Clare Connelly Pairs: Warming the Sheikh’s Bed & Love in the Fast Lane

by Connelly , Clare

  “Darlings.” Rita Fontana was fifty three going on thirty one. She looked more like Beatrice’s contemporary than her mother, and Aurora thought it would only be another year or two and a few more procedures before Beatrice might resemble the older of the two. She arrived at the table in a cloud of Chanel No. 5, and air kissed first Aurora, and then Beatrice.

  “I’m sorry we kept you,” she said with a lift of her slender shoulders. “Your father could not find his glasses and you know how gets about these things.” She grimaced. “God knows, I’ve told him to get his eyes done but he thinks the wire rimmed look makes him seem more intelligent.”

  Aurora adored Beatrice’s parents. Eccentric, snobbish and slightly dense at times, they were still two of the most kind-hearted people she’d ever known. Occasionally, she glimpsed their eccentricities in Beatrice, though she was more like Leonardo, really. And he was more like his late father than his step-father or mother.

  “That’s fine, mother. Believe it or not, but Aurora and I are quite capable of passing time together without you, father or Leo watching over us.”

  “No need for sarcasm, darling,” Rita chided softly. “An apology felt necessary given that we were over thirty minutes behind the allotted time.”

  “Thirty minutes?” Beatrice looked down at her slender gold wrist watch with a frown. When she looked back up, Leonard and Lucien were approaching the table. “Oh, shit,” she whispered under her breath. Game time.

  3

  He was too beautiful. It was the first thing that popped into her head as she watched his approach. Like a Lion let out in a game reserve, he prowled with a stealth and power that was obvious to all.

  Given that their meeting was taking place in one of the finest hotels in Mayfair, both Lucien and Leonardo had dressed formally. Lucien in a Saville Row suit that screamed more money than style, accessorised with a bright pink carnation tucked into the top buttonhole; he looked every bit the fifth generation Lord that he was.

  As for Leonardo… she gulped, and tried to tear her eyes away, but it was impossible. His suit was custom made, too. That much was obvious from the way it flattered his lines, and showed expert cutting. It was a slate grey, and he wore it with a crisp white shirt, gold cufflinks, and no tie. Open at the neck, it revealed the strong column of his neck and a sprinkling of the coarse hair that Aurora knew ran all the way down to his pants.

  His hair was a little longer than when she’d seen him last. She would have guessed that he hadn’t had it cut since that morning. It curled a little at the starched collar of his suit, and her fingers tingled with a physical urge to reach out and touch it.

  “Aurora Jones, is it possible you get more and more beautiful each time I see you?” Lucien asked with a beaming smile, holding his hands out for Aurora to take. She smiled self-consciously but placed her fingers in his palms and stood up to place a dutiful kiss on either cheek. “Too skinny though. Just as well we’ve come for breakfast. Some beans and black pud ought to sort you out in no time.” He winked, releasing her hands and turning his attention to Beatrice.

  Aurora went to sit down but Leonardo’s hand on her arm forestalled her. As Beatrice, Lucien and Rita engaged in a brief ritual of greeting, Aurora was completely enslaved by the man she’d once loved.

  “Aurora,” he greeted with a nod of his head. “No kiss for me?”

  She shot him a look of pure derision, but didn’t dare say the choice phrases that were firing into her mind, lest Beatrice realise that Aurora hated him with all her passion.

  “Oh, I think I can stomach a brief kiss,” she murmured with a noncommittal shrug. The moment she pressed her cheek to his, her bravado evaporated in a wave of nothingness. The fragrance. The touch. The feel. He was intoxicating. Just being in his presence was akin to sculling a bottle of Grey Goose.

  He put a hand on the small of her back and kept her pinned to his side, when she would otherwise have broken their contact.

  “Have you missed me?” He wondered aloud, whispering in her cheek.

  She stiffened in his arms. “Believe me, I have not missed you for a moment,” she lied valiantly.

  His laugh showed his disbelief. “You realise you’re shaking?”

  She stepped back, chastened and afraid. The attraction between them was like a live wire that she had no protection against. She sat down in the booth seat, and realised her mistake a moment later, when Leonardo took up the empty spot right beside her. Beneath the table, their thighs brushed, and she sucked in a quick breath of air.

  “I didn’t realise you’d be here today,” he said quietly, signalling for a waiter’s attention. Instantly, a woman appeared, as though Leonardo’s wish was all she had been born to obey.

  “Obviously neither did I. Realise that you’d be here, I mean.” She said through gritted teeth, clasping her hands together beneath the table.

  “Or you wouldn’t have come?” He queried, turning his attention to the blonde with a distracted smile. “Short black.”

  Aurora rolled her eyes. “You could say ‘please’ once in a while.”

  “Or you wouldn’t have come, please?” He mocked, his eyes lingering on the full pout of her lips.

  “No.” She nodded, sipping her champagne. “I wouldn’t have come.”

  His eyes flared with some unknown emotion, and Aurora felt an answering response low in her abdomen.

  “Don’t you think you’ve had enough champagne for a lifetime?”

  She eyed him over the rim of the glass and finished the entire thing, feeling the bubbles fizzing all the way to her stomach.

  His smile was without humour as he dipped his head forward. On the pretence of wiping his mouth with a napkin, he said, “If you are attempting to get a reaction from me, you should realise that you’re out of your depth.”

  Her smile was saccharine as she met his gaze unflinchingly. “I think I know how to handle you.”

  Nonetheless, when the waiter returned a moment later with Leonardo’s coffee, Aurora ordered a peppermint tea.

  She caught the look of satisfaction on Leonardo’s face and levelled him with a barbed glare. “Believe it or not, I don’t drink very much these days.”

  He lifted his brows in obvious derision and turned away from her, catching the threads of the conversation Beatrice was having with her parents.

  “Farnley would be beautiful,” she was saying, flicking through some photographs her parents had taken that morning. “The Marquee could go on the East lawn. We could have some floating lanterns in the fountain – very Midsummer Night’s Dream.” She frowned. “Catering could be a problem.”

  “We’ll find someone wonderful, darling. And as for accommodation, the house has thirty functional bedrooms; and the Clevedon town has that new abomination. That Holiday Inn?”

  “It’s not a Holiday Inn,” Lucien said with a shake of his head. “Something like it though.” He pulled a face. “Three star hotel.”

  Aurora had to hide her smile behind her hand. “I dare say it will be sufficient for one or two nights.”

  “Not for you,” Beatrice said, shaking her head. “You’ll be at the house with me. I want you by my side the whole time!” She put a finger on the side of her mouth in an exaggerated gesture of contemplation. “Unless, of course, you and Alec want to stay in a romantic room with a view of the lavender garden.”

  Aurora felt her skin heat in response to Leonardo’s curious glance.

  “A love interest, Aurora?” Rita said, leaning forward with an encouraging smile on her face.

  “Hardly,” Aurora responded breathily, not meeting Leonardo’s eyes.

  “It would be if you’d stop being so fussy.” Beatrice turned her attention to her older brother. “You remember Alec? You met him last time you were in town.”

  “At the bar.” His nod was curt. Beneath the table, his hand crept to Aurora’s knee and gripped it. His fingers sent little jolts of awareness through her limbs, making her stomach roll.

  “Yes. He’s got
a huge crush on Aurora but she won’t go on even a single date with him.”

  His fingers moved higher, along her thigh, and Aurora had to bite down on her lip to stop herself from exclaiming. And yet she didn’t reach down and flick his hand away. It would have been easy enough to do. In fact, her body seemed to be pressing closer to his, giving him greater access.

  “That doesn’t seem fair,” he said with a thoughtful look. “He was surely nice enough to deserve a chance with the great Aurora Jones.”

  Aurora lifted her peppermint tea and sipped it slowly.

  “She thinks he’s too nice for her.” Beatrice rolled her eyes. “Tell her that’s not true. She’s had enough guys moving through the revolving door that is her love life! It’s time to settle down with someone really great. And Alec is.”

  Aurora risked a small glimpse at Leonardo’s face. It was shuttered, but she knew him well enough to understand that he was as besieged by emotions as she was. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “I’m quite a fan of the revolving door policy myself. I think you might be on your own in the ‘happily ever after’ camp, little sister.” And though he’d sort of come to her defence, Aurora felt a sludge of sadness run through her.

  His fingers moved a little higher, until they were pressed against the slender expanse of her upper thigh. Aurora’s eyes flew to his, but his face was averted. “Anyway,” she said unevenly. “This isn’t about me. Let’s talk weddings.”

  “Yes. Let’s.” Now, he turned to face her, and his eyes were mocking as they took in the way her cheeks were lightly flushed.

  Wedding planning with the Fontana family should have been fun for many reasons. Namely, because money was no object, Beatrice was at liberty to create her dream wedding, and her parents were adoring, supportive champions of the vision. Anything Beatrice suggested was met with rapturous agreement; claps of hands and sighs of delight. Yes, it would have been a very enjoyable way to spend a Sunday morning except that Leonardo was an anchor, constantly drawing her back to the deep dark depths of the ocean floor.

  “I hate to interrupt the creative genius mid-flow,” she said as midday came, and went, and Beatrice was showing no signs of slowing. “But I have to get going.”

  “Oh, jeez! I’ve kept you all day. Sorry, Rors. You know what I’m like once I get on a roll.”

  “I know,” she grinned at her best friend. “And it’s quite a roll. It’s going to be amazing. It’s just that I’ve got that thing this afternoon.”

  “Yes, I know. Time just got away from me.”

  “Hot date?” Leonardo interjected. His tone sounded pleasant enough but there was no way he could ask that question without sending a flash of awareness through Aurora.

  “Hardly.”

  “Aurora’s getting a preview of a Victorian fashion exhibit that’s going into the V&A.” Beatrice’s words were loaded with pride. “It’s for her blog.”

  “Blog?” Leonardo frowned, trying to remember something Beatrice had mentioned about Aurora’s new career. It had been years ago, when he’d been actively working to forget everything about his beautiful ex-girlfriend, and so he’d forced himself not to pay attention to the details.

  “Just a thing I write,” she said self-consciously, waving a hand through the air.

  “Vogue said she’s the most relevant fashion blogger of our time.”

  “The most relevant fashion blogger of our time?” He said with an unmistakable hint of disdain in his voice. “It’s practically a Pulitzer.”

  Aurora smothered the hurt in her expression, but not quickly enough. He saw it, and felt like an absolute asshole.

  “I love your site,” Rita said with a wide grin. “You’re the only place I go when I need advice on what I should look for when I’m shopping.”

  “Thanks.” Actually, Aurora was proud of what she’d started. Her statistics were truly humbling, and with most people, she didn’t try to downplay that success. But Leonardo was not most people. Telling him about the online presence she’d carved out for herself, only to have him make fun of it, would be reasonably soul destroying.

  “Anyway,” she stood up and brushed his hand away in one swift motion. “Thanks for breakfast. I’ll see you for the next meeting.” She turned to Leonardo, her eyes cold. “Though not you. Perhaps I won’t see you until the wedding.”

  He didn’t say anything, only nodded and turned his attention back to his sister.

  Aurora walked out into the cold, Autumnal day, and let out a sound of relief. Never had she been so glad to leave her best friend behind. If she’d had to sit at that table for another minute, pretending normality, she would have screamed.

  Three years.

  They’d been broken up, living their own successful lives, for three long years. And yet now, she couldn’t stop thinking of him. Everything she did seemed to flood her mind with memories of their time together; and the memories were unwelcome.

  She hailed a cab and slid into its warmth gratefully. “The V&A,” she instructed the driver, then angled herself in the seat so that she could look out the window at the passing streets. Hyde park was on her right; a smear of green and grey as she slide down past Marble Arch towards one of the world’s most famous galleries.

  Even as a girl, the museum had fascinated her. The permanent collections were world-class; the travelling exhibits legendary for their curacy. The building itself stood as a living monument to a war-torn decade, with pockmarks all the way down one side. The enormous stone slabs remained though, despite the damage that had been inflicted on them decades earlier.

  Perhaps one day she’d feel like those marble blocks. Strong and interesting despite the pockmarks that her relationship with Leonardo had dug into her being. She shook her head as if to clear the thoughts of her past and moved into a far grander and less personal history.

  Clarence Spencer had worked at the Victoria and Albert for a decade. She’d just been given her gold key of service at a lunch the week earlier, in fact. As she clipped through the tiled foyer, her sensible flat shoes made a satisfying clackety clack. Clarence approved of the noise; it conveyed the no-nonsense approach she felt befitted a Museum worker of her stature. She identified the blogger easily (she also had a keen skills when it came to powers of deduction, she flattered herself). In the midst of the ferrying tourists and hectically rushed parents, the woman was a beacon of serene beauty. Clarence spent her days surrounded by lovely things, but she’d never seen a person more lovely than Aurora Jones.

  She was well known for her photographic work, but that didn’t do her justice. Tall, and slender, with hair that was fair like sunshine, and eyes that seemed to shimmer as pale blue pools in her face, she had a radiant luminosity that briefly caused Clarence’s step to falter. Even her outfit was an artistic triumph. She’d combined the fashion for leather-look leggings with rumpled ankle boots, but, in a unique twist, she’d teamed them with a Mexican poncho and an enormous gold necklace. The effect was striking.

  “Aurora Jones?” She asked with an efficient smile. “Come this way.”

  “Miss Spencer? Thanks so much for agreeing to show me the collection.”

  Her manner was friendly and polite, not at all what Clarence had been expecting. “Call me Clarence. And it’s no trouble,” she said with a thoughtful side-long glance at the former model. “It’s not completely ready for display, you understand, but you’ll be able to see eighty percent of the outfits.” She took a sharp left turn toward the wing that would house the rare, historic clothes. “Do you mind if I ask what you’re working on?”

  “Of course not.” Aurora’s beautiful face filled with pleasure. “I’m really excited about it. I’m doing a piece that compares fashions throughout history with present day fabrics and styles. Looking at the way trends tend to cycle; the use of lace and subdued colours and more natural fibres.”

  “Sounds… fascinating,” Clarence agreed. “I look forward to reading it once you’re finished.”

  Clarence swiped a card acros
s an alarm. It beeped, flashed a green light and made a clicking sound. Clarence pushed the door open and waited for Aurora to follow her.

  “Oh, wow,” she remarked, stopping in the middle of the entrance and spinning around. “This is spectacular.” She walked in a daze towards a ball gown, oyster pink with puffed sleeves and a full skirt. “See, this is so of its time, and yet it would have been equally at home in the 80s. Admittedly with a little more tulle,” she grinned. “Do you mind if I take some photographs?”

  “We’re not really supposed to.” She saw the way Aurora’s face fell and shook her head. “But a few won’t hurt. Just email me the article and pictures for approval before you publish it.”

  “Thank you,” Aurora pulled her phone out and clicked a snap of the ball gown. “This is perfect.” She sighed as she looked down the long room at all of the outfits lined up in glass boxes. “I’ll try not to keep you too long, Clarence. I’m so grateful for the opportunity to get a look at these, though.”

  Anyone who knew the dour, officious Clarence Spencer would have been surprised by the genuine smile that broke across her face like an egg yolk in a warm pan. “You take your time, Aurora. And let me know if you need any help.”

  Such was the effect Aurora seemed to have, that most people she met came under her spell without her having any idea she was even casting it. She hummed as she studied the detail of the gowns, and though she’d truly only intended to take an hour or so, the whole afternoon passed in a companionable silence. Just Clarence the curator, Aurora the fashion blogger, and dozens of stunning outfits – the real stars of the show.

  By the time Aurora finally got back to Canary Wharf, she was exhausted and exhilarated in equal measure. She stepped out of the cab and into the blustery night air with a little shiver, pulling her poncho more tightly around her. She was almost at the entrance to the building when a sports car caught her eye. Then, the man reclining lazily against its door fused into her vision and she startled.