by CC MacKenzie
Chapter Twent Five
"What do you mean you will not be available for the next two weeks?"
Bronte wore a black business suit and sat in front of Nico's desk with a spreadsheet of wedding functions between them.
He looked put out she thought, ruthlessly ignoring the pang in her heart. He treated her as if she was a friend rather than an ex-lover these days. Don't go there, she ordered herself. But after four hellish weeks, she still missed him desperately.
He'd been the perfect gentleman at their twice weekly meetings, easy to work with and the consummate professional. He took frequent trips to Rome, usually over the weekend. The insight into how he ran his business had been illuminating too. He ran a tight ship with capable people. In fact, he didn't need to see her at all since his PA was super-efficient and could easily take the meetings, but he'd insisted.
Twice he'd asked her out to dinner and twice she'd said no. So he'd stopped asking and Bronte told herself she wasn't disappointed. He'd tried to talk to her about The Dower House, but she refused to discuss it with him. It was all for the best. Alexander was due back tomorrow and she expected Nico to move on.
"I'm taking a break from this Friday," she told him. "Rosie has the team well-organised."
He gave her a level look, cocked his head as he studied her.
"You look tired. A holiday will do you good."
She was about to say it wasn't exactly a holiday, but caught herself in time. They didn't talk about personal things these days. Then her eye spotted the black photo frame to the right of the desk that held her drawing. He'd framed it? She picked it up with a hand that wasn't quite steady. In the bottom left hand corner it said - drawn by Bronte - and the date.
Her eyes met his. Her chest felt tight with an emotion she didn't want or need.
"You framed it? But ... why?" She placed it carefully on the desk.
"It reminds me of one of the best days of my life." His voice, soft and husky, sent shivers up her spine.
Bronte kept her eyes on his, fascinated by what she saw in them. Oh no, she wasn't going to do this, not now.
On shaky legs she rose to leave.
Nico moved around the desk and took her hand for the first time since the scene in her kitchen.
He held her fingers in a comfortable, friendly manner and his eyes twinkled as heat soared into her cheeks along with a flood of awareness.
"Two weeks seems a long time for a workaholic like you. Where are you going?" His thumb ran across her knuckles and her mind went blank.
Why wouldn't her brain function? She blinked into his face which seemed too close all of a sudden. His head moved closer and she leaned back as his eyes, dark and intent, held hers. Saliva dried in her mouth and she licked her bottom lip. The heat of his body, the unique scent of his skin mingled with his signature cologne and she almost purred.
He stared at her mouth as if he'd never seen it before.
Oh, God. She trembled and his eyes flew to hers.
"France. It's a busman's holiday." She had a eureka moment. "You know, learning new techniques and ah, new ways of doing things. Got to keep one step ahead of the competition, new skills etc," she babbled in desperation.
He stepped back and leaned against the desk, his expression quizzical.
She felt almost faint with relief.
"Where are you going in France?"
"Paris, it's the pastry capital of the world."
She shrugged into her coat, gathered up her belongings and moved at speed towards the door.
"Bronte."
His voice brought her out in goose bumps.
With her hand on the door handle, she turned.
"Yes?"
"I will miss you, cara mia."
His voice sounded wistful. Even as he kept his eyes on hers she read warmth mixed with a bone weary sadness. It brought her heart to her throat. For an instant she wanted to throw herself into his arms.
Then common sense prevailed. She took a breath and blinked away the mist in front of her eyes.
"Goodbye, Nico."
He had missed something.
The feeling refused to leave Nico as he watched her get into her car from the window.
Christ, she was killing him. Seeing her only twice a week was killing him. She refused to let him apologise. He narrowed his eyes as she drove away. And she was too thin.
Again the feeling that something was wrong and he was missing a big part of the puzzle washed over him. Alexander was due back tomorrow and he would talk to him.
How the mighty have fallen, he mused, as anxiety ran up his spine. He knew his friend did not approve of him having a relationship with his sister, but he was a changed man and desperate. He would beg for his help if he had to.
With a heavy heart Nico sat behind the desk and tapped his fingers on a pile of newspapers. A busman's holiday? Bronte? He did not believe it for a second. Plus, it was the first time she had mentioned it.
He flicked through the paper and on page four he blinked.
Bronte was shown in the arms of her 'old friend of the family' Carl Terlezki.
In one photo they were having what appeared to be an animated dinner conversation, her hand held by his across the table. Her eyes were sparkling and her smile beamed out of the page. In another they were walking arm and arm down Oxford Street. The last one showed her being held close, her cheek on his chest as he stroked her hair. Bastard! What was she doing with a man who was old enough to be her father? But what destroyed him was the look of happiness on her face.
Shock roared through his system as he read the last sentence again and again.
Bronte Ludlow and financier Carl Terlezki were due to fly out to France for a two week holiday. The newspaper didn't exactly say they were in the middle of an affair, just that both looked very happy together.
And God dammit all to hell, they did look happy.
She looked happy.
Sweat beaded his head.
But surely the man was too old for her?
Due to taking it slow was it possible he had let another capture her heart?
Had he lost her?
The memory of her phone call to 'Carol' when they were in Rome spun into his mind. He'd put down her breathy low voice to nerves and being upset over Alexander's accident. Had she been seeing Carl when he'd been making love to her in Rome?
He refused to believe it. But there had been nothing to stop her seeing Carl Terlezki. As far as Bronte was concerned their personal relationship was finished.
Checking his watch, Nico knew there was no time to go after her now. He had back to back appointments.
Tonight, he would see her tonight.
