Читать книгу A Perfect Husband - Фиона Бранд - Страница 12

Zane hustled Lilah out into a private underground parking lot and opened the door of a gleaming, low-slung black Corvette. He waited for Lilah to climb into the passenger-side seat then walked around the vehicle and slid behind the wheel.

He had been annoyed enough with Lucas to want to stake a claim on Lilah, although he hadn’t planned on doing it in quite such a public way.

He also hadn’t expected Lilah to kiss him back quite so enthusiastically. Although ever since they had hit the elevator on the way down she had been cool and reserved and irritatingly distant.

He lifted a hand as Spiros and the two security guards climbed into a black sedan.

He fastened his seat belt. The back of his hand brushed Lilah’s. The automatic jolt he received from the brush of her skin against his increased his irritable temper. A temper that, just days ago, he had not known he’d possessed.

The dark sedan the bodyguards had climbed into cruised out of the parking building. Seconds later, Zane followed, emerging into the glare of daylight.

He transferred his gaze to the woman beside him. Dressed in her signature ivory and white, her hair smoothed into a loose, elegant confection on top of her head, smooth teardrop pearls dangling from tiny lobes, Lilah looked both cool and drop-dead sexy. The fact that he had kissed off her lipstick, leaving her lips bare, only succeeded in making her even more sensually alluring.

Grimly he noted that the same addictive fascination that had tempted him to lose his head two years ago was still at work. Lilah Cole was openly and unashamedly husband-hunting. She was the kind of woman he couldn’t afford in his life, and yet it seemed he couldn’t resist her.

Lilah stared straight ahead, her purse gripped in her lap. “I know I’ve been invited to lunch with your family, but with everything that’s happened, maybe that isn’t such a good idea. If you drop me off, I can get a taxi back to the office.”

Zane’s jaw tightened at the subdued, worried note in Lilah’s voice. Lucas should have known better; he should have left her alone. “It’s lunchtime. You need to eat.”

She looked out of the passenger window. “I had cereal and toast for breakfast. I’m not exactly hungry.”

Zane found the thought of Lilah crunching her way through cereal and toast before facing the press oddly endearing. He wondered what kind of cereal she ate then crushed his curiosity about her.

He braked for a set of lights. “Lucas would probably be relieved if you didn’t show.”

The words were ruthless, but he had gotten used to seeing Lilah calm and businesslike, with all her ducks in a row. For two years it had been a quality that had irritated him profoundly. Incomprehensibly, he now found himself looking for ways to get her back to her normal, ultraorganized self.

Her gaze snapped to his. “What Lucas wants or does not want is of no concern to me.”

Zane felt suddenly happier than he had in days. The lights changed, he put the car in gear and accelerated through the intersection. “I can take you somewhere else to eat if you want.”

Her head whipped around, her green gaze shooting fire. “On second thought, no.”

“Good. Because we’re here.”

He watched Lilah study the elegant portico of the Michelin star restaurant as if the fluted columns represented the gates of Hades. “You’re a manipulative man.”

“I’m an Atraeus.”

“Sometimes I forget.”

He found himself instantly on the defensive. “Because I’m also a Salvatore?”

He did not voice the other lurking fear that had reared its head since his conversation with Lucas, that it was because he was only twenty-four.

She frowned, as if his shadowy past had not occurred to her. “Because sometimes you’re … nice.”

“Nice.” His brows jerked together.

She looked embarrassed. “I read the article about you on the charity website. I know that you wear those three earrings to help kids relate to you when you do counseling work. You can try all you like to prove otherwise but, from where I come from, that’s nice.”

Lilah breathed a sigh of relief when Zane pulled in at her apartment’s tiny parking area. Lunch had been just as stilted and uncomfortable as she had imagined. Thankfully, the service had been ultraquick and they had been able to leave early.

Zane walked around and opened her door. Lilah climbed out of the low bucket seat, acutely aware of the shadowy cleavage visible in the V of her jacket and of the length of thigh exposed by the shortness of her skirt. When she had dressed that morning, the suit had seemed elegant and circumspect but it was not made for struggling out of a low slung ‘Vette.

Zane’s gaze locked with hers, making her feel breathless. She clamped down on the uncharacteristic desire to boldly meet his gaze.

Arriving at the front door of her apartment with a man was what she liked to refer to as a dating “red zone.” She and Zane were not dating, but the situation had somehow become more fraught than any dating scenario she had ever experienced. After the kiss earlier, it would not be a good idea to allow Zane inside her house.

She gave him a bright, professional smile. “It’s okay, you don’t have to see me in. Thanks for the lift.”

Zane closed the ‘Vette’s door and depressed the key lock. “Not a problem. I’ll see you to your door.”

“That won’t be necessary.” She aimed another smile somewhere in his general direction as she rummaged in her handbag for her door key.

Zane fell into step beside her. “If I’m not mistaken, that’s a reporter staked out over there.”

Lilah’s head jerked up. She recognized the car that had been parked outside of Lucas’s apartment the previous night. Her heart sank. “He must have followed us.”

“The car was here when we arrived. According to Lucas, you were the one who was followed last night. The press has probably been staking you out ever since you returned from Medinos. In which case, I’d better see you safely inside.”

Resigning herself, Lilah walked quickly to the large garagestyle door, her cheeks warming as she saw the down-at-heel building through Zane’s eyes. A converted warehouse in one of the shabbier suburbs, she had chosen the building because it had been cheerful, arty and spectacularly cheap. The ground floor apartment included a huge light-filled north-facing room that was perfect for painting.

Zane, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice how shabby the exterior was, a reminder that he had not spent all of his life in luxurious surroundings.

Unlocking the door, she stepped inside the nondescript foyer, with its concrete floors and cream-washed walls.

Zane slid the door to enclose them in the shadowy space. “How many people live here?”

“A dozen or so.” She led the way down a narrow, dim corridor and unlocked her front door. Made of unprepossessing sheet metal, it had once led to some kind of workshop.

She stepped into her large sitting room, conscious of Zane’s gaze as he took in white walls, glowing wooden floors and the afternoon sun flooding through a bank of bifold doors at one end.

“Nice.” He closed the door and strolled into the center of the room, his gaze assessing the paintings she’d collected from friends and family over the years.

He studied a series of three abstracts propped against one wall. “These are yours.”