Page 2 of Marriage Bargain with His Innocent
‘Nothing. Her health hasn’t deteriorated. I mean, she’s still weak after the stroke, and her speech isn’t quite back to normal, but she’s doing all the exercises the doctor recommended.’
‘Good.’
‘You have a wonderful house, Matias.’ She didn’t feel that the subject waiting to be broached could be broached quite yet. She needed to feel a bit more comfortable. Right now, her nerves were at breaking point. ‘And Iwillhave that drink you offered, actually.’
‘Whisky?’
‘Wine, if you have any. Thank you.’
‘I’m warning you it’s not organic. It’s incredibly expensive, though, so please think twice about pouring it down the sink because it fails to meet your high standards.’
Matias strolled towards the fridge and withdrew a bottle of Chablis. He looked at her over his shoulder. She was dressed as she was always dressed, in some sort of flowery concoction that was designed to do absolutely nothing whatsoever for the female form. Long skirt, loose top... A veritable riot of colours, none of which flattered a woman who was small, round and had bright red hair.
Was itsohard to make an effort? he wondered.
‘Very funny, Matias.’
‘We both know how much you like to bang the drum for organic farming. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your social conscience.’
‘You can be really horrible, do you know that?’ she asked. But her voice was neutral, because she was busy looking round the spectacular kitchen with its shiny gadgets and space-age feel.
‘You’d miss it if I wasn’t,’ Matias murmured without batting an eye, and he held her gaze for a few seconds longer than strictly necessary before lowering his eyes, letting his lush dark lashes shield his expression. ‘What would you do with a nice,politeMatias?’
Georgina blushed—much to her annoyance—and glared. ‘I’ve spent hours travelling here to see you. The least you could do is to be nice to me.’
‘Yes, you have,’ Matias said thoughtfully, ‘and I’m wondering why. In fact, I’d go so far as to say I’m burning up with curiosity. I don’t think you’ve ever come to this house, have you?’
‘You know I haven’t.’
‘In fact, I didn’t think you ever got out of deepest, darkest Cornwall.’
‘You’ve always been so scathing about Cornwall! Don’t you haveanyloyalty to the place where you were brought up?’
‘No. So, moving on, Georgie...’ He circled her the way a shark might circle a minnow, slowly, thoroughly, and with keen, watchful interest. ‘If you’re not here to talk about my mother, then what exactlyareyou doing here? Not that your arrival wasn’t opportune.’
He sat on the chair facing her and tugged another chair towards him so that he could stretch out his long legs.
Georgina opened her voice to give him a piece of her mind. His mother despaired of him. His women came and went with barely a pause for breath in between, because Matias Silva had the attention span of a toddler in a candy shop when it came to women.
She caught the veiled amused expression in his dark eyes and abruptly shut her mouth. He wanted to get a rise out of her and that was the last thing she needed.
Instead, she met his gaze steadily and coolly. It took willpower, because he was, without doubt, the most drop-dead gorgeous man she had ever seen. Blessed with the exotic genes of his Argentinian father and the spectacular beauty of his English mother, Matias had emerged into the world with the sort of physical advantages that made people stare and then turn around for a second look, because surely no one could be quite so spectacular.
She had long ago forgiven herself for her girlish crush. She just wished that her disobedient eyes could stop drinking him in the way they were doing right now.
His features were chiselled to perfection, but his bronzed colouring and raven-dark hair, which he always kept slightly too long, rescued him from being just another good-looking guy.
‘Iamhere to talk to you about your mother,’ Georgina said into the lengthening silence. ‘But could I just unwind for a bit? I’m exhausted.’
‘It’s seven o’clock. Have you eaten?’
‘I had some sandwiches on the train.’
‘I’ll take you out to dinner.’
‘I doubt I’m dressed for the sort of restaurantsyou’relikely to patronise,’ Georgina said wryly.
‘How would you know what sort of restaurants I’d be likely to patronise?’ he asked.
