctance. ‘Yes, I’m sorry. Your grandfather died four years ago—’

‘How did he die?’ Roel demanded.

‘A heart attack. I believe it was very sudden,’ Hilary proffered, grateful that she at least knew that much and praying that he would ask for no other details.

Roel swung away from her and strode over to the tall windows. His powerful shoulders were rigid with tension below the expensive cloth of his jacket. He was closing her out and she knew it. He had mentally dismissed her from his presence as surely as if he had slammed a door in her face.

‘Roel…’ she murmured, aching with a compassion she was afraid to show for fear of offending.

‘Go check the dinner menu,’ he advised very drily.

Hilary’s troubled gaze sparked and she stood taller. ‘I couldn’t care less about stuff like that. Don’t push me away. I was very close to my gran and I was devastated when she passed away—’

‘Some of us choose not to parade private emotions,’ Roel whipped back.

‘OK…OK!’ Hilary threw up both hands in a peacemaking gesture, expressive brows raised at his vehemence.

Face pale and tight with discomfiture, for he could not have rejected her attempt to offer comfort more clearly, she spun round and walked out of the room.