by Fiona Brand
Lucas leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest, his gaze wary. “It’s just a hotel room. I assumed you would want to share.”
“I do.”
Lucas frowned. The relaxed cast to his face, courtesy of an admittedly sublime night spent together in his bed, gone. “Then what’s wrong? You already know that Lilah and I were not involved.”
“It’s not Lilah—”
The doors slid open. A young couple with three young children were waiting for the elevator.
Lucas propelled her out into the corridor. “We’ll continue this discussion in our room.”
Their luggage had already been delivered and was stacked to one side, but Carla barely registered that detail. The large airy room with its dark polished floors, teak furniture and soaring ceilings was filled with lush bouquets of roses in a range of hues from soft pinks to rich reds. Long stemmed and glorious, they overflowed dozens of vases, their scent filling the suite.
Dazed, she walked through to the bedroom, which was also smothered with flowers. An ice bucket of champagne and a basket crammed with fresh fruit and exquisitely presented chocolates resided on a small coffee table positioned between two chairs.
Lucas carried their bags into the bedroom. The second he set them down she flung her arms around him. “I’m sorry. You organized all this—it’s beautiful, gorgeous—and all I could do was complain.”
His arms closed around her, tucking her in snugly against him. The comfort of his muscled body against hers, the enticement of his clean scent, increased her dizzy pleasure.
The second she had seen what Lucas had done, how focused he was on pleasing her, the notion that there was something wrong had evaporated. Now she felt embarrassed and contrite for giving him such a hard time.
Carla spent a happy hour rearranging the flowers and unpacking. By the time she had finished laying out her dress for the evening function, Lucas had showered, changed into a suit and disappeared, called away to do a series of interviews.
A knock on the door made her frown. When she opened it a young woman in a hotel uniform was standing outside with a hotel porter. After a brief conversation she discovered that Lucas had arranged for the items to be delivered for her perusal. Anything she didn’t want would be returned to the stores.
Feeling a bit like Alice falling down the rabbit hole, Carla opened the door wider so the porter could wheel in a clotheshorse that was hung with a number of plastic-shrouded gowns. At the base of the clotheshorse were boxes of shoes from the prominent design stores downstairs. She signed a docket and closed the door behind the hotel employees.
A quick survey of the gowns revealed that while they were all her size and by highly desirable designers, they were definitely not her style. Two had significantly high necklines, one a soft pink, the other an oyster lace. Both were elegant and gorgeously detailed, but neither conformed to her taste. The pink was too ruffled, like a flapper dress from the 1920s, and the oyster lace was stiffly formal and too much like a wedding gown.
The other boxes contained matching shoes and wraps and matching sets of silk underwear. She couldn’t help noticing that none of the shoes had heels higher than two inches.
As dazzled as she was by the lavish gifts, nothing about any of them fitted her personality or style. Each item was decidedly conventional and, for want of a better word, boring, like something her mother would have worn.
Her pleasure in unwrapping the beautiful things was dissolving by the second. Aside from the underwear, which was sexy and beautiful, it was clear that Lucas had had one thought in mind when he had had the things sent up: he was trying to tone her down. That brought them back to the original problem. Despite the engagement, Lucas still didn’t accept her for who she was. If he couldn’t accept her, she didn’t see how he could ever love her.
She found her phone and jabbed in the number of Lucas’s new phone. He picked up on the second ring, his voice impatient.
She cut him off. “I’m not wearing any of these dresses you’ve just had sent up.”
“Can we discuss this later?” The register of his voice was low, his tone guarded, indicating that he wasn’t alone.
Carla was beyond caring. “I’m discussing it now. I resent the implication that I dress immodest—”
“When did I say—”
“I’m female and, newsflash, I have a figure. I do not buy clothes to emphasise sex appeal—”
“Wait there. I’m coming up.”
A click sounded in her ear. Heart pounding, she snapped her phone closed, slipped it back in her bag and surveyed the expensive pile of items. Hurt squeezed her chest tight.
She had repacked the shoes and started on the underwear when the door opened.
Lucas snapped the door closed behind him and jerked at his tie. “What’s the problem?”
Carla glanced away from the heated irritation in his gaze, his ruffled hair as if he’d dragged his fingers through it, and the sexy dishevelment of the loose tie.
She picked up the pink ruffled number. “This, for starters.”
He frowned. “What’s wrong with it?”
She draped the gown against her body. “Crimes against humanity. The fashion police will have me in cuffs before I get out of the elevator.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose as if he was under intense pressure. “Do you realize that on Medinos, as your future husband I have the right to dictate what you wear?”
For a moment she thought he was joking. “That’s medieval—”
“Maybe I’m a medieval kind of guy.”
She blinked. She had been wanting to breach his inner barriers, but now she was no longer sure she was going to like what she’d find. The old Lucas had been a pussycat compared to what she was now uncovering. “I buy clothes because they make me look and feel good, not to showcase my breasts or any other part of my anatomy. If that means I occasionally flash a bit of cleavage, then you, and the rest of Medinos, are just going to have to adjust.”
She snatched up the pink silk underwear, which in stark contrast to the dress was so skimpy it wouldn’t keep a grasshopper warm. “Are these regulation?”
He hooked the delicate thong over one long brown finger. “Absolutely.”
Carla snatched the thong back and tossed the pink underwear back in its box. Retrieving the list of items she had signed for, she did what she had been longing to do—ripped it into shreds and tossed the pieces at Lucas. The issue of clothing, as superficial as it seemed, ignited the deep hurt that Lucas still viewed her as his sexy, private mistress and not his future wife. “You can have your master plan back.”
Lucas ignored the fluttering pieces of paper. “What master plan?”
“The one where you turn me into some kind of perfect stuffed mannequin and put me in a room on Medinos with one of those wooden embroidery frames in my hand.”
Lucas rubbed the side of his jaw, his gaze back to wary. “Okay, I am now officially lost.”
“I resent being treated as if I’m too dumb to know how I should dress. This is not digging gold out of rocks or sweaty men building a hotel, this is a fashion industry event.”
His jaw took on an inflexible look she was beginning to recognize. “We’re engaged. Damned if I’m going to let other men ogle you.”
She threw up her hands. “You’re laying down the law, but you don’t even know what I plan to wear tonight.”
Marching to the bed, she held up a hanger that held a sleek gold sheath with a softly draped boat-shaped neckline. “It’s simple, elegant, shows no cleavage—and, more to the point, I like it.”
“In that case, I apologize.”
Feeling oddly deflated, she replaced the dress on the bed. When she turned, Lucas pulled her into his arms.
Her palms automatically spread on his chest. She could feel the steady pound of his heart beneath the snowy linen of his shirt, the taut, sculpted muscle beneath. Her heart rate, already fast, sped up, but he didn’t try to pull her closer or kiss her.
“It wasn’t my intention to upset you, but there is one thing about me that you’re going to have to understand—I don’t share. When it comes down to it, I don’t care what you wear. I just don’t want other men thinking you’re available. And from now on the press will watch you like a hawk.”
“I’m not irresponsible, or a tease.” She released herself from his hold. The problem was that she had never understood Lucas’s mood swings; she didn’t understand him. One minute he was with her, the next he was cut off and distant and she needed to know why, because that distance frightened her. Ultimately it meant it was entirely possible that one day he could close himself off completely and leave her.
She began carefully rehanging the dresses, needing something to do. “Why did you never want any kind of long-term relationship with me? You planned to finish with me all along.”
He gripped his nape. “We met and went to bed on the same night. At that point marriage was not on my mind.”
“And after Thailand it definitely wasn’t.”
“I compressed my schedule to be with you in Thailand. Taking further time off wasn’t possible.”
“What if I’d been really ill?”
His gaze flashed with impatience. “If you had been ill, you would have contacted me, but you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Are you telling me you were ill and didn’t contact me?” he asked quietly.
“Even if I was,” she said, folding the oyster silk lingerie into the cloud of tissue paper that filled the box, “you didn’t want to know because looking after me in Thailand was just a little too much reality for you, wasn’t it?”
“Tell me more about how I was thinking,” he muttered. “I’m interested to know just how callous you think I am.”
Frustration pulling at her, she jammed the lid on the box. Lucas had cleverly turned the tables on her, but she refused to let up. It suddenly occurred to her that Lucas’s behavior was reminiscent of her father’s. Roberto Ambrosi had hated discussing personal issues. Every time anyone had probed him about anything remotely personal he had turned grouchy and changed the subject. Attack was generally seen as the most effective form of defense.
She realized now that every time she got close to what was bothering Lucas, he reacted like a bear with a sore head. If he was snapping now, she had to be close. “If I wasn’t what you wanted before,” she said steadily, “how can I be that person now?”
There was a small, vibrating silence. “Because I realized you weren’t Sophie.”
Carla froze. “Sophie Warrington?”
“That’s right. We lived together for almost a year. She died in a car accident.”
Carla blinked. She remembered the story. Sophie Warrington had been gorgeous and successful. She had also had a reputation for being incredibly spoiled and high maintenance. She had lost a couple of big contracts with cosmetic companies because she had thrown tantrums. She had also been famous for her affairs.
Suddenly, Carla’s lack of control in the relationship made sense. She was dealing with a ghost—a gorgeous, irresponsible ghost who had messed Lucas around to the point that he had trouble trusting any woman.
Let alone one who not only looked like Sophie but who was caught up in the same glitzy world.
Twelve
Half an hour later, after taking her medication with a big glass of water, she nibbled on a small snack then decided to go for a walk along the beach and maybe have a swim before she changed for the evening function. It wouldn’t exorcise the ghost of Sophie Warrington or her fear that Lucas might never trust enough to fall in love with her, but at least it would fill in time.
Winding her hair into a loose topknot, she changed into an electric blue bikini and knotted a turquoise sarong just above her breasts. After transferring her wallet to a matching turquoise beach bag, she slipped dark glasses on the bridge of her nose and she was good to go.
Half an hour later, she stopped at a small beach café, ordered a cool drink and glimpsed Tiberio loitering behind some palms. She had since found out that Tiberio wasn’t just a bodyguard, he was Lucas’s head of security. That being the case, the only logical reason for him to be here was that Lucas had sent him to keep an eye on her.
Annoyed that her few minutes of privacy had been invaded by security that Lucas hadn’t had the courtesy to advise her about, she finished the drink and started back to the resort.
The quickest way was along the long, curving ocean beach, which was dotted with groups of bathers lying beneath bright beach umbrellas. As she walked, she stopped, ostensibly to pick up a shell, and glanced behind. Tiberio was a short distance back, making no attempt to conceal himself, a cell phone held to his ear.
No doubt he was talking to Lucas, reporting on her activities. Annoyed, she quickened her pace. She reached the resort gardens in record time but the fast walk in the humidity of late afternoon had made her uncomfortably hot and sticky. She strode past the cool temptation of a large gleaming pool. Making an abrupt turn off the wide path, she strode along a narrow winding bush walk with the intention of losing herself amongst the shady plantings.
Beneath the shadowy overhanging plants, paradoxically it was even hotter. Slowing down, she unwound her sarong and tied it around her waist for coolness and propped her dark glasses on top of her head.
Footsteps sounded behind her, coming fast. Annoyed, she spun, and came face-to-face with Alex Panopoulos.
Dressed in a pristine business suit, complete with briefcase, his smooth features were flushed and shiny with perspiration.
She frowned, perversely wondering what had happened to Tiberio, and suddenly uncomfortably aware of the brevity of her bikini top. “What are you doing here?”
Alex set his briefcase down and jerked at his edgily patterned tie. “I just arrived and was walking to my chalet when I saw you.”
She frowned, disconcerted by the intensity of his expression and the fact that he had clearly run after her. “There was no need. I’ll see you tonight at the presentation.”
“No you won’t. My invitation was rescinded.”
“Lucas—”
“Yes,” he muttered curtly, “which is why I wanted to talk with you privately.”
His gaze drifted to her chest, making her fingers itch with the need to yank the sarong back up. “If it’s about the job—”
“Not the job.” He stepped forward with surprising speed and gripped her bare arms. This close the sharp scent of fresh sweat and cologne hit her full force.
His gaze centered on her mouth. “You must know how I feel about you.”
“Uh, not really. Let me go.” She tried to pull free. “I’m engaged to Lucas.”
“Engagements can be ended.”
A creepy sense of alarm feathered her spine. He wasn’t letting go. She jerked back more strongly, but his grip tightened, drawing her closer.
The thought that he might try to kiss her made her stomach flip queasily. Alex had frequently made it clear that he was attracted to her, but she had dismissed his come-ons, aware that he also regularly targeted other women, including her sister, Sienna.
Deciding on strong action, she planted her palms on his chest but, before she could shove, Panopoulos flew backward, seemingly of his own accord. A split second later Lucas was towering over her like an avenging angel.
Alex straightened, his hands curling into fists.
Lucas said something low and flat in Medinian.
Alex flinched and staggered back another step, although Lucas hadn’t either stepped toward him or touched him.
Flushing a deep red, Panopoulos lunged for his briefcase and stumbled back the way he’d come.
With fingers that shook slightly with reaction, Carla untied the sarong, dragged it back over her breasts and knotted it. “What did you say to him?”
Lucas’s gaze glittered over her, coming to rest on the newly tied knot. “Nothing too complicated. He won’t be bothering you again.”
“Thank you.
I was beginning to think he wasn’t going to let go.” Automatically, she rubbed at the red marks on her arms where Panopoulos had gripped her just a little too hard.
With gentle movements, Lucas pushed her hands aside so he could examine the marks. They probably wouldn’t turn into bruises, but that didn’t change the cold remoteness of his expression.
“Did he hurt you?”
“No.” From the flat look in his dark eyes, the grim set to his jaw, Carla gained the distinct impression that if Panopoulos had stepped any further over the line than he had, Lucas wouldn’t have been so lenient. A small tingling shiver rippled the length of her spine as she realized that Lucas was fiercely protective of her.
It was primitive, but she couldn’t help the warm glow that formed because the man she had chosen as her mate was prepared to fight for her. In an odd way, Lucas springing to her defense balanced out the hurt of discovering how affected he’d been by Sophie Warrington. To the extent that his issues with her had permeated every aspect of his relationship with Carla.
His hand landed in the small of her back, the touch blatantly dominant and possessive, but she didn’t protest. She was too busy wallowing in the happy knowledge that Lucas hadn’t left it to Tiberio to save her. Instead, he had interrupted what she knew was a tight schedule of interviews and come after her himself. Despite the unpleasant shock of the encounter, she was suddenly glad that it had happened.
When they reached the room, Lucas kicked the door shut and leaned back against the gleaming mahogany and drew her close.
Carla, still on edge after the encounter, went gladly. Coiling her arms around his neck, she fitted her body against the familiar planes and angles of his, soaking in the calm reassurance of his no-holds-barred protection.
Tangling the fingers of one hand in her hair, Lucas tilted her head back and kissed her until she was breathless.
When he lifted his head, his expression was grim. “If you hadn’t tried to get away from Tiberio, Panopoulos wouldn’t have had the opportunity to corner you.”
