A stab of pain hit her square in the chest, and her fingers curled involuntarily around Brent’s.
“Well? What’s it going to be?” he demanded, not letting up an inch.
Amira wondered what the jeweler thought of their behavior. Hardly the usual thing one would expect from a newly engaged couple.
“This one. I’ll take this one.”
She pulled her hand from Brent’s and stood, going to slide the ring from her finger.
“No, leave it. You may as well start wearing it straight away. We’ve got that charity ball to attend tonight, haven’t we? Someone’s bound to notice and set tongues wagging. Who knows, I might even manage to raise a couple more points on the exchange by morning.”
There was an edge to his voice that sent a cold chill down Amira’s spine. He flipped his platinum card from his wallet with a casualness that went a long way toward telling her how much he cared about what the ring had cost. His action would probably have been the same if she’d chosen the solitaire. Either way, price wasn’t an issue for him.
She thought about how adamant he’d been that she select something showy and clearly expensive. Had he forgotten her so completely—forgotten that the trappings of wealth had never been what drove her?
After he’d completed the transaction, they walked out to their cars together.
“I’ll see you tonight then,” Amira said, depressing the electronic lock on her car key.
“Yes, I’ll have my driver pick you up at eight.”
“Your driver?”
Wasn’t he coming to collect her himself? She had no wish to arrive at the hotel on her own. Certainly not with this pale-blue skating rink on her finger. It would be a struggle to maintain her poise when faced with the inevitable questions that would come her way.
“I’ll meet you there. I have business in the city until about six so I’ve taken a room at the hotel to prepare.”
“All right then. That will have to do.”
As she drove away to her eleven o’clock appointment, she took a look in her rearview mirror. Brent stood there in the parking lot, dark sunglasses obscuring his eyes, which were undoubtedly still watching her.
A sensation of free-falling swept through her with stomach-lurching suddenness. This had all been her idea, but suddenly she didn’t feel as though she was in control anymore. And control was vital to carry this through effectively. Otherwise, everything would have been in vain.
The black Mercedes-Benz E-Class V8 purred to a halt at the entrance to the hotel on Symonds Street, and Amira waited patiently for her door to be opened. As the door was held wide she swung her legs out and stood, allowing the sensuously soft fabric of her floor-length white silk gown to fall into its perfect lines. Elbow length white gloves had offered her the perfect foil for hiding her engagement ring, and she tugged them into place before adjusting the white faux fur stole she’d added to the ensemble at the last minute. She looked up as a large warm hand clasped hers.
“You’re here,” she remarked with a smile.
“I told you I’d be here,” Brent said, drawing her closer. “Let’s give them something to photograph, hmm?”
And just like that his lips were on hers. Amira’s body surged to instant awareness as every nerve in her body jumped to attention. His lips were cool and soft as they pressed against hers. She leaned in toward him—drawn to his heat and strength like a bee to nectar—lost in the mastery of his lips.
It was over before it had begun, but it was no less devastating for all its brevity. Tiny tremors rocked her body as their vision was obscured by a mass of flashbulbs.
“Miss Forsythe, so it’s true that your romance with Brent Colby has been rekindled?”
“How long have you been back together?”
“Amira! What would your grandmother think of your reunion?”
Questions flew from every direction—loud, confusing. Brent suavely directed Amira toward the front door and past the liveried doorman.
“Let’s go inside. I think we’ve given them enough for one night, don’t you?”
“Yes, definitely,” Amira said, fighting to maintain her composure in the face of the barrage of questions.
With a smile painted firmly on her face she fought to keep her breathing even—a task harder than she anticipated as, with her hand firmly in the crook of Brent’s arm, she and Brent entered the hotel lobby. She concentrated on the strength of the muscles in his forearm, on the fine cloth of his suit, on the enticing hint of his cologne that wafted by her as they stepped in unison toward the main ballroom.
“Pity we couldn’t have timed the engagement announcement for tonight,” Brent commented, bending his dark head to hers.
“No, we wouldn’t have been able to sell the story if we made a public announcement at something like this. Not for as much anyway,” Amira replied. “Marie said we should make the announcement next week, and I agreed.”
Beneath her fingers she felt the muscles in his arm clench.
“I bow to your superior event management skills,” he replied silkily, but Amira could tell her response had needled him.
So why not tell him the full story, she argued silently. What was stopping her from giving him the truth, lock, stock and two smoking barrels, about the foundation and what her grandmother had done to throw every obstacle in its way? About her promises to the children?
She swallowed against the lump in her throat. The lump that was pride and fear of failure blended with a burning desire to create a success in her life. Something that wasn’t manufactured by her grandmother’s influence. Something that was more than a tax break and could give hope to families from all over the country.
Something that, for the first time since she was ten years old, she could call her own.
Amira flicked a glance at his stern features. His dark brows were drawn in a straight line across his eyes—eyes that were more green than brown tonight as anger shone from them in unmistakable terms.
She quietly sighed. She’d made this rod for her back and she’d bear it. Brent was the only man she wanted at her side. Sure, she had considered other men for the role of her husband but she’d been telling Brent the truth when she’d said she didn’t want any part of the accoutrements of marriage.
A coil of something undefined tightened deep inside her, giving the lie to her words. The truth was as startling to her as it was unexpected. The tension eased up a little, only to squeeze a tight band around her heart. Was it possible that she still hoped they could actually make a go of this fake marriage? That Brent could come to love her again? The thought rushed through her on a wave of exhilaration, only to be solidly dashed against the brick wall of the past. No, he’d never forgive her for what she did to him on their wedding day. Ever. He’d only entered into this sham relationship so he could further his already massive business enterprises. Expand his empire.
She’d entered this with her eyes and ears wide open. It would be tilting at windmills if she dared hope or dream for anything else. For once, Amira welcomed the pragmatism of her grandmother’s influence and drew on every last ounce of it that she had in her personal armory.
If Brent caught so much as an inkling that she had entertained the thought of them creating a true marriage again she had no doubt he’d be laughing himself as far away from her as possible. Better that this should remain a charade, she consoled herself. That way no one would be hurt.
Six
As they drifted through the ballroom, Amira took the opportunity to introduce Brent to several members of the NZLB. As far as he was aware, his application to join was still under consideration, which basically meant he had to jump through these social hoops to move from consideration to the platinum level of membership she’d recommended. Would they make their decision tonight? He certainly hoped so.
Either way, it was worth the wait compared to how long he’d been stonewalled by all other aspects of his latest waterfront development. With the advent of the new performance arena, the
scope for further business and parking in the surrounding area was huge. The sooner he could get his expansion project off the ground the better.
The band started to play, and several couples drifted onto the native timber parquet dance floor.
“Care to dance?” he murmured in Amira’s ear.
She stiffened slightly, and for a moment he thought she’d refuse. But then with a regal incline of her head she accepted his request.
“Just give me a moment to put these down,” she said, gesturing with her small silver clutch to her stole.
“Sure, would you like me to check them in or leave them at our table?”
“The table is fine. They’re nothing of value.”
Nothing of value? He’d lay odds each item had cost several hundred dollars. Her flippancy rankled. He pushed the irritation from his mind as he lifted the stole from her shoulders, inhaling a hint of her perfume as he did so. There it was again—that intriguing blend of spice and flowers. It hit him straight in the gut, sending all his instincts on full alert.
“I’ll be just a minute,” he said, taking her evening bag from her also.
The short respite of traveling the distance to their table and back to the edge of the dance floor allowed him to drag his wayward hormones under control. Business. He reminded himself. It was purely business. With a healthy dose of revenge, a little voice reminded him as he stepped up to Amira and took her hand, leading her to the dance floor.
She flowed into his arms as easily as if they did this sort of thing together every night. And in the old days they had, pretty much. When she’d come to visit him at his apartment he’d always had music playing in the background. Sometimes soft jazz, similar to what the band was playing tonight. Other times the gentle strains of a classical interlude. He loved music of any sort, but away from his office, or his social scene, he preferred to keep the sounds gentle and flowing. It helped to unwind at the end of a stressful day. All the easier when she’d been in his arms as well.
As far as female company was concerned, he’d been careful in the past years not to associate with any one woman more than twice in the public arena. He had no desire to be paired with someone in any shape or form for some time. Oh sure, one day he expected to marry and have a family. But he had a lot of work to do first.
And he had other matters to occupy his relaxation time these days, with the lap pool at his house he could enter into a punishing physical routine that scraped away every last vestige of a tough day at the office. Or he could get Draco or Adam for a vigorous game of tennis on his full-sized court.
He didn’t need Amira and music in their subtle blend of seduction to calm him anymore. Although, as they swayed and moved to the music he felt his pulse kick up a beat, recognized the stirring in his loins that her proximity provoked.
She looked beautiful tonight. Every inch the consummate princess of style and charm. Her hair was twisted up tightly at the back of her head, exposing the graceful lines of her neck and the diamond drop earrings that fell from her earlobes. The tiny diamante straps that held her dress up appeared impossibly fragile, showcasing the curve of her shoulders with a feminine elegance that teased him to push them aside. To replace their caress with one of his own.
Brent reined in his thoughts, shifting his hips slightly away from Amira’s. Before long he would lose control over his wayward flesh. Would show her exactly how much she attracted and tormented him still—and then who would have the edge?
Business. He reminded himself once more. Strictly business.
“Looks like the leaders of the NZLB are having a discussion together. Hopefully it’s about your application,” Amira said in a low voice, her breath a soft brush against his ear.
He turned his head slightly so he could see Auckland’s most powerful collection of businessmen with their heads together over what looked like a bottle of fifty-year-old Chivas. One of the men laughingly gestured toward Amira and himself, and he carefully averted his gaze—but not before he’d seen the nods of approval from around the table.
“Looks promising, if they are indeed discussing my application,” Brent replied.
“I think you have Uncle Don on your side. With his approval the others will soon follow suit.”
“Uncle Don? I thought you didn’t have any surviving family?”
He felt her stiffen in his arms and realised too late how painful his comment might have been.
“He’s my godfather. His parents and my grandparents used to socialize together all the time, and he and my father were schoolmates. They lost touch when Mum and Dad married, and I haven’t really seen him much over the years. But if he thinks that admitting you to the league will please me he’ll lend his weight behind your application.”
The music began to wind down and the emcee for the evening took the podium, inviting the guests to take their seats.
Brent fought the unexpected pang of physical loss as Amira peeled away from his side and led their return to their table. Their table partners were a mix of couples, one or two he’d met before, one he hadn’t but was keen to foster a business relationship with.
As the evening drew on, Brent came to realize that Amira had probably planned it this way. She had, after all, been the one who directed the seating arrangements for the function and was due to assume the podium to make a short speech of thanks on behalf of the research charity the evening was a benefit for.
She managed everything with a finesse he reluctantly admired. No one would have realized how much work she’d put into the function from the way she laughed and conversed with their fellow guests—then maybe she hadn’t done it all after all. Her type rarely did, he’d found over the years. With the backing of a strong support team they could still make their daily latte and air kiss sessions with their cronies at whichever Auckland café was the place of the week.
When it came time for Amira to make her speech, he watched as she rose and glided to the main stage. The deep low V of her gown showed a tantalizing glimpse of the soft curve of her lower back. She’d finally removed her gloves, and her long slender arms were bare. The overhead lighting on the stage caught the glint of her ring, and he smiled in satisfaction.
Brent flicked his gaze around the room. Yes, every man’s eyes were on her. He tried to convince himself that he didn’t feel the heated streak of possession that made him want to cover her body from their gaze, but he failed miserably.
It was ridiculous, he told himself. But then again, his reaction would certainly be expected if theirs was a real engagement, and to all intents and purposes it had to appear that way. To that end, he took delight when he caught the eye of one particularly lecherous watcher and gave him a narrow-eyed glare that clearly said “back off.” He was deeply satisfied when the man gave him a nod of acknowledgment and then had the good grace to look away from Amira’s tantalizing form.
This engagement might be business, Brent reminded himself, but there was a fair amount of game playing as well. And he was a consummate sportsman, no matter what the code. He sat back and listened as Amira thanked the sponsors for the evening and introduced the directors of the research charity, who she then called to the stage. Once everyone was lined up, she announced the total sum the evening had raised and presented a check to the directors.
As she came back and settled at the table, Brent leaned a little closer.
“You do that very well,” he commented. “Even I was convinced you meant it.”
“Of course I meant it. I’m not just a figurehead for these things you know. Whatever reasons Grandmother had for her involvement in her charities mine have never been in question.”
“Helping those less fortunate than yourself?” Brent couldn’t keep the edge of skepticism from his voice.
Amira’s lips firmed in a straight line before she parted them to speak. “Yes, actually. Although that’s no concern of yours.”
He leaned closer. To anyone watching them it would look like a lover’s private exchange.
&
nbsp; “And all those millions you’ll have at your disposal when you inherit? What do you plan to do with those? Come on, Amira. You don’t expect me to believe this philanthropy is real—it’s really just a game to you, isn’t it? Something to fill your days. I bet you’re looking forward to a really good time with all that money,” he murmured.
Amira caught her breath at the veiled insult. She knew there were many people who only saw her for what she was—Isobel Forsythe’s granddaughter—and not for who she was or how hard she worked behind the scenes. It had never really mattered to her before what others thought, so long as she did her job well.
Brent’s comment, however, cut her deeply. His opinion of her must really be appallingly low. If that’s how he felt, she was glad their marriage would be nothing but make-believe. It would be easier to hide her renascent feelings knowing he held her in such contempt.
“Well, you can never have enough, you know. Money, that is,” she replied, even though the words felt like dry cereal in her mouth.
“Hear, hear.” Brent lifted his champagne glass in a silent toast. “Thank you for being honest with me.”
Honest? She’d always been honest with him. The only trouble was the one time she’d doubted her feelings for him, doubted her heart, it had turned out to be the biggest mistake of her life.
The rest of the evening passed successfully enough, rounding off with an invitation from the NZLB table inviting Brent and Amira to join them. With a raised brow, Brent accepted. Once Amira had introduced him to the men she made her apologies and withdrew. She’d done her part by sponsoring his application and by making the necessary introductions. Now it was up to him.
She checked with the hotel staff to make sure everything was progressing as it should for the evening and, with her back to the shadows, let her shoulders relax just a little. Only another hour and it would all be over tonight. Then she could put away her polished persona and relax in a warm bath before collapsing into bed.
Convenient Marriage, Inconvenient Husband Page 6
