Flight of Passion: True romance and the obsession for love

by Mollie Mathews

  A gleam of hard ruthlessness brought a sharper intensity to his eyes, and Ruby felt pinned by him.

  “So I see. What’s the attraction?”

  “It’s called commitment, Oliver—something you wouldn’t know about.”

  His piercing green eyes narrowed, then rested for long, uneasy moments on Ruby’s quivering lips. His gaze moved with leisurely thoroughness before dropping to where the silk of her dress clung to her breasts.

  His gaze, although openly sexual, was a naked, stark claim. “What we’ve got is an inconvenient response to each other. Eight years hasn’t diluted that.”

  A frightening sexual heat, the remnant of a time when the slightest look, the merest scrap of attention from this man had whipped her body into tumultuous whirlpools of passion, battled with fury and pride.

  Ruby’s hands flew to her hips, “It’s not inconvenient, untimely, or inopportune. It’s unwanted. You’re unwanted.”

  His smile hardened. He flinched as though she was a dentist and her words a drill striking a buried nerve.

  “I see you’ve moved on,” he said, tossing a dismissive look in Carlos’ direction.

  Ruby fixed her gaze on the marble floor. “Carlos and I are happy.” The words limped from her mouth like a damp whisper.

  “Why don’t I believe you?” Oliver lifted her chin. His eyes engaged hers with intoxicating intensity. “I know you Ruby. You can’t lie to yourself. Not for long. Not without suffering.”

  Her heart was thudding so loudly she felt certain he must be able to hear. If she were not so proud she would tell him that her family had all but lost their fortune, that Carlos had generously bailed them out of debt, that he asked for nothing but, when he felt the time was right, her hand in marriage.

  She had managed to delay the inevitable but not for much longer. Yes, if she was not so stubbornly proud and loyal to the Diaz’s she would put him out of his misery.

  But she owed him nothing. Besides if he’d cared he would have chased after her. But he hadn’t and she didn’t trust the sudden attention.

  She looked directly at him, sweeping a tendril of curling hair from her face, then smoothing her evening gown with trembling hands.

  “Bold and as attractive as you are, you’re also a fool. A fool to think you can push your way back into my life. A fool for thinking I still care.” Ruby didn’t enjoy being so cruel, but she had to push him away. Forever. Too much was at stake.

  Oliver grabbed her hand and pulled her toward him. “No man can make you lose yourself like I can.”

  Ruby followed his gaze as it drifted toward Carlos, eyes narrowing like a marksman.

  “You’re jealous. That’s what this is all about. You don’t care a damn about me. All you care about, all you’ve ever cared about is winning, beating, conquering. I’m not a trophy Oliver Hart. And I’m not yours to win.”

  “Forget him,” his voice quaked with an urgency that surprised and frightened her. Impulsively he grabbed her hand, shocking her anew by the electric contact of his strong fingers encasing hers.

  “Forget him,” he repeated, gesturing to Carlos who had stopped to talk to a woman painted into a black sequined dress. The raw, forceful note in his voice demanded compliance.

  Ruby met his gaze in an open challenge. “I can’t,” she rasped, tearing her arm free. She would not be a target for his wanton pleasure, waiting for him to mark her as his own, waiting for him to claim her, then freeze her out again.

  Not now. Not tomorrow. Not ever. Not again. She’d been there, got the “I Fell for Oliver Hart tee-shirt” and it still hurt.

  Something about the way he looked at her warned that he was a man on a quest and would not rest until he’d won. His eyes blazed dangerously, gleaming like the crystals that hung in the Murano glass chandeliers above. One wrong move and everything her family was fighting for could come crashing down she mused as she lifted her gaze to the ceiling.

  She felt herself flinch involuntarily as Carlos drew alongside her wrapped his arms around her like a man protecting his most prized possession. Other women found him attractive, why couldn’t she?

  “She’s a beautiful piece, Oliver,” Carlos said, thrusting his hand forward.

  She watched Oliver for his reaction, but he barely registered Carlos’ arrival. His gaze hardened as he locked on her clenched fists, then rose to her eyes, his brow furrowed.

  He knows.

  She forced herself to fold into Carlos’ rigid embrace fearful of his obsession with protecting the vulnerable. She was not vulnerable. She did not need rescuing.

  Not by him.

  “How could you stand to part with her?” Carlos continued with a smug look as Oliver gripped his outstretched hand.

  The two men stared at each other like opposing gridiron players, their shoulders tense, muscles rippling.

  “We were catching up on the past,” she said throwing cold water on the mounting tension.

  “A very passionate past,” Oliver added, ignoring Ruby’s dark look of warning.

  She sensed Oliver wanted to smudge the self-satisfied smile off Carlos’ face. Instead he pulled his hand free, ran his fingers through his tousled licorice hair, swept an unruly wave across the back of his head, and straightened his black silk bow tie.

  “I’m glad to see the painting did so well,” he said, ignoring Carlos’ thinly disguised reference to Ruby.

  Carlos’ brow furrowed momentarily before a politician’s smile kicked into gear. “Who would have thought you and I would share a passion.” His free arm coiled around Ruby’s waist and pulled her towards him.

  Oliver smiled sardonically. “So it would seem; a passion for rare and beautiful objects.” He stared at Ruby with unswerving intensity, noticing with not a small degree of satisfaction the slight crimson tinge flushing her cheeks. “I’m referring of course to Butterfly Lovers,” he said, his lips twisting as he turned to Carlos. “Congratulations on your purchase.”

  Carlos grunted.

  “Nothing beats setting your sights on something beautiful and going after it. Nothing beats finding something you thought you'd never know. And nothing beats getting something others covet,” Oliver said, his voice heavy with intent.

  Carlos’ chest swelled like a primal ape ready to charge. “I quite agree. You know I’ve just thought of the perfect spot for my painting. I think I’ll hang it over our bed.”

  Carlos bared his teeth in what was known in business circles as his cobra smile, his eyes unblinking. “Now if you’ll excuse us, all this talk of my success has made me quite thirsty.”

  SIX

  “Unbelievable.” Ruby shook her head, sending a spill of sexy curls tumbling down her back. “I’m sorry, am I keeping you from something?” she said caustically, as Oliver glanced at his watch.

  Oliver’s stomach churned, both at her annoyance with him and the thought of Butterfly Lovers and Ruby entombed in his Carlos’ life like some Napoleonic conquest. Did she have any idea how repugnant the thought of his painting hanging over their bed was? He felt sick.

  He glanced at his watch again. 7:55. He really wanted to sort this out but the only thing that was important right now was his sister Jacqui who was anxiously waiting for his call.

  “You know there’s nothing lonelier than being with a man who is always thinking about business and wishing he was somewhere else. I can’t believe it, even after all this time—”

  Oliver didn’t bother arguing. Didn’t she realize that all those years they’d been together that he’d spent aggressively pursuing property and amassing extraordinary wealth it was for her? He didn’t bother explaining that when he’d dropped her home after a date that he’d been on the cusp of proposing and overheard her parents saying he would never amount to anything.

  Instead he vowed to prove them wrong—that he wasn’t common, that he wasn’t Kiwi trash, that he would make something of his life and provide for their daughter. He wanted to say, ‘Ruby, don’t you realise that all those hours I put into
work were so we would never be apart?’ But he said nothing. What was the point—he wasn’t going to pursue a relationship with her and risk another heartbreak.

  He shrugged. “What can I say?”

  She looked at him, her sexy mouth pressed into a grim line, and shook her head. “Unbelievable.”

  It irked him that Ruby thought so little of him, especially now when making money and the shallow pursuit of wealth was the furthest thing from his mind. Besides, he’d worked his butt off to build his empire. Not like Carlos who inherited everything he owned.

  Trying to explain what was preoccupying his thoughts now wasn’t an option. His sister had sworn him to secrecy and while Oliver Hart may be accused of many things he never broke a confidence.

  Oliver watched the back of Ruby’s head as she stormed off, then he strode across the marble floor toward the stairs. He gripped the gold braided barrier and flung it roughly to one side.

  Let her believe the worst. If she hated him fine. What did he care? He bit back the metallic taste of bile lapping his gut, calling him a liar.

  An unwelcome image of Ruby floated before his eyes. Pure as sunlight. Rare as a yellow diamond. Skin luminous as a pearl. His heart swelled momentarily as he thought of her. His gaze narrowed, his teeth clenched in steely determination as he dislodged her from his mind.

  The only thing that was important was the butterfly. His sister Jacqui, a doctor, had explained to him at length how the meconium ejected by the butterfly as it left its chrysalis could produce the antibodies which could fight the rare wasting disease which threatened her life.

  All he'd heard was the words ‘possible miracle cure’. Right now, a miracle was the only thing that could save Jacqui. And she was all he had left.

  With long, muscular legs he leapt up the stairs, three at a time. Ruby’s animosity made it all the easier to keep dangerous feelings firmly locked away. He’d be damned if she’d control him again.

  His mind floated to his quest—the pursuit of the rare papilionoidae species, unique to Oaxaca in Mexico and said to look like a flying gold pearl. Oliver renamed it the Hope butterfly—an apt description given the heights of hope that both he and his sister had pinned on it.

  He ran his hand round his far too constricting collar, then loosened his top button, finally freeing himself of the tie around his neck—an unwelcome reminder of a lifestyle he disdained.

  Oliver strode toward his bedroom and opened the door. Tension drifted away as he shut the extroverted world firmly out. He was allergic to clutter and incessant noise. Just one of many occupational, lifestyle hazards he had to endure, and one he had hoped to escape when he flew to Mexico in the morning.

  He took in the uncluttered minimalist interior before striding over to his triple king size bed and picked up his black encased iPhone from the bedside table. He looked at the screen. 7:59. It seemed like eternity as he waited the extra minute to call her as scheduled.

  His thoughts locked on his younger sister Jacqui. Only eleven months separated them. Despite the fact they’d gone to separate boarding schools, Jacqui knew him better than anyone. How any parent could separate their children let alone shove two four-year-old kids in boarding schools in the name of love escaped them both. Maybe that was why they both clung so fiercely to their independence.

  And to each other.

  Oliver punched in the numbers, pushing down repressed feelings with each digit he pressed.

  Finally he had the opportunity to do something truly worthy. Far more worthy than amassing a monopoly board of towering hotels and mindless beauties.

  “She’s within range,” he said hearing Jacqui's familiar Kiwi accent. “I reckon this time I’ll get her.” Oliver’s normally measured voice pulsated with excitement. Pride, satisfaction, and fulfillment lifted the corners of his mouth.

  “You’ve been searching for that butterfly for the past few months. What makes you think you’re going to succeed now?” Jacqui said, her tone cautious.

  Oliver hesitated. Had he spoken too prematurely? Given his sister false hope? “One of the guys on the butterfly forum unintentionally posted the missing part of the puzzle. For the first time I’ve found its breeding ground.”

  “That’s fantastic, but why do I get the feeling something’s wrong? You sound tentative.”

  “It only flies for one week.” He said deliberately holding back the other obstacle he had yet to face.

  Ruby.

  “Tight odds, but if anyone can do it you can.”

  Oliver laughed. ‘Yeah, Indiana Jones of the butterfly world. That’s me.’

  “Oh, Oliver. I can’t believe it,” Jacqui said, her normally measured voice trembling, “the news couldn’t come at a better time.”

  Oliver’s attention snapped back to the moment. Panic pulsed through his veins. “What’s wrong?”

  The phone went silent.

  “Jacqui, it’s me you’re talking to. Your brother—not one of your medical fraternity you can’t talk to honestly. Spill!” Oliver pressed.

  “The tremors in my hands—” Her voice trembled. “Oh Oliver, if this gets worse my surgical career will be ruined.”

  “The meconium—you said it would provide the cure.”

  “Yes, but only if we can get source it before it is too late.”

  “Too late?” Oliver fought to keep his voice from betraying the fear that raked his chest. “We’re not giving up.” His sister, a renowned paediatric surgeon, had fought overwhelming obstacles to claw her way to the top. She’d worked three jobs, tutored disadvantaged kids at night, and still managed to ace her exams, only to spend most of her working life battling the predominantly male profession. On hard-fought-for merit she was given an equal opportunity to excel only to find her efforts sabotaged by men who found her threatening.

  Oliver slammed his open palm against the wall. He would not let a rare degenerative disease rob his little sister of everything she’d worked for. And he would not let it rob his sister of her life.

  “The meconium—tell me how it works again.”

  “As the butterfly leaves the chrysalis it ejects meconium, the red fluid—”

  Oliver’s mouth curved into a rare smile. “You’re talking to the butterfly man, I know what meconium is, Sis. But why this butterfly?”

  “Pharmaceutical cures are making large companies zillions of dollars all the time failing my clients and others like them all around the world. The only good they’ve done is provide short-term relief and create legalised drug addicts. I’ve spent years researching natural cures for my clients. Do you remember Granddad’s journals?”

  Oliver nodded. Fred Hart had been a world-renowned naturalist and acclaimed researcher. Oliver had never understood why, when he’d died, he’d left his butterfly collection to Oliver and his journals to Oliver’s sister. But as Jacqui told him of the pioneering research she had discovered, research that pointed unquestionably to the Hope butterfly, he knew it was fated.

  His sister was destined to find a cure for the debilitating disease that threatened her and Oliver would capture the magical ingredient. Their destinies had always been entwined.

  Oliver didn’t need his sister to provide further fuel to embark on his quest. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to help her, even if it involved less than conventional approaches to finding a cure for the debilitating wasting disease that stalked her like an oppressive shadow.

  “No one can ever know, Oliver. Nobody.” she emphasized. “The medical world is deeply traditional, suspicious of anything that isn’t crushed into a pill. If it gets out, they’ll think I’m a quack, a white-witch tinkering with voodoo magic. But if the antibodies in the meconium work like I think it will be a miracle cure—one the pharmaceutical giants will stop at nothing to suppress.”

  Her voice, deadly serious, had dropped to a whisper. “I’m not ill enough yet to be worried—but Oliver, if they suspect I may be dying they’ll oust me from my role. I can’t lose my job. It would kill me.”

 
Oliver pressed his lips into a grim line. He knew full well the agony his sister suffered. Without their work to distract them they had nothing but bitter, lonely lives. Work gave them purpose. A reason to live.

  “I won’t let you down. It will be our secret,” he said, masking the full force of his contempt for the industry his sister could not turn to in need.

  As Oliver ended the call he stretched out on his bed and stared up at the sketch Picasso had drawn of his lover, the artist Fernardo, which hung above his contemporary padded headboard. She was Picasso's first long term relationship—the woman he loved her with such a passion he infuriated her with his zealous attempts to claim her as his own.

  For one reckless, dangerous, illicit moment his thoughts coiled toward Ruby. He pillowed his head on his hands, and closed his eyes. Butterflies were his passion, but she had once been the great love of his life. Was life giving him a second chance at love?

  Nope, stupid, reckless, dangerous, he growled inwardly, startled by the weakness of his resolve. Hadn’t he learned his lesson? A broken heart, a vulnerable heart, a traitorous heart left you vulnerable to attack.

  Suddenly his bedroom door flew open. Ruby walked in looking every inch as delicious as the woman in the painting.

  “I’m sorry, I was looking for the bathroom.” She stood stiffly like a sculpture, her posture frozen in suspended conflict as though weighing up whether to flee or stay. Her body might be rigid but her eyes widened, glistening illicitly like the iridescent scales of the giant swallow-tailed butterfly he hoped to find, as her gaze lingered on his virile body sprawled upon the bed.

  Oliver bolted upright. He didn’t buy her story about looking for the bathroom, but against his will, his heart stirred as he honed in on her achingly familiar curls and lithe body.

  What the hell was he going to do? How much had she overheard? The breeding ground of the butterfly that could save his sister’s life surrounded her family land in Mexico. What if she asked him to explain his conversation?

  He couldn’t tell Ruby why he needed to go to Mexico. His sister had sworn him to secrecy. Besides, Ruby had already proven herself capable of betraying his trust. Who was to say, she wouldn’t do it again?