by Fiona Brand
Darn, darn, darn. Why had she almost given in to him? Like a mindless, trained automaton responding to the merest suggestion that he might kiss her.
After the stern talking-to she had given herself following the episode on the dance floor, she had succeeded in making herself look needy, like a woman who would do anything to get him back into her bed.
The pressure at her temples sharpened. Feeling more unsteady by the second, as if she was coming down with the flu, Carla walked to her bedroom. The acute sensitivity of her eyes was making it difficult to stand being in a lit room. No doubt about it, the virus had taken hold.
Removing her jewelry, she changed into cool cotton drawstring pants and a tank. She pulled on a cotton sweatshirt and cozy slippers against the chill and walked through to the bathroom. After washing and moisturizing her face, she pulled the pins out of her hair, which was an instant relief.
A discreet vibration made her frown. Her cell phone had a musical ring tone, and so did Sienna’s. Margaret Ambrosi didn’t own a cell, which meant the phone must belong to Lucas.
She padded barefoot into the sitting room in time to see the phone vibrate itself off the coffee table and drop to the carpet. A small pinging sound followed.
Carla picked up the phone. Lucas had missed a call from Lilah; now he had a text message, also from Lilah.
Fingers shaking slightly, she attempted to read the text but was locked out. A message popped up requesting she unlock the phone.
Not a problem, unless Lucas had changed his PIN since the last time they had dated.
Not dated, she corrected, her mood taking another dive. Slept together.
The last time he had stayed over at her apartment, before the holiday in Thailand, Lucas had needed to buy a new phone. The PIN he had used had been her birth date. At the time she had been ridiculously happy at his sentimental streak. She had taken it as a definite, positive sign that their relationship was progressing in the right direction.
She held her breath as she keyed in the number. The mail menu opened up.
The message was simple and to the point. Lilah was waiting for Lucas to call and would stay up until she heard from him.
The sick feeling in her stomach, the prickling chill she’d felt when he had broken up with her the previous night, came back at her full force. If she’d needed reinforcement of her decision to stay clear of Lucas Atraeus, this was it.
He was involved with someone else. He had chosen someone else, and the new woman in his life was waiting for him.
Closing the message, she replaced the phone on the coffee table and walked back to the bathroom. She switched off lights as she went, leaving one lamp burning in the sitting room for her mother when she came home. The relief of semidarkness was immense.
In the space of the past few minutes, she realized, the throbbing in her head had intensified and her skin hurt to touch. She swallowed another headache tablet, washing it down with sips of water. The sound of the doorbell jerked her head up. The sharp movement sent a stab of hot pain through her skull.
Lucas, back for his phone.
Setting the glass down, she walked back out to the hall, which was lit by the glow from the porch light streaming through two frosted sidelight windows. The buzzer sounded again.
“Open up, Carla. All I want is my phone.”
That particular request, she decided, was the equivalent of waving a red rag at a bull. “You can have the phone tomorrow.”
“I still have the key to this door,” he said quietly. “If you don’t unlock it, I’ll let myself in.”
Over her dead body.
“Just a minute.” Annoyed with herself for forgetting to reclaim the key, she reached for the chain and tried to engage it. In her haste it slipped from her fingers.
She heard Lucas say something short and sharp. Adrenaline pumped. He knew she was trying to chain the door against him. The metallic scrape of a key being inserted into the lock was preternaturally loud as she grabbed the chain again.
Before she could slot it into place the door swung open, pushing her back a half step. Normally, the half step back wouldn’t have fazed her, but with the weird shakiness of the virus she was definitely not her normal, athletic self and had to clutch at the hall table to help with her balance. Something crashed to the floor; glass shattered. She registered that when she had grabbed at the table her shoulder must have brushed against a framed watercolor mounted on the wall.
Lucas frowned. “Don’t move.”
Ignoring him, she bent down and grasped the edge of the frame.
Lean fingers curled around her upper arms, hauling her upright. “Leave that. You’ll cut yourself.”
Too late. Curling her thumb in against her palm, she made a fist, hiding a tiny, stinging jab that as far as she was concerned was so small it didn’t count as a cut. She blinked at the bright porch light. “I didn’t give you permission to come in, and you don’t have the right to give me orders.”
“You did cut yourself.” He muttered something in Medinian. She was pretty sure it was a curse word. “Give me the watercolor before you do any more damage.”
Her grip on the watercolor firmed, even though his request made sense. If she got blood on the painting it would be ruined. “I don’t need your help. Get your phone and go.”
“You look terrible.”
“Thanks!”
“You’re as white as a sheet.”
He released her so suddenly she swayed off balance. By the time she recovered he had laid claim to her sore thumb and was probing at the small cut. But she still had the painting. “Neat trick.”
His gaze was oddly intent. “There doesn’t seem to be any glass in it.”
He wrapped a handkerchief around her thumb and closed her fingers around it to apply pressure. “How long have you been sick?”
Her jaw tightened. She was being childish, she knew, but she hated being sick. It literally brought out the worst in her. “I’m not sick. Like I said before, all I need is a good night’s sleep, so if you don’t mind—”
The brush of his fingers against her temple as he pushed hair away from her face distracted her.
“Does that hurt? Don’t answer. I can see that it does.”
He leaned close. Arrested by his nearness, she studied the taut line of his jaw, suddenly assaulted by a myriad of sensations—the heat from Lucas’s body, the clean scent of his skin, the rasp of his indrawn breath. That was one of the weird things about the virus: it seemed to amplify everything, hearing, scent, emotions, as if protective layers had been peeled away, leaving her senses bare and open.
In a slick move, he took the watercolor while her attention was occupied by the intriguing shape of his cheekbones, which were meltdown material.
A small sound informed her that he had placed the painting on the hall table. Out of nowhere her stomach turned an uncomfortable somersault. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
His hand closed around her upper arm, and the heat from his palm burned through the cotton sweatshirt. Then they were moving, glass crunching under the soles of her slippers as he guided her out of the entrance hall into the sitting room. Another turn and they were in the bathroom.
Long minutes later, she rinsed her mouth and washed her face. She had hoped that Lucas would have left, but he was leaning against the hallway wall looking patient and composed and drop-dead gorgeous. In contrast she felt bedraggled and washed-out and as limp as a noodle.
Disgust and a taut, burning humiliation filled her. It was a rerun of Thailand, everything she had never wanted to happen again.
He folded his arms across his chest. “I’m guessing this is a relapse of the virus.”
Keeping one hand on the wall for steadiness, she made a beeline for her bedroom. “Apparently. This is the first recurrence I’ve had.” Her head spun and for a split second she thought she might be sick again, although she was fairly certain there was nothing left in her stomach. Two more wavering steps then the blissful darkness o
f her bedroom enfolded her. “Don’t turn on the light. And don’t come in here. This is my room.” And as such it was off-limits to men who didn’t love her.
“You should have told me you were still ill.”
Her temper flashed, but if it was measured on a color spectrum it would have been a washed-out pink, not the angry red it had been earlier in the evening. She didn’t have the energy for anything more and she was fading fast. “I didn’t know I was still ill.”
“That’s some temper you’ve got.”
Her teeth would have gritted if she’d had the strength. “Inherited it from my mother.” She dragged her coverlet back. “She’ll be home soon.” The thought filled her with extreme satisfaction. She hadn’t been able to kick Lucas’s butt out, but Margaret Ambrosi would. Especially if she found him in her little girl’s room.
Gingerly she sat on the side of the bed. Now that the stomach issue was over her attention was back on her head, which was pounding. What she needed was another painkiller, because the last one had just been flushed.
Dimly, she registered that despite her express order, Lucas was in her room. “I told you not to be here.”
He crouched down and eased her slippers off her feet. “Or what? You’ll lose that famous temper?”
“That’s right.” A shiver went through her at the burning heat of his hands on her feet. The chill on her skin made her realize that the next stage of the virus was kicking in. Oh, goody, she thought wearily, Antarctic-cold shivers followed by sweats that rivaled burning desert sands. Exactly how she always wanted to spend a Saturday night.
“I’ll take the risk. I survived Thailand, I can survive this.”
He pulled her to her feet. Her nose bumped against his shoulder. Automatically, she clutched his lean waist and leaned into his comforting strength. She inhaled, breathing in his scent, and for a crazy moment all she wanted to do was rest there.
A split second later, the sheet peeled back, Lucas eased her into bed and pulled the sheets and coverlet over her.
With a sigh, she allowed her head to sink into the feather pillow. “All I need is another one of the painkillers on the bathroom vanity and some water and I’ll be fine.” It was surrender, she knew it, but she really did need the pill.
She registered his near silent footfalls as he walked to the bathroom, the hiss of water as he filled the glass, then he was back. His arm came around her shoulders as he propped her up so she could take the pill and drink the water. When she was finished he set the glass down on her bedside table.
She settled back on the pillows. “You know what? You’re good at this.”
“I had lots of practice in Thailand. Do you need anything else?” His voice was closer now, the timbre low and deliciously gruff.
It was the kind of velvety masculine rumble that, if they had been in bed together, would have invited a snuggling session. Then suddenly she remembered. Lucas was with Lilah now; he no longer wanted her. If he felt anything for her, it had to be pity. A weak, watered-down version of fury roared through her.
She peeled her lids open and peered at Lucas, ready to read him the riot act, then forgot what she was about to say because there was a strange, intent expression on his face. “Nothing. You can leave. Phone’s on the coffee table. That was what you came for, wasn’t it?”
He was so close she could feel the heat blasting off his body, see his gaze sliding over her features, cataloging her white face and messy hair. For shallow, utterly female reasons she wished that her face was glowing instead of chalky-white and that she had taken the time to brush her hair. Mercifully, the strong painkiller finally kicked in, taking the heat out of the ache in her head and dragging her down into sleep. “I don’t want you here.”
It was a lie. The virus had made her so weak that she was fast losing the strength to keep up the charade, even to herself.
“I’m staying until I know you’ll be all right.”
“I would like you to leave. Now.” The crisp delivery she intended was spoiled by the fact that the words ran together in a drunken, blurred jumble.
She was certain the soft exhalation she heard had something to do with amusement, which made her even more furious. The mattress shifted as he planted a hand on either side of her head and leaned close. “What are you going to do if I don’t? Make me leave?”
For a crazy moment she thought he was actually flirting with her, but that couldn’t be. “Don’t have to,” she mumbled, settling the argument. Her eyelids slid closed. “You’ve already gone.”
Silence settled around her, thick, heavy, as the sedative effect of the pills dragged her down.
“Do you want me back?”
The words jerked her awake, but they had been uttered so quietly she wasn’t sure if she had imagined them or if Lucas had actually spoken.
She could see him standing in her bedroom doorway. Maybe she had been dreaming, or worse, hallucinating. “I took codeine, not truth serum.”
“It was worth a try.”
So he had asked the question.
She pushed up on one elbow. The suspicion that he was sneakily trying to interrogate her while she was drowsy from the pills solidified. Although she couldn’t fathom why he would be interested in what she really thought and felt now. “I don’t know why you’re bothering. Thank you for helping me, but please leave now.”
He shook his head. “You’re…different tonight.”
Different? She had been dumped. She had committed the cardinal sin of making love with her ex and could quite possibly be pregnant.
“Not different.” Turning over, she punched the pillow and willed herself to go to sleep. “Real.”
Six
Ten days later, Carla strolled into the Ambrosi building in Sydney.
When she reached her office, her assistant, Elise, a chirpy blonde with a marketing degree and a formidable memory for names and statistics, was in the process of hanging up the phone. “Lucas wants you in his office. Now.”
A jolt of fiery irritation instantly evaporated the peace and calm of four days spent recuperating at her mother’s house, the other five in the blissful solitude of the Blue Mountains at a friend’s holiday home. “Did he say why?”
Elise looked dreamily reflective. “He’s male, hot and single. Does it matter?”
Nerves taut, Carla continued on to her desk and deliberately took time out to examine the list of messages and calls Elise had compiled in her absence. Keeping her bag hooked over her shoulder, she checked her calendar and noted she had two meetings scheduled.
When she couldn’t stall any longer, she strolled to Sienna’s old office, frowning at the changes Atraeus money had already made to her family’s faltering business. Worn blue carpet had been replaced with a sleek, dove-gray weave. Fresh paint and strategically placed art now graced walls that had once been decorated solely with monochrome prints of Ambrosi jewelry designs.
Feeling oddly out of place in what, from childhood, had been a cozily familiar setting, she greeted work colleagues.
Directing a brittle smile at Sienna’s personal assistant, Nina—Lucas’s PA now—she stepped into the elegant corner office.
Lucas, broad shouldered and sleekly powerful in a dark suit with a crisp white shirt and red tie, dominated a room that was still manifestly feminine as he stood at the windows, a phone held to one ear.
His gaze locked with hers, he terminated the call. “Close the door behind you and take a seat.”
Suddenly glad she had made an extra effort with her appearance, she closed the door. The sharp little red suit, with its short skirt and fitted V-necked jacket, always made her feel attractive and energized. It probably wasn’t the best idea for dealing with Lucas, but she hadn’t worn it for him. She had a job interview at five with Alex Panopoulos, and she needed to look confident and professional. His upmarket Pan department stores were branching into jewelry manufacture and he had been chasing her all week to come in for an interview.
She hated the idea o
f leaving Ambrosi Pearls, but she had to be pragmatic about her position. When Constantine had offered the company back to Sienna on her wedding day they had held a family meeting. In essence, they had agreed to honour their debts, so the transfer of the company to The Atraeus Group had gone through as planned. With Sienna’s marriage to Constantine binding both families together, combined with Constantine’s assurance that he would keep the company intact, it had seemed the most sensible solution.
As a consequence, Carla now owned a block of voting shares. They would assure her of an income for the rest of her life, but they gave her no effective power. Her current personal contract as Ambrosi Pearls’s public relations executive was up for renewal directly after Ambrosi’s new product launch in a week’s time. She didn’t anticipate that Lucas would renew it. Her tenure as “The Face of Ambrosi” was just as shaky, but as she provided that service for free to help the company save money, it was no skin off her nose if Lucas no longer wanted her face on the posters.
Annoyance flickered in Lucas’s gaze when she didn’t immediately sit. He replaced the phone on its base. “I didn’t expect you back in so soon.”
She lifted a brow. “I felt okay, so there was no point in staying at home.”
“I’ve been trying to reach you all week. Why didn’t you return my calls?”
She shrugged. “I was staying with friends and didn’t take my phone.” She had left the phone at her apartment on purpose. The last thing she had needed was to have a desperately low moment and make the fatal mistake of trying to call or text Lucas.
There was a small charged silence. “How are you?”
“Fine. A couple of days in bed and the symptoms disappeared.” She smiled brightly. “If that’s all…”
“Not exactly.” His gaze rested on her waist, where the jacket cinched in tight. “Are you pregnant?”
Despite her effort at control, heat flooded her cheeks. “I don’t know yet. I have a test kit, but it’s early to get an accurate reading.”
“When will you know?”
