A spark of something lit her eyes, darkening them to stormy green. her nostrils flared. Then her lips curved in another of those small Madonna smiles and she leaned forward gracefully to put her cup down with a click on the alabaster table.

Joss had an impression of something rippling like an undercurrent beneath her calm expression. Something elemental that made the air between them thicken, heavy with contained energy.

She spread her manicured hands. ‘My stepfather takes care of all that.’ Yet there was something ever so slightly out of kilter, perhaps the way her tinted lips thinned a fraction too much.

Then the impression was gone, leaving Joss to wonder at his flight of fancy. An overactive imagination wasn’t his style.

He was accustomed to brokering deals with men as hard as himself. A life in mining had made him rough around the edges, unused to dealing with delicate females, except on the most basic level. His groin tightened as he imagined his cool bride-to-be losing that superior air and growing hot and eager under his touch. Satisfaction filled him, till he remembered that wasn’t what he wanted from this deal. She’d sidetracked him.

‘You expect your husband to take care of business while you enjoy the fruits of his labour?’

She darted a glance at the door where Gamil had exited. ‘Forgive me. Perhaps I jumped to the wrong conclusion. I was under the impression you wanted me as a silent partner while you make the business decisions.’ Her eyes were bright with apparently innocent enquiry. ‘Would you welcome my interference?’

Her fine dark brows arched in eloquent surprise. For the first time in over a decade he felt wrong-footed.

Joss stiffened. It was an illusion, of course. Far from being out of his depth, he was running this whole scheme, including the marriage arrangements, to suit himself.

He didn’t want her amateur meddling. Bad enough that he had to put up with her stepfather’s uninformed ideas until the deal was done.

‘If you have expertise in the area I’d like to hear it.’ The words were mere form. Joss worked alone. There was room for only one commander in his empire. ‘And of course your connections to key figures across the region will be invaluable.’

‘Of course.’ The flat expression in her eyes, now dulling to grey, told him she’d already lost interest. ‘But I’m afraid I have no expertise in petrochemicals.’

‘And where does your expertise lie?’

Again that darting glance to the door. If it weren’t for her smooth serenity he’d almost believe she was worried about saying the wrong thing.

‘I doubt they overlap with yours. Mine are more on the domestic scale.’ She smoothed a hand over the green silk of her dress.

‘Domestic as in shopping?’ This desire to delve beneath her self-satisfied composure surprised him. Why the need to understand her? To label her in a box marked ‘self-absorbed heiress’?

Because she was to be his wife.

After thirty-two years he was finally acquiring a spouse, if only to further his commercial interests.

Marrying went against every inclination. His life was a cautionary tale about its inherent dangers. But the commercial imperative decided him. She was a business asset.

‘How did you guess I love to shop?’ she cooed, stroking the pearls at her wrist. Yet the light in her eyes and that heightened spark of energy humming between them said something else went on inside that lovely head.

‘Just so long as you’re not under the impression I’m looking for someone to domesticate me.’ He didn’t want her thinking this was personal.

Her eyes rounded and a gurgle of delicious laughter broke across his senses, tightening his skin and circling his vitals. He straightened. But already she’d clamped her lips against the sound.

Domesticating Joss Carmody!

Who in their right mind would take on that challenge? He was a big, hard man, all sharp edges and steely determination. It would take someone foolishly besotted by his brooding aura of power and that sizzle of unashamed male sexuality. Someone stupid enough to believe he could ever truly care.

He wasn’t the same as Gamil, she could already see that. Yet viewing those coolly calculating eyes, that formidable self-possession and monumental ego, Leila saw enough similarities.

Joss Carmody didn’t have a softer side.

‘Don’t look so worried,’ Leila said hurriedly, appalled that surprise had provoked a genuine response from her. ‘The idea hadn’t crossed my mind.’

‘You’re sure?’ His straight eyebrows scrunched down in a scowl of disbelief.

Leila supposed he saw himself as a matrimonial prize. With his looks and obscene wealth women must flock to him.