Читать книгу A Tangled Affair - Фиона Бранд - Страница 9

Lucas Atraeus strode into his private quarters and snapped the door closed behind him. Opening a set of French doors, he stepped out onto his balcony. The wind buffeted the weathered stone parapet and whipped night-dark hair around the obdurate line of his jaw. He tried to focus on the steady roar of the waves pounding the cliff face beneath and the stream of damp, salty air, while he waited for the self-destructive desire to reclaim Carla to dissolve.

The vibration of his cell phone drew him back inside. Sliding the phone out of his pocket, he checked the screen. Lilah. No doubt wondering where he was.

Jaw clenched, he allowed the call to go through to his voice mail. He couldn’t stomach talking to Lilah right at that moment with his emotions still raw and his thoughts on another woman. Besides, with a relationship based on a few phone calls and a couple of conversations, most of them purely work based, they literally had nothing to say to each other.

The call terminated. Lucas found himself staring at a newspaper he had tossed down on the coffee table, the one he had read on the night flight from New York to Medinos. The paper was open at the society pages and a grainy shot of Carla in her capacity as the “face” of Ambrosi Pearls, twined intimately close with a rival millionaire businessman.

Picking up the newspaper, he reread the caption that hinted at a hot affair.

He had been away for two months but by all accounts she had not missed him.

Tossing the newspaper down on the coffee table, he strode back out onto the balcony. Before he could stop himself, he had punched in her number on his phone.

Calling her now made no kind of sense.

He held the sleek phone pressed to his ear and forced himself to remember the one overriding reason he should never have touched Carla Ambrosi.

Grimly, he noted that the hit of old grief and sharp-enough-to-taste guilt still wasn’t powerful enough to bury the impulse to involve himself even more deeply in yet another fatal attraction.

When he had met Carla, somehow he had stepped away from the rigid discipline he had instilled in himself after Sophie’s death.

The car accident hadn’t been his fault, but he was still haunted by the argument that had instigated Sophie’s headlong dash in her sports car after he had found out that she had aborted his child.

Sophie had been beautiful, headstrong and adept at winding him around her little finger. He should have stopped her, taken the car keys. He should have controlled the situation. It had been his responsibility to protect her, and he had failed.

They should never have been together in the first place.

They had been all wrong for each other. He had been disciplined, work focused and family orientated. Sophie had skimmed along the surface of life, thriving on bright lights, parties and media attention. Even the manner in which Sophie had died had garnered publicity and had been perceived in certain quarters as glamorous.

The ring tone continued. His fingers tightened on the cell. Carla had her phone with her; she should have picked up by now.

Unless she was otherwise occupied. With Zane.

His stomach clenched at the image of Carla, mouthwateringly gorgeous in red, her fingers twined in Zane’s tie, poised for a kiss he had interrupted.

He didn’t trust Zane. His younger brother had a reputation with women that literally burned.

The call went through to voice mail. Carla’s voice filled his ear.

Despite the annoyance that gripped him that Carla had decided to ignore his call, Lucas was riveted by the velvet-cool sound of the recorded message. The brisk, businesslike tone so at odds with Carla’s ultrasexy, ultrafeminine appearance and which never failed to fascinate.

During the two months he had been in the States he had refrained from contacting Carla. He had needed to distance himself from a relationship that during an intense few days in Thailand had suddenly stepped over an invisible boundary and become too gut-wrenchingly intimate. Too like his relationship with Sophie.

Carla, who was surprisingly businesslike and controlled when it came to communication, had left only one text and a single phone message to which he had replied. A few weeks ago he had seen her briefly, from a distance, at her father’s funeral, but they hadn’t spoken.

That was reason number two not to become involved with Carla.

The ground rules for their relationship had been based on what she had wanted: a no-strings fun fling, carried out in secret because of the financial scandal that had erupted between their two families.

Secrecy was not Lucas’s thing, but since he had never planned on permanency he hadn’t seen any harm in going along with Carla’s plan. He had been based in the States, Carla was in Sydney. A relationship wasn’t possible even if he had wanted one.

The line hummed expectantly.

Irritated with himself for not having done it sooner, Lucas terminated the call.

Grimly, he stared at the endless expanse of sea, the faint curve of the horizon. Carla not picking up the call was the best-case scenario. If she had, he was by no means certain he could have maintained his ruthless facade.

The problem was that, as tough and successful as he was in business, when it came to women his track record was patchy.

As an Atraeus he was expected to be coolly dominant. Despite the years he had spent trying to mold himself into the strong silent type who routinely got his way, he had not achieved Constantine’s effortless self-possession. Little kids and fluffy dogs still targeted him; women of all ages gravitated to him as if they had no clue about his reputation as The Atraeus Group’s key hatchet man.

Despite the long list of companies he had streamlined or clinically dismantled, he couldn’t forget that he had not been able to establish any degree of control over his relationship with Sophie.

Jaw taut, Lucas padded inside. He barely noticed the warm glow of lamplight, the richness of exquisite antiques and jewel-bright carpets.

His gaze zeroed in on the newspaper article again. A hot pulse of jealously burned through him as he studied the Greek millionaire who had his arm around Carla’s waist.

Alex Panopoulos, an archrival across the boardroom table and a well-known playboy.

Given the limited basis of Lucas’s relationship with Carla, they had agreed it had to be open; they were both free to date others. Like Lucas, Carla regularly dated as part of her career, although so far Lucas had not been able to bring himself to include another woman in his life on more than a strictly platonic basis.

Panopoulos was a guest at the wedding tomorrow.

Walking through to the kitchen, he tossed the paper into the trash. His jaw tightened at the thought that he would have fend off the Greek, as well.

He guessed he should be glad that it was Zane Carla seemed to be attracted to and not Panopoulos.

Zane had been controllable, so far. And if he stepped over the line, there was always the option that they could settle the issue in the old-fashioned way, down on the beach and without an audience.

Dinner passed in a polite, superficial haze. Carla made conversation, smiled on cue, and avoided looking at Lucas. Unfortunately, because he was seated almost directly opposite her, she was burningly aware of him through each course.

Dessert was served. Still caught between the raw misery that threatened to drag her under, and the need to maintain the appearance of normality, Carla ate. She had reached the dessert course when she registered how much wine she had drunk.

A small sharp shock went through her. She wasn’t drunk, but alcohol and some of the foods she was eating did not mix happily with an ulcer. Strictly speaking, after the episode with the virus and the ulcer, she wasn’t supposed to drink at all.

Setting her spoon down, she picked up her clutch and excused herself from the table. She asked one of the waitstaff to direct her to the nearest bathroom. Unfortunately, since her grasp of Medinian was far from perfect, she somehow managed to take a wrong turn.

After traversing a long corridor and opening a number of doors, one of which seemed to be the entrance to a private set of rooms, complete with a kitchenette, she opened a door and found herself on a terrace overlooking the sea. Shrugging, because the terrace would do as well as a bathroom since all she required was privacy to take the small cocktail of pills her doctor had prescribed, she walked to the stone parapet and studied the view.

The stiff sea breeze that had been blowing earlier had dropped away, leaving the night still, the air balmy and heavily scented with the pine and rosemary that grew wild on the hills. A huge full moon glowed a rich, buttery gold on the horizon.

Setting her handbag down on the stone pavers, she extracted the MediPACK of pills she had brought with her, tore open the plastic seal and swallowed them dry.

Dropping the plastic waste into her handbag, she straightened just as the door onto the terrace popped open. Her chest tightened when she recognized Lucas.

“I hope you weren’t expecting Zane?”

“If I was, it wouldn’t be any of your business.”

“Zane won’t give you what you want.”

Carla swallowed to try and clear the dry bitterness in her mouth. “A loving relationship? The kind of relationship I thought we could have had?”

He ignored the questions. “You should return to the dining room.”

The flatness of Lucas’s voice startled her. Lucas had always been exciting and difficult to pin down, but he had also been funny and unexpectedly tender. This was the first time she had ever seen this side of him. “Not yet. I have a … headache, I need some air.” Which was no lie, because the headache was there, throbbing steadily at her temples.

She pretended to be absorbed by the spectacular view of the crystal-clear night and the vast expanse of sea gleaming like polished bronze beneath the moon. Just off the coast of Medinos, the island of Ambrus loomed, tonight seemingly almost close enough to touch. One of the more substantial islands in the Medinos group, Ambrus was intimately familiar to her because her family had once owned a chunk of it.

“How did you know these are my rooms?”

She spun, shocked at Lucas’s closeness and what he’d just said. “I didn’t. I was looking for a bathroom. I must have taken a wrong turn.”

The coolness of his glance informed her that he didn’t quite believe her. Any idea that Lucas would tell her that he had made a mistake and that he desperately wanted her back died a quick death.

A throb of grief hit her at the animosity that seemed to be growing by the second and she pulled herself up sharply. She had run the gamut of shock and anger. She was not going to wallow in self-pity.

It was clear Lucas wasn’t going to leave until she did, so she picked up her bag and started toward the door.

Instead of moving aside, Lucas moved to block her path. “I’m sorry you found out this way. I did try to meet with you before dinner.”

Her heart suddenly pounding off the register, she stared rigidly at his shoulder. “You could have told me when I called to cancel and given me some time. Even a text would have helped.”

His dark brows jerked together. “I’m not in the habit of breaking off relationships over the phone or by text. I wanted to tell you face-to-face.”

Her jaw tightened. It didn’t help that his gaze was direct, that he was clearly intent on softening the blow. The last thing she wanted from Lucas was pity. “Did Lilah fly in with you?”

“She arrived this afternoon.”

Relief made her feel faintly unsteady. So, Lilah hadn’t been with Lucas in the limousine.

As insignificant as that detail was, it mattered, because when she had seen the limousine she had been crazily, sappily fantasizing about Lucas and the life they could now share. Although she should have known he hadn’t arrived with Lilah, because there hadn’t been any media reports that he had arrived at the airport with a female companion.

Lucas’s gaze connected with hers. “Before you go back inside, I need to know if you intend to go to the press with a story about our affair.”

Affair.

Her chin jerked up. For two years she had considered they had been involved in a relationship. “I’m here for Sienna’s wedding. It’s her day, and I don’t intend to spoil it.”

“Good. Because if you try to force my hand by going public with this, take it from me, I’m not playing.”

Comprehension hit. She had been so absorbed with the publicity for Ambrosi’s latest collection and the crazy rush to organize Sienna’s wedding that she had barely had time to sleep, let alone think. When Sienna married Constantine, Carla would be inextricably bound to the Atraeus family. The Atraeus family were traditionalists. If it were discovered that she and Lucas had been seeing each other secretly for two years, he would come under intense pressure from his family to marry her.

Now the comment about her looking for his rooms made sense.

What better way to force a commitment than to arrange for them both to be found together in his rooms at the castello? Anger and a burning sense of shame that he should think she would stoop that low sliced through her. “I hadn’t considered that angle.”

Why would she when she had assumed Lucas wanted her?

He ignored her statement. “If it’s marriage you want, you won’t get it by pressuring me.”

Which meant he really had thought about the different ways she could force him to the altar. She took a deep breath against a sharp spasm of hurt. “At what point did I ever say I was after marriage?”

His gaze bored into hers, as fierce and obdurate as the dark stone from which the fortress was built. “Then we have an understanding?”

“Oh, I think so.” She forced a bright smile. “I wouldn’t marry you if you tied me up and dragged me down the aisle. Tell me,” she said before she could gag her mouth and instruct her brain to never utter anything that would inform Lucas just how weak and vulnerable she really was. “Did you ever come close to loving me?”

He went still. “What we had wasn’t exactly about love.”

No. Silly her.

“There’s something else we need to talk about.”

“In that case, it’ll have to wait. Now I really do have a headache.” She fumbled in her clutch, searching for the painkillers she’d slipped in before she’d left the villa, just in case. In her haste the foil pack slipped out of her fingers and dropped to the terrace.

Lucas retrieved the pills before she could. “What are these?”

He held the foil pack out of her reach while he read the label. “Since when have you suffered from headaches?”

She snatched the pills from his grasp. “They’re a leftover from the virus I caught in Thailand. I don’t get them very often.”

She ripped the foil open and swallowed two pills dry, grimacing at the extra wave of bitterness in her mouth when one of the pills lodged in her throat. She badly needed a glass of water.

Lucas frowned. “I didn’t know you were still having problems.”

She shoved the foil pack back in her clutch. “But then you never bothered to ask.”

And the last thing she had wanted to do was let him know that she had been so stressed by the unresolved nature of their relationship that she had given herself an even worse stomach ulcer than she had started with two years ago.

After the growing distance between them in Thailand, she hadn’t wanted to further undermine their relationship or give him an excuse to break up with her. Keeping silent had been a constant strain because she had wanted the comfort of his presence, had needed him near, but now she was glad she hadn’t revealed how sick she really had been. It was one small corner of her life that he hadn’t invaded, one small batch of memories that didn’t contain him.

She felt like kicking herself for being so stupid over the past couple of months. If Lucas had wanted to be with her he would have arranged time together. Once, he had flown into Sydney with only a four-hour window before he’d had to fly out again. They had spent every available second of those four hours locked together in bed.

Cold settled in her stomach. In retrospect, their relationship had foundered in Thailand. Lucas hadn’t liked crossing the line into caring; he had simply wanted a pretty, adoring lover and uncomplicated sex.

Lucas was still blocking her path. “You’re pale and your eyes are dilated. I’ll take you home.”

“No.” She stepped neatly around him and made a beeline for the open door. Her heart sped up when she realized he was close behind her. “I can drive myself. The last thing I want is to spend any more time with you.”

“Too bad.” His hand curled around her upper arm, sending a hot, tingling shock straight to the pit of her stomach as he propelled her into the hall. “You’ve had a couple of glasses of wine, and now a strong painkiller. The last thing you should do is get behind the wheel of that little sports car.”

She shot him a coolly assessing look. “Or talk to the paparazzi at the gate.”

“Right now it’s the hairpin bends on the road back to the villa that worry me.”

Something snapped inside her at the calm, matter-of-fact tone of his voice, as if he was conducting damage control in one of his business takeovers. “What do you think I’m going to do, Lucas? Drive off one of your cliffs into the sea?”

Unexpectedly his grip loosened. Twisting free, she grasped the handle of the door to the suite she had briefly checked out before, thinking it could be a bathroom. It was Lucas’s suite, apparently. Forbidden territory.

Flinging the door wide, she stepped inside. She was about to prove that at least one of Lucas’s fears was justified.

She was going to be her control-freak, ticked-off, stressed-out self for just a few minutes.

She was going to behave badly.