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It made perfect sense. With Carla in the mix, Lucas had hedged his bets and asked Zane to fly her out. Now Zane had stepped in to stop her making a scene. It placed her in the realms of being “a problem.”
“No.”
The flatness of Zane’s denial was reassuring. His motives shouldn’t matter, but suddenly they very palpably did. She couldn’t bear the thought that she was just another embarrassing, or worse, scandalous, situation that Zane was “fixing.”
In the distance a door opened. The sharp tap of heels on flagstones, the clatter of dishes, broke the moment.
Zane straightened away from the wall. “You could do with a drink.” His hand cupped her elbow. “Somewhere quiet.”
The heat of his palm against her bare skin distracted Lilah enough that she allowed him to propel her down the corridor.
Seconds later, Zane opened a door and allowed her to precede him. Lilah stepped into a sitting room decorated in the spare Medinian way, with cream-washed walls, dark furniture and jewel-bright rugs scattered on a flagstone floor. A series of rich oils, no doubt depicting various Atraeus ancestors, decorated the walls. French doors opened out on to one of the many stone terraces that rimmed the castello, affording expansive views of a moonlit Mediterranean sea.
Zane splashed what looked like brandy into a glass. “When did you realize about Lucas and Carla?”
She loosened her death grip on her clutch. “When we arrived at the castello and Carla flung herself into Lucas’s arms.”
“Then why go to Lucas’s room when you had to know what you would find?”
The question, along with the piercing gaze that went with it, was unsettling. She was once again struck by the notion that beneath the urbane exterior Zane was quietly, coldly angry. “I’d had enough of feeling uncomfortable and out of place. Dinner was over and I was tired. I wanted to go back to the hotel.”
He pressed the glass into her hands. “With Lucas.”
The brush of his fingers sent another zing of awareness through her. “No. Alone.”
She sipped brandy and tensed as it burned her throat. She was not about to explain to Zane that she had not gotten as far as thinking about the physical realities of a relationship with his brother. She had assumed all of that would fall into place as they went along. “I put a higher price on myself than that.”
“Marriage.”
She almost choked on another swallow of brandy. “That’s the general idea.”
Fingers tightening on the glass, she strolled closer to the paintings, as always drawn by color and composition, the nuances of technique. Jewelry design was her trade, but painting had always been her first love.
She paused beneath an oil of a fierce, medieval warrior, an onyx seal ring on one finger, a scimitar strapped to his back. The straight blade of a nose, tough jaw and magnetic dark gaze were a mirror of Zane’s.
Seated beside the warrior was his lady, wearing a parchment silk gown, her exotic gaze square on to the viewer, giving the impression of quiet, steely strength. Lilah was guessing that being married to the brigand beside her, she would need it. An exquisite diamond and emerald ring graced one slim finger; around her neck was a matching pendant.
She felt the heat from Zane’s body all down one side as he came to stand beside her. The intangible electrical current that hummed through her whenever he was near grew perceptibly stronger.
Lilah swallowed another mouthful of brandy and tried to ignore the disruptive sensations. The warmth in the pit of her stomach extended to a faint dizziness in her head, reminding her that she had barely eaten at dinner and had already sipped too much wine. She stepped closer to study the jewelry the woman was wearing.
“The Illium jewels.”
Lilah frowned, frustrated by the lack of fine detail in the painting. “From Troy? I thought they were a myth.”
“They got sold off at the turn of last century when the family went broke. My father managed to buy them back from a private collector.”
Lilah noticed the detail of a ship in the background of the painting. “A pirate?”
“A privateer,” Zane corrected. “During the eighteen hundreds his seafaring exploits were a major source of wealth for the Atraeus family.”
Lilah ignored Zane’s smooth explanation. After a brief foray into Medinian history, she had gleaned enough information about the Atraeus family to know that the dark and dangerous ancestor had been a pirate by any other name.
She stepped back from the oil painting in order to appreciate its rich colors. The play of light over the warrior’s dark features suddenly made him seem breathtakingly familiar. Exchange the robes, soft boots and a scimitar for a suit and an expensive black shirt and it was Zane. “What was his name?”
“Zander Atraeus, my namesake, near enough. Although my mother didn’t have a clue about my father’s family history.” He turned away. “Finish your drink. I’ll take you back to your hotel.”
She followed Zane to the sideboard and set her empty brandy glass down. She noticed the glint of the seal ring on the middle finger of Zane’s left hand. “Your ring looks identical to the one in the painting.”
“It is.” His reply was clipped, and she wondered what she had said to cause the cool distance.
Suddenly she understood and busied herself extracting her cell from her clutch. She knew only too well what it was like to be an illegitimate child and excluded from her father’s family. As much as she had tried to dismiss that side of the family from her psyche, they still existed and the hurt remained.
“You don’t have to take me back to the hotel. I can call a cab.” Unfortunately, the screen of her cell was cracked and the phone no longer appeared to work. It must have happened when her purse had gone flying.
Zane checked his watch. “Even if the phone worked, you wouldn’t get a cab after midnight on Medinos.”
Her stomach sank. She was a city girl; she loved shops, good coffee, public transportation. All the good-natured warnings friends had given her about traveling to a foreign country that was still partway buried in the Middle Ages were coming home to roost. “No underground?”
A flash of amusement lit his dark gaze. “All I can offer is a ride in a Ferrari.”
Her stomach tightened on the slew of graphic images that went with climbing into a powerful sports car with Zane Atraeus. It was up there with Persephone accepting a ride from Hades. “Thanks, but no thanks. You don’t need to feel responsible for me.”
Zane’s expression hardened. “Lucas won’t be taking you back to the hotel.”
Her chin jerked up. “I did get that part.” She had been stupidly naive, but not anymore. “Okay, I’ll accept the lift to my hotel, but that’s all.”
Zane’s fingers brushed hers as he took her empty glass. “Good. Don’t throw yourself away on a man who doesn’t value you.”
“Don’t worry.” She stepped back, unnerved by how tempted she was to stay close. “I know exactly how much I’m worth.”
She realized how cool and hard that phrase had sounded. “I didn’t mean that to sound … like it did.”
His expression was neutral. “I’m sure you didn’t.”
Another memory surfaced. Two weeks after “the kiss,” at another function, Zane had found her politely trying to fend off her friend and escort’s boss.
She could still remember the hot tingle down her spine, the sudden utter unimportance of the older man who had decided she was desperate to spend the night with him. For an exhilarating moment she had been certain Zane had followed her because he wanted to follow up on the shattering connection she had felt when they had kissed.
Instead, his gaze had flowed through her as if she didn’t exist. He had turned on his heel and left.
In a flash of clarity she finally understood why she had agreed to travel to Medinos with a man she barely knew.
The date had been with Lucas, but it was Zane she had always wanted.
In her search for Mr. Dependable she had somehow managed to fixate on his exact opposite.
Lucas had been an unknown quantity and out of her league, but he was nothing compared to Zane. With Zane there would be no guarantees, no safety net, no commitment. The exact opposite of what she had planned for and needed in her life.
Four (#ud90b6dcb-865b-5101-8c13-a633e6e6da34)
Ten days later, Zane stepped into the darkened offices of The Atraeus Group’s newest acquisition, Ambrosi Pearls in Sydney. He took the antique elevator, which matched the once-elegant facade of the building, to the top floor.
It was almost midnight; most of the building was plunged into darkness. Zane, who was more used to mining and construction sites and masculine boardrooms, shook his head in bemusement as he strolled into Lucas’s office. The air was perfumed; the decor white-on-white. It looked like it had been designed for the editor of a high-end fashion magazine. He noted there was actually a pile of glossy fashion magazines on one end of the curvy designer desk.
Lucas turned from his perusal of downtown Sydney. His hair was ruffled as if he’d run his fingers through it, and his tie was askew. He looked as disgruntled as Zane felt coming off a long flight from Florida.
Zane checked his watch. It was midnight. By his calculations he had been awake almost thirty-six hours. “Why the cloak-and-dagger?”
Lucas stripped off his tie and stuffed the red silk into his pocket. “I’ve decided to marry Carla. The press is already on the hunt. I’ve been trying to do a little damage control, but Lilah’s going to come under pressure.”
Zane’s tiredness evaporated. Now the midnight meeting at the office made sense. Lucas’s apartment had probably been staked out by the press. “I thought you and Lilah were over.”
If he had thought anything else he would not have gone back to Florida to close the land deal. He would have sent someone else.
Lucas paced to the desk, checked the screen of an ice-cream pink cell as if he was waiting for a text, then rifled through a drawer. He came up with a business card. “We are over, but try telling that to the press.”
He scribbled a number on the card. “Lilah came to my apartment. She was followed.”
Zane took the card. If he thought he had controlled the possessive jealousy that had eaten into him ever since Constantine’s wedding, in that moment he knew he was wrong. “What was Lilah doing at your apartment?”
Lucas frowned at the pink cell as if something about it was stressing him to the max. “I’m not sure. Carla was there. Lilah left before I could talk to her. The point is, I need you to mind her for me again.”
In terse sentences, Lucas described how a reporter had snapped photos of him kissing Carla out on the sidewalk, with Lilah looking on. The pictures would be published in the morning paper.
Every muscle in Zane’s body tensed at the knowledge that Lucas and Lilah were still connected, even if it was only by scandal.
During Constantine’s wedding, which Lilah had attended because she had not been able to get a flight out until the following Monday, she had made it clear she was “off” all things Atraeus. Zane had not enjoyed being shut out, but at least he’d had the satisfaction of knowing Lilah was over Lucas.
He wondered what had changed her mind to the extent that she had actually gone to Lucas’s apartment. Grimly, he controlled the cavemanlike urge to grab Lucas by his shirtfront, shove him against the wall and demand that he leave Lilah Cole alone. “She won’t like it.”
Lucas’s expression was distracted. “She’ll adjust. She’s being well compensated.”
Zane went still inside. “How, exactly?”
Lucas shuffled papers. “The usual currency. Money, promotion.”
Zane could feel his blood pressure rocketing. “Carla won’t like that.”
“Tell me about it.” Lucas shot him a tired grin. “Women. It’s a juggling act.”
And one in which Lucas, with his killer charm, had always excelled.
Suspicion coalesced into certainty. Despite the engagement to Carla, Zane was certain that Lilah was still in the picture for Lucas. Maybe he had it all wrong, but he couldn’t allow himself to forget that Lucas had bought Lilah an engagement ring.
He could still see the catalog picture Elena had shown him. The solitaire had been large and flawless. Personally, he had thought the chunky diamond had been a mistake. He would have chosen something antique and lavish, maybe with a few emeralds on the side to match her eyes.
Zane’s jaw clenched against the fiery urge to demand to know why, now that Lucas was engaged to Carla, he couldn’t leave Lilah Cole alone.
Irrelevant question. Atraeus men had a long, well-publicized history of womanizing. He should know; he was the product of a liaison.
Letting out a breath, Zane forced himself to relax. “How long do you want me to mind her this time?”
Lucas shrugged. “The weekend. Long enough to get her through the media frenzy that’s going to break following the announcement at the press conference—” he checked his watch “—today.”
Zane’s temper frayed at the possessive concern in Lucas’s voice. “Sure. We got on okay on Medinos.” He drilled Lucas with another cold look. “I think she likes me.”
Lucas looked relieved. “Great, I owe you one. I know Lilah isn’t your normal type.”
Zane’s brows jerked together. “What do you mean, not my type?”
Lucas placed his briefcase on the desk and began loading files into it. “Lilah’s into classical music; she’s arty. I think she paints.”
“She does. I like art and classical music.”
He snapped the case closed. “She’s older.”
Lucas made the age gap sound like an unbridgeable abyss. “Five years is not a big gap.”
Lucas’s cell broke into a catchy tango.
Jaw compressed, Zane watched as Lucas snatched up the phone. “Nice tune. Bolero.”
Lucas shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. This is my secretary’s phone. Mine’s, uh, broken.” He held the cell against his ear and lifted a hand in dismissal. “Hey, thanks.”
“Not a problem.” Jaw taut, Zane took the creaking elevator to the ground floor. If he had stayed in the office with Lucas much longer he might have lost his temper. He had learned long ago that losing control was the equivalent of losing, and with Lilah Cole he did not intend to lose.
He had to focus, concentrate.
A whole weekend. Two days, and nights.
With a woman so committed to marriage she had written a blueprint for success and developed a points system for the men who had scored highly enough to make it into her folder.
Lilah slid dark glasses onto the bridge of her nose and braced herself as she stepped out of her taxi into the midmorning heat of downtown Sydney. Two steps toward the impressive doors of the hotel where the press conference was being held, and a maelstrom of flashing cameras and shouted questions broke over her.
Cheeks hot with embarrassment, she tightened her grip on the ivory handbag that matched her stylish suit, and plowed forward. Someone tugged at the sleeve of her jacket; a flash blinded her. A split second later the grip on her arm and the reporter were miraculously removed, replaced by the burly back of a uniformed security guard. The mass of reporters parted and Zane Atraeus’s dark gaze burned into hers, oddly calm and assessing in the midst of chaos. Despite her determination to remain calm in his presence, to forget the kiss, a hot thrill shot down her spine.
“Lilah, come with me.”
For a split second she thought he had said, “Lilah, come to me,” and the vivid intensity of her reaction to the low, husky command was paralyzing.
She had already had two negative experiences with Atraeus males. Now wasn’t the time to redefine that old cliché by fantasizing about jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire, again.
The media surged against the wall of security, an elbow jabbed her back. She clutched Zane’s outstretched hand. He released her fingers almost immediately and scooped her against his side, his muscled heat burning into her as they walked.
Three swift steps. The glass doors gleamed ahead. A camera flashed. “Oh, good. More scandal.”
She caught the edge of Zane’s grin. “That’s what you get when you play with an Atraeus.”
