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A drunken giggle and a squeal startled her, leaving her with no option other than to pull open the door, throw herself into the room as quickly as possible, and pray that the room was empty.
Eyes clamped shut, half afraid of what she might see, she heard the couple’s steps immediately outside the room. Heart in her throat, she spun round and grasped the handle just before someone tried to open it from the other side.
She couldn’t be found in here!
‘I think it’s locked.’
‘We’re not supposed to be up here, remember?’
‘Oh, come on, Marin has so many rooms and we have such little time.’
The door thudded and Evie got the impression of a body backed against the door, followed swiftly by a moan so explicit her cheeks pinked.
‘Let’s try the next one.’
Thankfully the couple moved off and soon their hushed giggles drifted into a different part of the house, leaving Evie to give a sigh of relief. She turned around, peering through the darkness at the room she found herself in, and gasped. In front of her were rows and rows of bookshelves, all carefully and meticulously ordered, with a compass on one and a wooden box on another. She’d found it!
Pressing her cool hands against cheeks hot from adrenaline, she took in the rest of the room, frowning at the bed she had not expected to see. The magazine had called this a library. Why would anyone...? Her thoughts trailed off the moment she saw the worn leather-bound notebook that had never left Professor Marin’s pocket. Along with his glasses, it was what she most remembered about the man who had been more than a mentor to her.
Half convinced she was seeing things, she crossed the room and plucked it from the shelf. She half imagined that the leather was still warm, as if the Professor had only just put it down. Suddenly she was hit with a tidal wave of emotion she simply wasn’t prepared for; a sweeping sense of grief, loss and longing for the steady support and belief that only the Professor had ever really given her. Yes, her adoptive parents had met her every material need, but the Professor was the first and last person who had believed inher, not in what she could do or what she could provide.
Holding the notebook to her chest, she had half turned to leave when a door behind her opened, and she turned to find, shrouded in light from the en-suite behind him, Mateo Marin staring right at her.
Wearing nothing but a pair of dark trousers, her gaze consumed the sight of him. Her hand reflexively fisted at her side as she took in the breadth of his chest, the dip and curve of the muscles tensing into a V at his waistband, and her breath sighed out of her in a shockingly feminine way.
With one contact lens still a little fuzzy from the water, Mateo ran his gaze up and down the woman in his room standing, somewhat precariously, on a very high, very tantalising pair of heels. He could tell that she was doing the same to him, the heat of her mutual interest reaching out like a tentative touch across his skin and making his breath shake in his chest.
Even for Henri, this was extreme. The almost constant refrain of his closest friend to leave work at the office and indulge in some play time had become boring in the last few years. Mateo had goals he wanted to achieve professionally in order to secure the personal; to make sure that his mother was happy and that those under his care, his friends, his staff, were safe. He had little time for the distraction of women.
‘Listen, I’m not sure what you’re here for, but I think it’s probably best if you just leave,’ he said.
The woman simply stared at him blankly and he wished his eye would clear so he could see her properly.
He sighed. ‘If you’re after money...’ God only knew how much money Henri had promised her and once again he cursed his friend. He’d always skated very close to inappropriate, but hadn’t once reached it, until now.
‘Money?’
He frowned, her accented Spanish a little clunky, and he switched to her obviously native English.
‘Yes, money. If that’s what you want—’
‘I don’t want your money,’ she said, the stress on the word ‘money’ almost distasteful in tone.
Cristo, Henri had actually sent him someone who just wanted to bed the bachelor billionaire. He’d been inundated ever since the article had come out. Some wanted the notoriety, some just the challenge, and this one? He wasn’t sure.
‘Querida, what is it that youdowant?’
He blinked and his contact lens finally settled to focus on features he’d already become intrigued by. Long dark hair had been gathered into a ponytail, making her appear fresh-faced and innocent in a way that was a refreshing change to the dates he was used to meeting.
Beautiful. She wasbeautiful. In a very classic way. The curve of her cheek drew his gaze and the temptation to reach out and cup it in his palm burned in his chest. Long, thick lashes framed eyes he couldn’t quite see and unconsciously he closed the distance between them, wanting to know their colour. She took a half-step back as if surprised by his movement, halting him instantly.
Something about her clothing, the simple white shirt, rang a bell of warning in his mind, but it was barely audible over the blood rushing in his ears. It was enough to distract him from the fact she hadn’t answered his question. Her hands were behind her back, pressing her chest forward, and he tried gamely not to stare at the sliver of skin he could see between the buttons of her shirt.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked, surprised by the gravel in his own voice.
‘Evelyn.’ Whether it was fake or real, the breathless intonation of her name raised hairs on the back of his neck.
He nodded, disconcerted that his body’s instinctive reaction to her was threatening to supersede the moral ambiguity of accepting such a ‘gift’.
