by Karen Foley
Wearing nothing but a bed sheet and a slave collar.
She didn’t know which was worse—Graeme’s insinuation that she was only after him for sex, or the scandalous glances she’d received while riding the elevator down to her own room. Worse, there’d been no hiding her face from the other curious guests. She’d left the gorgeous Venetian mask behind. She’d been in such a hurry to get out of there that she’d grabbed her boots and the costume, but had somehow missed the gold mask.
Well, fine. He could keep it.
Despite the fact that it was almost midnight by the time she returned to her room, she turned on the shower and stood beneath the steaming jet for a full twenty minutes, letting the hot spray soothe her frayed nerve endings. There was no way she could sleep.
All she could think about was how right it had felt to be in his arms again. She’d missed him even more than she wanted to admit. And the things he’d done…She could still feel the hard heat of his body against her own, feel his breath against her neck, hear the deep, masculine sounds of satisfaction he made as he drove into her. A fresh wave of fire coursed through her.
If she was smart, she’d leave now and put as much distance as possible between herself and Graeme. She’d already demonstrated that she couldn’t be near the guy without losing her head. But she knew she wouldn’t leave. She didn’t have that kind of self-discipline.
She was worse than pathetic.
Stepping out of the shower, Lara toweled herself dry and dragged a comb through her wet hair. She tugged on a T-shirt and panties.
She was deliciously tender in spots, especially where his rough jaw had abraded the sensitive skin of her breasts and her inner thighs. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel Graeme’s hands on her, still feel him surging into her, still see the expression on his face as he’d made love to her.
He’d known it was her.
The thought made her pause. He’d known all along it was her. He’d invited her back to his room and practically consumed her, knowing full well who she was. The implications stunned her as much as they scared the life out of her. He was too perceptive, by far. He’d always known how her mind worked. Sometimes she’d thought that he understood her better than she understood herself.
She’d been writing stories since she was young, and that summer in London had been no different. She’d thought Graeme might find her efforts humorous, especially when she told him that the story she’d been working on was a fantasy romance. Instead, he’d been sincerely interested and wanted to read what she’d written. Letting him take her manuscript home with him was the hardest thing she’d ever done and she’d spent most of that night pacing and fretting. Would he mock her writing? Scoff at her efforts? Or worse, would he read between the lines and realize how desperately she longed to be loved like her heroine?
But he hadn’t mocked her work. He’d told her in all seriousness how much he’d enjoyed reading her story, and that he had a few suggestions on how she might make her intimate scenes with the hero more realistic, and her fight scenes with the villain ring true. Lara had fallen in love with him in that moment.
Knowing her as he did, maybe he’d guessed that she could only seduce him if she believed her identity to be secret. Maybe he’d thought that if he confronted her, she’d just run away again. She’d always been good at that.
Graeme had been right; she had been too much of a coward to stand up to her father all those years ago. But she liked to think that her reasons for leaving Graeme hadn’t been purely selfish.
Her father had told her, in painful detail, what life would be like if she chose to stay with Graeme. As a struggling actor, he wouldn’t be able to provide adequately for her. She would have to find a job. Without her father’s financial support, attending college would be an impossibility, but without an education, her employment opportunities would be limited. Graeme would hate seeing her working in retail or the service industry. He’d give up his dream of acting in order to find a “real” job, and eventually he’d come to resent her.
On some level, Lara had known her father spoke the truth, but she’d found herself unable to sign the annulment papers he’d thrust at her. If her father wanted to file the papers himself, that was his right, at least for two more weeks, until she turned eighteen, but there was no way she could willingly put an end to what had been the happiest time in her life.
Her father had been furious, and had promised he would file the annulment paperwork as her guardian, but obviously things hadn’t gone as planned.
She couldn’t help but wonder why Graeme had never tried to contact her during the past five years. He’d known they were still married, yet he’d apparently made no effort to file for divorce, or to end their legal relationship. The thought gave Lara hope.
Glancing at the bedside clock, she saw it was just past midnight. She desperately needed someone to talk to, to help her make sense of the bungled mess she’d just made of everything. There was no way she could call Christopher; he thought she was in North Carolina, grieving for her father. Nor was there any way she could tell him that she’d come to Las Vegas to seek a divorce from her onetime husband who, by the way, she’d just had seriously hot sex with. Nope. But she could call the one person she’d trust with her secrets.
Before she could change her mind, she retrieved her cell phone and punched in Val’s number, waiting impatiently for her friend to pick up.
“Lara?” Val’s voice was alert, and in the background, Lara could hear music and noisy conversation. “Why are you calling so late? Are you okay?”
Lara frowned. “Yes, at least I think so. What is that commotion? Where are you? It’s after midnight.”
“Hang on a minute, hon.” A moment later, the background noise was reduced to a distant hum. “Sorry about that. I’m at Molly Flanagan’s.”
Lara recognized the name of the Irish pub that she and Christopher sometimes frequented, along with other staff members from the nonprofit theater company. But Val rarely ever joined them in the evenings, preferring a more sophisticated night scene.
“You’re at Molly Flanagan’s?” Lara repeated.
“I’m with the theater staff,” Val said. “We’re just getting ready to leave. But what’s up with you? Did you go to the masquerade ball? Did you see him?”
Lara closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. “Val, I slept with him.”
There was a moment of stunned silence on the other end of the phone. “Come again?”
Lara groaned at her friend’s poor choice of words. “Yes, well, that’s not likely to happen. I only did it because I didn’t think he’d recognize me. You said yourself that I’ve changed in five years.”
“Lara, I meant that in a figurative sense, not a literal one.”
“Now you tell me,” Lara groaned. “Val, I’m so confused! I don’t know what to do.”
Val’s voice sharpened. “What do you mean? You’re not going to ask for the divorce?”
“No, no,” Lara said, twirling a wet strand of hair around one finger. “In spite of the sex, I don’t think he even likes me. He acts like he totally despises me. I’ve made such a mess of everything. I think I’m just going to come home.”
There was a brief silence. “Talk to him first, Lara. You know you have a wild imagination. Maybe he doesn’t really hate you, and that’s just your guilt talking. You told Christopher you’d be gone for at least four or five days. He’ll think it’s strange if you come back so soon.”
In the background, Lara heard a man’s voice call Val’s name.
“Who was that?” she asked. “It sounded like Christopher.”
“Yes, it’s him,” Val said, in a voice so resigned that Lara could almost see her rolling her eyes. “We’re getting ready to leave and he’s probably wondering why I’m outside, and not with the rest of the group. You know how he is, always looking out for everyone.”
“Oh, well, don’t let him know you’re talking to me,” she begged. “He’ll think somethin
g’s wrong if I’m calling so late, and I don’t want him to worry. And whatever you do, please, please don’t tell him where I am or what I just did. He’d never forgive me.”
“I won’t say a thing,” Val promised. “Listen, I have to go. Sure you’re okay?”
“Yes. I’m fine. Have fun.”
“Talk to Graeme, okay?” Val’s voice was low. “I’m sure the two of you can come to an agreement like civilized adults.”
“Sure. I’ll talk with him.”
Lara snapped the cell phone shut, feeling like her world was even more upside-down than before. Valerie worked in Chicago’s fast-moving fashion industry, and although she treated Christopher with courtesy, Lara knew the two of them didn’t always see eye to eye. Christopher thought Valerie was frivolous and shallow, and she’d always referred to him as good-looking, but stuffy. Lara couldn’t envision Val hanging out with Christopher and the rest of the theater staff at an Irish pub.
At that moment, a loud knock sounded on her hotel room door, startling her. Her first thought was that Graeme had tracked her down, and her heart rate kicked into overdrive.
“Who’s there?” she called.
“Hotel security, ma’am,” came a female voice. “I have a package here for you.”
A package? Lara approached the door and stood on tiptoe to peek through the peephole. Sure enough, a woman wearing a security uniform stood patiently on the other side of the door holding a white plastic bag in her hands. It looked suspiciously like a hotel laundry bag.
“I’m not expecting a package,” Lara called, recalling the security training her father had drilled into her from the time she was small. “Leave it at the front desk and I’ll get it in the morning.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Whitfield,” the woman replied, “but I was told this had to be delivered to you personally. Tonight. It’s from Mr. Hamilton.”
Lara closed her eyes briefly. “Fine,” she muttered, and withdrawing the chain, she opened the door. “I’ll take it,” she said, and held out her hand for the bag.
To her astonishment, the woman stepped back with an apologetic smile, and Graeme himself stepped away from the wall next to her door. Lara’s jaw dropped, and she tried hastily to close the door, but it was too late. Graeme put his foot squarely against it.
“Thank you, Marissa,” he said to the security guard. “I owe you.”
The woman simpered up at him. “My pleasure, Mr. Hamilton.” She handed the bag to Graeme and her eyes flicked to Lara. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I hope you two manage to work things out.”
As Lara watched, the woman turned and walked back down the corridor toward the elevators. Graeme put a hand on the door and raised an eyebrow at Lara.
“Are you going to let me in, or shall we do this in the hallway, where every other guest on the floor can hear us?” he asked quietly.
Grudgingly, Lara stepped back and allowed him to enter. He still wore the jeans—buttoned closed, thank goodness—and a black T-shirt emblazoned with the words Everyone’s an Actor. A pair of flip-flop sandals were on his feet.
“That was pretty low,” she said, closing the door behind him. “Is that how you operate? You just smile and charm the women, and they give you whatever you want?”
“Pretty much,” he agreed.
He stood in the center of her room, and Lara knew his eyes missed nothing. The bedsheet that she’d taken from his room still lay in a crumpled heap outside the bathroom door, along with the discarded remnants of her Princess Leia costume. He considered them for a moment before he turned and handed her the bag.
“You forgot your mask.”
Lara crossed her arms over her chest, acutely aware of her wet hair and that fact that she wore only a T-shirt and a pair of panties.
“I don’t want you here,” she said, but she couldn’t meet his eyes.
“Well, that’s too bad,” he said softly, and dropped the bag onto the surface of the desk. “Because we still have unfinished business.”
Lara raised her eyes to his, and her breathing quickened at the raw emotion she saw reflected there. Anger simmered deep in their translucent depths, and something else, too, that she couldn’t identify.
“What—what do you mean?” Her voice came out sounding very small.
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Even after all these years, you haven’t changed, love. You still have a very bad habit of running away when things get unpleasant.”
Lara swallowed hard and waited.
“Before you left,” he continued softly, “you said there was something you wanted from me, and I’d like to know what that is.”
Lara uncrossed her arms and pushed past him. Bending over, she scooped up the scattered bits of costume and shoved them back into the empty envelope that still lay on her bed from when she’d unpacked it earlier that night. She needed to do something—anything—to distract her. He was too big. Too male.
Too completely tempting.
“Have you forgotten?” he asked from behind her.
She paused in her actions, but didn’t turn around. “No. I haven’t forgotten.”
“Then tell me what it is you want.”
Lara did turn around then, hugging the bulky envelope against her chest, disarmed by his nearness. She hadn’t heard him approach, and he stood directly in front of her. He had one hand braced on her bedside table, and Lara realized with a sense of horror that her silver locket—the one he had given her on their wedding night—rested less than an inch from his fingertips.
Had he seen it? Would he remember it if he did? Surely he wouldn’t attach any significance to the fact that she still had the locket. He didn’t need to know that she wore it every day. She wished now that she hadn’t brought it with her.
She dragged her gaze back to his face. He watched her intently, and suddenly she wasn’t sure if she could say the words. They stuck in her throat, choking her.
“Tell me, love,” he urged, his voice deceptively soft. “What do you want from me?”
“A divorce,” she whispered brokenly. “I want a divorce.”
SOMETHING TORE free in Graeme’s chest with a harsh, wrenching pain. He’d instinctively known that this was the reason she’d come back, the only reason she’d come looking for him. Not because she’d missed him, not because her father had died and there was no longer any reason for her to stay away.
She wanted him out of her life.Despite knowing that this day would come, and despite trying to prepare himself, Graeme felt as if he’d been punched hard in the solar plexus.
He studied Lara’s face for a long moment. Her skin had taken on a blotchy appearance and her blue eyes shimmered with an unnatural brightness, as if she was close to tears. He noted the way she gnawed her lower lip in agitation, and how her pulse beat frantically at the base of her neck. That tiny disturbance captured his attention and completely distracted him.
But even if she’d been able to hide her anxiety from him, Graeme had already seen enough to realize that she wasn’t unaffected by him. Not even close.
He’d spotted the stack of magazines on her table, along with the issue of People magazine that sported his photo on the cover. That in itself hadn’t struck him as significant. But the necklace was another matter altogether.
As soon as he saw it on her bedside table, he felt his heart give an odd twist. He’d wanted to give her something to remember him by after she returned to the States, so he’d bought the locket and filled it with photos of the two of them.
But she hadn’t wanted to return to the States without him. He would have gone willingly with her to the ends of the earth, that’s how in love with her he’d been. In fact, he had already decided to return to America with her, but she’d insisted that they needed to get married first.
To elope.
He’d suspected then that her family might not approve of him, and although he hadn’t been crazy about the idea of getting married in such a hurry, she’d been insistent. So sweetly insistent, in fact, t
hat he’d found himself in Scotland, standing before a minister, before he fully realized the implications of what they’d done.
Not that he’d regretted it. Not for an instant. He’d given her the locket that night, before they’d made love for the first time. He could still recall how it had looked, sliding between her breasts, and the fierce pride and possessiveness he’d felt in finally claiming her as his own.
“So you want a divorce,” he finally managed to say.
“Yes.” Her voice was low, little more than a whisper.
“So what was that, back in my room? Breakup sex? Something to soften the blow? A consolation prize?” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.
Lara tipped her chin up. “I didn’t know we were married until a few weeks ago, or I would have sought the divorce sooner. But if you must know, there’s—there’s somebody else.” She flushed. “Somebody I’m serious about.”
The thing in Graeme’s chest tightened, fisting itself hard around his heart. “I see. He’s given you a ring then, has he?” He dropped his gaze deliberately to her hands where they clutched the envelope, taking in her bare fingers. She wore no jewelry, nor were there any telltale marks on her ring finger to indicate she might have worn one.
To his satisfaction, Lara placed the envelope onto the bedside table—directly on top of the necklace—and pushed her hands behind her back. He didn’t mind one bit, since the movement caused her breasts to thrust forward beneath the thin fabric of her T-shirt. He could clearly make out the outline of her nipples and as he watched, they hardened into twin points of perfection.
“He hasn’t actually asked me to marry him,” Lara mumbled. “Yet. But I’m sure that he will. Soon. And I want to be unencumbered when he does.”
“Ah.” Graeme let all the derision and contempt he felt for the other man drip from his voice. “Is that what I am, then? An encumbrance?”