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
