“What’s wrong with you?” he hissed. “Are you drunk?”
“No,” Honor lied, staring back at him defiantly.
She’d been dreading this evening’s party for weeks and had only agreed to come because Devon insisted that everyone else would be there and it might look suspicious if she didn’t. She’d been seeing him for nearly nine months now and had exchanged brief pleasantries with Karis on numerous occasions, both here and in Boston. But she’d never set foot in his family home, nor had she ever expressed the remotest desire to do so. As soon as she walked through the door, she knew it had been a mistake to come. Smiling family photographs in gilt frames littered every surface and fought for space on every wall. In panic, Honor had retreated at once to the bathroom, but in there it was even worse. Finger paintings that Nick and Lola had done in nursery school were proudly stuck up next to snapshots of Karis from her modeling days. No one could deny she looked utterly ravishing in those pictures. Nor could Honor close her eyes to the look of love, and quite genuine happiness, on Devon’s face as, over the years, the camera caught the two of them together. If their marriage was a sham now, it had not always been that way. Just being in the house felt like a grave intrusion. Who was she to fantasize about marrying Devon and breaking up this once-happy home?
What made it sicker was that this was Karis’s birthday party. Here she was, a mistress, attending the birthday party of her lover’s wife. Now that she was actually in the house, the wrongness of it hit her like an iron bar in the face. Suddenly, she deeply regretted having opted for the blatantly raunchy, micro-short black Dolce & Gabbana dress that clung to her athlete’s body now like tar. She’d thought it might boost her confidence to look sexy for once, especially in front of her rival, Karis, and had even gone to town with the makeup, buying some vampy bright-red lipstick especially for the occasion. But now she just felt foolish. Not only was she behaving like Tina, but she was dressing like her, too. Who had she become? Horribly ashamed and feeling more out of place and insecure than ever, she’d overcompensated by drinking far too much. No wonder Devon was in a foul mood with her.
“We agreed we’d keep it low-key and act natural,” he hissed in a stage whisper. “And you turn up in…that,” he looked at her dress reprovingly, “and start throwing yourself at every single man in the room. Even the goddamn serving staff.”
“Bullshit,” slurred Honor. “I’m not throwing myself at anyone.”
But she knew he was right. She had been flirting, trying to get his attention. How pathetic was that?
“I can’t help it if guys want me. Anyway, whadda you care? You’ve been all over your wife like a cheap suit the whole night. Everywhere I turn I see pictures of the two of you.”
Devon sighed. So that’s what this was all about.
“It’s her birthday party, Honor. And this is our home. What do you want me to do? I’m married.”
“I know you’re married,” she snapped back at him, downing her drink and immediately grabbing another from a passing waiter, glaring at Devon when he pulled it firmly out of her hand. “But maybe you shouldn’t be, seeing as, according to you, you can’t stand the sight of each other. Or maybe that’s bullshit, huh, Devon? Maybe your marriage is ticking along just fine.”
“It isn’t,” he said firmly.
“Prove it!” hissed Honor.
“What are you saying?” whispered Devon angrily. “You want me to get a divorce? Is that what you want?”
“Yes!” said Honor, loud enough for people to turn and look.
“Keep your voice down, for Christ’s sake,” pleaded Devon, putting on a fixed smile for their newfound audience. He waited a few minutes for the interest to die down, then dragged Honor out into the corridor.
“You want me to leave Karis?” He was surprised to find himself trembling as he asked the question. “Are you sure about that?”
“Yes. No,” said Honor miserably. “I don’t know. Maybe. I just…I hate this. Sharing you.” She bit her lower lip, and Devon’s heart softened. Suddenly she looked ridiculously young. “It was so perfect until your family came out.”
There were tears in her eyes, and for a brief moment he felt a stab of guilt. He knew he loved Honor. That wasn’t the issue. But divorce? Well, that was a whole other ball game, one he wasn’t sure he had the stomach for. Even saying the word out loud made him nauseous.
“Honor, sweetheart. There’s nothing real between me and Karis,” he assured her, looking around nervously for witnesses as he stroked her hair. “Our relationship is like…”
“A business arrangement,” Honor sighed, leaning into him. “I know. You told me.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Devon? Honor?” They both jumped as Karis materialized in the hallway like a ghost, her head cocked curiously to one side. How long had she been lurking there?
“What are you two doing, skulking out here on your own?”
Honor’s heart was pounding so violently she thought she might be about to black out, but thankfully Devon kept his cool.
“Honor was feeling a bit emotional. About her father,” he said. “We were just having a little chat about things.”
“Oh.” Karis did her best to look sympathetic. But really, it was a bit much to hog the host at his wife’s birthday party, especially as Trey Palmer died months ago. Couldn’t Honor have found someone else to snivel on? When Karis’s own father had died last year, she’d pulled off a charity ball in Boston for fifteen hundred people the very next week. Life had to go on, after all.
“Well, if she’s all right now, perhaps I could borrow you for a bit, darling?” she scolded. “Lola’s been monopolizing poor Lucas for ages, and I still have so many people to introduce him to. In fact, Honor,” she said brightly, “you haven’t met him yet, have you? Come with me.”
“Oh, no, thanks.” Honor blanched. She’d been hugely curious to meet Lucas for weeks, but after the gut-wrenching conversation she’d just had with Devon, not to mention the umpteen vodka and tonics she’d ill-advisedly stowed away for courage, she suddenly couldn’t face it. “I’m, er…I don’t feel terribly well. I think I might head home, actually.”
“Don’t be so silly,” said Karis bossily, dragging her back into the drawing room despite her protests. “The two of you must meet. You’ll have so much to talk about.”
Meanwhile Lucas, annoyed because the lovely Lola had wandered off somewhere and he’d gotten stuck listening to her ridiculous, fantasist brother bang on about his Internet business—snore—was at last making his escape to the bathroom when he saw Karis Carter thundering down the corridor toward him like a heat-seeking missile.
“Speak of the devil!” she squealed. She had a girl manacled to her hand like a death-row prisoner. With a sinking feeling, Lucas realized he recognized her.
“Lucas, it’s my pleasure to introduce Miss Honor Palmer,” said Karis, patently thrilled to have effected the introduction that everyone in town had been waiting so long to see. “Honor, this is Lucas Ruiz. Your nemesis,” she added dramatically.
“You? You’re Honor Palmer?” For once Lucas was lost for words.
“Last time I checked,” said Honor witheringly.
If it hadn’t been for those distinct, slanting emerald eyes and ridiculously jutting cheekbones, he wouldn’t have recognized the stunning creature in front of him as the bedraggled, flatchested child-woman from the beach. The transformation was so dramatic he had trouble stopping himself from staring. Even without the va-va-voom dress and spiky, S and M stilettos, with her short, slicked-back hair and predatory expression, she had a violent, traffic-stopping sexual presence that he wondered how on earth he could have missed before. He must have been more distracted than he’d thought.
“Have you two already met?” Devon, appearing at Honor’s other side, eyed Lucas suspiciously. He had a natural distrust of younger, more attractive men.
“Unfortunately, yes.” Honor glared at Lucas, who glared back.
OK
, so she was fuckable, but she was still macho as hell, exactly the sort of strident, pushy American woman he loathed. A man in woman’s clothing, this time anyway. Give him Lola Carter’s soft, curvaceous femininity any day of the week.
“It turns out Mr. Ruiz is the rude man from the beach. The one I told you about the other night.”
Devon shot Honor a warning look, but she missed it completely. Lucas, being a much older hand at adultery, caught it at once.
Well, well, well. Mr. Up-His-Own-Ass Carter and Honor Butter-Wouldn’t-Melt Palmer were sleeping together. He’d put money on it.
“You know.” Honor was annoyed now, willing Devon to remember. “The asshole who wouldn’t help me find Caleb? I told you.”
“I was on a business call,” Lucas shrugged, not looking remotely apologetic. “It wasn’t a good time for me.”
“Not a good time? My dog was drowning, and I was soaked to the bone!” Honor spluttered with drunken rage. “You didn’t even offer me your umbrella, you selfish, self-important…”
“Honor, please. Don’t upset yourself.” Devon gave her another meaningful “for God’s sake, shut up” look, but it was too late. The wheels in Karis’s head had belatedly begun whirring into life. She turned to Honor.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “But did you just say you told Devon about this the other night?”
“Uh-huh,” said Honor. Then, finally realizing the minefield she’d inadvertently wandered into, she blushed crimson and tried to backtrack. “Well, kind of. I…well, I er…” she stammered.
Karis looked accusingly at her husband. “But didn’t you tell me this morning that you hadn’t seen Honor since the funeral? I’m sure you did.”
Devon went white.
Lucas, meanwhile, was starting to enjoy himself. It was fun watching the smug, self-righteous WASP Carter squirming on his wife’s line like a maggot.
“I meant I hadn’t seen her properly,” blustered Devon.
He might be a raging hypocrite but he had nerve, Lucas would give him that. He looked Karis right in the eye when he spoke to her.
“We did run into one another at the coffee shop the other day, though. Very briefly.”
“The other night.” Honor corrected him hurriedly. “Remember? It was in the evening. Like I said.”
“That’s right,” said Devon, nodding his agreement. “And you told me about what happened at the beach earlier in the day.”
Nice save, thought Lucas, although it pained him to admire anything about Honor, however fleetingly. This was the woman who’d betrayed her own father, after all, not to mention all the lies she’d spread about him in the press. She was the enemy, and he couldn’t afford to forget it.
“I must say,” said Devon, turning on Lucas in a blatant attempt to deflect the heat away from himself. “It did sound as though you acted somewhat less than chivalrously.”
“Oh?” said Karis, falling for the switcheroo and transferring her attention to Lucas like an obedient puppy. “What happened?”
Lucas despaired. The woman obviously had the attention span of a gnat and the insight to match. How could she not see what her husband was up to? He and his girlfriend had just given themselves away right in front of her!
“Nothing,” he said brusquely. “Nothing happened. Miss Palmer here was unable to control her pet, that’s all. Which is hardly my fault.”
Devon’s relief at having put Karis off the scent began to fade when he looked at Honor’s face. She was clearly about to launch into a full-scale row with Lucas and was more than drunk enough to let more indiscretions slip.
“Come on, darling.” Grabbing a very reluctant Karis’s hand—she enjoyed a good melodrama—he dragged her away. “This is between Lucas and Honor. I think we should let the pair of them talk in private.”
As soon as they’d gone, Honor jumped right back on the offensive.
“So,” she glowered at Lucas. “Leaving a girl to catch hypothermia while you take care of yourself—that’s considered acceptable behavior in Spain, is it? Very gentlemanly, I must say.”
“Oh, on the contrary,” said Lucas suavely. He wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of rising to the bait. “Spanish men consider it of great importance to show courtesy toward women. But then our women would not go out running half dressed with their nipples showing through their T-shirts, pestering men who were trying to work.”
“They’d be back home in the kitchen, baking cakes, I suppose?” said Honor, coloring. Had her nipples really been showing?
“That’s right,” he said, smiling. It was so easy to wind her up. “Or making themselves beautiful for their husband’s return. Spanish women know how to be feminine.”
“You’re a fucking dinosaur,” said Honor contemptuously. “I’m gonna enjoy wiping the floor with you next year. How’re your prebookings coming along, by the way?”
“Very well, thank you,” lied Lucas. But Honor saw the way the smug smile had died on his lips.
“Really?” she said. “I’m real curious to know what big names you’ve managed to convince to spend their vacation under the stars on your building site.”
“We’ll be built by Christmas, and open for business by this time next year,” said Lucas, with a confidence he wished to God he actually felt. “So please, try not to worry your pretty little head about our clientele. In any case, we won’t be going after the wheelchair market—we’ll leave that for you over at Palmers. Assuming your rickety old building hasn’t given up the ghost before then, of course.”
“Fuck you,” snarled Honor.
OK, so it wasn’t the most sophisticated of comebacks, but after so many cocktails it was the best she could manage. At least it came from the heart.
Lucas took a step forward, until he was so close that Honor could smell the faint lemony musk of his aftershave. For the first time she got a sense of how powerfully built he was. On the beach she’d focused on his face, then his rudeness—she’d kind of bypassed his body. But now she could see he must be twice Devon’s size, at least; a real meathead. How appropriate.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he whispered.
“Like what?”
“To fuck me,” said Lucas, deadpan.
Honor tried to laugh in his face, but he was making her so nervous it came out as a sort of weird yelp.
Stretching out his hand, Lucas slowly traced a line down her bare forearm with his finger, making the rows of downy hair stand on end, like a swathe of ripened corn.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” he smiled, “but I’m not attracted to ball breakers. You’d do better to stick with your Sugar Daddy Carter.”
Honor felt her stomach lurch. Belatedly, she pushed him away.
“What do you mean?” she asked, sharply. “What do you mean by that? Devon’s a family friend. Nothing more.”
“Whatever you say,” said Lucas.
“Listen!” fumed Honor. But before she could say another word, Lucas had turned on his heel and strode off down the corridor.
Waiting at the front door for the maid to arrive with his coat, he felt a tap on the back.
“Hey, you.” It was Lola, looking even sexier than she had earlier, now that her eye makeup was smudged and her long red hair slightly tousled, presumably from dancing up a storm. “Sneaking off without saying good-bye? That’s not very polite.”
Lucas smiled. “Sorry. Things were getting a little heated in there between Honor and me. I figured it was best I left.”
“Best for who?” pouted Lola. The next minute the maid had materialized with Lucas’s coat. Seconds later the valet drew up outside with his truck.
Vaulting up into the driver’s seat, he wound down the window. “I’m sure we’ll see each other around,” he said. It wouldn’t do to sound too eager.
Wordlessly, Lola walked over and, leaning in through the window, kissed him lingeringly on the lips. Lucas felt his dick harden and his resolve soften, but she pulled away before he had a chance to do something he
’d regret.
“I leave for Boston in the morning,” she said, heading back toward the house. “But I’ll be back in the summer. Just in case you were wondering.”
Driving home along the beach, Lucas let his mind wander back over the evening. Meeting Lola had been the high point, definitely. But it was his fight with Honor that really stuck with him. There was no doubt he’d come off better than she had—and yet the encounter had left him with an oddly bitter taste in his mouth.
How could she be attracted to that pompous old fossil, Carter? He didn’t know why, but the thought of Honor and Devon in bed together made his blood boil.
On the other hand, an affair was a potential Achilles’ heel for Honor, one he might be able to use to his advantage in the future.
Perhaps he wouldn’t fire Lucy after all.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IT WAS JUNE, fourteen months after Karis Carter’s birthday party, and forty-five miles away Sian Doyle was packing for her eagerly anticipated summer job at Palmers. Holding up two bikinis, one pink and tiny, the other blue and even tinier, she waved them questioningly in front of her best friend.
“So? C’mon, Taneesha. Which one?”
“I dunno.” Stretching her long ebony legs out in front of her, Taneesha wiggled her newly painted toes luxuriantly. “Both?”
She should have known when she agreed to help Sian pack for the Hamptons that it would take an entire afternoon and that every single decision would have to be debated, right down to the panties and socks.
“It’s not like they take up much room. Your case is practically empty. Anyway, forget about swimwear. Have you seen this guy?” Holding a copy of Vogue open at a double-page spread about the newly opened Herrick, she flashed a picture of Lucas, shirtless and in drawstring linen pants on the beach, staring moodily out to sea. “Marlon Brando, eat your heart out!”
“Yes, I’ve seen it,” said Sian. “It’s my magazine. But Neesh, seriously. Which one? I have a ton of reading to bring, remember?” She gestured to the wall behind her, on which a wobbly set of Ikea shelves groaned under the weight of more books than the Bergen County Library. Journalism Today. Media Studies in the New York Area. “Missing in Action”: A war reporter’s story. “Only half the space is for clothes.”
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