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He led the intruder across his spacious orangerie at a rate of knots. He didn’t welcome unexpected visitors to his sanctuary on the island, least of all trouble-making girls with an agenda.
‘I’m not a whinger or a troublemaker,’ she shouted after him. ‘I’m simply concerned about the speed of your drilling programme.’
He stopped dead. ‘Do you have an alternative suggestion, Ms Skavanga?’
She almost cannoned into him.
‘Maybe...’ Her cheeks flushed red when she realised how close she’d come to touching him. ‘I don’t have an engineering background like you,’ she admitted, surprising him with the speed of her recovery. He was also surprised she had done her research. ‘I don’t have as many academic qualifications, either,’ she added, ‘but I do have local knowledge.’
And a good degree, he remembered, wondering why she had never used it.
‘Let me reassure you, Ms Skavanga, that the finest minds have assembled to make this project a success.’
‘The finest minds, maybe,’ she agreed, growing heated. ‘But no one local is involved at a decision-making level, so you run the risk of applying the wrong criteria to your thinking.’
‘What about your sister, Britt?’
‘Britt is just a figurehead—a sop to keep the locals quiet.’
He drew back his head to stare at her. ‘How sad that you don’t know your own sister.’
‘I know enough,’ she blustered, but there was guilt in her eyes.
‘Your sister is an excellent businesswoman. Decisive and clear-thinking, Britt had led the family business in the absence of your parents and her brother, and now she runs the mine for the consortium—’
‘I know all that.’
And he knew Eva had lost the mother who might have softened her at a critical age. Reports said that she now liked to think of herself as a frontierswoman, happier under canvas than in a bed. Or, as others described her, the sister who was all balls and belligerence and a crack shot with a gun. Britt worked for the consortium on merit alone, while Eva had positioned herself against them. Eva didn’t want things to change, and had made it widely known that she believed the future of Skavanga lay in the type of tourism that would preserve and pay homage to her unique Arctic landscape, rather than mining, which could only scar the land. He believed the two could co-exist.
‘Your sister Britt is a lot more valuable to the future of this project than you seem to think. Perhaps you should speak to her.’
Now she looked thoroughly miserable. He’d found her Achilles heel. Eva cared passionately about her family and the mine, more than she cared about herself.
* * *
She was reeling, both at the shock meeting with the count and him inviting her into his fabulous home. They had crossed the gracious glass-walled building opening onto the pool, and had entered a grand, light-filled entrance hall, complete with a sweeping marble staircase that housed a grand piano beneath its curve.
The fabulous setting and the fact that she was wearing a towel had really thrown her. This wasn’t her debating outfit of choice, and she felt even worse about the fall out with Britt since the count had made a point of talking about her sister. She knew what Britt had achieved at the mine and couldn’t have admired her sister more. Why did everything always come out wrong? Why couldn’t she control her tongue for once? For the sake of the mine, she had to try to make amends. ‘All I’m asking for is the chance to talk to you, and then I’ll go.’
A flash of humour lit his eyes. ‘Do I have your word on that?’
‘The sooner the better, as far as I’m concerned,’ she fired back, unsettled by his worldly, mocking stare.
‘And what am I supposed to do with you until then?’
‘Listen to me?’ she suggested, lashing out again before she could stop herself.
‘I set the terms, Ms Skavanga. I speak. You listen.’
As the count’s lazy gaze washed over her, every part of her warmed. However much she resented him and his autocratic ways, her body remained incredibly impressed.
‘And now, as much as I have enjoyed talking to you, I have a wedding to get back to. So if you will excuse me, Ms Skavanga?’ He moved towards the stairs.
‘Don’t worry. I’ll still be here when you get back.’
‘Oh? Will you?’
She watched in fascination as he ran strong, tanned fingers through his thick black hair. The count was fiercely masculine. He had just enough polish to keep him this side of barbarian, but it was a close run thing. All the designer clothes in the world couldn’t hide his warrior frame. He’d been born to fight, and it was hard to imagine him in some cosy aristocratic setting—
