by Fiona Brand
She felt her cheeks grow hot. “I needed some time alone.”
“From now on, while we’re at the hotel you either have security accompany you, or I do, and that’s nonnegotiable.”
“Yes.”
He cupped her face, his expression bemused. “That was too easy. Why aren’t you arguing?”
She smiled. “Because I’m happy.”
A faint flush rimmed his taut cheekbones and suddenly she felt as giddy as a teenager.
“Damn, I wish I didn’t have interviews.” His mouth captured hers again.
She rose up into the kiss, angling her jaw to deepen it. This time the sensuality was blast-furnace hot, but she didn’t mind. For the first time in over two years Lucas’s kiss, his touch, felt absolutely and completely right.
He wanted her, but not just because he desired her. He wanted her because he cared.
* * *
Carla showered and dressed for the launch party. Lucas walked into the suite just as she was putting the finishing touches to her makeup.
“You’re late.” Pleasurable anticipation spiraled through her as he appeared behind her in the mirror, leaned down and kissed the side of her neck.
His gaze connected with hers in the mirror. “I had an urgent business matter to attend to.”
And she had thrown his busy schedule off even further because he’d had to interrupt his meetings to rescue her.
The happy glow that had infused her when he’d read Panopoulos the riot act reignited, along with the aching knowledge that she loved him. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him just how much when he turned and walked into the bathroom. Instead she called out, “I’ll see you downstairs.”
Minutes later, with Tiberio in conspicuous attendance, she strolled into the ballroom, which was already filled with elegantly gowned and suited clients, the party well under way.
She threaded her way through the crowd, accepting congratulations and fielding curious looks. When she walked backstage to check on the arrangements for the promotional show, Nina’s expression was taut.
She threw Carla a harassed look. “A minor glitch. The model we hired is down with a virus, so the agency did the best they could at short notice and sent along a new girl.” She jerked her head in the direction of the curtained-off area that was being used as dressing rooms.
Dragging the curtain back far enough so she could walk through, Carla stared in disbelief at the ultrathin model. She was the right height for the dress, but that was all. Obviously groomed for the runway, she was so thin that the gown, which had originally been custom-made for Carla, hung off her shoulders and sagged around her chest and hips.
Carla’s assistant, Elise, was working frantically with pins. The only problem was, the dress—an aquamarine creation studded with hundreds of pearls in a swirling pattern that was supposed to represent the sea—could only be taken in at certain points.
To add insult to injury, the model was a redhead and nothing about the promotion was red. Everything was done in Ambrosi’s signature aquamarine and pearl hues. The color mix was subtle, clean and classy, reflecting Ambrosi’s focus on the luxury market.
“No,” Carla said, snapping instantly into work mode, irritated by the imperfections of the model and the utter destruction of the promotion that had taken her long hours of painstaking time to formulate. “Take the pins out of the dress.”
She smiled with professional warmth at the model and instructed her to change, informing her that she would be paid for the job and was welcome to stay the weekend at Ambrosi’s expense, but that she wouldn’t be part of the promotion that evening.
Clearly unhappy, the model shimmied out of the gown on the spot and walked, half-naked and stiff backed, into a changing cubicle. At that point, another curtain was swished wide, revealing the gaggle of young ballet girls, who were also part of the promotion, in various states of undress.
Tiberio made a strangled sound. Clearly unhappy that he had intruded into a woman’s domain, he indicated he would wait in the ballroom.
Elise carefully shook out the gown, examined it for signs of damage and began pulling out the pins she’d inserted. “Now what?” She indicated her well-rounded figure. “If you think I’m getting into that dress, forget it.”
“Not you. Me.”
Nina looked horrified. “I thought the whole point of this was that you weren’t to take part.”
Carla picked up the elegant mask that went with the outfit and pressed it against her face. The mask left only her mouth and chin visible.
Her stomach tightened at the risk she was taking. “He won’t know.”
Thirteen
Carla stepped into the gown and eased the zipper up, with difficulty. The dress felt a little smaller and tighter than it had, because it had been taken in to fit the model who was off sick.
She fastened the exquisite trailing pearl choker, which, thankfully, filled most of her décolletage and dangled a single pearl drop in the swell of her cleavage.
Cleavage that seemed much more abundant now that the dress had been tightened.
She surveyed her appearance in the mirror, dismayed and a little embarrassed by the sensual effect of the too-tight dress.
Careful not to breathe too deeply and rip a seam, she fastened the webbed bracelet that matched the choker and put sexy dangling earrings in her lobes. She fitted the pearl-studded mask and surveyed the result in the mirror.
With any luck she would get through this without being recognized. A few minutes on stage then she would make her exit and quickly change back into her gold dress and circulate.
Elise swished the curtain aside. “It’s time to go. You’re on.”
* * *
Lucas checked his watch as he strolled through the ballroom, his gaze moving restlessly from face to face.
Tiberio had informed him that Carla was assisting the girls backstage with the small production they had planned. He had expected no less. When it came to detail, Carla was a stickler, but now he was starting to get worried. She should have been back in the ballroom, with him, by now.
He checked his watch again. At least Panopoulos was out of the picture. He had made certain of that.
Every muscle in his body locked tight as he remembered the frightened look on Carla’s face as she’d tried to shove free of him. When he’d seen the marks on Carla’s arms, he had regretted not hitting Panopoulos.
Instead, he had satisfied his need to drive home his message by personally delivering the older man to the airport and escorting him onto a privately chartered flight out.
Panopoulos had threatened court action. Lucas had invited him to try.
Frowning, he checked the room again. He thought he had seen Carla circulating when he had first entered the room, but the gold dress and dark hair had belonged to a young French woman. He was beginning to think that something else had gone wrong since the heart-stopping passion of those moments in their room and she had found something else to fret about.
The radiant glow on her face when he’d left her had hit him like a kick in the chest, transfixing him. He could remember her looking that way when they had first met, but gradually, over time, the glow had gone. He decided it was a grim testament to how badly he had mismanaged their relationship that Carla had ceased to be happy. From now on he was determined to do whatever it took to keep that glow in her eyes.
A waiter offered him a flute of champagne. He refused. At that moment there was a stir at one end of the room as Nina, who was the hostess for the evening, came out onto the small stage.
Lucas leaned against the bar and continued to survey the room as music swelled and the promotional show began. The room fell silent as the model, who was far more mouthwateringly sexy than he remembered, moved with smooth grace across the stage. Floor show wasn’t the correct terminology for the presentation but he was inescapably driven to relabel the event.
Every man in the room was mesmerized, as the masked model, playing an ancient Medinian high p
riestess, moved through the simple routine, paying homage to God with the produce of the sea, a basket of Ambrosi pearls. With her long, elegant legs and tempting cleavage, she reminded him more of a Vegas dancer than any depiction of a Medinian priestess he had ever seen.
His loins warmed and his jaw tightened at his uncharacteristic loss of control. He had seen that dress on the model who was supposed to be doing the presentation. At that point the gown, which was largely transparent and designed so that pearl-encrusted waves concealed strategic parts and little else, had looked narrow and ascetically beautiful rather than sexy. He hadn’t been even remotely turned-on.
The model turned, her hips swaying with a sudden sinuous familiarity as she walked, surrounded by a gaggle of young ballet dancers, all carrying baskets overflowing with free samples of Ambrosi products to distribute to clients. Suspicion coalesced into certainty as his gaze dropped to the third finger of her left hand.
He swallowed a mouthful of champagne and calmly set the flute down. The mystery of his future wife’s whereabouts had just been solved.
He had thought she was safely attired in the gold gown, minus any cleavage. Instead she had gone against his instructions and was busy putting on an X-rated display for an audience that contained at least seventy men.
Keeping a tight rein on his temper, he strode through the spellbound crowd and up onto the stage. Carla’s startled gaze clashed with his. Avoiding a line of flimsy white pillars that were in danger of toppling, he took the basket of pearls she held, handed them to one of the young girls and swung her into his arms.
She clutched at his shoulders. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Grimly, Lucas ignored the clapping and cheering as he strode off the stage and cut through the crowd to the nearest exit. “Removing you before you’re recognized. Don’t worry,” he said grimly, “they’ll think it’s part of the floor show. The Atraeus Group’s conquering CEO carrying off the glittering prize of Ambrosi Pearls.”
“I can’t believe you’re romanticizing a business takeover, and it is not a floor show!”
He reached the elevator and hit the call button with his elbow, his gaze skimmed the enticing display of cleavage. “What happened to the model I employed?”
“She came down with a virus. The replacement they sent didn’t fit the dress. If I hadn’t stepped in, the only option would have been to cancel the promotion.”
A virus. That word was beginning to haunt him. “And canceling would have been such a bad idea?”
“Our events drive a lot of sales. Besides, I’m wearing a mask. No one knew.”
“I knew.”
She ripped off the mask, her blue gaze shooting fire. “I don’t see how.”
He took in the sultry display of honey-tanned skin. Cancel the Vegas dancer. She looked like an extremely expensive courtesan, festooned with pearls. His courtesan.
It didn’t seem to matter what she wore, he reflected. The clothing could look like a sack on any other woman, but on Carla it became enticingly, distractingly sexy. “Next time remember to take off the engagement ring.”
The elevator doors opened. Seconds later they had reached their floor. Less than a minute later Lucas kicked the door to their suite closed.
“You realize I need to go back to the party.”
He set her down. “Just not in that dress.”
“Not a problem, it’s not my color.” Carla tugged at the snug fit of the dress. Fake pearls pinged on the floor. A seam had given way while Lucas was carrying her, but on the positive side, at least she could breathe now. She eyed Lucas warily. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He had draped his suit jacket over the back of a couch, loosened his tie and strolled over to the small business desk in the corner of the sitting room. She watched as he flipped his laptop open. “Checking email.”
The abrupt switch from scorching possessiveness to cool neutrality made her go still inside. She had seen him do this often. In the past, usually, just before he would leave her apartment he would begin immersing himself in work—phone calls, emails, reading documents. She guessed that on some level she had recognized the process for what it was; she just hadn’t ever bothered to label it. Work was his coping mechanism, an instant emotional off button. She should know. She had used it herself often enough.
She watched as he scrolled through an email, annoyed at the way he had switched from blazing hot to icy cool. Lucas had removed her from the launch party with all the finesse of a caveman dragging his prize back to the fire. He had gotten his way; now he was ignoring her.
The sensible option would be to get out of the goddess outfit, put on another dress and go downstairs and circulate before finding her gold dress and handbag, which she had left backstage. But that was before her good old type A personality decided to make a late comeback.
Ever since she had been five years old on her first day at school and her teacher, Mrs. Hislop, had put daddy’s little girl in the back row of the classroom, she had understood one defining fact about herself: she did not like being ignored.
Walking to the kitchenette, she opened cupboards until she found a bowl. She needed to eat. Cereal wasn’t her snack of choice this late, but it was here, and the whole point was that she stayed in the suite with Lucas until he realized that she was not prepared to be ignored.
She found a minipacket of cereal, emptied it into the bowl then tossed the packaging into the trash can, which was tucked into a little alcove under the bench.
Lucas sent her a frowning glance, as if she was messing with his concentration. “I thought you were going to change and get back to the party.”
She opened the fridge and extracted a carton of milk. “Why?”
“The room is full of press and clients.”
She gave him a faintly bewildered look, as if she didn’t understand what he was talking about, but inwardly she was taking notes. He clearly thought she was a second Sophie, a party girl who loved to be the center of attention. “Nina and Elise are taking care of business. I don’t need to be there.”
“It didn’t look that way ten minutes ago.”
She shrugged. “That was an emergency.”
Aware that she now had Lucas’s attention, she opened the carton with painstaking precision and poured milk over the cereal. Grabbing a spoon, she strolled out into the lounge, sat on the sofa and turned the TV on. She flicked through the channels till she found a talk show she usually enjoyed.
Lucas took the remote and turned the TV off. “What are you up to?”
Carla munched on a spoonful of cereal and stared at the now blank screen. Before the party she had found reasons to adore Lucas’s dictatorial behavior. Now she was back to loathing it, but she refused to allow her annoyance to show. She had wanted Lucas’s attention and now she had gotten it. “Considering my future employment. I’m not good with overbearing men.”
“You are not going to work for Panopoulos.”
She ate another mouthful of cereal. He was jealous; she was getting somewhere. “I guess not, since I have an ironclad contract I signed only yesterday.”
Lucas tossed the remote down on the couch and dispensed with his tie. “Damn. You must be sleeping with the boss.”
“Plus, I have shares.”
“It’s not a pleasing feminine trait to parade your victories.” He took the cereal bowl from her and set it down on the coffee table. Threading her fingers with his, he pulled her to her feet.
More pearls pinged off the dress as she straightened. A tiny tearing sound signaled that another seam had given. “You shouldn’t take food from a woman who could be pregnant.”
His gaze was arrested. “Do you think you are?”
“I don’t know yet.” She had left the test kit behind. With everything that had happened, taking time out to read the instructions and do the test hadn’t been a priority.
“I could get used to the idea.” Cupping her face, he dipped his head and touched his mouth to hers.
&
nbsp; The soft, seducing intimacy of the kiss made Carla forget the next move in her strategy. Before she could edit her response, her arms coiled around his neck. He made a low sound of satisfaction, then deepened the kiss.
Hands loosely cupping her hips, he walked her backward, kiss by drugging kiss, until they reached the bedroom. She felt a tug as the zipper on the dress peeled down, then a loosening at the bodice. More pearls scattered as he pulled the dress up and over her head and tossed it on the floor.
“The dress is ruined.” Not that she really cared. It had only been a prop and it had served its purpose, in more ways than one.
“Good. That means you can’t wear it again.”
Stepping out of her heels, she climbed into bed and pulled the silk coverlet over her as she watched him undress. With his jet-black hair and broad, tanned shoulders he looked sleek and muscular.
The bed depressed as he came back down beside her. The clean scent of his skin made her stomach clench.
He surveyed the silk coverlet with dissatisfaction. “This needs to go.” He dragged it aside as he came down on the bed. One long finger stroked over the pearl choker at her throat down to the single dangling pearl nestled in the shadowy hollow between her breasts. “But you can keep this on.”
She had forgotten about the jewelry. Annoyed by the suggestion, which seemed more suited to a mistress than a future wife, she scooted over on the bed, wrapping the coverlet around her as she went. “You just destroyed an expensive gown. If you think I’m going to let you make love to me while I’m wearing an Ambrosi designer orig—”
His arm curled around her waist, easily anchoring her to the bed. “I’ll approve the write-off for it.”
Despite her reservations, unwilling excitement quivered through her as he loomed over her, but he made no effort to do anything more than keep her loosely caged beneath him.
“Whether we make love or not,” he said quietly, “is your decision, but before you storm off, you need to know that I’ve organized a special license on Medinos. We’re going to be married before the week is out.”
