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His features hardened. ‘Name your price.’
She thought of the most outrageous sum she could and said it out loud.
‘It’s yours,’ he replied without hesitation.
‘There’s a condition,’ she added.
His granite expression didn’t change. ‘Which is?’
‘You can never touch me again.’
The muscle in the side of his jaw flicked, and there was a steady green glitter in his eyes. ‘And if I don’t like that condition?’
‘Then I’ll refuse to help you.’
He said nothing, and didn’t move, but she could sense the fury rolling off him in waves. He didn’t like her condition. Didn’t like it one bit.
‘I could make you change your mind.’
The words were more a growl than anything else, and the fighter in her wanted to respond to that challenge, relished it, even.
‘Could you?’ She gave him a very direct look. ‘Why would you bother? I’m just a girl from the streets. You could get better with a snap of your fingers.’
‘It’s true, I could.’ His gaze clashed with hers. ‘But I don’t want better. I want you.’
That shouldn’t have touched her own anger, shouldn’t have made it waver for even a second. But it did. Not that she was going to do anything about it. He was a liar, and even though that nagging pity for him still wound through her anger she ignored it.
‘That’s too bad.’ And then, because she couldn’t help herself, ‘Feel free to try and change my mind if you can. But you won’t be able to.’
The flame in his eyes blazed and he pushed himself away from the window, straightening to his full height. A wild thrill shot straight down her spine. Oh, yes, challenge accepted.
‘You shouldn’t say things like that to men like me,’ he murmured. ‘But, fine, you’ll have your money. You’ll have to come to San Lorenzo with me if you want it, though. We’ll be married in my family chapel.’
Leonie didn’t think twice. She wanted the money—what did she care if she had to return to Spain to get it?
Are you sure it’s a good idea to be near him?
Why wouldn’t it be? She didn’t care about him—not now. She didn’t care about her father, either. Now all she cared about was the money, and she had no problem with using Cristiano the way he’d used her.
‘Fine,’ she said, shrugging. ‘I don’t care.’
‘Good.’ He moved, striding past her to the door of his bedroom without even a glance. ‘Prepare to leave in an hour.’
And then he went out.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CRISTIANOFILLEDTHEflight to Spain with business. It was the only way to distract himself from the fact that Leonie was right there, sitting casually in one of his jet’s luxurious leather seats, leafing through a magazine as if the night before and the morning after had all been just a passing encounter for her.
It was a performance worthy of himself.
It also drove him mad enough that he stayed on the phone even as the car they’d transferred to from the small airport where they’d landed wound its way through the sharp crags of the mountains on the road to San Lorenzo.
He could think of no other way to handle having her in his vicinity and not touching her.
Since she had no other clothes, she wore the black T-shirt and black trousers of his staff uniform, the small bag at her side containing only her old clothes and her useless phone—items she’d insisted on bringing with her for no reason that he could see.
He hadn’t argued. She could bring them if she wanted to. He was planning on providing her with a proper wardrobe anyway, once they’d got to his estate, since if she was going to be his duchess he would need her to look the part.
