A Diamond Deal With The Greek
‘If you want to keep out of jail, you’ll pretend to be my fiancée!’Arabella ‘Rebel’ Daniels would rather skydive naked than agree to Draco Angelis’s outrageous suggestion. But, unbeknownst to Rebel, her father has embezzled money from the formidable magnate and now she must pay the debt – by whatever method Draco demands.Arabella might take risks for a living, as a champion skier, but the cold weight of Draco’s diamond ring and the branding heat of his public attentions feels like too high a price to pay – especially when the prospect of sharing Draco’s bed draws inevitably closer…Discover more at www.millsandboon.co.uk/mayablake
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‘Why do you need a fake fiancée? And why me?’ Rebel asked, stunned.
Draco shook his head. ‘The “why” will be explained after you accept my proposal. The “why you” is because you happen to be in my debt—literally.’
Rebel jerked away from him. ‘Not even a million pounds and a dozen acting awards could make me pull off pretending to like you.’
His grey eyes gleamed. ‘I’m not a man you want to cross, so I suggest you give serious thought to giving me what I want.’
‘In what universe would anyone believe we were engaged to be married?’
He lowered his head and her breath lodged in her lungs. The mouth that was tantalisingly close drifted past. His breath warmed her jaw, then the sensitive skin beneath her earlobe.
‘You don’t think we have chemistry?’
‘N-no,’ she forced out.
‘Then why is your pulse jumping? Why does your breath catch every time I touch you?’ he said huskily in her ear. ‘Do you want me to kiss you?’
MAYA BLAKE’s hopes of becoming a writer were born when she picked up her first romance at thirteen. Little did she know her dream would come true! Does she still pinch herself every now and then to make sure it’s not a dream? Yes, she does! Feel free to pinch her, too, via Twitter, Facebook or Goodreads! Happy reading!
To Carly, my editor, for being the instrument that gives my words true meaning. Thank you!
Contents
ARABELLA ‘REBEL’ DANIELS stood at the back of one of the many lifts that served the giant glass and steel masterpiece that was the Angel Building, and waited for the group of four to board. Swallowing down the lingering taste of the second double-shot macchiato she’d given in to this morning, she took a deep breath to calm herself. Although she’d needed the boost very badly at the time, the effect on her nerves now prompted a bout of regret.
Caffeine and panic did not mix well, and, after two long weeks of subsisting on both, she was more than ready to ditch them.
Her heart pounded with trepidation, but, thankfully, she couldn’t hear it above the loud music playing in her ears.
Grappling with what would greet her once the lift journey ended was consuming enough, although there was also the real and present albatross of having lost her biggest sponsor three weeks ago and the resulting media frenzy, to deal with. Of course, far from the wild speculation that she was using booze and drugs to cope with her problems, the media would’ve been shocked and sorely disappointed to know the strongest substance she’d touched was coffee.
She stared unseeing before her, the words of the letter that had been burning a hole in her bag for the last two weeks emblazoned in her mind.
Arabella,
First of all, happy twenty-fifth birthday for Wednesday. If you’re surprised at this out-of-the-blue communication, don’t be. You’re still my daughter and I have a duty of care to you. There’s no judgement on my part for the way you’ve chosen to live your life. Nor are there any strings attached to the enclosed funds. You need it, so put pride aside and use it. It’s what your mother would’ve wanted.
Your father.
Steeling her heart against the lance of hurt at the stark words, Rebel shifted her mind to the banker’s receipt that had accompanied the letter.
The five hundred thousand pounds deposited into her bank account was a little less than what her sponsors would’ve donated had she still been on their books, but it was enough to get her to the Verbier Ski Championships.
This time she couldn’t stop her insides from twisting with guilt and a touch of shame.
She should’ve tried harder to return the money.
Too much had been said between her father and her that couldn’t be unsaid. Even after all these years, the pain and guilt were too vivid to be dismissed. And nothing in her father’s letter had given her cause to think his views weren’t as definitive as they’d been the last time she’d seen him.
He still laid the death of his wife, her mother, firmly at Rebel’s feet.
Suppressing her pain, she tried to ignore the pointed looks from the lift’s occupants. At any other time she would’ve turned the music down, but today was different. Today, she would be seeing her father again for the first time in five years. She needed a full suit of armour in place but the music was all she had.
When another suited businessman sent her a scathing look, she mustered a smile. His eyes widened a touch, his ire rapidly morphing to something else. Rebel looked away before her attempt to excuse her music’s loudness turned into anything else. Keeping her eyes on the digital counter, she exhaled as the lift reached the fortieth floor. According to what she’d been able to glean from their very brief, very stilted conversations over the last week, her accountant father worked for Angel International Group as their CFO. He hadn’t volunteered any more information when she’d asked. In fact, any further attempt to pave a reconnecting road with her father had been firmly blocked. Just as he’d firmly blocked her initial attempts to give back the money he’d given her.
