those eyes had been brimful of desire. ‘Yes. She’s the reason.’
Cara’s geisha lips always drew a second glance—her bottom lip was beautifully plump, as if it had been stung by a bee. Now she drew it tightly under her teeth and bit into it. When she released it, the lip was a darker, even more kissable red. Her eyes had become a laser death stare.
‘And was it my phone that led Luca to find her?’
There was no point in lying. She already knew the answers. Lying would demean them both. ‘Sì.’
‘You came all the way to Dublin, to the auction house where I work, spent two million euros on a painting, and all to get hold of my phone?’
‘Sì.’
She shook her head, her long copper locks whipping over her shoulders. ‘I take it the whole “I’ve always wanted to visit Dublin, please show me around” thing was also deliberate?’
‘Yes.’ He held her icy gaze and allowed the tiniest of softening into his tone. ‘I really did have a great weekend—you’re an excellent tour guide.’
‘And you’re an unmitigated...’ She buried the curse beneath a deep breath. ‘But that’s by the by. You seduced me for one reason and one reason only—so you could steal my phone the minute I fell asleep.’
‘That was the main reason,’ he agreed, experiencing the strangest tightening in his chest. ‘But I can assure you, I enjoyed every minute. And I know you enjoyed it too.’
Cara had come undone in his arms. It had been an experience that still lingered in his memories and his senses, but an experience he ruthlessly dispatched from his head now.
All he wanted was to get away from her, get away from this claustrophobic party with all the talk of babies and marriage, and find himself a few hours of oblivion.
Her cheeks coloured but her jaw hardened. ‘What’s enjoyment got to do with anything? You lied to me. You spent a whole weekend lying to me, pretending to enjoy my company...’
He flashed his most winning smile. ‘I did enjoy your company.’ He certainly wasn’t enjoying it now though. This conversation was worse than the frequent visits to the headmaster he’d endured as a schoolboy. Just because he deserved someone’s censure didn’t mean he had to enjoy it.
‘Do I look like I was born yesterday?’ she shot back. ‘The only reason you hooked up with me was because your brother was so desperate to find Grace.’
‘My brother deserved to know where his wife had gone.’
‘No, he did not. She’s not his possession.’
‘A lesson I can assure you he has learned. Look at them.’ He nodded over to where Luca had joined his wife, his arms locked around her waist. Fools, the pair of them. ‘They’re happy to be back together. Everything has worked out for the best.’
‘I was a virgin.’
He winced. He’d been trying his best to forget that little nugget. ‘If it’s an apology you’re after then I apologise, but, as I explained at the time, I didn’t know.’
‘I told you...’
‘You told me you’d never had a serious boyfriend before.’
‘Exactly!’
‘And as I told you before, not having a serious boyfriend does not equate to being a virgin.’
‘It does—did—for me.’
‘How was I supposed to know that? You’re a twenty-six-year-old woman.’ He’d thought virgins of that age were extinct, a thought he kept to himself. Cara’s skin had gone as red as her hair. He didn’t particularly fancy being on the receiving end of a punch in the face in front of his entire family, even if she would need a stepladder to reach him. There was something of a ferocious Jack Russell about her at that moment.
‘You used me,’ she said, almost snarling. ‘You let me believe you were serious, and that we would see each other again.’
‘When? Tell me, when did I say we would see each other again?’
‘You said you wanted me to come to your new house in Paris so I could advise you where to place the Canaletto painting you bought in the auction.’
He shrugged. ‘That was business talk. You know about art and I needed an expert’s eye.’ He still needed one; he’d bought his Parisian home to showcase his art collection, but the entire lot was still in storage.
‘You said it while dipping your finger in champagne and then placing it in my mouth so I could suck it off.’
A flare of heat stirred in his groin. That particular moment had been during their last meal together, shortly before she’d agreed to join him in his hotel room and spend the night with him.
He cut his thoughts off the direction they were headed. The last thing he needed at that moment was to remember anything further about that night. It was becoming uncomfortable enough in his underwear as it was.
‘Why didn’t you steal my phone from the outset? Why string me along for a whole weekend?’ Her eyes were no longer firing hostility at him. All he saw in them was bewilderment.
It had been easier dealing with Aunt Carlotta’s jabbering mouth than with this. Okay, he got that Cara felt humiliated—he hardly recalled his actions that weekend with pride—but surely it was time for her to get over it?
‘I couldn’t steal your phone because you keep your handbag pressed so tightly to you I knew it would be impossible to steal.’ Even now, she had the long strap placed diagonally over her neck and across her chest, the bag itself tucked securely under her arm.
‘I’m surprised you didn’t arrange for someone to mug me. I’m sure between you and your brother you know enough shady people to do the job. It would have saved you wasting a weekend of your precious time.’
‘But you could have got hurt,’ he argued silkily. A strange shiver rippled through his belly at the thought, a feeling dismissed before it was properly acknowledged.
He’d had enough. He’d behaved atrociously but it had been necessary. He wasn’t prepared to spend the rest of the evening apologising for it. He’d never told her an actual lie—how she’d interpreted his words was nothing to do with him. ‘You share a house with three other women, which made breaking into your home too risky, and you keep your phone on you when you’re working. If you’d left your handbag unattended just once throughout that weekend, I would have taken it, but you didn’t—you didn’t let it out of your sight.’
‘So now it’s my fault?’ she demanded, hands on hips.
Cara had to be one of the shortest people he’d ever met, certainly on a par with his great-aunt Magdalena. In the four months since he’d last seen her, she’d lost weight, making her seem more doll-like than he remembered. Yet, whether it was the long flaming hair or the ferocity blazing from her eyes, she stood tall and unapologetic before him, as if a tank would not be enough to knock her down.
He bit back another oath.
