Marco was not at the elaborately decked out breakfast table. Leila heard him out on the gallery that overlooked the stunning French Riviera. Large sloops and sleek yachts, bobbed to the lazy rhythm of the calm waters of the Monte Carlo marina. The ocean stretched out and met the sky discreetly in the distance. The scene might have held the magic of wealth and opulence. But it held nothing for neither Leila nor Marco, it seemed.

Marco’s phone was tucked to the side of his head, with his tone lowered in anger as he spoke to the person on the other end. 

“I need that info now, Ben. I sign in a couple of hours and without it I’m going into this completely blank.” 

A pause while birds circled overhead and a woman’s shrill laughter rang off somewhere in the distance. 

“Are you or are you not in Moroni?” he hissed. “Have you or have you not met with Molinga?” He threw a hand up in the air. “Then what’s the hold up, Ben?”

He ran the same hand through his thick hair. “One hour, Ben! One hour!”

The phone slammed on the low gallery wall. Then he turned to her. The transformation was astounding. A small smile played on his lips. 

“Leila.” He said her name as if it was his first breath. 

She regarded him, casual in his linen slacks and pale blue shirt folded at the sleeves. He was as Mira had described him—a delicious dish. 

"You're going ahead then, with the oil deal." 

An eyebrow arched and a smile came easily. "It’s a great opportunity." 

"To make money, at the expense of the people who should most benefit."

Marco did not immediately respond. Instead he regarded her briefly then stared out at the view. 

"Please don't think me incapable of seeing through it. Before all this, the title, this marriage, I was a journalist. Well aware of the world and its monsters. Well aware of people like Rouse who pounce on opportunities to make money off desperate people." 

Marcos head jerked back. Turning toward her, his eyes narrowed as he watched her. 

"Is that how you see me? As a monster?"

No, she wanted to say, I really don't know what I see you as. He was her husband, for a short while her lover. The man, who with a kiss could send her heart into a crazy frenzy. Right now, just in his presence, with his dark eyes on her, an eyebrow arched, her knees were weak. 

But he was also a man who got what he wanted. A collector of possessions. A business man with only the bottom line in mind.

"Whatever I think does not matter. I just hope you consider those poor people." 

His phone rang again. But he ignored it for a moment. "Your assumptions of the deal are just assumptions. Nothing more."

With that he turned away and responded to the persistent ringing. 

She sat at the breakfast table, a little unsure if she'd gone too far but still determined to make her point. Waiting for the opportune moment to have her say, proved tricky.  

Her food lay untouched in front of her and Mira was prompting her to eat with a tilt of her head. The plate certainly looked good, a grilled mushroom topped with a poached egg and béchamel sauce. Tempting, but not as tempting as the man seated opposite her. 

His look was foreboding and the tension palpable. It was enough to warrant the silence in the room.

Marco was furious. At a complete loss, and it was not the first time since he'd set eyes on Leila Jodhi Brown. Ben had received the worst of his anger. Marco had unleashed a torrent of abuse when his private investigator called to tell him there was a delay in the meeting with the Mayor of Moroni, citing the inconceivable excuse of unrest and protests in the area near the capital city. 

But it was Leila’s accusation that galled him more than anything. Her perception of him had not improved from the first time. And though he had to admit that his association with the disreputable Rouse had not helped rectify it, he knew he couldn't back out now. 

What she wouldn't know, and what he couldn't reveal was that he was well aware of Rouse's plan. And it was exactly as she feared. Only his part in the mess was to ensure that Rous would not waggle every bit of profit from the deal. That the people to whom the rights to the oil belonged, would benefit not just in profit but in employment and share opportunities as well. 

He looked at her now. Mistake. For a moment it was like a punch to the gut. She was staring at the spread in front of her. But he knew her mind was miles away. Bent head, just the perfect arch of 

the brow and the curve of her lush eyelashes that swept the top of those incredible cheek bones melted his heart. He knew those lips were in a pout. A kissable pout. He sensed the set of her chin might be rigid. Temper or concentration. Most likely temper. The most desirable woman in the world. He wondered why he was torturing himself. 

She looked up then and met his gaze. 

"My morning is busy." It was probably wise not to mention exactly what he’d be doing— besides she’d already overheard his conversation with Ben. "You might like to enjoy it shopping. Take Mira along." 

Her response was a glare. 

"Leila, this is happening with or without your approval. So that lovely pout is only making me want to kiss it." He smiled, hoping it would break the dark mood. But she glowered still.

"As you wish, o’ master of the universe, I'll go shopping."

His blood boiled with a combination of passion and anger. He should ignore it. A better man might, but Marco knew his faults and weaknesses. And it excluded him from the better-man club. 

It took him three short strides and he was at her side. She’d already risen from her chair, her movements slower than his. 

Swooping her into his arms, his fingers stroked away stray strands of her hair while his lips descended on hers. Her body moulded into him as their lips melded. Hot and hungry, there wasn't the gentleness of their kiss last night. And it wasn't just her lips he wanted to 

consume, but all of her. Trailing his mouth along her jaw, down her earlobe, he found the sweetest spot on her arched neck. Her body opened up and softened, and he became bolder. 

Slow to acknowledge the buzzing in his breast pocket, it was she who pulled away. 

“You should answer that,” she said breathlessly. 

It took a moment to drag his eyes away from her flushed face. It took longer for his pulse to settle. 

Ordinarily she might have enjoyed shopping in Monte Carlo— the city famed for being the playground of the rich and famous. Ordinarily. Not today though. Not in the mood, Leila found it hard to shake off the events of the morning.