A Tangled Affair (4 page)

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

T
he 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
.

Sharp awareness flickered in his gaze. He muttered something in rapid, husky Medinian, an apology for his loss of control, and a wild sliver of hope made her tense. If Lucas had wanted her badly enough that he hadn’t been able to stop long enough to take care of protection, then there had to be a future for them.

With a raw groan he tangled his fingers in her hair, a glint of rueful humor charming her as he bent and softly kissed her. Something small and hurt inside her relaxed. She wound her arms around his neck, holding him tight against her and the hot night shivered and dissolved around them.

For long minutes Carla lay locked beneath Lucas on the couch. She registered the warm internal tingle of lovemaking. It had been two months since they had last been together, and she took a moment to wallow in the sheer pleasure of his heat and scent, the uncomplicated sensuality of his weight pressing her down.

She rubbed her palms down his back and felt his instant response.

Lucas’s head lifted up from its resting place on her shoulder. The abrupt wariness in his gaze reflected her own thoughts. They’d had unprotected sex once. Were they really going to repeat the mistake?

A sharp rap at the door completed the moment of separation.

“Wait,” Lucas said softly.

She felt the cool flutter as he draped her dress over her thighs. Feeling dazed and guilty, Carla clambered to her feet, snatched up her panties and her bag and found her shoes.

“The bathroom is the second on the left.”

Her head jerked up at the husky note in his voice, but Lucas’s expression was back to closed, his gaze neutral.

He was already dressed. With his shirt buttoned, his jacket on, he looked smoothly powerful and unruffled, exactly as he had before they had made love. Somewhere inside her the sliver of hope that had flared to life when they had been making love died a sudden death.

Nothing had changed. How many times had she seen him distance himself from her in just that way when he had left her apartment, as if he had already separated himself from her emotionally?

As if what they had shared was already filed firmly in the past and she had no place in his everyday life.

The moment was chilling, a reality check that was long overdue. “Don’t worry, I’ll find it. I don’t want anyone to know I was here, either.” Her own voice was husky but steady. Despite the hurt she felt oddly distant and remote.

She stepped into the cool, tiled sanctuary of the bathroom and locked the door. After freshening up she set about fixing her makeup. A sharp rap on the door made her jerk, smearing her mascara.

“When you’re ready, I’ll take you home.”

“Five minutes. And I’ll take myself home.”

She stared at her reflection, her too pale skin, the curious blankness in her eyes as if, like a turtle retreating into its shell, the hurt inner part of her had already withdrawn. With automatic movements, she cleaned away the smear and reapplied the mascara.

When she stepped out of the bathroom the sitting room was empty. For the first time she noticed the fine antiques and jewel-bright rugs, the art that decorated the walls and which was lit by glowing pools of light.

Lucas stepped in from the terrace, through an elegant set of French doors.

She met his gaze squarely. “Who was at the door?”

“Lilah.”

Oh, good. Her life had just officially gone to hell in a handbasket. “Did she see me?”

“Unfortunately.”

Lucas’s choice of word finally succeeded in dissolving the curious blankness and suddenly she was fiercely angry. “What if I’m pregnant?”

A pulse worked in his jaw. “If you’re pregnant, that changes things—we’ll talk. Until you have confirmation, we forget this happened.”

* * *

When Carla woke in the morning, the headache was still nagging, and she was definitely off-color. She stepped into the shower and washed her hair. When she’d soaped herself, she stood beneath the stream of hot water and waited to feel better.

She spread her palm over her flat abdomen, a sense of disorientation gripping her when she considered that she could be pregnant.

A baby
.

The thought was as shocking as the fact that she had been weak enough to allow Lucas to make love to her.

If she was pregnant, she decided, there was no way she could terminate. She loved babies, the way they smelled, their downy softness and vulnerability, the gummy smiles—and she would adore her own.

Decision made. If—and it was a big
if
—she was pregnant she would have the child and manage as a single parent. Lucas wouldn’t have to be involved. There was no way she would marry him without love, or exist in some kind of twilight state in his life that would allow him discreet access while he married someone else.

Turning off the water, she toweled herself dry, belted on a robe and padded down to breakfast. Her stomach felt vaguely nauseous and she wasn’t hungry, but she forced herself to chew one of the sweet Medinian rolls she had enjoyed so much yesterday.

Half an hour later, she checked on Sienna, who was smothered by attendants, then dressed for the wedding in an exquisite lilac-silk sheath. She sat for the hairdresser, who turned her hair into a glossy confection of curls piled on top of her head, then moved to another room where a cosmetician chatted cheerfully while she did her makeup.

Several hours later, with the wedding formalities finally completed and the dancing under way, she was finally free to leave her seat at the bridal table. Technically, as the maid of honor, her partner for the celebration was Lucas, who was the best man. Mercifully, he was seated to one side of the bride and groom, and she the other, so she had barely seen him all evening.

As she rose from the table and found the strap of her purse, which was looped over the back of her seat, lean brown fingers closed over hers, preventing her from lifting up the bag.

A short, sharp shock ran through her at the pressure. Lucas released his hold on her fingers almost immediately.

He indicated Constantine and Sienna drifting around the dance floor. “I know you probably don’t want to dance, but tradition demands that we take the floor next.”

She glanced away from the taut planes of his cheekbones and his chiseled jaw, the inky crescents of his lashes. In a morning suit, with its tight waistcoat, he looked even more devastatingly handsome than usual. “And is that what you do?” she said a little bitterly. “Follow tradition?”

Lucas waited patiently for her to acquiesce to the dance. “You know me better than that.”

Yes, she did, unfortunately. As wealthy and privileged as Lucas was, he had done a number of unconventional things. One of them was to play professional rugby. Her gaze rested on the faintly battered line of his nose. An automatic tingle of awareness shot through her at the dangerous, sexy edge it added to features that would otherwise have been
GQ
perfect.

His gaze locked on hers and, as suddenly as if a switch had been thrown, the sizzling hum of attraction was intimately, crazily shared.

Her breath came in sharply. Not good.

Aware that they were now under intense scrutiny from guests at a nearby table, including Lilah, Carla placed her hand on Lucas’s arm and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor.

Lucas’s breath feathered her cheek as he pulled her close. “How likely is it that you are pregnant?”

She stiffened at the sudden hot flood of memory. On cue the music changed, slowing to a sultry waltz. Lucas pulled her into a closer hold. Heat shivered through her as her body automatically responded to his touch. “Not likely.”

Since the virus she had caught in Thailand she hadn’t had a regular cycle, mostly because, initially, she had lost so much weight. She had regained some of the weight but she hadn’t yet had a period. Although she wasn’t about to inform Lucas of that fact.

“How soon will you know?”

“I’m not sure. Two weeks, give or take.”

“When you find out, one way or the other, I want to be informed, but that shouldn’t be a problem. As of next week, I’m Ambrosi’s new CEO.”