by Maya Banks
‘I have to go.’
Grumbling as he pulled away, Amelia lay back on the pillow.
‘Where?’ Seeing the dart in his eyes, Amelia held her breath. A single word had spilled from her lips, and her question had been entirely innocent, but something in Vaughan’s stance told her she’d hit a nerve. ‘You don’t have to answer that,’ she said quickly, swallowing back the hurt. But Vaughan saw through her defences.
‘I want to tell you, Amelia, believe me. But I can’t just yet.’
‘Because you don’t trust me?’
‘No,’ Vaughan responded immediately. ‘Because this particular secret is not mine to reveal. You’re the one who’s going to have to trust me—for a little while longer anyway. I need to sort a few things out today. I need to run something by...’ He paused for a beat. ‘I need to speak to someone who matters, Amelia, and I can’t do it with you there. Can you try and understand?’
She gave a brave nod, completely none the wiser but determined to trust him.
‘And you, young lady—’ Vaughan smiled ‘—have to write your article. What time’s it due in?’
‘Two—I thought I’d nearly finished and could spend the morning shopping, but, given what you’ve just told me about the motor deal I’d better drink this coffee and get writing. Paul was very clear that he wouldn’t give me an extension.’
‘How about a drink at the bar around three, then?’ Vaughan suggested. ‘Like I said, I’ve got a few things that need taking care of, but I should be finished by then and I promise then we can talk. Really talk,’ he added, with feeling.
‘Vaughan...’ He was making to go, but her hand pulled him back, capturing the arm of his suit, and as his questioning gaze tried to meet her eyes she stared instead at her fingers, shy at what she was about to say, yet knowing she had to. ‘What you said last night about...’ A tiny nervous swallow halted her words and Vaughan took that moment to move in.
‘The morning-after pill?’ Vaughan checked.
‘If I don’t get my period...’
‘Amelia...’ His voice was soft, the uptight man she had witnessed last night gone, seemingly a momentary lapse, as he took her hand and finally said the right thing. ‘I was out of line last night. But please believe me when I say it was with good reason.’ He glanced reluctantly at his watch. ‘We’ll talk this afternoon properly, but in the meantime, please, no doctors, no pills. Just hear what I have to say first.’
* * *
Even the clock ticking by at a rate of knots didn’t darken the delicious day. Fashioning the piece Paul so desperately wanted was easy now, with Vaughan’s consent. Yet she refused to let her feelings mar her objectivity, and she carefully outlined the potential pitfalls as well as celebrating the deal. The left side of her brain enjoyed the intellectual challenge as she rediscovered the passion that had initially brought her into journalism.
And maybe, just maybe, Vaughan was right. Why couldn’t she keep her feet in both camps? Why did concentrating on one mean that she had to give up the other?
Maybe she really could have it all.
There was no stress headache as she filled up her bath this Friday. No anxious pangs, no superstitious routines firmly in place. Just a reckless feeling of exhilaration as she e-mailed her article. Slipping into the bath, she had no desire for retrieval, no surge of anxiety about commas to add or exclamation marks she might have missed—her work was good and Amelia knew it. Knew that the hard slog was over, that finally she’d made it, and could just lie back in the soapy water and allow that nagging right side of her brain to finally let rip, to concentrate on the one thing in her life that right now demanded her sole attention—the man who very soon would be waiting for her downstairs.
Chapter 8
‘Miss Jacobs?’
The smiling face was familiar, but Amelia took a moment to place it. Already onto her second glass of champagne, she had long since grown tired of staring expectantly towards the foyer, tired of the slightly curious stares of the hotel staff as she waited for Vaughan to join her, his empty glass on the table beside the bottle she’d ordered.
‘Katy Vale!’ Placing the face, Amelia gestured to the empty seat in front of her, but from the dismissive way she shook her head, clearly Vaughan’s PA had other places she needed to be. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I’ve got a message from Vaughan—something came up; he’s not going to be able to meet you.’
Amelia waited for further explanation—the offer of an apology, even—but apparently Katy had said all she was going to. Already she was making to go, clearly satisfied that her message was delivered. But an hour and a half of sitting alone in the hotel bar nursing a lonely glass of champagne had Amelia’s patience hanging by a thread.
‘Did he say anything else?’ Watching as the woman slowly turned, her eyes taking in the champagne bottle, the empty chair and glass, Amelia felt her cheeks darken. She cleared her throat to ensure her next sentence would be delivered in slightly less needy tones.
‘Something came up.’ Katy raised her palms to the ceiling. ‘You know what Vaughan’s like.’
Only she didn’t.
The Vaughan who had sat on her bed this morning would no more have stood her up so coldly than fly to the moon—and yet, Amelia reminded herself, the Vaughan she’d glimpsed last night, the Vaughan she’d read about over the years, was more than capable of sending his PA to terminate things.
‘Is there anything I can help you with?’ Katy offered, her voice bordering on sympathetic as Amelia attempted a dignified shake of her head. ‘Frankly, I’m surprised you’re still here. I got the impression from Vaughan that your article was already in. Was there something you wanted to double check? I’m pretty well versed on everything...’
But Amelia wasn’t listening. Her attention had been drawn to the foyer and, perhaps realising she’d lost her audience, Katy turned around too, following Amelia’s gaze, watching in knowing silence as Vaughan entered the lobby.
As Amelia’s world literally fell apart.
His hair for once was tousled, his tie loosened, white cotton shirtsleeves casually rolled up. But worse, far worse, was the fact he wasn’t wearing his jacket. Instead it was draped around the shoulders of the beautiful woman Amelia had seen in the corridor yesterday. Her dark exotic features mocked Amelia a thousand times over, her tiny fragile body, her legs surely too thin to hold her up. But what did it matter when Vaughan was practically carrying her, one arm possessively draped around her shoulders, guiding her towards the lift?
Amelia’s mind flailed for a reasonable explanation, begged, despite the blatant evidence, that perhaps she’d got it wrong. But as they reached the lift doors and Vaughan dragged his feminine parcel towards him, buried his face in her hair and held her tight, not even Amelia could attempt an excuse in the face of such overwhelming odds.
‘Your article is in.’ Katy’s voice had a slightly bitchy ring, and eyes way too knowing for such a pretty face flashed in triumph or malice as Amelia slowly nodded. ‘Then it would seem, Miss Jacobs, that your allotted time slot is over.’
* * *
A luxurious five-star hotel might have appeared the best place in the world to lick her wounds, but lying on the counterpane, too mentally and physically exhausted to climb into bed, Amelia stared at the screensaver on her computer, agonisingly aware of what was surely going on next door, but too raw, too ashamed and utterly too humiliated to interrupt—to barge her way in and demand an explanation when she already had one.
Her allocated time slot was over—Vaughan Mason had already moved on.
Why had she expected anything more? Vaughan had promised her precisely nothing, save a drink in the bar and a chance to talk.
What a fool to think she could have held him for more than a moment. What reckless thoughts had possessed her to believe for a
moment that she alone could be enough to tame him?
Reliable, dependable—boring, perhaps. Even her period came on time. The low heavy thud hit her, just as she’d told Vaughan it would, and the dull, aching feeling in the pit of her stomach was painfully familiar. She felt the sting of nausea as she dragged her tired body out of the bathroom in response to the knocking on the door, even managing a wan smile at the cheerful face of the housekeeper as she bustled into the room.
Amelia wandered into the corridor, agony etched on agony as she heard low murmurs behind Vaughan’s closed door, and the green ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign he’d hung blurred through tear-filled eyes.
She’d rather die than let him see her tears, Amelia decided; would rather walk away a bitch than a loser.
An idea was forming in her mind, growing in momentum as she strode down the corridor, took the lift to the lobby and walked out into the balmy evening sun. Call it determination, or self-preservation perhaps, but she’d been here before, just six months ago, had stood weeping at a hotel door for the first and very last time, and there was no way she was going to go there again.
Ever.
Chapter 9
‘Vaughan!’
As he opened the door she got her greeting in first, smiled an efficient smile at his scowling frown.
Prepared for the worst speech of her life.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you.’ She gestured to the sign on his door, prayed that the foundation she’d plastered on was really as good as it said in the adverts, that her burning cheeks and reddened nose weren’t somehow peeping through. ‘It’s just that I need a quick word.’
‘Amelia.’ She could see his distraction, sense his obvious discomfort. He had one hand firmly on the door, careful not to allow it to open further, but even a mahogany door between them wasn’t quite enough to drown out the unmistakable noise of a shower running in the background. ‘I’m sorry about before. Did you get my message?’ His voice was deliberately low, presumably so not to alert his companion to this annoying distraction, and at that moment Amelia hated him with a violence that shocked even herself. Loathed him for the degradation that suffused her.
She’d trusted him.
Trusted him with the most painful part of her life. And he’d chewed it up whole and spat it in her face, prostituted her with a pay-off—an article she hadn’t, in the end, even particularly wanted.
For a small moment she was tempted to drag out the torture, to barge into his room and confront the woman she knew was in there, to force him to admit what Amelia already knew. But she couldn’t bring herself to suffer the indignity of being proved right, to choke back tears as he humiliated her all over again.
If she were even to attempt a retreat with her dignity apparently intact, somehow she had to do this—somehow she had to look him in the eye and deliver the biggest lie of her life.
‘This isn’t a great time for me, Amelia. Something unexpected came up...’ His voice was low and urgent, and again he briefly checked over his shoulder. ‘Can we maybe catch up later?’
‘Later is no good for me, Vaughan,’ Amelia responded firmly, registering the dart of confusion in his eyes at her clipped, assured voice. ‘The office just called. They need me to head back to Sydney—something big just came up.’
‘And you have to go right now?’
‘Right now,’ Amelia confirmed, a brittle smile flashing on her face as Vaughan briefly eyed the bulging suitcase on the floor beside her before turning his gaze back to her. ‘I just stopped by to say goodbye.’
‘Then call me when you get back to your home—’ Vaughan started, and a frown formed between his eyes as Amelia shook her head.
‘Look, Vaughan, like I said, something big just came up. I could be stuck in the office for hours. I might even have to go on assignment. So I’ve no idea when I’m going to get back.’ Glancing down at her watch, she gave what she hoped was a convincing wince. ‘I’d better rush if I’m going to get my flight.’
Vaughan’s frown deepened as Amelia shook her head and somehow managed a kind but slightly patronising smile.
‘Let’s not go making promises we can’t keep. Let’s not pretend that last night was anything more than...’ She allowed him a tiny pause, a brief moment to let it sink in, because it wouldn’t be easy for a man like Vaughan to fathom that a woman was actually rejecting him, Amelia realised. Like Taylor, he was completely used to getting his own way—flashing a winning smile and instantly being forgiven. But, as much as Taylor’s infidelity had hurt, Vaughan’s abuse of her trust had cut her to the core, shredded every fibre of her faith; yet somehow from agony came strength; somehow the torture of his betrayal allowed her to draw on an inner reserve, to look him in the eye and lie outright.
‘It was business, Vaughan.’
He shook his head in vehement denial, the colour draining out of his already ashen face. His face quilted with raw emotion and, forgetting the door he held, he instinctively reached out for her, grabbing her upper arm, shaking her, his eyes imploring her to take back what she had just said.
‘That was never business. What we had last night was way more than that, and you know it, Amelia.’ His voice was rising now. A housekeeper passing with her trolley looked over in concern, and Amelia watched as Vaughan struggled to hold it together, dropping her arm from his vice-like grip, swallowing down hard to rid his voice of coarse emotion. ‘That wasn’t just business.’
‘No, Vaughan, you’re right.’ She gave a small shrug and, bending over, picked up her case. ‘It was pleasurable too. Unlike yourself, I can actually manage to mix the two.’
‘So that’s it?’ Bewildered, he shook his head, and Amelia knew she’d thrown him into confusion, could see the utter abhorrence in his eyes that a woman could so easily turn the tables on him. ‘You were using me?’
‘We were using each other, Vaughan,’ Amelia explained, apparently patiently, though her heart was hammering in her chest, bile rising in her throat as she cheapened herself to his level. But not for a second did she reveal it, standing not very tall, but somehow proud as Vaughan received a small taste of the medicine that over the years he’d so regularly given out. ‘I’ve got the story I wanted and you’ve got the press on your side—for now, at least.’
It gave her the first stab of pleasure she’d felt since seeing him in the foyer, a tiny hint of bitter joy in reprisal, and it stirred her on to twist the knife in its final turn.
‘It’s been nice, Vaughan.’
Offering her hand, she wondered if he’d take it, wondered if he’d recover his ego quickly enough to attempt the upper hand. But Vaughan was clearly struggling, raking his hand through his hair, his breath coming loud and harsh as he turned to the door that had slammed behind him. For a tiny instant Amelia actually felt sorry for him, watching this dignified, proud man rummaging in his pockets for the swipe card, then standing back as the housekeeper who had been hovering moved to let him in, then stepped back again as the door opened of its own accord.
‘What’s going on?’
Dark hair still wet from the shower spilled down over olive shoulders, and the face devoid of make-up was nothing short of exquisite. Somehow Amelia processed these facts. Somehow she managed to stand as gravity lost its pull. Those exotic eyes she had viewed from a distance in the foyer were even more beautiful close up, with flecks of gold in their feline depths as she slowly took in the scene, then looked up to Vaughan, demanding an explanation.
‘Is there a problem?’
If this woman couldn’t work it out for herself then Amelia wasn’t going to enlighten her—which maybe went against the grain of sisterhood, but frankly, at that moment in time, Amelia didn’t care.
‘There’s no problem, Liza.’ Vaughan offered a reassuring smile. ‘Amelia’s just a journalist, sniffing around for a story.’ Navy eyes that had once adored her
stared at her now with disgust. ‘Isn’t that right?’
‘But what does she want?’ Liza demanded, wary eyes slanting more suspiciously now—only not at Vaughan, but directly at Amelia. ‘Don’t you lot have any respect for other people’s privacy? There’s a “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door—how dare you just intrude...?’
‘It’s okay, Liza.’ His voice was supremely gentle as he guided her back inside—an utter contrast to the black look of hatred he was shooting at Amelia. ‘It’s nothing for you to worry about; nothing at all.’
Slamming the door in her face, he left her standing. And despite what he’d done, despite the pain he’d caused, somehow he’d still managed to win. Somehow he’d managed to turn the tables on her. His rejection, his outright abhorrence towards her, was such a far cry from anything she could have imagined. The pain in his eyes, the lack of dignity in his defeat...
In one fell swoop he’d soured her tiny taste of victory—and worst of all, Amelia realised as she stood there, shocked and reeling, had been the softness in his voice when he’d spoken to Liza. The protectiveness of his gestures had cut her to the core.
It was jealousy that was choking her as she gathered up her case and stumbled to the lift, jealousy seeping from every pore, every fibre in her body, as she hobbled like a wounded animal along the long, lonely corridor.
Vaughan Mason was a bare-faced liar, a cruel, vindictive bastard, and yet...
Punching the lift button, leaning back against the cool glass mirrors, finally she gave in to the tears that would surely choke her...
She wanted it to be her.
