by Fiona Brand
“You know me.” His gaze was faintly mocking as he walked through an open-plan dining area to a modern kitchen and opened the fridge. “I’m always on the lookout for new talent.”
It occurred to her that the artist could be Lilah, who painted in her spare time, and jealousy gripped her. Before she could stop herself she had stepped closer to the nearest of the new paintings, so she could study the signature. S. H. Crew, not L. Cole.
Her knees felt a little shaky as she moved on to the next painting, also by S. H. Crew. For some odd reason, the thought that Lilah might appeal to Lucas on a creative, spiritual level was suddenly more sharply hurtful than her physical presence would have been.
Lucas loomed over her, the warm scent of his skin, the faint undernote of sandalwood, making her pulse race. “Is it safe to give you this?”
“Not really.” Jaw clenching against an instant flashback of the scene on Medinos when she had dashed water over Lucas, and the lovemaking that had followed, she took the glass of ice water. She strolled the length of the sitting room and drifted into a broad hall that served as a gallery. She sipped water and pretended to be interested in the paintings that flowed along a curving cream wall that just happened to lead to the master bedroom. “So why did you have me followed?”
He strolled past her and stood, arms folded over his chest, blocking her view of his bedroom. “I wanted to see what you were up to. Tell me,” he said grimly, “what did Panopoulos offer you?”
She blinked at the mention of Panopoulos’s name, but it went in one ear and out the other. She was consumed with suspicion because Lucas clearly did not want her to see into his bedroom, and the notion that Lilah was there, maybe even in his bed, was suddenly overwhelming.
Setting the water down on a narrow hall table she marched past him. Lucas’s hand curled around her arm as she stepped through the door, swinging her around to face him, but not before she had ascertained that his bedroom was empty. And something else that made her heart slam hard against the wall of her chest.
What he hadn’t wanted her to see. A silk robe she had left at his apartment by mistake the last time she had been here almost three months ago, and which was exactly where she had left it, draped over the back of a chair. The aquamarine silk was wildly exotic, sexy and utterly feminine. No woman would have missed its presence or significance and allowed it to remain. The robe was absolute proof that Lilah had never been in Lucas’s bedroom.
Her heart beat a queer, rapid tattoo in her chest. “You haven’t slept with her yet.”
Lucas let her go, his gaze glittering with displeasure. “Maybe I was in the process of getting rid of your things before I invited her over.”
Anger flaring, she backed up a half step. The cool solidity of the door frame stopped her dead. “I’m here now, you can hand it to me personally.”
“Is that a command, or are you going to ask me nicely?”
Wary of the banked heat in Lucas’s gaze, which was clearly at odds with the coolness of his tone, she controlled her temper with difficulty. “I just did ask you nicely.”
“I’m willing to bet you were nicer to Alex Panopoulos when you walked into his office in that suit. Did you finally agree to sleep with him?”
“Sleep with him?” The words came out as an incredulous yelp. She couldn’t help it, she was so utterly distracted by the fact that Lucas thought she could be even remotely interested in Alex Panopoulos, a man she barely tolerated for the sake of business. “Well, I haven’t jumped into his bed, yet. Does that make you feel better about me?”
Hot anger simmered through her, doubly compounded by the humiliating fact that Panopoulos had wanted to sleep with her.
With a suddenness that shocked her, Lucas leaned forward and kissed her. The sensual shock of the kiss, even though she had half expected it and had goaded him into it, sent a wave of heat through Carla. Until that moment, she hadn’t understood how much she had wanted to provoke him, how angry she was at his defection. She was also hurt that he still didn’t know who she was after more than two years, and evidently didn’t have any interest in knowing, when she was deeply, painfully in love with him.
She blinked, dazed. At some point, she realized, probably that first time they had met, something had happened. After years of dating men and knowing they weren’t right, she had taken one look at Lucas and chosen him.
That was why she had broken almost every personal rule she’d had and slept with Lucas in the first place, then continued with the relationship when she knew any association with him would hurt her family. If she had been sensible and controlled she would have stepped back and waited. After all, if a relationship had legs it should stand the test of a little time. But she hadn’t been able to wait. She had wanted him, needed him, right then, the same way she needed him now.
Two years. She blinked at the immensity of her self-deception. She had buried the in-love thing behind the pretense that theirs was a modern relationship between two overcommitted people with the added burden of some crazy family pressures. Anything to bury the fact that the sporadic interludes with Lucas in no way satisfied her need to be loved.
Her arms closed convulsively around his neck. She shouldn’t be kissing him now, not when she wanted so much more, but in that moment she ceased to care.
“What’s wrong?” Lucas pulled back, his gaze suddenly heart-stoppingly soft. “Am I hurting you?”
“No.” Yes. Her hands tangled in the thick black silk of his hair and dragged his mouth back to hers. “Just kiss me.”
Long minutes later they made it to the bed. She dragged his shirt off his shoulders and tossed it aside. Her palms slid across his sleek, heavy shoulders and muscled chest. Giddy pleasure spun through her as he removed her clothing, piece by piece, and she, in turn, removed his.
Time seemed to slow, then stop as she fitted herself against him and clasped his head, pulling his mouth to hers, needing him closer, needing him with her. Late-afternoon sun slanted through the shutters, tiger striping his shoulders as his gaze linked with hers and she suddenly knew why making love with Lucas had always been so special, so important. For those few minutes when they were truly joined it was as if he unlocked a part of himself that normally she could never quite reach, and he was wholly hers. In those few moments she could believe that he did love her.
Cool air swirled around naked skin as he sheathed himself. Relief shivered through her as they flowed together. She was utterly absorbed by the feel of him inside her, his touch and taste, the slow, thorough way he made love to her, as if he knew her intimately, as if they did belong together.
Aside from those few minutes on Medinos it had been long months since they had last made love, and she had missed him, missed this. As crazy as it seemed, despite everything that had gone wrong, everything that was still wrong, this part was right.
His head dipped, she felt the softness of his lips against her neck. Her stomach clenched, the slowly building tension suddenly unbearable as she tightened around him. She felt his raw shudder. In that moment her own climax shimmered through her with an intense pleasure that made tears burn behind her lids, and the room spun away.
Long minutes later the buzzer at the front door jerked her out of the sleepy doze she had fallen into. With smooth, fluid movements, Lucas rolled out of bed, snagged his clothes off the floor and walked through to the adjoining bathroom. Seconds later, he reappeared, fastening dark trousers around narrow hips as he strolled to the door.
Carla didn’t wait to see who it was. Snatching up her clothes, including her bra, which had ended up hooked over a bedside lamp, she hurried into the bathroom to freshen up and change. Her clothes were crumpled and her hair was a tumbled mass, but she couldn’t worry about that. Her priority was to leave as quickly as possible.
Slipping into her shoes, she searched and found her bag on the floor just outside the bedroom door. She must have dropped it when Lucas had kissed her there. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she marched through the
sitting room where Lucas was talking in low, rapid Medinian to two of his security personnel.
Lucas said her name. She ignored him and the curious looks of the men, in favor of sliding through the open door and making a dash for the elevator.
Relief eased some of her tension when she saw that the doors were open. Jogging inside, she jabbed the ground floor button as Lucas appeared in the corridor.
“Wait,” he said curtly.
The doors closed an instant before he reached the elevator. Heart pounding, Carla examined her reflection in the mirrored rear wall and spent the few seconds repairing her smudged mascara. She winced at her swollen lips and the pink mark on her neck where Lucas’s stubble must have grazed her. She looked as if she had just rolled out of bed.
The elevator stopped with a faint jolt. Shoving her mascara back in her bag, Carla strolled quickly through the foyer, ignoring the concierge, who stared at her with a fascinated expression.
She almost stopped dead when she saw Lilah sitting in a chair, flipping through a magazine, obviously waiting. Pretending she hadn’t noticed her, Carla quickened her step. Now the two security staff talking with Lucas in hushed, rapid Medinian made sense. Lilah had wanted to go up to Lucas’s apartment, but they had known Carla was there.
Mortified, she dimly registered Lilah’s white face, the shock in her eyes, as she pushed the foyer doors wide. The sound of traffic hit her like a blow. The sun, now low on the horizon, shone directly in her eyes, dazzling her, a good excuse for the tears stinging her eyes. Her throat tightened as she started down the front steps.
As she stepped onto the sidewalk a hand curved around her arm, stopping her in her tracks.
Her heart did a queer leap in her chest as she spun. “Lucas.”
Eight
Carla wrenched free. Lucas was still minus his shirt, his hair sexily tangled. If she looked rumpled, he definitely looked like he had just rolled out of the love nest. “How did you get down so fast?”
“There’s a second, private lift.”
Her fingers tightened on the strap of her bag. “More to the point, why did you bother?”
His gaze narrowed. “I won’t glorify that with an answer. What did you think you were doing running out like that?”
Now that the initial shock of Lucas chasing after her was over, she was desperate to be gone. She needed to be alone so she could stamp out the crazy notion that kept sliding into her mind that there was still a chance for them. She had to get it through her skull that there was no hope. She was the one who got lost in useless emotion, while Lucas remained coolly elusive.
Her gaze flashed. “We were finished, weren’t we?” In more ways than one. “Or was there something else you wanted?”
Heat burned along his cheekbones. “You know I never viewed you that way.”
“How, then?”
He said something low and taut in Medinian that she was pretty sure was a swear word or phrase of some kind. Not for the first time it occurred to her that for her own peace of mind she really should learn some of that language.
His palm curved around the base of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair. A split second later his mouth closed over hers.
A series of flashes, the slick, motorized clicking of a high-speed camera jerked them apart. A reporter with an expensive-looking camera had just emerged from a parked car.
A shudder of horror swept Carla. When the press recognized her they would put one and one together and make seven. Before she arrived back at her apartment they would have her entangled in a second-time-around affair with Lucas. By morning they would have her cast off and pregnant or, more probably, since Lucas was involved with Lilah, caught up in some trashy love triangle.
Most of it, unfortunately, was embarrassingly true.
A strangled sound jerked her head around. Bare meters away, directly behind Lucas, Lilah was caught in an awkward freeze-frame.
Carla’s stomach lurched as if she’d just stepped into a high-speed elevator on its way down. That was a definite “go” on the love triangle.
Lilah spun on her heel and walked quickly away.
With a final, manic series of clicks the reporter slid back into the car from which he had emerged. With a high-pitched whine reminiscent of a kitchen appliance the tiny hatchback sped away.
Lucas swore softly, this time in English, and released his grip on her nape. His gaze was weary. “Did you know he was out here?”
Her temper soared at what she could only view as an accusation. She gestured at her crumpled clothing and hair, the smeared makeup. “Do I look like I’m ready to be photographed by some sleazy tabloid reporter?”
Lucas’s brows jerked together. “You did it once before.”
A tide of heat swept her at his reference to her admittedly outrageous behavior in making their first breakup public and the resulting scandal that had followed. “You deserved that for the way you treated me.”
“I apologized.”
He had apologized. And she had forgiven him, then continued to sleep with him. There was a pattern there, somewhere.
His head jerked around as he spotted Lilah climbing into a small sedan. Slipping a cell phone out of his pants pocket, he punched in a number.
Carla blinked at his sudden change of focus. Feeling oddly deflated and emptied of emotion, she rummaged in her purse to find her car keys. “Before you ask the question, the reporter didn’t follow me. Why would he? I’m not your girlfriend.”
Lucas frowned and gave up on the call, which clearly wasn’t being picked up.
He was no doubt calling Lilah, trying to soothe her hurt and explain away his mistake. Despite the fact that Carla knew she was the one in the wrong for sleeping with Lucas, she found she couldn’t bear the thought of Lucas trivializing what they had just shared.
He had the nerve to try the phone number again.
A red mist swam before her eyes. Before she even registered what she was about to do, her hand shot out, closed around the phone and she flung it as hard as she could onto the road. It bounced and flew into several pieces. A split second later a truck ran over the main body of the phone, smashing it flat.
There was a moment of silence.
Lucas’s expression was curiously devoid of emotion. “That was an expensive phone.”
“So sue me, but I find it insulting and objectionable that the man I’ve just slept with should phone another woman in my presence. You could have at least waited until I had left.”
His gaze narrowed. “My apologies for accusing you of calling the press in. I forgot about Lilah.”
“Something you seem to be doing a lot lately. I don’t know what you’re doing out here with me when you should be concentrating on getting back with her.”
A swirling breeze started up, making her feel chilled. She rubbed at the gooseflesh on her arms, suddenly in urgent need of a hot bath and an early night. Technically, she was still recovering from the viral relapse and under doctor’s orders to take it easy, not that she would tell Lucas that. She was supposed to take an afternoon nap if she could fit it in. Ha!
She started toward her car. Lucas stepped in front of her, blocking her path.
She stared at his sleek, bare shoulders and muscled chest, the dark line of hair that arrowed down to the waistband of his pants. She was tired, and her body still ached and throbbed in places from what they had done in his penthouse apartment. What they had done was wrong, but that didn’t stop the automatic hum of desire.
“I have no plans on ‘getting back’ with Lilah. Do you intend to sleep with Panopoulos?”
She went still inside at the first part of that sentence, although she felt no sense of surprise that Lucas was breaking up with Lilah. If he could gravitate back to her so easily then clearly there wasn’t much holding them together. Then a second thunderbolt hit her.
Lucas was jealous.
Make that very jealous. She didn’t know why she hadn’t seen it before, but the knowledge demystified his ov
erbearing reaction to her job interview with Alex Panopoulos. It also cast a new light on the dictatorial way he had decided that she would no longer be “The Face” or act in the promotional play she had planned to stage as part of Ambrosi’s product launch. She had thought he was downgrading her both personally and professionally because he didn’t want her, but the opposite was true.
A glow of purely feminine pleasure soothed over the hurt he had inflicted by demoting her. The launch was her baby. She had meticulously planned every detail, always shooting for perfection, and she needed to be there to make sure everything went smoothly. She still didn’t like what he had done, but she understood his reasoning now and, because it involved his emotions for her, she would allow him to get away with being so high-handed.
Her chin came up at the question about Alex Panopoulos, although it no longer had any sting. “You’re not my boyfriend,” she said flatly. “You have no right to ask that question.”
* * *
Maybe not. But that situation was about to change.
Lucas’s jaw locked as he controlled the surge of cold fury at the thought of Carla and Panopoulos together. When he had asked her before she had said she hadn’t slept with him, and he believed her, but he knew Alex Panopoulos. He was wealthy and spoiled and used to having what he wanted. If he wanted Carla, he wouldn’t give up.
His hands curled into fists at the almost overwhelming urge to simply pick Carla up and carry her back up to his apartment and his bed. Instead, he forced himself to stillness as Carla climbed behind the wheel of her sports car and shot away from the curb.
He was finished with caveman tactics. Finesse was now required.
He examined his options as he took the stairs into his apartment building and strode through the foyer. They were not black-and-white, exactly, but close.
He stepped into the elevator, which Tiberio was holding for him. It was a fact that ever since he had first seen Carla he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her. His attempt to create distance and sever their relationship had backfired. Instead of killing his desire, distance had only served to increase it to the point that the very thing he had been trying to avoid happened: he lost control.
