by Fiona Brand
When she moved to close the frustrating distance he gripped her upper arms.
“Carla.” His voice was clipped, the Medinian accent smoothed out by the more cosmopolitan overtones of the States, but still dark and sexy enough to send another shiver down her spine. “I tried to ring you. Why didn’t you pick up the call?”
The mundane question, the edged tone pulled her back to earth with a thump. “I switched my phone off while I was being interviewed then I put it on charge.”
But it had only been that way for about an hour. When she had left the private villa she was sharing with her mother and Sienna, she had grabbed the phone and dropped it in her purse. His hands fell away from her arms, leaving a palpable chill in place of the warm imprint of his palms. Extracting the phone from her clutch, she checked the screen and saw that, in her hurry, she had forgotten to turn it on.
She activated the phone, and instantly the missed calls registered on the screen. “Sorry,” she said coolly. “Looks like I forgot to turn it back on.”
She frowned at his lack of response. With an effort of will, she controlled the unruly emotions that had had the temerity to explode out of their carefully contained box and dropped the phone back in her clutch. So, okay, this was subtext for “let’s play it cool.”
Fine. Cool she could do, but not doormat. “I’m sorry I missed meeting you earlier but you’ve been here most of the day. If you’d wanted we could have met for lunch.”
A discreet thunk snapped Carla’s head around. Automatically, she tracked the unexpected sound and movement as the passenger door of the Maserati swing open.
Not male. Which ruled out her first thought, that the second occupant of the Maserati, hidden from her view by darkly tinted windows, was one of the security personnel who sometimes accompanied Lucas.
Not male. Female.
Out of nowhere her heart started to hammer. A series of freeze frames flickered: silky dark hair caught in a perfect chignon; a smooth, elegant body encased in shimmering, pale pearlized silk.
She went hot then cold, then hot again. She had the abrupt sensation that she was caught in a dream. A bad dream.
She and Lucas had an agreement whereby they could date others in order to distract the press and preserve the privacy she had insisted upon. But not here, not now.
Jerkily, Carla completed the movement she realized Lucas wanted from her: she stepped back.
She focused on his face, for the first time fully absorbing the remoteness of his dark gaze. It was the same cool neutrality she had seen on the odd occasion when they had been together and he’d had to take a work call.
The throbbing in her head increased, intensified by a shivery sensitivity that swept her spine. Her fingers tightened on her clutch as she resisted the sudden, childish urge to hug away the chill.
She drew an impeded breath. Another woman? She had not seen that coming.
Her mind worked frantically. No. It couldn’t be.
But, if she hadn’t felt that moment of heated response she could almost think that Lucas—
Emotion flickered in his gaze, gone almost before she registered it. “I believe you’ve met Lilah.”
Recognition followed as Lilah turned and the light from the portico illuminated delicate cheekbones and exotic eyes. “Of course.” She acknowledged Ambrosi’s spectacularly talented head designer with a stiff nod.
Of course she knew Lilah, and Lilah knew her.
And all about her situation with Lucas, if she correctly interpreted the sympathy in Lilah’s eyes.
Confusion rocked her again. How dare Lucas confide their secret to anyone without her permission? And Lilah Cole wasn’t just anyone. The Coles had worked for Ambrosi’s for as long as Carla could remember. Carla’s grandfather, Sebastien, had employed Lilah’s mother in Broome. Lilah, herself, had worked for Ambrosi for the past five years, the last two as their head designer, creating some of their most exquisite jewelry.
Lilah’s smile and polite greeting were more than a little wary as she closed the door of the Maserati and strolled around the front of the car to join them.
The sudden uncomfortable silence was broken as the front door of the castello was pushed wide. Light flared across the smooth expanse of gravel, the soft strains of classical music filtered through the haze of shock that still held Carla immobile.
A narrow, well-dressed man Carla recognized as Tomas, Constantine’s personal assistant, spoke briefly in Medinian and motioned them all inside.
With a curt nod, Lucas indicated that both Carla and Lilah precede him. Feeling like an automaton, Carla walked toward the broad steps, no longer caring that the gravel was ruining her shoes. Exquisite confections she had chosen with Lucas in mind—along with every other item of jewelry and clothing she was wearing tonight, including her lingerie.
With each step she could feel the distance between them, a mystifying cold impersonality, growing by the second. When his hand landed in the small of Lilah’s back, steadying her as she hitched up her gown with a poised, unutterably graceful movement, Carla’s heart squeezed on a pang of misery. In those few seconds she finally acknowledged the insidious fear that had coexisted with her need to be with Lucas for almost two years.
She knew how dangerous Lucas was in business. As Constantine’s right hand, by necessity he had to be coldly ruthless.
The other shoe had finally dropped. She had just been smoothly, ruthlessly dumped.
Two
Tucking a glossy strand of dark hair behind her ear—hair that suddenly seemed too lush and unruly for a formal family occasion—Carla stepped into the disorienting center of what felt like a crowd.
In reality there were only a handful of people present in the elegant reception room: Tomas and members of the Atraeus family including Constantine, his younger brother, Zane, and Lucas’s mother, Maria Therese. To one side, Sienna was chatting with their mother, Margaret Ambrosi.
Sienna, wearing a sleek ivory dress and already looking distinctly bridal, was the first to greet her. The quick hug, the moment of warmth, despite the fact that they had spent most of the morning going over the details of the wedding together, made Carla’s throat lock.
Sienna gripped her hands, frowning. “Are you okay? You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine, just a little rushed and I didn’t expect the media ambush at the gates.” Carla forced a bright smile. “You know me. I do thrive on publicity, but the reporters were like a pack of wolves.”
Constantine, tall and imposing, greeted her with a brief hug, the gesture conveying her new status as a soon-to-be member of Medinos’s most wealthy, powerful family. He frowned as he released her. “Security should have kept them at bay.”
His expression was remote, his light gray gaze controlled, belying the primitive fact that he had used financial coercion and had even gone so far as kidnapping Sienna to get his former fiancée back.
“The security was good.” Carla hugged her mother, fighting the ridiculous urge to cling like a child. If she did that she would cry, and she refused to cry in front of Lucas.
A waiter offered champagne. As she lifted the flute from the tray her gaze clashed with Lucas’s. Her fingers tightened reflexively on the delicate stem. The message in his dark eyes was clear.
Don’t talk. Don’t make trouble.
She took a long swallow of the champagne. “Unfortunately, the line of questioning the press took was disconcerting. Although I’m sure that when Lucas arrived with Lilah any misconceptions were cleared up.”
Sienna’s expression clouded. “Don’t tell me they’re trying to resurrect that old story about you and Lucas?”
Carla controlled her wince reflex at the use of the word resurrect. “I guess it’s predictable that now that you and Constantine have your happy ending, the media are looking to generate something out of nothing.”
Sienna lifted a brow. “So, do they need a medic down at the gates?”
“Not this time.” Lucas frowned as Carla took an
other long swallow of champagne. “Don’t forget I was the original target two years ago, not the media.”
And suddenly the past was alive between them, vibrating with hurtful accusations and misunderstandings she thought they had dealt with long ago. The first night of unplanned and irresistible passion they’d shared, followed by the revelation of the financial deal her father had leveraged on the basis of Sienna’s engagement to Constantine. Lucas’s accusation that Carla was more interested in publicity and her career than she had been in him.
Carla forced herself to loosen her grip on the stem of her glass. “But then the media are so very fascinated by your private life, aren’t they?”
A muscle pulsed along the side of his jaw. “Only when someone decides to feed them information.”
The flat statement, correct as it was, stung. Two years ago, hurt by his comments, she had reacted by publicly stating that she had absolutely no interest in being pursued by Lucas. The story had sparked weeks of uncomfortable conjecture for them both.
Sienna left them to greet more arrivals. Her anger under control, Carla examined the elegant proportions of the reception room, the exquisite marble floors and rich, Italianate decor. “And does that thought keep you awake at night?”
Lucas’s gaze flared at her deliberate reference to the restless passion for her that he had once claimed kept him awake at nights. “I’m well used to dealing with the media.”
“A shame there isn’t a story. It could have benefited Ambrosi’s upcoming product launch.” She forced a brilliant smile. “You know what they say, any publicity is good publicity. Although in this case, I’m sure the story wouldn’t be worth the effort, especially when it would involve dragging my private life through the mud.”
Lucas’s expression shuttered, the fire abruptly gone. “Then I suggest you sleep easy. I don’t kiss and tell.”
The sense of disorientation she had felt the past few minutes evaporated in a rush of anger. “Or commit to relationships.”
“You were the one who set the ground rules.”
Suddenly Lucas seemed a lot closer. “You know I had no other option.”
His expression was grim. “The truth is always an option.”
Her chin jerked up. “I was protecting Sienna and my family. What was I supposed to do? Turn up with you at Mom and Dad’s house for Sunday dinner and admit that I was—”
“Sleeping with me?”
The soft register of his voice made her heart pound. Every nerve in her body jangled at his closeness, the knowledge that he was just as aware of her as she was of him. “I was about to say dating an Atraeus.”
Sienna returned from her hostess duties to step neatly between them. “Time out, children.”
Lucas lifted a brow, his mouth quirking in the wry half smile that regularly made women go weak at the knees. “My apologies.”
As Constantine joined them, Lucas drew Lilah into the circle. “I know I don’t need to introduce Lilah.”
There was a moment of polite acknowledgment and brief handshakes as Lilah was accepted unconditionally into the Atraeus fold. The process of meeting Maria Therese was more formal and underlined a salient and well-publicized fact. Atraeus men didn’t take their women home to meet their families on a casual basis. To her best knowledge, until now, Lucas had never taken a girlfriend home to meet his mother.
Lucas’s girlfriend.
Lilah was smiling, her expression contained but lit with an unmistakable glow.
A second salient fact made Carla stiffen. A few months ago, while stuck overnight together at a sales expo in Europe, she and Lilah had discussed the subject of relationships. At age twenty-nine, despite possessing the kind of sensual dark-haired, white-skinned beauty that riveted male attention, Lilah was determinedly single.
She had told Carla a little of her background, which included a single mother, a solo grandmother and ongoing financial hardship. Born illegitimate, Lilah had early on given herself a rule. No sex before marriage. There was no way she was going to be left holding a baby.
While Carla had stressed about finding Mr. Right, Lilah was calmly focused on marrying him, her approach methodical and systematic. She had moved on a step from Carla’s idea of a spreadsheet and had developed a list of qualifying attributes as precise and unwavering as an employment contract. Also, unlike Carla, Lilah had saved herself for marriage. She was that twenty-first century paragon: a virgin.
The simple fact that she was on Medinos with Lucas, thousands of miles from her Sydney apartment and rigorous work schedule, spoke volumes.
Lilah did not date. Carla knew that she occasionally accompanied a gay neighbor to his professional dinners and had him escort her to charity functions she supported. But their relationship was purely friendship, which suited them both. That was all.
Carla took another gulp of champagne. Her stomach clenched because the situation was suddenly blindingly obvious.
Lilah was dating Lucas because she had chosen him. He was her intended husband.
Anger churned in Carla’s stomach and stiffened her spine. She and Lucas had conducted their relationship based on a set of rules that was the complete opposite of everything that Lilah was holding out for: no strings, strictly casual and, because of the family feud, in secrecy.
An enticing, convenient arrangement for a man who clearly had never had any intention of offering her marriage.
Waiters served more chilled champagne and trays of tiny, exquisite canapés. Carla forced herself to eat a tiny pastry case filled with a delicate seafood mousse. She continued to sip her way through the champagne, which loosened the tightness of her throat but couldn’t wash away the deepening sense of hurt.
Lilah Cole was beautiful, elegant and likable, but nothing could change the fact that Lilah’s easy acceptance into the Atraeus fold should have been her moment.
The party swelled as more family and friends arrived. Abandoning her champagne flute on a nearby sideboard, Carla joined the movement out onto a large stone balcony overlooking the sea.
Feeling awkward and isolated amidst the crowd, she threaded her way through the revelers to the parapet and stared out at the expansive view. The breeze gusted, laced with the scent of the sea, sending coils of hair across her cheeks and teasing at the flimsy silk of her dress, briefly exposing more leg than she had planned.
Lucas’s gaze burned over her, filled with censure, not the desire that had sizzled between them for the past two years.
Cheeks burning, she snapped her dress back into place, her mood plummeting further as Lilah joined Lucas. Despite the breeze, Lilah’s hair was neat and perfect, her dress subtly sensual with a classic pureness of line that suddenly made Carla feel cheap and brassy, all sex and dazzle against Lilah’s demure elegance. Her cheeks grew hotter as she considered what she was wearing under the red silk. Again, nothing with any degree of subtlety. Every flimsy stitch was designed to entice.
She had taken a crazy risk in dressing so flamboyantly, practically begging for the continuation of their relationship. After the distance of the past two months she should have had more sense than to wear her heart on her sleeve. Jerking her gaze away, she tried to concentrate on the moon sliding up over the horizon, the churning floodlit water below the castello.
A cool gust of wind sent more hair whipping around her cheeks. Temporarily blinded, she snatched at her billowing hemline. Strong fingers gripped her elbow, steadying her. Heart-stoppingly familiar dark eyes clashed with hers. Not Lucas, Zane Atraeus.
“Steady. I‘ve got you. Come over here, out of the wind before we lose you over the side.”
Zane’s voice was deep, mild and low-key, more American than Medinian, thanks to his Californian mother and upbringing. With his checkered, illegitimate past and lady-killer reputation, Zane was, of the three brothers, definitely the most approachable and she wondered a little desperately why she hadn’t been able to fall for him instead of Lucas. “Thanks for the rescue.”
He sent her an enigmat
ic look. “Damsels in distress are always my business.”
The warmth in her cheeks flared a little brighter. The suspicion that Zane wasn’t just talking about the wind, that he knew about her affair with Lucas, coalesced into certainty.
He positioned her in the lee of a stone wall festooned with ivy. “Can I get you a drink?”
A reckless impulse seized Carla as she glanced across at Lucas. “Why not?”
With his arm draped casually across the stone parapet behind Lilah, his stance was male and protective, openly claiming Lilah as his, although he wasn’t touching her in any way.
Unbidden, a small kernel of hope flared to life at that small, polite distance. Ten minutes ago, Carla had been certain they were an established couple; that to be here, at a family wedding, Lucas would have had to have slept with Lilah. Now she was abruptly certain they had not yet progressed to the bedroom. There was a definite air of restraint underpinning the glow on Lilah’s face, and despite his possessive stance, Lucas was preserving a definite distance.
A waiter swung by. Zane handed her a flute of champagne. “Do you think they’ve slept together?”
Carla’s hand jerked at the question. Champagne splashed over her fingers. She dragged her gaze from the clean line of Lucas’s profile and glanced at Zane. His expression was oddly grim, his jaw set. “I don’t know why you’re asking me that question.”
Zane, who hadn’t bothered with champagne, gave her a steady look, and humiliation curled through her. He knew.
Carla wondered a little wildly how he had found out and if everyone on the balcony knew that she was Lucas’s ditched ex.
Zane’s expression was dismissive. “Don’t worry, it was a lucky guess.”
Relief flooded her as she swallowed a mouthful of champagne. A few seconds later her head began to spin and she resolved not to drink any more.
