by Kim Lawrence
* * *
Kamel had gunned his way out of the garage.
It all happened so fast the sequence of events was a blur: the car appearing, throwing herself into the road, arms waving, then the crunch of metal as the front of the Aston Martin embedded itself into a tree.
I’ve killed him!
She felt empty, her body was numb—and then the door of the car was being wrenched open. It actually fell off its hinges as Kamel—large, very alive and in what appeared to be a towering rage—vaulted from the vehicle. The feeling rushed back and she began to laugh and cry at the same time.
‘You little fool! What the hell were you doing? I could have killed you!’ Looking white and shaken and a million miles from his indestructibly assured self, Kamel took her roughly by the shoulders and wrenched her around to face him. He registered the tears sliding down her face and hissed out a soft curse. How could you yell at someone who looked like that? ‘You just took ten years off my life.’ If he had no Hannah he would have no life; the blinding insight stretched his self-control to the limit.
‘I had to stop you—the car, the brakes...’
His ferocious frown deepened. ‘How the hell did you know about the brakes?’
She wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of one hand and sniffed. ‘You knew?’
‘I stopped a few yards after I left the garage.’ To ask himself what the hell he was doing. Throwing some sort of tantrum because she didn’t immediately express unconditional trust? He’d moved the goalposts of this relationship on an almost daily basis. Hell, at the start, he hadn’t even wanted a relationship. If he had to work for her trust, he would. ‘Or tried to.’ He had used the gears to slow down to a crawl, planning to pull over at an appropriate place, which was the only reason he had not hit Hannah.
He closed his eyes and swallowed, reliving the nightmare moment when she had rushed into the road.
‘So you knew about what he tried to do?’
‘Who tried to do what?’
‘The colonel. He cut your brakes and I think he might be the one who sent the photos.’
Understanding softened his dark eyes as he placed a thumb under her chin, tilting her tear-stained face up to him. ‘Really sweetheart, that man can’t hurt you and I promise you will never have to see him again.’
She pulled away from him. ‘No!’ she gritted emphatically through clenched teeth. ‘Don’t look at me like that, and don’t even think about humouring me. I am not imagining things and it was you he was trying to hurt. You humiliated him. I saw the way he looked at you tonight, and then when I followed you he was in the garage and he didn’t want to be seen. So when I saw the brake fluid I knew...’ She pressed a hand to her chest and gulped back a sob and whispered, ‘I had to stop you.’
‘You were following me?’
‘I just told you—someone tried to kill you.’
‘I’ll look into it. He will be brought to justice if he is guilty.’ There was no hint of doubt in Kamel’s voice. ‘You followed me?’
She nodded.
‘Why?’ He hooked a finger under her chin and forced her to look at him, Hannah met his interrogative dark stare steadily, not trying to look away, feeling weirdly calm now the moment was here.
‘Because you asked me a question and you left before I could answer.’
‘You ran away.’
‘It was that or throw up all over your shoes.’
He stiffened. ‘You’re ill?’
‘Not ill.’ For the first time she struggled to hold his gaze. ‘You asked me if I trust you and the answer is yes, I do. Totally and absolutely. I know you always have my back—that’s one of the things I love about you. Of course, there are an awful lot of things about you that drive me crazy but they don’t matter because I love you...’ She gave a quivering smile. It hadn’t been as hard as she had anticipated, speaking the words that had been locked within her heart. ‘The whole package. You.’
This was the moment when in her dreams he confessed his love for her. But this wasn’t a dream; it was real. And he stood there, every muscle in his stark white face frozen, tension pulling the skin tight across the bones of his face.
Hannah walked into the wall of pain and kept going, her expression fixed in a reasonable mask. No matter how hard she wanted it, it just wasn’t going to happen.
‘It’s all right. I know that love was not part of the deal. I know that Amira...you will always love her, but it doesn’t have to be a deal breaker, does it?’
She felt the tension leave his body. ‘Say it again. I want to hear it.’
The glow in his eyes was speaking not to her brain, which was counselling caution, but directly to her heart. It stopped and then soared, and she smiled.
‘I love you, Kamel.’ She left a gap and this time he filled it.
‘Je t’aime, ma chérie. Je t’aime. I have been too stubborn, too scared to admit it to myself.’
‘Amira...?’
‘I loved Amira, and her memory will always be dear to me. But what I felt for her was a thing that... If I thought you loved another man I would not let you go to him. I would lock you up in a tower. I am jealous of everyone you smile at. That damned chef creep...’
‘Jealous? You... You’re not just saying that because of the baby?’ She saw his expression and gave a comical groan. ‘I didn’t mention that part yet, did I?’
‘Baby...there is a baby? Our baby?’
She nodded.
He pressed a hand to her stomach. ‘You do know how much you have changed my life?’
‘I thought that was exactly what you didn’t want.’
He shrugged. ‘I was a fool. And you were charming and infuriating and brave and so beautiful. You swept into my life like a cleansing breeze, a healing breeze.’
He opened his arms and, eyes shining, she stepped into them, sighing as she felt them close behind her. ‘I love you so much, Kamel. It’s been an agony not saying it. It got so that I couldn’t even relax properly when we made love—I was so scared of blurting it out.’
‘So it was not that you had tired of me?’
She laughed at the thought. ‘That is never going to happen.’
He put a thumb under her chin, tilting her glowing face up to him. ‘You can say it as often as you wish now. In fact, I insist you say it.’
She was giggling happily as he swept her into his arms, and still when the security guard accompanied by a grim-faced Rafiq found them.
‘Kamel, stop him. He’s calling a doctor. Tell him I’m not ill,’ she urged as her husband strode on, refusing her requests to be put down.
‘You have had a stressful day and you are pregnant and I think it might be a good idea if a doctor gives you a check-over.’
‘And I suppose it doesn’t matter what I say?’
‘No.’
She touched the hard plane of his lean cheek.
‘You’re impossible!’ she said lovingly.
‘And you are mine,’ he said simply.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from WHAT THE GREEK CAN’T RESIST by Maya Blake.
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Ten years ago one devastating night changed everything for Austin, Hunter and Alex. Now they must each play their part in the revenge against the one man who ruined it all.
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CHAPTER ONE
THE CAR PARK was as quiet as she’d hoped it would be. Inside her trusted Mini’s soothing cocoon, Perla Lowell bit the tip of her pen and searched fruitlessly for the right words.
Four lines. Four paltry lines in two hours were all she’d managed to come up with. She swallowed her despair. Three short days from now she’d have to stand up in front of friends and family and make a speech...
And she had no words.
No, scratch that. She had words. But none rang true. Because the truth... No, she couldn’t...wouldn’t subject anyone to the truth. Her whole life for the past three years had been a colossal lie. Was it any wonder her hands shook every time she tried to write? That her heart pounded with self-loathing for the lies she had to perpetuate for the sake of appearances?
But how could she do anything else? How could she repay kindness with humiliation? Because doing or saying anything else other than what was expected would bring devastation that she couldn’t live with.
Anger mingled with despair. With a vicious twist she ripped the paper in two. The cathartic sound echoed through the car and spilled out into the night air. As if loosening the stranglehold she’d exercised on her emotions for longer than she cared to remember, the tears she’d been unable to shed so far now pierced through her tightened chest into her throat.
Her fingers gained a life of their own. Two halves of paper became four, then eight. She ripped again and again, until the sheet spilled through her hands in little wisps of illegible confetti. She upended her hands and watched the mess strewn all over the passenger seat. With a jagged groan, she buried her face in her hands, expecting finally, finally, to shed a tear.
The tears never came. They remained locked inside, as they had been for the last two weeks, taunting her, punishing her for daring to wish for them when deep down she knew to cry would be shamefully, deeply disingenuous.
Because, deep inside, she felt...relieved. At a time when she should’ve been devastated, she felt a shameful lightening of being!
Slowly, she dropped her hands and stared through the windscreen. Her vision cleared and she focused on the palatial Georgian structure in front of her.
Despite its recent multi-million-pound revamp, Macdonald Hall had retained its quintessential old English charm, along with its exclusive membership-by-invitation-only Macdonald Club, and the extensive gold standard golf course that lay beyond the imposing façade.
The centuries-old establishment’s only nod to the common man was the cocktail bar, which was open to the public from seven until midnight.
Perla sucked in a deep breath and glanced down at the ripped paper. Guilt bit deep as she acknowledged how good it’d felt to let go. Just this once, to not hold herself back, to not watch her every word or smile when she felt like cursing her fate. To be normal...
The feeling wouldn’t last, of course. There was still tomorrow to get through and the next day, and the next.
Dark anguish had her reaching for her bag.
She was far enough away from home not to be recognised here. It was, after all, why she’d driven for over an hour to find a quiet spot to compose the hard-to-find words.
Granted, her journey had been futile so far. But she wasn’t ready to return home yet; wasn’t ready to face the cloying compassionate gestures and well-meaning, concerned but probing looks.
Her gaze refocused on Macdonald Hall.
One drink. Then she’d drive back home and start again tomorrow.
Opening her bag, she searched for the small brush to run it through her hair in an attempt to tame the unruly curls. When her fingers touched the tube of lipstick, she nearly dismissed it.
Scarlet wasn’t really her colour, and normally she wouldn’t even glance at one that described itself as Do Me Red; she only had the sample lipstick because it’d come free with a book purchase. She would never dare to wear anything so bold. So daring. Even on other women, she found the colour too sensual, too look-at-my-mouth.
Fingers trembling, she uncapped the tube, angled the rear-view mirror and carefully applied the lipstick. The unexpected result—the wanton, blatantly sultry image that stared back at her—had her rummaging through her bag for a tissue to reverse the damage. When she came up empty, she paused. Her gaze slowly slid back to the mirror.
Her heart hammered.
Was it so bad? Just for tonight, would it be so bad to look, to feel like someone else other than Perla Lowell, complete fraud? To forget the pain and unrelenting humiliation she’d suffered for the last three years, if only for a few minutes?
Before she could change her mind, she fumbled for the door handle and stepped out of her car into the cool night air. Her party days might be long behind her but even she knew her simple black sleeveless dress and low black pumps were appropriate for a cocktail bar on a quiet Tuesday night.
And if it wasn’t, the worst that could happen was she would be asked to leave. And right now, being thrown out of an exclusive cocktail bar where no one knew who she was would be a walk in the park compared to the monumental farce she had to go through.
A smartly dressed concierge greeted her and directed her through a parquet-floored, oak-panelled hallway to a set of old-fashioned double doors with the words Bar fashioned in burnished gold plate above them.
Another similarly dressed man opened the door and tipped his cap to her.
Feeling seriously out of her depth, Perla took fleeting note of the discreetly expensive wood and brocade décor before her eyes zeroed in on the long, low-slung bar. Seriously intimidating rows of drinks were displayed on a revolving carousel and, behind the bar, a bartender twirled a sterling silver set of cocktail shakers while chatting to a young couple.
For a split second, Perla considered turning on her heel and marching straight back out. She forced herself to take a step and another until she reached the unoccupied end of the bar. She’d come this far... Sucking in another sustaining breath, she slid onto the stool and placed her handbag on the counter.
Now what?
‘What’s a fine girl like you doing in a place like this?’
The cheese-tastic line startled a strained laugh out of her as she turned towards the voice.
‘That’s better. For a second there, I thought someone had died in here and I hadn’t been told,’ the bartender’s white smile, no doubt tailor-made to drive hormonal girls wild, widened as his gaze traced her face in blatant appraisal. ‘You’re the second person to walk in here tonight looking like you’re a fully paid-up member of the doom-and-gloom brigade.’
In another lifetime, Perla would’ve found his boyish, perfectly groomed looks charming. Unfortunately, she existed in this lifetime, and she’d learnt to her cost that the outside rarely matched the inside.
She willed her smile in place and folded her hand
s on top of her purse. ‘I...I’d like a drink, please.’
‘Sure thing.’ He leaned in closer and his eyes dropped to her mouth. ‘What’s your poison?’
Her gaze darted to the cocktails on display. She had no clue what any of them were. The last time she’d been in a bar like this, the drink in fashion had been Amaretto Sour. She wanted to ask for a Cosmopolitan but wasn’t even sure if that was still in vogue these days.
She gritted her teeth again and contemplated walking out. Sheer stubbornness made her stay on the stool. She’d been pushed around enough; endured enough. For far too long she’d allowed someone else to call the shots, to dictate the way she lived her life.
No more. Granted, the scarlet lipstick had been a bad idea—it was clear it drew far too much unwanted attention to her mouth—but Perla refused to let that stand in the way of this one small bolstering move.
Squaring her shoulders, she indicated a dark red drink with lots of sunny umbrellas sticking out of it. ‘I’ll have that one.’
He followed her gaze and frowned. ‘The Pomegranate Martini?’
‘Yes. What’s wrong with it?’ she asked when he continued to frown.
‘It’s a bit...well, lame.’
Her lips firmed. ‘I’ll take it anyway.’
‘Come on, let me—’
‘Give the lady what she wants,’ a low, dark drawl sounded behind her right shoulder. The smooth but unmistakable cadence in the masculine voice spelled a foreign accent, possibly Mediterranean, that caused a shiver to dance down Perla’s spine.
She froze in her seat, her back stiffening as sensation skittered over her skin.
The bartender visibly paled before nodding quickly and sidling off to prepare her cocktail.
Perla felt his silent presence behind her, a palpable force field that bore down and surrounded her with unmistakable power. Her mind shrieked with danger, but for the life of her she couldn’t move. Her hand tightened over the strap of her handbag, her fingers plucking frantically at the beads that decorated the dark satin exterior.