you like to go for a drink?”
She nodded. This close she could see the laugh lines around his eyes, the glitter in his compelling eyes. He stilled in the act of gathering the chips and stared down at her.
“Gemma?”
With a start, she looked away, breaking the tenuous thread that linked them, and turned her head, searching for the source of the call that cut through the hush of the huge room.
“I thought it was you.” The guy coming towards her was darkly tanned with Gallic features and carefully styled shaggy black hair. Gemma stared at him blankly.
The blonde at their table squealed in delight and grabbed his arm. He bent to kiss her cheek. Her much older companion didn’t look happy.
The hand cupping Gemma’s elbow tensed. “Did you invite him?” Angelo murmured in her ear.
“Invite him?” She swung around to cast Angelo a frown. “What are you talking about? I don’t even know—” She broke off.
“Who he is,” Angelo finished smoothly, and started to laugh, but Gemma noticed his eyes were devoid of humour. “I don’t think Jean-Paul will appreciate being forgotten so soon.”
“Who is he?” Gemma hissed.
“Jean-Paul Moreau.” From Angelo’s air of expectancy Gemma suspected the name was supposed to mean something to her. It didn’t.
She lifted her shoulders and let them drop. “So…” she prompted.
“Your lover.” Some ugly emotion flashed over Angelo’s face then his features turned wooden. “The man I threw naked out of my—our—bed three years ago.”
Three
Gemma stared.
Angelo’s shocking revelation was the last thing she’d expected. Yet, judging by his narrow-eyed expression, he clearly believed it to be true.
She tested the discovery against her own belief. No, she couldn’t accept it. Angelo must’ve made some awful mistake.
But before she could question him further, a mist of designer aftershave surrounded her. Then came a whisper of “Cherie, you are more beautiful than ever,” and male lips nudged her cheek.
“Hello—” she tried frantically to remember his name “—Jean-Paul.”
“I thought you were ignoring me, cherie. You stared straight through me earlier. I’m glad to know you remember your old friends.”
Beside her Angelo snorted. Gemma shot him a warning look. She didn’t want Jean-Paul knowing about the amnesia.
At least not yet.
Coming face-to-face with a man Angelo considered her lover had taken her aback. Much as she disliked Angelo, he had no reason to lie to her about the past. She needed to learn more.
With an extravagant flourish Jean-Paul produced a roll of euro notes from inside his jacket and signalled to the croupier. When the chips came, he slipped one pile across to Gemma. “For you, cherie.”
The smile Jean-Paul gave her was disconcertingly intimate. The secretive smile of a man to a woman he knew very, very well.
Gemma could sense Angelo’s silent tension. Her stomach rolled over. “Thanks,” she said stiltedly. Realising that she sounded terse she pointed to the unused chips on the table that Angelo had been in the process of gathering up before Jean-Paul’s arrival. “But I have enough—and we’re going for a drink.”
Jean-Paul’s gaze swept over her, explicit, knowing. Leaning towards her, he whispered, “Cherie, you’re not the kind of woman ever to have enough. Here—” he slid a handful of chips towards her “—have a bet on me.”
“Enough!” Angelo said harshly. A tanned arm hooked around Gemma’s waist from behind, his other hand pushed his chips towards the croupier. “The lady doesn’t want your chips.” Against the length of her spine Gemma could feel Angelo’s body through the thin silk of her dress. It was at once comforting and vaguely threatening. His arm lay coiled around her, under her breasts like a hard band, and awareness of his strength, his power, shivered through her.
It was the sudden ratcheting tension in his body that made her realise that Jean-Paul had moved. Within Angelo’s hold, she twisted around on her stool. The two men faced each other like duelling adversaries.
Jean-Paul’s gaze shifted from Angelo to Gemma and his mouth twisted. “It’s like that, is it? Cherie, don’t be fooled. Apollonides is the same man as three years ago. Work will always be his first mistress. Will that be enough for you this time around? Or will you come searching for warm arms, words of lo—”
“I said enough.” Even Jean-Paul heard the suppressed violence in the whip-crack sound and took a hasty step back. “You go too far, Moreau. If I catch you near Gemma I will have you thrown off the island. Do you understand?”
A Gallic shrug and Jean-Paul smiled. “Keep cool, man. It doesn’t mean a thing—it never did.” But there was a wariness in his dark eyes that hadn’t been there seconds before.
The last thing Gemma wanted was a scene. Already they were attracting the glances of people alerted by the bristling men and hissed words. The two women at their table were staring openly, while the croupier called for bets with a touch of desperation.
“Angelo—”
The arm tightened, cutting off her protest. “Gemma, you will not encourage this man. Moreau, you will keep your distance from Gemma. I’ve told you both before, I don’t share my woman. Understand that.” Releasing his hold on her, Angelo moved between her and Jean-Paul and with a hard glance at her, he added, “Both of you.”
Then, in a swift movement, he swept the euro notes off the table and nodded at the croupier. “Come, Gemma. Let’s go.”
Without a glance in Jean-Paul’s direction, Gemma slid from the stool.
The hand that came down on her shoulder was possessive, a warning. His woman. Angelo had warned Jean-Paul—and her—that he had no intention of sharing his woman, clearly not for the first time. Did that mean he still considered her his woman?
A frisson of dark emotion speared her. Gemma wasn’t sure what to make of his claim and kept silent as they left the gaming room.
By the time they exited the elevator a floor down and walked out the hotel into the starry night, the anger inside Angelo was still simmering. Maintaining a terse silence, he strode along the path lit by decorative Victorian-style lamps. He was aware of the anxious glances Gemma kept casting him as she hurried along beside him, her high heels clicking against the terra-cotta flagstones.
“I’m sorry about what happened.”
He shrugged. “It had to happen sooner or later. And it’s only a matter of time before it happens again…before another man rises from the ashes of your past.”
“I don’t remember him,” she said quickly.
