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A Tangled Affair
Fiona Brand



He was jealous.
The thought reverberated through her, but for the first time in two years, what Lucas wanted wasn’t a priority. Her rules had just changed. From now on it was commitment or nothing.
Her chin firmed. “No. I have an escort. He can take me back to the party.”
For a long, tension-filled moment Carla thought Lucas would argue, but then the demanding, possessive gleam was replaced by a familiar control. He nodded curtly, then sent her escort a long, cold look that conveyed a hands-off message that left Carla feeling doubly confused. Lucas didn’t want her, but neither did he want anyone else near her.
And if Lucas no longer wanted her, if they really were finished, why had he bothered to search her out?
Dear Reader,
The second story in THE PEARL HOUSE series centers on Lucas Atraeus and Carla Ambrosi—both gorgeous and high profile, but actually pretty nice beneath all the media hype. They’ve chosen to keep their passion secret because of the tension and hurt surrounding Constantine Atraeus and Sienna Ambrosi’s broken engagement two years previously.
With a wedding for Sienna and Constantine suddenly in the mix, all the obstacles to true love and happiness for Carla and Lucas finally seem to be dissolved. But Lucas has other ideas.
Wary of a past mistake and the fatal attraction to Carla that has seen him breaking every one of the emotional rules he had sworn to live by—and the streak of niceness that makes it hard for him to say no to women and fluffy pets—Lucas needs a foolproof strategy. But no matter what lengths he goes to to finish things with his ex, Lucas can’t seem to stay away from an unexpectedly vulnerable Carla. Let’s face it, he’s dazzled. To the extent that he has to ask himself the question …
What if, this time, the fatal attraction is the real thing?
Fiona Brand

About the Author
FIONA BRAND lives in the sunny Bay of Islands, New Zealand. Now that both her sons are grown, she continues to love writing books and gardening. After a life-changing time in which she met Christ, she has undertaken study for a bachelor of theology and has become a member of The Order of St Luke, Christ’s healing ministry.


A Tangled Affair
Fiona Brand







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

For the Lord. Thank you.
The kingdom of heaven
is like a merchant in search of fine pearls.
—Matthew 13:45

One
The vibration of Lucas Atraeus’s cell phone disrupted the measured bunch and slide of muscle as he smoothly bench-pressed his own weight.
Gray sweatpants clinging low on narrow hips, broad shoulders bronzed by the early morning light that flooded his private gym, he flowed up from the weight bench and checked the screen of his cell. Few people had his private number; of those only two dared interrupt his early morning workout.
“Si.” His voice was curt as he picked up the call.
The conversation with his older brother, Constantine, the CEO of The Atraeus Group, a family-owned multibillion-dollar network of companies, was brief. When he terminated the call, Lucas was grimly aware that within the space of a few seconds a great many things had changed.
Constantine intended to marry in less than a fortnight’s time and, in so doing, he had irretrievably complicated Lucas’s life.
The bride, Sienna Ambrosi, was the head of a Sydney-based company, Ambrosi Pearls. She also happened to be the sister of the woman with whom Lucas was currently involved. Although involved was an inadequate word to describe the passionate, addictive attraction that had held him in reluctant thrall for the past two years.
The phone vibrated again. Lucas didn’t need to see the number to know who the second caller was; his gut reaction was enough. Carla Ambrosi. Long, luscious dark hair, honey-tanned skin, light blue eyes and the kind of taut, curvy body that regularly disrupted traffic and stopped him in his tracks.
Desire kicked, raw and powerful, almost overturning the rigid discipline he had instilled in himself after his girlfriend had plunged to her death in a car accident almost five years ago. Ever since Sophie’s death he had pledged not to be ruled by passion or fall into such a destructive relationship ever again.
Lately, a whole two years lately, he had been breaking that rule on a regular basis.
But not anymore.
With an effort of will he resisted the almost overwhelming urge to pick up the call. Seconds later, to his intense relief, the phone fell silent.
Shoving damp, jet-black hair back from his face, he strolled across the pale marble floor to the shower with the loose-limbed power of a natural athlete. In centuries past, his build and physical prowess would have made him a formidable warrior. These days, however, Medinian battle was fought across boardroom tables with extensive share portfolios and gold mined from the arid backbone of the main island.
In the corporate arena, Lucas was undefeated. Relationships, however, had proved somewhat less straightforward.
All benefit from the workout burned away by tension and the fierce, unwanted jolt of desire, he stripped off his clothes, flicked the shower controls and stepped beneath a stream of icy water.
If he did nothing and continued an affair that had become increasingly irresistible and risky, he would find himself engaged to a woman who was the exact opposite of the kind of wife he needed.
A second fatal attraction. A second Sophie.
His only honorable course now was to step away from the emotion and the desire and use the ruthless streak he had hammered into himself when dealing with business acquisitions. He had to form a strategy to end a relationship that had always been destined for disaster, for both of their sakes.
He had tried to finish with Carla once before and failed. This time he would make sure of it.
It was over.
Lucas was finally going to propose.
The glow of a full moon flooded the Mediterranean island of Medinos as Carla Ambrosi brought her rented sports car to a halt outside the forbidding gates of Castello Atraeus.
Giddy delight coupled with nervous tension zinged through her as the paparazzi, on Medinos for her sister’s wedding to Constantine Atraeus tomorrow, converged on the tiny sky-blue car. So much for arriving deliberately late and under cover of darkness.
A security guard tapped on her window. She wound the glass down a bare two inches and handed him the cream-colored, embossed invitation to the prewedding dinner.
With a curt nod, he slid the card back through the narrow gap and waved her on.
A flash temporarily blinded her as she inched the tiny rental through the crush, making her wish she had ignored the impulse that had seized her and chosen a sensible, solid four-door sedan instead of opting for a low-slung fun and flimsy sports car. But she had wanted to look breezy and casual, as if she didn’t have a care in the world—
A sharp rap on her passenger-side window jerked her head around.
“Ms. Ambrosi, are you aware that Lucas Atraeus arrived in Medinos this morning?”
A heady jolt of anticipation momentarily turned her bones to liquid. She had seen Lucas’s arrival on the breakfast news. Minutes later, she had glimpsed what she was sure must be his car as she had strolled along the waterfront to buy coffee and rolls for breakfast.
Flanked by security, the limousine had been hard to miss but, frustratingly, the darkly tinted windows had hidden the occupants from sight. Breakfast forgotten, she had both called and texted Lucas. They had arranged to meet but, frustratingly, a late interview request from a popular American TV talk-show host had taken that time slot. With Ambrosi’s new collection due for release in under a week, the opportunity to use the publicity surrounding Sienna’s wedding to showcase their range and mainstream Ambrosi’s brand had been pure gold. Carla had hated canceling but she had known that Lucas, with his clinical approach to business, would understand. Besides, she was seeing him tonight.
Another camera flash made the tension headache she had been fighting since midafternoon spike out of control. The headache was a sharp reminder that she needed to slow down, chill out, de-stress. Difficult to do with the type A personality her doctor had diagnosed just over two years ago, along with a stomach ulcer.
The doctor, who also happened to be a girlfriend, had advised her to lose her controlling, perfectionist streak, to stop micromanaging every detail of her life including her slavish need to color coordinate her wardrobe and plan her outfits a week in advance. Her approach to relationships was a case in point. Her current system of spreadsheet appraisal was hopelessly punitive. How could she find Mr. Right if no one ever qualified for a second date? Stress was a killer. She needed to loosen up, have some fun, maybe even consider actually sleeping with someone, before she ended up with even worse medical complications.
Carla had taken Jennifer at her word. A week later she had met Lucas Atraeus.
“Ms. Ambrosi, now that your sister is marrying Constantine, is there any chance of resurrecting your relationship with Lucas?”
Jaw tight, Carla continued to inch forward, her heart pounding at the reporter’s intrusive question, which had been fired at her like a hot bullet.
And which had been eating at her ever since Sienna had broken the news two weeks ago that she had agreed to marry Constantine.
Tonight, though, she was determined not to resent the questions or the attention. After two years of avoiding being publicly linked with Lucas after the one night the press claimed they had spent together, she was now finally free to come clean about the relationship.
The financial feud that had torn the Atraeus and Ambrosi families apart, and the grief of her sister’s first broken engagement to Constantine, were now in the past. Sienna and Constantine had their happy ending. Now, tonight, she and Lucas could finally have theirs.
A throaty rumble presaged the glare of headlights as a gleaming, muscular black car glided in behind her.
Lucas.
Her heart slammed against the wall of her chest. He was staying at the castello, which meant he had probably been at a meeting in town and was just returning. Or he could have driven to the small town house she and Sienna and their mother were renting in order to collect her. The possibility of the second option filled her with relieved pleasure.
A split second later the way ahead was clear as the media deserted her in favor of clustering around Lucas’s Maserati. Automatically, Carla’s foot depressed the accelerator, sending her small sports car rocketing up the steep, winding slope. Scant minutes later, she rounded a sweeping bend and the spare lines of the castello she had only ever seen in magazine articles jumped into full view.
The headlights of the Maserati pinned her as she parked on the smooth sweep of gravel fronting the colonnaded entrance. Feeling suddenly, absurdly vulnerable, she retrieved the flame-red silk clutch that matched her dress and got out of the car.
The Maserati’s lights winked out, plunging her into comparative darkness as she closed her door and locked the car.
She started toward the Maserati, still battling the aftereffects of the bright halogen lights. The sensitivity of her eyes was uncomfortably close to a symptom she had experienced two months ago when she had contracted a virus while holidaying with Lucas in Thailand.
Instead of the romantic interlude she had so carefully planned and which would have generated the proposal she wanted, Lucas had been forced into the role of nursemaid. On her return home, when she had continued to feel off-color, further tests had revealed that the stomach ulcer she thought she had beaten had flared up again.
The driver’s side door of the car swung open. Her pulse rate rocketed off the charts. Finally, after a day of anxious waiting, they would meet.
Meet.
Her mouth went dry at a euphemism that couldn’t begin to describe the explosive encounters that, over the past year, had become increasingly intense.
The reporter at the gate had put his finger on an increasingly tender and painful pulse. Resurrect her relationship with Lucas?
Technically, she was not certain they had ever had anything as balanced as a relationship. Her attempt to create a relaxed, fun atmosphere with no stressful strings had not succeeded. Lucas had seemed content with brief, crazily passionate interludes, but she was not. As hard as she had tried to suppress her type A tendencies and play the glamorous, carefree lover, she had failed. Passion was wonderful, but she liked to be in control, to personally dot every i and cross every t. For Carla, leaving things “open” had created even more stress.
Heart pounding, she started toward the car. The gown she had bought with Lucas in mind was unashamedly spectacular and clung where it touched. Split down one side, it revealed the long, tanned length of her legs. The draped neckline added a sensual Grecian touch to the swell of her breasts and also hid the fact that she had lost weight over the past few weeks.
Her chest squeezed tight as Lucas climbed out of the car with a fluid muscularity she would always recognize.
She drank in midnight eyes veiled by inky lashes, taut cheekbones, the faintly battered nose, courtesy of two seasons playing professional rugby; his strong jaw and firm, well-cut mouth. Despite the sleek designer suit and the ebony seal ring that gleamed on one finger, Lucas looked somewhat less than civilized. A graphic image of him naked and in her bed, his shoulders muscled and broad, his skin dark against crisp white sheets, made her stomach clench.
His gaze captured hers and the idea that they could keep the chemistry that exploded between them a secret until after the wedding died a fiery death. She wanted him. She had waited two years, hamstrung by Sienna’s grief at losing Constantine. She loved her sister and was fiercely loyal. Dating the younger and spectacularly better looking Atraeus brother when Sienna had been publicly dumped by Constantine would have been an unconscionable betrayal.
Tonight, she and Lucas could publicly acknowledge their desire to be together. Not in a heavy-handed, possessive way that would hint at the secretive liaison that had disrupted both of their lives for the past two years, but with a low-key assurance that would hint at the future.
As Ambrosi’s public relations “face,” she understood exactly how this would be handled. There would be no return to the turgid headlines that had followed their first passionate night together. There would be no announcements, no fanfare … at least, 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 room: Tomas and members of the Atraeus family including Constantine, his younger brother, Zane, and Lucas’s mother, Maria Therese. To one side, Sienna was chatting with their mother, Margaret Ambrosi.
Sienna, wearing a sleek ivory dress and already looking distinctly bridal, was the first to greet her. The quick hug, the moment of warmth, despite the fact that they had spent most of the morning going over the details of the wedding together, made Carla’s throat lock.
Sienna gripped her hands, frowning. “Are you okay? You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine, just a little rushed and I didn’t expect the media ambush at the gates.” Carla forced a bright smile. “You know me. I do thrive on publicity, but the reporters were like a pack of wolves.”
Constantine, tall and imposing, greeted her with a brief hug, the gesture conveying her new status as a soon-to-be member of Medinos’s most wealthy, powerful family. He frowned as he released her. “Security should have kept them at bay.”
His expression was remote, his light gray gaze controlled, belying the primitive fact that he had used financial coercion and had even gone so far as kidnapping Sienna to get his former fiancée back.
“The security was good.” Carla hugged her mother, fighting the ridiculous urge to cling like a child. If she did that she would cry, and she refused to cry in front of Lucas.
A waiter offered champagne. As she lifted the flute from the tray her gaze clashed with Lucas’s. Her fingers tightened reflexively on the delicate stem. The message in his dark eyes was clear.
Don’t talk. Don’t make trouble.
She took a long swallow of the champagne. “Unfortunately, the line of questioning the press took was disconcerting. Although I’m sure that when Lucas arrived with Lilah any misconceptions were cleared up.”
Sienna’s expression clouded. “Don’t tell me they’re trying to resurrect that old story about you and Lucas?”
Carla controlled her wince reflex at the use of the word resurrect. “I guess it’s predictable that now that you and Constantine have your happy ending, the media are looking to generate something out of nothing.”
Sienna lifted a brow. “So, do they need a medic down at the gates?”
“Not this time.” Lucas frowned as Carla took another long swallow of champagne. “Don’t forget I was the original target two years ago, not the media.”
And suddenly the past was alive between them, vibrating with hurtful accusations and misunderstandings she thought they had dealt with long ago. The first night of unplanned and irresistible passion they’d shared, followed by the revelation of the financial deal her father had leveraged on the basis of Sienna’s engagement to Constantine. Lucas’s accusation that Carla was more interested in publicity and her career than she had been in him.
Carla forced herself to loosen her grip on the stem of her glass. “But then the media are so very fascinated by your private life, aren’t they?”
A muscle pulsed along the side of his jaw. “Only when someone decides to feed them information.”
The flat statement, correct as it was, stung. Two years ago, hurt by his comments, she had reacted by publicly stating that she had absolutely no interest in being pursued by Lucas. The story had sparked weeks of uncomfortable conjecture for them both.
Sienna left them to greet more arrivals. Her anger under control, Carla examined the elegant proportions of the reception room, the exquisite marble floors and rich, Italianate decor. “And does that thought keep you awake at night?”
Lucas’s gaze flared at her deliberate reference to the restless passion for her that he had once claimed kept him awake at nights. “I’m well used to dealing with the media.”
“A shame there isn’t a story. It could have benefited Ambrosi’s upcoming product launch.” She forced a brilliant smile. “You know what they say, any publicity is good publicity. Although in this case, I’m sure the story wouldn’t be worth the effort, especially when it would involve dragging my private life through the mud.”
Lucas’s expression shuttered, the fire abruptly gone. “Then I suggest you sleep easy. I don’t kiss and tell.”
The sense of disorientation she had felt the past few minutes evaporated in a rush of anger. “Or commit to relationships.”
“You were the one who set the ground rules.”
Suddenly Lucas seemed a lot closer. “You know I had no other option.”
His expression was grim. “The truth is always an option.”
Her chin jerked up. “I was protecting Sienna and my family. What was I supposed to do? Turn up with you at Mom and Dad’s house for Sunday dinner and admit that I was—”
“Sleeping with me?”
The soft register of his voice made her heart pound. Every nerve in her body jangled at his closeness, the knowledge that he was just as aware of her as she was of him. “I was about to say dating an Atraeus.”
Sienna returned from her hostess duties to step neatly between them. “Time out, children.”
Lucas lifted a brow, his mouth quirking in the wry half smile that regularly made women go weak at the knees. “My apologies.”
As Constantine joined them, Lucas drew Lilah into the circle. “I know I don’t need to introduce Lilah.”
There was a moment of polite acknowledgment and brief handshakes as Lilah was accepted unconditionally into the Atraeus fold. The process of meeting Maria Therese was more formal and underlined a salient and well-publicized fact. Atraeus men didn’t take their women home to meet their families on a casual basis. To her best knowledge, until now, Lucas had never taken a girlfriend home to meet his mother.
Lucas’s girlfriend.
Lilah was smiling, her expression contained but lit with an unmistakable glow.
A second salient fact made Carla stiffen. A few months ago, while stuck overnight together at a sales expo in Europe, she and Lilah had discussed the subject of relationships. At age twenty-nine, despite possessing the kind of sensual dark-haired, white-skinned beauty that riveted male attention, Lilah was determinedly single.
She had told Carla a little of her background, which included a single mother, a solo grandmother and ongoing financial hardship. Born illegitimate, Lilah had early on given herself a rule. No sex before marriage. There was no way she was going to be left holding a baby.
While Carla had stressed about finding Mr. Right, Lilah was calmly focused on marrying him, her approach methodical and systematic. She had moved on a step from Carla’s idea of a spreadsheet and had developed a list of qualifying attributes as precise and unwavering as an employment contract. Also, unlike Carla, Lilah had saved herself for marriage. She was that twenty-first century paragon: a virgin.
The simple fact that she was on Medinos with Lucas, thousands of miles from her Sydney apartment and rigorous work schedule, spoke volumes.
Lilah did not date. Carla knew that she occasionally accompanied a gay neighbor to his professional dinners and had him escort her to charity functions she supported. But their relationship was purely friendship, which suited them both. That was all.
Carla took another gulp of champagne. Her stomach clenched because the situation was suddenly blindingly obvious.
Lilah was dating Lucas because she had chosen him. He was her intended husband.
Anger churned in Carla’s stomach and stiffened her spine. She and Lucas had conducted their relationship based on a set of rules that was the complete opposite of everything that Lilah was holding out for: no strings, strictly casual and, because of the family feud, in secrecy.
An enticing, convenient arrangement for a man who clearly had never had any intention of offering her marriage.
Waiters served more chilled champagne and trays of tiny, exquisite canapés. Carla forced herself to eat a tiny pastry case filled with a delicate seafood mousse. She continued to sip her way through the champagne, which loosened the tightness of her throat but couldn’t wash away the deepening sense of hurt.
Lilah Cole was beautiful, elegant and likable, but nothing could change the fact that Lilah’s easy acceptance into the Atraeus fold should have been her moment.
The party swelled as more family and friends arrived. Abandoning her champagne flute on a nearby sideboard, Carla joined the movement out onto a large stone balcony overlooking the sea.
Feeling awkward and isolated amidst the crowd, she threaded her way through the revelers to the parapet and stared out at the expansive view. The breeze gusted, laced with the scent of the sea, sending coils of hair across her cheeks and teasing at the flimsy silk of her dress, briefly exposing more leg than she had planned.
Lucas’s gaze burned over her, filled with censure, not the desire that had sizzled between them for the past two years.
Cheeks burning, she snapped her dress back into place, her mood plummeting further as Lilah joined Lucas. Despite the breeze, Lilah’s hair was neat and perfect, her dress subtly sensual with a classic pureness of line that suddenly made Carla feel cheap and brassy, all sex and dazzle against Lilah’s demure elegance. Her cheeks grew hotter as she considered what she was wearing under the red silk. Again, nothing with any degree of subtlety. Every flimsy stitch was designed to entice.
She had taken a crazy risk in dressing so flamboyantly, practically begging for the continuation of their relationship. After the distance of the past two months she should have had more sense than to wear her heart on her sleeve. Jerking her gaze away, she tried to concentrate on the moon sliding up over the horizon, the churning floodlit water below the castello.
A cool gust of wind sent more hair whipping around her cheeks. Temporarily blinded, she snatched at her billowing hemline. Strong fingers gripped her elbow, steadying her. Heart-stoppingly familiar dark eyes clashed with hers. Not Lucas, Zane Atraeus.
“Steady. I’ve got you. Come over here, out of the wind before we lose you over the side.”
Zane’s voice was deep, mild and low-key, more American than Medinian, thanks to his Californian mother and upbringing. With his checkered, illegitimate past and lady-killer reputation, Zane was, of the three brothers, definitely the most approachable and she wondered a little desperately why she hadn’t been able to fall for him instead of Lucas. “Thanks for the rescue.”
He sent her an enigmatic look. “Damsels in distress are always my business.”
The warmth in her cheeks flared a little brighter. The suspicion that Zane wasn’t just talking about the wind, that he knew about her affair with Lucas, coalesced into certainty.
He positioned her in the lee of a stone wall festooned with ivy. “Can I get you a drink?”
A reckless impulse seized Carla as she glanced across at Lucas. “Why not?”
With his arm draped casually across the stone parapet behind Lilah, his stance was male and protective, openly claiming Lilah as his, although he wasn’t touching her in any way.
Unbidden, a small kernel of hope flared to life at that small, polite distance. Ten minutes ago, Carla had been certain they were an established couple; that to be here, at a family wedding, Lucas would have had to have slept with Lilah. Now she was abruptly certain they had not yet progressed to the bedroom. There was a definite air of restraint underpinning the glow on Lilah’s face, and despite his possessive stance, Lucas was preserving a definite distance.
A waiter swung by. Zane handed her a flute of champagne. “Do you think they’ve slept together?”
Carla’s hand jerked at the question. Champagne splashed over her fingers. She dragged her gaze from the clean line of Lucas’s profile and glanced at Zane. His expression was oddly grim, his jaw set. “I don’t know why you’re asking me that question.”
Zane, who hadn’t bothered with champagne, gave her a steady look, and humiliation curled through her. He knew.
Carla wondered a little wildly how he had found out and if everyone on the balcony knew that she was Lucas’s ditched ex.
Zane’s expression was dismissive. “Don’t worry, it was a lucky guess.”
Relief flooded her as she swallowed a mouthful of champagne. A few seconds later her head began to spin and she resolved not to drink any more.
Zane’s attention was no longer on her; it was riveted on Lilah and realization hit. She wasn’t the only one struggling here. “You want Lilah.”
The grim anger she had glimpsed winked out of existence. “If I was in the market for marriage, maybe.”
“Which, I take it, you’re not.”
Zane’s dark gaze zeroed in on hers, but Carla realized he still barely logged her presence. “No. Are you interested in art?”
Carla blinked at the sudden change of subject. “Yes.”
“If you want out of this wind, I’ll be happy to show you the rogue’s gallery.”
She had glimpsed the broad gallery that housed the Atraeus family portraits, some painted by acknowledged masters, but hadn’t had time to view them. “I would love to take a closer look at the family portraits.”
Anything to get her off the balcony. “Just do me one favor. Put your arm around my waist.”
“And make it look good?”
Carla’s chin jerked up a fraction. “If you don’t mind.”
The unflattering lack of reaction to her suggestion should have rubbed salt into the wound, but Carla was beyond caring. She was dying by inches but she was determined not to be any more tragic than she had to be.
Lucas’s gaze burned over her as she handed her drink to a waiter then allowed Zane’s arm to settle around her waist. As they strolled past Lucas, she was forcibly struck by the notion that he was jealous.
Confusion rocked her. She hadn’t consciously set out to make Lucas jealous; her main concern from the moment she had realized that Lucas and Lilah were together had been self-preservation. Lucas being jealous made no sense unless he still wanted her, and how could that be when he had already chosen another woman?
Carla was relieved when Zane dropped his arm the second they were out of sight of the balcony. After a short walk through flagged corridors, they entered the gallery. Along one wall, arched windows provided spectacular views of the moonlit sea. The opposite wall was softly lit and lined with exquisite paintings.
The tingling sense of alarm, as if at some level she was aware of Lucas’s displeasure, continued as they strolled past rank after rank of gorgeous rich oils. Most had been painted pre-1900s, before the once wealthy and noble Atraeus family had fallen on hard times. Lucas’s grandfather, after discovering an obscenely rich gold mine, had since purchased most of the paintings back from private collections and museums.
The men were clearly of the Atraeus bloodline, with strong jaws and aquiline profiles. The women, almost without exception, looked like Botticelli angels: beautiful, demure, virginal.
Zane paused beside a vibrant painting of an Atraeus ancestor who looked more like a pirate than a noble lord. His lady was a serene, quiet dove with a steely glint in her eye. With her long, slanting eyes and delicate bones, the woman bore an uncanny resemblance to Lilah. “As you can see it’s a mixture of sinners and saints. It seemed that the more dissolute and marauding the Atraeus male, the more powerful his desire for a saint.”
Carla heard the measured tread of footsteps. Her heart sped up because she was almost sure it was Lucas. “And is that what Atraeus men are searching for today?”
Zane shrugged. “I can’t speak for my brothers. I’m not your typical Atraeus male.”
Her jaw tightened. “But the idea of a pure, untouched bride still has a certain appeal.”
“Maybe.” He sent her a flashing grin that made him look startlingly like the Atraeus pirate in the painting. “Although, I’m always willing to be convinced that a sinner is the way to go.”
“Because that generally means no commitment, right?”
Zane’s dark brows jerked together. “How did we get on to commitment?”
Carla registered the abrupt silence as if whoever had just entered the gallery had seen them and stopped.
Her heart slammed in her chest as she caught Lucas’s reflection in one of the windows. On impulse, she stepped close to Zane and tilted her head back, the move flirtatious and openly provocative. She was playing with fire, because Zane had a reputation that scorched.
Lucas would be furious with her. If he was jealous, her behavior would probably kill any feelings he had left for her, but she was beyond caring. He had hurt her too badly for her to pull back now. “If that’s an invitation, the answer is yes.”
Zane’s gaze registered unflattering surprise.
Minor detail, because Lucas was now walking toward them. Gritting her teeth, she wound her finger in Zane’s tie, applying just enough pressure that his head lowered until his mouth was mere inches from hers.
His gaze was disarmingly neutral. “I know what you’re up to.”
“You could at least be tempted.”
“I’m trying.”
“Try harder.”
“Damn, you’re type A. No wonder he went for Lilah.”
Carla’s fingers tightened on his tie. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only to me. And that’s because I’m a control freak myself.”
“I am not a control freak.”
He unwound her fingers from his tie. “Whatever you say.”
Cut adrift by Zane’s calm patience, Carla had no choice but to step back and in so doing almost caromed into Lucas.
She flinched at the fiery trail of his gaze over the shadow of her cleavage, her mouth, the impression of heat and desire. If Zane hadn’t been there she was almost certain he would have pulled her close and kissed her.
Lucas’s expression was shuttered. “What are you up to?”
Carla didn’t try to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “I’m not up to anything. Zane was showing me the paintings.”
“Careful,” Zane intervened, his gaze on Lucas. “Or I might think you have a personal interest in Carla, and that couldn’t possibly be, since you’re dating the lovely Lilah.”
A sharp pang went through Carla at the tension vibrating between the brothers, shifting undercurrents she didn’t understand.
Spine rigid, she kept her gaze firmly on Zane’s jaw. She hadn’t liked behaving like that, but at least she had proved that Lucas did still want her. Although the knowledge was a bitter pill, because his reaction repeated a pattern that was depressingly familiar. In establishing a stress-free liaison with him based on her rules, she had somehow negotiated herself out of the very things she needed most: love, companionship and commitment.
Lucas had wanted her for two years, but that was all. The relationship had struggled to progress out of the bedroom. Even when she had finally gotten him to Thailand for a whole four-day minibreak, the longest period of time they had ever spent together, the plan had crashed and burned because she had gotten sick.
She wondered in what way she was lacking that Lucas didn’t want a full relationship with her? That instead of allowing them to grow closer, he had kept her at an emotional arm’s length and gone to Lilah for the very things that Carla needed from him.
She glanced apologetically at Zane in an effort to defuse the tension. “It’s okay, Lucas and I are old news. If there was anything more we would be together now.”
“Whereas marriage is Lilah’s focus,” Zane said softly.
Lucas frowned. “Back off, Zane.”
Confusion gripped Carla along with another renegade glimmer of hope at Lucas’s reaction. She was tired of thinking about everything that had gone wrong, but despite that, her mind grabbed on to the notion that maybe all he was doing was dating Lilah on a casual basis. Just because Lilah wanted marriage didn’t necessarily mean she would get what she wanted.
Grimly, she forced herself to study the Atraeus bride in the painting again. It was the perfect reality check.
Her pale, demure gown was the epitome of all things virginal and pure. Nothing like Carla’s flaming red silk dress, with its enticing glimpse of cleavage and leg. The serene eighteenth-century bride was no doubt every man’s secret dream. A perfect wife, without a flirty bone in her body. Or a stress condition.
Lucas’s gaze sliced back to Carla. “I’ll take you back to the party. Dinner will be served in about fifteen minutes.”
He was jealous.
The thought reverberated through her, but for the first time in two years what Lucas wanted wasn’t a priority. Her rules had just changed. From now on it was commitment or nothing.
Her chin firmed. “No. I have an escort. Zane will take me back to the party.”
For a long, tension-filled moment Carla thought Lucas would argue, but then the demanding, possessive gleam was replaced by a familiar control. He nodded curtly then sent Zane a long, cold look that conveyed a hands-off message that left Carla feeling doubly confused. Lucas didn’t want her, but neither did he want Zane anywhere near her.
And if Lucas no longer wanted her, if they really were finished, why had he bothered to search her out?

Three
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.

Four
The paralyzing fear that had gripped Lucas at the thought of Carla driving her sports car on Medinos’s narrow roads turned to frustration as she stepped inside his suite.
Grimly, he wondered what had happened to the dominance and control with which he had started the evening.
Across boardroom tables, he was aware that his very presence often inspired actual fear. His own people jumped to do his bidding.
Unfortunately, when it came to Carla Ambrosi, concepts like power, control and discipline crashed and burned.
He closed the door behind him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Carla halted by an ebony cabinet that held a selection of bottles, a jug of ice water and a tray of glasses. “I need a drink.”
Glass clinked on glass, liquid splashed. His frustration deepened. Carla seldom drank and when she did it had always been in moderation. Tonight he knew she’d had champagne, then wine with dinner. He had kept a watch on her intake, specifically so he could intervene if he thought she was in danger of drinking too much then making a scene. He had been looking for an opportunity to speak to her alone when she had walked out halfway through dessert. Until now he had been certain she wasn’t drunk.
He reached her in two long strides and gripped her wrist. “How much have you had?”
Liquid splashed the front of her dress. He jerked his gaze away from the way the wet silk clung to the curve of her breasts.
Her gaze narrowed. A split second later cold liquid cascaded down his chest, soaking through to the skin.
Water, not alcohol.
Time seemed to slow, stop as he stared at her narrowed gaze, delicately molded cheekbones and firm jaw, the rapid pulse at her throat.
The thud of the glass hitting the thick kilim barely registered as she curled her fingers in the lapel of his jacket.
“What do you think you’re doing?” His voice was husky, the question automatic as he stared at her face.
“Conducting an experiment.”
Her arms slid around his neck; she lifted up onto her toes. Automatically, his head bent. The second his mouth touched hers he knew it was a mistake. Relief shuddered through him as her breasts flattened against his chest and the soft curve of her abdomen cradled his instant arousal.
His hands settled at her waist as he deepened the kiss. The soft, exotic perfume she wore rose up, beguiling him, and the fierce clamp of desire intensified. Two months. As intent as he had been on finishing with Carla, he didn’t know how he had stayed away.
No one else did this to him; no one came close. To say he made love with Carla didn’t cover the fierceness of his need or the undisciplined emotion that grabbed at him every time he weakened and allowed himself the “fix” of a small window of time in her bed.
Following the tragedy with Sophie, he had kept his liaisons clear-cut and controlled, as disciplined as his heavy work schedule and workout routines. He had been too shell-shocked to do anything else. Carla was the antithesis of the sophisticated, emotionally secure women he usually chose. Women who didn’t demand or do anything flamboyant or off-the-wall.
He dragged his mouth free, shrugged out of his jacket then sank back into the softness of her mouth. He felt her fingers dragging at the buttons of his shirt, the tactile pleasure of her palms sliding over his skin.
Long, drugging minutes passed as he simply kissed her, relearning her touch, her taste. When she moved restlessly against him, he smoothed his hands up over her back, knowing instinctively that if she was going to withdraw, this would be the moment.
Her gaze clashed with his and he logged her assent. It occurred to Lucas that if he had been a true gentleman, he would have eased away, slowed things down. Instead he gave into temptation, cupped her breasts through the flimsy silk of bodice and bra. She arched against him with a small cry. Heat jerked through him when he realized she had climaxed.
Every muscle taut, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the couch. Her arms wound around his neck as she pulled him down with her. At some point his shirt disappeared and Carla shimmied against him, lifting up the few centimeters he needed so he could peel away the flimsy scrap of silk and lace that served as underwear.
He felt her fingers tearing at the fastening of his trousers. In some distant part of his mind the fact that he didn’t have a condom registered. A split second later her hands closed around him and he ceased to think.
Desire shivered and burned through Carla as Lucas’s hands framed her hips. Still dazed by the unexpected power of her climax, she automatically tilted her hips, allowing him access. Shock reverberated through her when she registered that there was no condom.
She hadn’t thought; he hadn’t asked. In retrospect she hadn’t wanted to ask. She had been drowning in sensation, caught and held by the sudden powerful conviction that if she walked away from Lucas now, everything they had shared, everything they had been to each other would be lost. She would never touch him, kiss him, make love with him again, and that thought was acutely painful.
It was wrong, crazily wrong, on a whole lot of levels. Lucas had broken up with her. He had chosen someone else.
His gaze locked with hers and the steady, focused heat, so utterly familiar—as if she really was the only woman in the world for him—steadied her.
Emotion squeezed her chest as the shattering intensity gripped her again, linking her more intensely with Lucas. She should pull back, disengage. Making love did not compute, and especially not without a condom, but the concept of stopping now was growing progressively more blurred and distant.
She didn’t want distance. She loved making love with Lucas. She loved his scent, the satiny texture of skin, the masculine beauty of sleek, hard muscle. The tender way he touched her, kissed her, made love to her was indescribably singular and intimate. She had never made love with another man, and when they were together, for those moments, he was hers.

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