A Tangled Affair. Fiona BrandЧитать онлайн книгу.
not until after tomorrow’s wedding.
Despite the fact that her strappy high heels, a perfect color match for the dress, made her more than a little unstable on the gravel, she jogged the last few yards and flung herself into Lucas’s arms.
The clean scent that was definitively Lucas, mingled with the masculine, faintly exotic undernote of sandalwood, filled her nostrils, making her head spin. Or maybe it was the delight of simply touching him again after a separation that had run into two long months.
The cool sea breeze whipped long silky coils of hair across her face as she lifted up on her toes. Her arms looped around his neck, her body slid against his, instantly responding to his heat, the utter familiarity of broad shoulders and sleek, hard-packed muscle. His sudden intake of breath, the unmistakable feel of him hardening against the soft contours of her belly filled her with mindless relief.
Ridiculous tears blurred her vision. This was so not playing it cool, but it had been two months since she had touched, kissed, made love to her man. Endless days while she had waited for the annoying, debilitating ulcer—clear evidence that she had not coped with her unresolved emotional situation—to heal. Long weeks while she had battled the niggling anxiety that had its roots in the disastrous bout of illness in Thailand, as if she was waiting for the next shoe to drop.
She realized that one of the reasons she had not told Lucas about the complications following the virus was that she had been afraid of the outcome. Over the years he had dated a string of gorgeous, glamorous women so she usually took great care that he only ever saw her at her very best. There had been nothing pretty or romantic about the fever that had gripped her in Thailand. There had been even less glamour surrounding her hospital stay in Sydney.
Lucas’s arms closed around her, his jaw brushed her cheek sending a sensual shiver the length of her spine. Automatically, she leaned into him and lifted her mouth to his, but instead of kissing her, he straightened and unlooped her arms from his neck. Cold air filled the space between them.
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