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Which was a laugh in itself, because all she had done since they’d detained her was co-operate!
Yes, the multicoloured tote bag was hers. No, she hadn’t left it unattended at any time. Yes, a friend had been in her hotel room the night she’d packed. No, she didn’t think he’d gone near her personal belongings. And doubly no, the small plastic vials filled with ecstasy and cocaine were not hers! She’d nearly had a heart attack at the question, sure they must have made a mistake.
‘No mistake, ma’am,’ the nicer of the two officials had said, and the prickle of sweat had made its way to her armpits and dripped down the back of her neck like a leaky tap.
They’d then questioned her for hours about her movements at Suvarnabhumi Airport and her reasons for being in Thailand until she was completely exhausted and couldn’t remember what she’d told them. They’d left after that. No doubt to confer with those watching behind the two-way mirror.
Lily knew they suspected Jonah Loft, one of the guys working on the film she had just wrapped, but only because he had been in her room just before she had left for the airport. She felt terrible for him.
She had met Jonah at the New York rehabilitation centre she volunteered at, and it wouldn’t take the authorities long to discover that he had once had a drug problem.
Fortunately he was over that now, but Lily knew from her work with addicts that if anything could set off a relapse it was people not believing in them. Which was why Lily had got him a job on the film in the first place. She had wanted to give him a second chance, but she supposed when they found out she had been the instigator of having him work on the film it would reflect badly on both of them.
And yet she knew he wouldn’t have done this to her. He’d been too grateful—and hopeful of staying clean.
Lily sighed. Four hours and twenty-eight minutes.
Her bottom was numb and she stretched in the chair, wondering if she was allowed to get up and walk around. So far she hadn’t, and her thigh muscles felt as if they had been petrified. She rubbed her temples to try and ease her aching head.
She hoped Jordana had been contacted so she wouldn’t be concerned about why she hadn’t made it through the arrival gate. Though, as to that, Jo would likely be more worried if she did know what was holding her up. Lily just prayed she didn’t contact her overbearing brother for help.
The last thing she needed was the deliciously gorgeous but painfully autocratic Tristan Garrett finding out about her predicament. She knew he was supposed to be one of the best lawyers alive, but Lily had only ever had acrimonious dealings with Tristan—apart from ten unbelievably magic minutes on a dance floor at Jordana’s eighteenth birthday party. Lily knew he hated the sight of her now.
He’d devastated her—first by kissing her in a way that had transported her to another world, and then by ignoring her for the rest of the night as if she hadn’t even existed. As if they hadn’t just kissed like soul mates…
And just when she’d thought her teenage heart couldn’t break any more he’d come across her in his father’s study trying to clean up a private party Jordana should never have been involved in, and jumped completely to the wrong conclusion.
He’d blamed Lily—and her ‘kind’—and thrown her out of his home. In hindsight she supposed she should have been thankful that he’d taken the time to organise his chauffer to drive her the two hours back to London, but she hadn’t been. She’d been crushed—and so had her stupid girlhood fantasy that he just might be the love of her life.
Looking back now, she couldn’t imagine what had possessed her even to think that in the first place. They were from different worlds and she knew he had never approved of her. Had always been as disgusted as she was herself at her being the only offspring of two notoriously drugged-out hippy celebrities who had died—in flagrante—of a drug overdose.
Not that she’d ever let him see that. She did have some pride—not to mention her late father’s wise words running through her head.
‘Never let ‘em know you care, Honeybee,’ he’d always said. Of course he’d been referring mostly to rock music reviews, but she had never forgotten. And it had held her in good stead when she’d had to face down more than her fair share of speculation and scandal, thanks to her parents and, sometimes, to her own actions.
The hard scrape of the metal door snapped Lily back to the present and she glanced up as the smarmy customs official swaggered back into the room, a condescending smile expanding his fleshy lips.
He sat opposite her and cocked an eyebrow. ‘You are one lucky lady, Miss Wild,’ he said in his heavy cockney brogue. ‘It seems you’re to be released.’
Lily stared at him impassively, blinking against the harsh fluorescent light and giving nothing away as to how she was feeling.
The official sprawled back in the chair and rhythmically tapped the table with what looked like a typed report, staring at her chest. Men like him—men who thought that because she was blonde and had a nice face and reasonable body shape she was easy—were a dime a dozen.
This guy was a marine wannabe, with a flat-top haircut that, instead of adding an air of menace, made him look as if he should be in the circus. But even if he’d had the polish of some latter-day Prince Charming, Lily wouldn’t have been interested. She might make movies about love and happy-ever-after but she wasn’t interested in the fairy tale for herself. Not after her mother’s experiences with Johnny Wild, and the humiliating sting of Tristan’s rejection of her all those years ago.
‘That’s right,’ Marine-man finally sneered when she remained silent. ‘You celebrities always seem to know someone who knows someone, and then it’s all peaches an’ cream again. Personally, I would ‘ave sent you back to Thailand to face the music. But lucky for you it ain’t up to me.’
And thank heavens for that, Lily thought, trying not to react to his leering scrutiny.
‘Sign these.’ He shoved the stapled document across the table at her, all business for once.
‘What is it?’
‘Conditions of your release.’
Release? She really was being released? Heart thudding, and as if in slow motion, Lily took the sheets of paper, not daring to believe it was true. She bent forward, letting her long wavy hair swing forward to shield her face from his prying eyes. She was shaking so badly the words appeared blurry on the page.
When the door scraped open a second time she didn’t bother to look up, assuming it was the other official, returning to oversee her signature. Then a prickly sensation raised the hairs on the back of her neck, and a deeply masculine and very annoyed voice shattered her concentration and stole the breath from her lungs.
‘You’ll find it’s all in order, Honey, so just sign the damned release so we can get out of here.’
Lily squeezed her eyes shut and felt the throbbing in her head escalate. She’d recognise that chocolate-covered voice anywhere, and waited for the dots to clear behind her eyes before peering up to confirm that not only was her nightmare of a day not over, but it had just taken a distinct turn for the worst.
Fortunately Jordana had received the message about her delay, but unfortunately she’d done exactly what Lily had feared: she’d gone to her big brother for help.
CHAPTER TWO
LORD Garrett, Viscount Hadley, the future twelfth Duke of Greythorn, stood before her, with enough tension emanating from his body to fire a rocket to the moon.
‘Tristan,’ she breathed unnecessarily, her mind at once accepting that he was the most sublimely handsome male she had ever seen and rejecting that fact at the same time. He seemed taller and more powerful than she remembered, his lean, muscular physique highlighted by the precise cut of his tailor-made charcoal suit.
His chestnut hair was long, and lent him an untamed appeal he really didn’t need, framing his olive complexion, flawlessly chiselled jaw and aristocratic nose to perfection. Her gaze skimmed up over the masculine curve of his lips and settled on cold, pale green eyes ringed with grey that were boldly assessing her in return.
His wide-legged no-nonsense stance set her heartbeat racing, and without thinking she snuck out her tongue to moisten lips that felt dryer than the paper she held between her fingers.
His eyes narrowed as they followed the movement, and Lily quickly cast her eyes downwards.
She pinched the bridge of her nose to ease the flash of pain that hammered behind her eyes, and blinked uncomprehendingly when a Mont Blanc pen was thrust in front of her face.
‘Hurry up, Honey. I don’t have all day.’
Lily wanted to remind him that she preferred Lily, but her throat was so tight she could barely swallow, let alone speak.
She grabbed the pen, flinching as her clumsy fingers collided with his, and scrawled her signature next to where he stabbed at the paper. Before she knew it the pages were whisked away, Tristan had grabbed her tote bag from Marine-man and he was ushering her out through the door with a firm guiding hand in the small of her back.
Lily stiffened away from the contact and rubbed her arms. He was well over six feet and seemed to dwarf her own five-foot-ten frame.
‘If you’re cold you should try wearing more clothing,’ he snapped, hard eyes raking her body as if she were a foul piece of garbage.
Lily looked down at her white T-shirt, black leggings and black ballet flats.
‘Ever heard of a bra, Honey?’ His voice was silky, condescending, and Lily felt her breasts tighten as his gaze rested a little too long on her chest, her nipples firming against the fabric in a way she’d do anything to stop.
Lily was taken aback by his hostility, and it was all she could do not to cross her arms protectively over her body. She really wasn’t up to dealing with any more animosity right now.
But she didn’t say that. Instead she stared at the Windsor knot of his red tie and rubbed at the goosebumps that dotted her arms.
Tristan muttered something under his breath, shrugged out of his jacket, and draped it around her shoulders. She wanted to tell him she was fine, but before she could say anything he reached for her upper arm and propelled her down the long corridor, his clean, masculine scent blanketing her mind like a thick fog.
Tension bunched her stiff muscles, but she could hardly tell him to slow down when all she wanted to do was get as far away from the airport as possible. When he paused at the entrance to the duty-free hall Lily glanced up, feeling like an errant schoolgirl being dragged around by an enraged parent.
She tried to loosen his grip, put some distance between them, but he ignored her attempt, tightening his hold before marching her through the throng of passengers. It reminded her of a couple of occasions in the past when he’d stormed into nightclubs and goose-stepped herself and Jordana out. It had been mostly at her stepfather Frank Murphy’s parties, and in hindsight Tristan had done the right thing making them leave at their age, but at the time Lily had been hopping mad.
She noticed the large steel doors leading to the arrivals hall and breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully Jordana was waiting on the other side, and once through Lily could thank Tristan for his help and bid him farewell until the wedding.
Her nerves were shot, but the relief that washed through her at the thought of freedom was suddenly cut short as Tristan veered left and led her into one of the small, dimly lit bars that lined the cavernous concourse.
The bar was long and narrow, with booths lining one wall and a polished wooden bar with red padded bar stools along the other. Except for two business types, deep in conversation, and an elderly gent who looked as if he might tumble into his early-afternoon schooner, the place was empty.
Lily waited to find out what they were doing, and was surprised when Tristan ordered two whiskys, watching as he glared at the bartender, whose eyes had lingered a little too long in her direction.
As soon as he’d moved off to get their drinks Tristan turned to her, and Lily nearly recoiled at the feral anger icing his eyes.
‘What the hell are you doing back in my sister’s life?’ he demanded, his voice harsh as he lowered it so only she could hear.
Lily did recoil then and stared at him mutely.
Six years just seemed to evaporate before her eyes, and they might have been standing in his father’s study again, where he’d accused her of something she hadn’t done and called her a cheap slut.
Lily’s eyes fell to his sensual mouth, now flattened into a thin line, and she quickly lowered them down the thick column of his tanned neck to rest once again on his silk tie. Looking at his mouth brought that devastating kiss to mind. She instantly reminded herself of his equally devastating rejection of her in an attempt to marshal her body’s unexpected leap of excitement. How could she still feel so quivery over someone who had treated her so appallingly?
Tristan’s tense silence seemed to envelop her, and she realised he was still waiting for her to respond to his rude question.
In all her mental imaginings of how this meeting between them would go this had not featured.
In one scenario she’d imagined they might be able to put the past behind them and become friends. Laugh over her silly teenage crush and his mistaken belief that she had set up the private party that had been splashed all over the internet. In that particular daydream she had raised her hand and said, Please—don’t give it another thought. It’s over. It’s in the past.
But she didn’t think that would play so well in this situation, and stupidly—so it now seemed—she had forgotten to prepare the whole busted-for-drugs-at-Heathrow scenario.
How remiss of her!
Now she had to ad lib, using a brain that wanted to drool over him like a beginner art student viewing her first Rodin nude.
Only she was no longer an impressionable girl caught in the throes of her first crush, Lily reminded herself firmly. She was a mature woman in charge of her own life. And wasn’t one of her goals on this trip to meet Tristan as an equal? To look at him, talk to him, and put the juvenile attraction that had plagued her so often in the company of other men to bed? Metaphorically speaking, of course.
‘I was invited to the wedding,’ she said as politely as possible, given that his harsh question had evoked exactly the opposite response.
‘And what an error of judgement that was,’ he sneered, ‘I can’t imagine what my sister was thinking.’
Lily frowned and glanced at the bartender, pouring whisky into two glasses, so that she wouldn’t have to look at Tristan. Perhaps the best thing at this point would be to apologise for inconveniencing him and leave quick-smart.
She watched as Tristan picked up his glass and swallowed down the contents with a slight flick of his wrist; his brows drawing together when she made no attempt to do the same.
‘Drink it. You look like you need it.’
‘What I need is a soft bed,’ she murmured, only realising how he’d taken her innocent comment when his eyebrows arched.
‘If that’s an invitation you can forget it,’ he dismissed.
Invitation!
Lily expelled a rushed breath, and then inhaled just as hastily, wishing she hadn’t as Tristan’s virile and somehow familiar scent wound its way into her sinuses. She felt the shock of it curl through her body and suddenly felt too warm.
Her heart rate picked up, and before she could change the direction of her thoughts she was back at the kiss she had been trying so hard not to think about.
He’d been lean and muscle-packed where she’d pressed against him, impossibly hard, and hot colour stole into her face as she remembered her youthful eagerness in his embrace. Lord, perhaps she had even instigated it! How mortifying…Especially in light of the fact that she couldn’t recall any other man’s kisses quite so readily.
Calling herself every type of fool for indulging in such useless memories, she swiftly removed his jacket and handed it back to him.
Then she sat her tote bag on the stool behind her and pulled out her favourite oversized black knit cardigan. She put it on. Found her black-and-white Yankees baseball cap and pulled that on too. Turning back, she couldn’t see much beyond Tristan’s broad shoulders, but the last thing she wanted was to be stopped on the way out by fans or—heaven forbid—any lurking paparazzi.
She noticed his condescending glance and decided to ignore it.
She was getting more and more agitated by her own memories and his snippy attitude. Logically she knew he had every reason to be put out, but she hadn’t done anything wrong. Would it really hurt him to be civil? After all, it wasn’t as if he had just been interrogated for hours on end over something he hadn’t done!
Lily tried to smile as she hoisted her bag onto her shoulder. ‘So, anyway, thanks for helping today. I can see that you didn’t really want to, but I appreciate it all the same.’
‘I don’t give a toss what you appreciate,’ he grated. ‘I can’t believe you would have the gall to try something like this, given your history. What were you thinking? That you could go braless and swish that golden mane around and no one would care what you had in your bag?’
Lily’s eyes flew to his. Did he seriously think she was guilty?
‘Of course I wasn’t thinking that!’
‘Well, whatever you were thinking it didn’t work.’
‘How dare you?’ Lily felt angry tears spring into her eyes at the injustice of his comment and blinked them back. ‘I didn’t know that stuff was in my bag, and I’ve already told you these are my travel clothes and I look perfectly respectable.’
His eyebrows arched. ‘That’s debatable. But I suppose I should be thankful you’re not displaying as much skin as you usually do on your billboards.’
Lily didn’t pretend to misunderstand him. Movie billboards were often more provocative than they needed to be, and most of her fellow actresses found it just as frustrating as she did.
Not that Tristan would believe that. It was clear he still thought the worst of her, just as he always had, and the sooner she was on her way the better.
She looked up to suggest exactly that, but was startled when he leaned in close, invading her space.
‘Tell me, little Honey Blossom, have you ever been in a movie that required you to actually keep your clothes on?’
Lily bristled. She hadn’t been called Honey Blossom since she was seven, and she’d been fully clothed in all but her first film. ‘My name is Lily, as you well know, and your comments are not only insulting and incorrect, but completely outrageous.’
He cast her a bored smile and Lily’s blood boiled. Of all the rude, insensitive—
‘Just finish the damned drink, would you? I have work to do.’
Lily felt so tense her toes curled into her boots until they hurt. Enough was enough. Thankful or not, she didn’t have to put up with his offensive remarks.
‘I don’t want your damned drink,’ she returned icily, angling her chin and readjusting her cap. ‘And I don’t need your odious presence in my life for a second longer. Thank you for your assistance with my…unfortunate incident, but don’t bother coming to say hello at the wedding. I assure you I won’t be in the least offended.’
Lily gripped her bag tightly, and would have marched out with her head held high if Tristan hadn’t made a slight move to block her.
