A Tangled Affair (7 page)

Closing the door, he prowled back to the window and held aside the silky curtains that draped the window, feeling like a voyeur himself as he watched Carla stroll out onto the street and climb into the sports car that was waiting for her.

He had questioned her assistant extensively about her meetings, then, dissatisfied with her answers, had looked both Chandler and Howarth up on the internet.

Elise had been correct in her summation. Both men were old enough to be her father. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to cut any ice with him. They were men, period.

At a point in time when he should have been reinforcing the end of their relationship by keeping his distance, he had never felt more possessive or jealous.

Instead of moving to Sydney, he should have stepped back and simply kept in touch with Carla. If she was pregnant, whether she told him or not, he would soon have known. Instead he had grabbed at the excuse to be close to her.

The fact that he had lost control to the extent that he had made love to Carla after they had broken up,
without protection,
still had the power to stun him.

Worse, he found the idea that they could have made a baby together unbearably sexy and appealing.

Maybe it was a kickback to his grief and loss over Sophie, but a part of him actually hoped Carla was pregnant.

He dropped the curtain as the taxi merged into traffic. Broodingly, he reflected that when it came to Carla Ambrosi, he found himself thinking in medieval absolutes.

For two years one absolute had dominated: regardless of how risky or illogical the liaison was, he had wanted Carla Ambrosi.

Despite breaking up and replacing her with a new girlfriend—a woman he had not been able to bring himself to either touch or kiss—nothing had changed.

Seven

C
arla checked the time on the digital clock in her small sports car. She had ten minutes to reach Alex Panopoulos’s office and rush hour was in full swing, the traffic already jammed.

On edge and impatient, Carla used every shortcut she knew, but even so she was running late when she reached the dim underground garage.

Late for an interview that was becoming increasingly important, she grabbed her handbag and portfolio and exited the car.

Her heels tapped on concrete as she strode to the elevator, just as a sleek dark car cruised into a nearby space. The tinted driver’s side window was down, giving her a shadowy glimpse of the driver. The car reminded her of the vehicle Lucas’s security detail used when he was in town.

Frowning, she stepped into the elevator and keyed in the PIN she had been given. She punched the floor number, then wished she hadn’t as the doors slid shut, nixing her view of the driver before he could climb out of the car. Maybe she was paranoid, or simply too focused on Lucas, but for a split second she had entertained the crazy thought that the driver could be Lucas.

She kept an eye on the floor numbers as they lit up. She caught her reflection in the polished steel doors. The scene with Lucas accusing her of dressing to entice replayed in her mind.

Hurt spiraled through her that he clearly had such a bad opinion of her and was so keen to get rid of her that he had replaced her both personally and professionally. She wondered if he intended to escort Lilah to the event, then grimly decided that of course he would.

As a publicity stunt, the move couldn’t be faulted. The media would love Lilah fronting for Ambrosi and the further evidence of her close relationship with Lucas. Ambrosi couldn’t ask for a better launch gimmick…except maybe an engagement announcement at the launch party.

Her chest squeezed tight on a pang of misery. Suddenly, that didn’t seem as ludicrous or far-fetched as it should, given that Lucas and Lilah had only been publicly dating for a couple of weeks. Lucas was legendary for his ruthless efficiency, his unequivocal decisions. If he had decided Lilah was the one, why wait?

The elevator doors opened onto a broad carpeted corridor. Discreetly suited executives, briefcases in hand, obviously leaving for the day, stepped into the elevator as she stepped out.

The receptionist showed her into Alex’s office.

Twenty minutes later, the interview over, Carla stepped out of the lift and strode to her car. She had been offered the job of PR executive for Pan Jewelry, but she had turned it down. Five minutes into the interview she had realized that Alex hadn’t wanted her expertise; he had wanted to utilize her connection with the Atraeus family. Apparently, he could double his profit base in two years if they allowed Pan to trade in the luxury Atraeus Resorts.

She had been prepared to withstand his smooth charm, possibly even reject an attempt at seduction. She had done that before, on more than one occasion. Alex had made it clear he was prepared to deal generously with her in terms of position and salary, including a free apartment, if she came to him.

Stomach churning at the sexual strings that were clearly attached to his offer, and because she had missed lunch, Carla tossed her portfolio and purse on the backseat of her car. Flipping the glove box open, she found the box of cookies she kept there for just such an emergency. Part of the reason she had ended up with an ulcer was that she had a high-acid system. She had to be careful of what she ate, and of not eating at all. Stress coupled with an empty stomach was a definite no-no. Popping a chunk of the cookie in her mouth, she drove out of the parking garage.

The car she had thought could possibly belong to Lucas’s security guy was no longer in its space, but, as she took the ramp up onto the sunlit street, the distinctive dark sedan nosed in behind her.

Spine tingling with a combination of renewed anger and the flighty, unreasoning panic of knowing someone was following her—no matter how benign the reason—she sped up. The car stayed with her, confirming in her mind that it
was
one of Lucas’s men snooping on her.

Still fuming at his high-handed behavior, she pulled into her apartment building. When the sedan slid past the entrance and kept on going, she reversed out and made a beeline for Lucas’s inner-city apartment.

Twenty minutes later, after running the gauntlet of a concierge and one of Lucas’s security detail, she pressed the buzzer on Lucas’s penthouse door.

It swung open almost immediately. Lucas was still dressed in the dark pants and white shirt he had worn to the office that morning, although minus the tie and with the shirt hanging open to reveal a mouthwatering slice of taut and tanned torso. He leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb, unsubtly blocking her from barging into his apartment.

“Tell me that wasn’t you following me.”

“It wasn’t me following you. It was Tiberio.”

“In that case, do you really want to have this discussion in the hallway, where anyone can overhear?”

Cool amusement tugged at his mouth. “I rent the entire floor. The other three apartments are all occupied by my people.”

“Let me rephrase that, then. Do you really want to have this discussion where your employees can overhear what I’m about to say?”

His jaw tightened, but he stepped back, leaving her just enough room to march past him. She was in the hallway, strolling across rug-strewn wooden floors into an expansive, airy sitting room before she had time to consider the unsettling fact that Lucas might not be alone. With his shirt hanging open and his sleeves unbuttoned it was highly likely he had company.

Her stomach churned at the thought. She’d had plenty of time on the drive over to consider that Lilah could be here.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she registered that the sitting room, at least, was unoccupied, although that didn’t rule out the bedrooms. Until that moment she hadn’t known just how much she dreaded seeing Lilah in Lucas’s home, occupying the position in his life that until a few days ago she had foolishly assumed was hers.

Fingers tightening on her purse, she surveyed the sitting room with its eclectic mix of artwork and sculpture. Some she knew well; at least two she had never seen. “Nice paintings.”

But then that had been one of the things that had attracted her to Lucas. He wasn’t stuffy with either his thinking or his enjoyment of art.

As her gaze was drawn from one new painting to the next, absorbing the nuances of line, form and color, her stomach tensed. “A new artist?”

“You know me.” His gaze was faintly mocking as he walked through an open-plan dining area to a modern kitchen and opened the fridge. “I’m always on the lookout for new talent.”

It occurred to her that the artist could be Lilah, who painted in her spare time, and jealousy gripped her. Before she could stop herself she had stepped closer to the nearest of the new paintings, so she could study the signature. S. H. Crew, not L. Cole.

Her knees felt a little shaky as she moved on to the next painting, also by S. H. Crew. For some odd reason, the thought that Lilah might appeal to Lucas on a creative, spiritual level was suddenly more sharply hurtful than her physical presence would have been.

Lucas loomed over her, the warm scent of his skin, the faint undernote of sandalwood, making her pulse race. “Is it safe to give you this?”

“Not really.” Jaw clenching against an instant flashback of the scene on Medinos when she had dashed water over Lucas, and the lovemaking that had followed, she took the glass of ice water. She strolled the length of the sitting room and drifted into a broad hall that served as a gallery. She sipped water and pretended to be interested in the paintings that flowed along a curving cream wall that just happened to lead to the master bedroom. “So why did you have me followed?”

He strolled past her and stood, arms folded over his chest, blocking her view of his bedroom. “I wanted to see what you were up to. Tell me,” he said grimly, “what did Panopoulos offer you?”

She blinked at the mention of Panopoulos’s name, but it went in one ear and out the other. She was consumed with suspicion because Lucas clearly did not want her to see into his bedroom, and the notion that Lilah was there, maybe even in his bed, was suddenly overwhelming.

Setting the water down on a narrow hall table she marched past him. Lucas’s hand curled around her arm as she stepped through the door, swinging her around to face him, but not before she had ascertained that his bedroom was empty. And something else that made her heart slam hard against the wall of her chest.

What he hadn’t wanted her to see. A silk robe she had left at his apartment by mistake the last time she had been here almost three months ago, and which was exactly where she had left it, draped over the back of a chair. The aquamarine silk was wildly exotic, sexy and utterly feminine. No woman would have missed its presence or significance and allowed it to remain. The robe was absolute proof that Lilah had never been in Lucas’s bedroom.

Her heart beat a queer, rapid tattoo in her chest. “You haven’t slept with her yet.”

Lucas let her go, his gaze glittering with displeasure. “Maybe I was in the process of getting rid of your things before I invited her over.”

Anger flaring, she backed up a half step. The cool solidity of the door frame stopped her dead. “I’m here now, you can hand it to me personally.”

“Is that a command, or are you going to ask me nicely?”

Wary of the banked heat in Lucas’s gaze, which was clearly at odds with the coolness of his tone, she controlled her temper with difficulty. “I just did ask you nicely.”

“I’m willing to bet you were nicer to Alex Panopoulos when you walked into his office in that suit. Did you finally agree to sleep with him?”

“
Sleep
with him?” The words came out as an incredulous yelp. She couldn’t help it, she was so utterly distracted by the fact that Lucas thought she could be even remotely interested in Alex Panopoulos, a man she barely tolerated for the sake of business. “Well, I haven’t jumped into his bed, yet. Does that make you feel better about me?”

Hot anger simmered through her, doubly compounded by the humiliating fact that Panopoulos
had
wanted to sleep with her.

With a suddenness that shocked her, Lucas leaned forward and kissed her. The sensual shock of the kiss, even though she had half expected it and had goaded him into it, sent a wave of heat through Carla. Until that moment, she hadn’t understood how much she had wanted to provoke him, how angry she was at his defection. She was also hurt that he still didn’t know who she was after more than two years, and evidently didn’t have any interest in knowing, when she was deeply, painfully in love with him.

She blinked, dazed. At some point, she realized, probably that first time they had met, something had happened. After years of dating men and knowing they weren’t right, she had taken one look at Lucas and chosen him.

That was why she had broken almost every personal rule she’d had and slept with Lucas in the first place, then continued with the relationship when she knew any association with him would hurt her family. If she had been sensible and controlled she would have stepped back and waited. After all, if a relationship had legs it should stand the test of a little time. But she hadn’t been able to wait. She had wanted him, needed him, right then, the same way she needed him now.

Two years. She blinked at the immensity of her self-deception. She had buried the in-love thing behind the pretense that theirs was a modern relationship between two overcommitted people with the added burden of some crazy family pressures. Anything to bury the fact that the sporadic interludes with Lucas in no way satisfied her need to be loved.

Her arms closed convulsively around his neck. She shouldn’t be kissing him now, not when she wanted so much more, but in that moment she ceased to care.

“What’s wrong?” Lucas pulled back, his gaze suddenly heart-stoppingly soft. “Am I hurting you?”

“No.”
Yes
. Her hands tangled in the thick black silk of his hair and dragged his mouth back to hers. “Just kiss me.”

Long minutes later they made it to the bed. She dragged his shirt off his shoulders and tossed it aside. Her palms slid across his sleek, heavy shoulders and muscled chest. Giddy pleasure spun through her as he removed her clothing, piece by piece, and she, in turn, removed his.

Time seemed to slow, then stop as she fitted herself against him and clasped his head, pulling his mouth to hers, needing him closer, needing him with her. Late-afternoon sun slanted through the shutters, tiger striping his shoulders as his gaze linked with hers and she suddenly knew why making love with Lucas had always been so special, so important. For those few minutes when they were truly joined it was as if he unlocked a part of himself that normally she could never quite reach, and he was wholly hers. In those few moments she could believe that he did love her.

Cool air swirled around naked skin as he sheathed himself. Relief shivered through her as they flowed together. She was utterly absorbed by the feel of him inside her, his touch and taste, the slow, thorough way he made love to her, as if he knew her intimately, as if they did belong together.

Aside from those few minutes on Medinos it had been long months since they had last made love, and she had missed him, missed this. As crazy as it seemed, despite everything that had gone wrong, everything that was still wrong, this part was right.

His head dipped, she felt the softness of his lips against her neck. Her stomach clenched, the slowly building tension suddenly unbearable as she tightened around him. She felt his raw shudder. In that moment her own climax shimmered through her with an intense pleasure that made tears burn behind her lids, and the room spun away.

Long minutes later the buzzer at the front door jerked her out of the sleepy doze she had fallen into. With smooth, fluid movements, Lucas rolled out of bed, snagged his clothes off the floor and walked through to the adjoining bathroom. Seconds later, he reappeared, fastening dark trousers around narrow hips as he strolled to the door.