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
