Hot-Blooded Husbands Bundle

by Michelle Reid

  ‘Watch me turn on when the curtain goes up,’ he promised. ‘I’ll be so sociable with your son-in-law that they will start to wonder if it’s Hassan I’ve been having the affair with.’

  ‘Don’t be facetious.’

  Victor was getting angry. Ethan didn’t particularly blame him.

  ‘You should have brought her with you if you can’t last a day out of her arms without turning into a grouch.’

  ‘Who are we talking about?’ Ethan’s eyes flashed a warning glance at the other man.

  Victor just smiled one of those smiles that people smiled around him these days. ‘I might not have been to San Estéban recently, but even the London-office cleaner knows about the souvenir you brought back from the Caribbean.’

  Souvenir from hell, he amended bitterly.

  Then he saw her expression just before he’d turned his back on her for the last time, and his insides knotted into a tight ball. He’d hurt her with all of this. He’d known that he would. That’s why he’d tried to find out where she’d wanted their relationship to go, before he’d told her about this trip.

  He’d wanted her to understand. He’d wanted her to trust him. See, for goodness’ sake, that he couldn’t be in love with another woman when she possessed every single inch of him!

  So—what now? What was he doing here? A sudden and uncontrollable aching tension attached itself to his bones. He should be back there, arguing with Eve, not snapping at Victor! She was right in a lot of ways: he should have put her feelings first!

  Oh, hell, damn it, he cursed.

  The car came to stop in front of a beautiful lapis-lazuli-lined dome suspended between pillars made of white marble. Beyond the dome he could see a vast entrance foyer glittering beneath Venetian crystal. Victor got out of the car. Ethan did the same. As they stepped towards the dome, he shrugged his wide shoulders and grimly swapped Eve-tension for play-your-part-tension—so he could get the hell out of here.

  Dressed in black western dinner suites, white shirts and bow ties, he and Victor stood out in a room filled with flowing Arabian colour. He saw Leona straight away. She was wearing gold-threaded blood-red silk and she looked absolutely radiant. Beside her stood the man she had adored from the first moment she’d set eyes on him just over five years ago, Sheikh Hassan Al-Qadim—who looked unusually pale for a man of his rich colouring.

  Had the strain of the last few weeks begun to get to him? Victor had relayed some of what had been going on. Hassan had been fighting the battle of his life to keep the wife of his choice by his side and retain his place as his father’s successor as ruler of Rahman. He had achieved success on both fronts—by the skin of his teeth.

  Other than for this one last thing…

  The hairs on the back of Ethan’s neck began to prickle. A brief, smooth scan of the room showed him what he had expected to see. People were staring at him—in shock, in dismay, in avid curiosity.

  Were they expecting a scene? Were they looking like that because they expected Hassan to call for his sword and have his head taken off?

  The prickle at the back of his neck increased, when what had been meant as a bit of sardonic whimsy suddenly didn’t seem that whimsical at all. Then common sense returned, because what use would it be to have his head severed from his shoulders when all that would do would be to prove that Hassan believed the rumours about his beautiful wife?

  What he was doing was far more subtle. The man had style, Ethan was prepared to acknowledge when, on catching sight of him standing here next to Victor, Hassan did not reveal a hint of the old dislike that usually flashed between the two of them. Instead Ethan saw him smile, then gently touch Leona’s arm to draw her attention their way.

  Leona turned to towards them. By now the room was held enthralled. Her lovely face began to lighten. A pair of stunning green eyes, that somehow were not quite as stunning to him as another pair of green eyes, flicked from her father’s face to his face then quickly back again. Then, on a small shriek of delight, she launched herself towards them.

  It seemed as if the whole assembly took a step backwards in shocked readiness for her to reveal her true feelings for this western man. Tall, lean and in very good shape for his fifty-five years, Victor Frayne received his daughter into his arms and accepted her ecstatic kisses to his face while Ethan felt the room almost sag in relief, or disappointment, depending on whether they were friend or foe to Sheikh Hassan Al-Qadim.

  ‘What are you doing here? Why didn’t you tell me?’ Leona was scolding her father through a bank of delighted tears.

  ‘Ethan—’ She turned those starry eyes on him next and reached out to capture his hand. ‘I can’t believe this! I thought you were in San Estéban!’

  ‘I only spoke to you this morning in London.’ She was talking to her father again.

  ‘No, a hotel, here.’ Her father grinned at her. ‘Thank your husband for the surprise.’

  Hassan appeared at Leona’s side to lay a hand on her slender waist. Leona turned those shining eyes onto him. ‘I love you,’ she murmured impulsively.

  ‘She desires to make me blush,’ Hassan said dryly, then offered his hand first to his father-in-law then to Ethan. ‘Glad you could make it,’ he said congenially. ‘We are honoured to receive you into our home.’

  ‘The honour is all mine,’ Ethan replied with a smile that held only a touch of irony to imply that there was more to this invitation than met the eye.

  Hassan sent him a slight grimace, then looked down at Leona who was too excited to notice any of the undercurrents flowing around her.

  She didn’t know, Ethan realised. She had no idea that he was here to help save her reputation. His estimation of Sheikh Hassan rose a couple of notches in recognition of the lengths he was prepared to go to for his love of Leona.

  Could he have ever loved her like that? Looking at her laughing, beautiful face, he found himself superimposing another laughing, beautiful face over the top of it, and had to ask himself if he’d ever loved Leona at all? For this other face didn’t just laugh at him, it teased and flirted and sent him secret little come-and-get-me smiles that made his insides sing. This other face looked at him and loved him.

  Loved him? He stopped to question that.

  Loved him, he repeated. His legs almost went from under him as his heart sank like a stone.

  It was there, he could see it. It was there. He’d been blind!

  ‘Ethan, are you feeling okay?’

  He blinked and found himself looking down at Leona’s anxious face. ‘Fine.’ He smiled. ‘I’m glad to see you looking so happy.’

  Stupidly, utterly, totally blind!

  ‘I am!’ She smiled. ‘Deliriously happy.’

  I need to get out of here…

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘This time make sure you hang onto it.’

  In solemn response, she linked her arm with Hassan’s arm. ‘Hanging on,’ she softly promised him.

  He was supposed to laugh so he did laugh. Half the room turned to stare at the two of them and because Hassan must have seen all his hard work going down the tubes, he suddenly laughed as well and so did Victor.

  As if cued by this brief moment of danger, another diversion was suddenly grabbing everyone’s attention. People stopped talking. Silence rained down on the whole assembly as Hassan’s half-brother, Rafiq, appeared pushing a wheelchair bearing Sheikh Khalifa ben Jusef Al-Qadim.

  Ethan had only met the elderly sheikh once before, five years ago at his son’s wedding. But he still couldn’t believe the changes wrought since then. The old man looked so thin and frail against the height and breadth of his youngest son—a wasted shadow of his former self. But his eyes were bright, his mouth smiling and, in the frozen stasis brought on by everyone’s shock at how ill he actually looked, he was prepared, and ready to respond. ‘Welcome—welcome everyone,’ he greeted. ‘Please, do not continue to look at me as if you are attending my wake, for I assure you I am here to enjoy myself.’

  After that every
one made themselves relax again. Some who knew him well even grinned. As Rafiq wheeled him towards the other end of the room, the old Sheikh missed no one in reach of his acknowledgement. ‘Victor,’ he greeted. ‘I have stolen your daughter. She is now my most precious daughter, I apologise to you, but am not sorry, you understand.’

  ‘I think we can share her,’ Victor Frayne replied smilingly.

  ‘And…ah.’ The old sheikh then turned to Ethan. ‘Mr Hayes, it is my great pleasure to meet Leona’s very good friend.’

  He had the floor, as it should be, so no one could miss the message being broadcast. ‘Victor…Mr Hayes…come and see me tomorrow. I have a project I believe will be of great interest to you…Ah, Rafiq, take me forward for I can see Sheikh Raschid…’

  And there it was, Ethan saw. In a simple exchange of pleasantries, the rumours had been scotched, dismissed and forgotten, because there wasn’t a person here who would continue to question Leona’s fidelity after Sheikh Khalifa himself had made his own opinions so very clear.

  The old sheikh moved on, the spotlight shifted. For the next couple of hours, Hassan consolidated on what his father had put into place by taking Ethan and Victor with him around the room and introducing them to some very influential people.

  I’m going crazy, Ethan decided. Because here I am smiling and talking to a lot of people I don’t even care about, when I could be somewhere else with someone I do care about.

  And where was Eve? Was she still at the villa in San Estéban, or had she made good her word and gone back to Athens? He wanted to know. He needed to know. His mobile phone began to burn a hole in his pocket.

  In the end he couldn’t stand it. He left the throng and went outside to see if he could get a signal. It wasn’t a problem, so he stabbed the quick-dial button that would connect him to the villa, then stood breathing in the jasmine-scented night air while he waited to discover what his fate was going to be. What he got was the answering machine, which told him exactly nothing.

  Frustration began to war with tension in his breast. Someone came to stand beside him. It was Hassan, looking less the arrogant bastard that he’d always seen him to be.

  ‘Thank you,’ Hassan said. ‘I owe you a great debt of gratitude for coming here like this.’

  Where it came from, Ethan had no idea, but he was suddenly so desperate to be somewhere else entirely that he knew he couldn’t stay here a single moment longer. ‘Do you think that debt of gratitude could stretch to a quick exit from here?’ he asked curtly.

  Hassan stiffened. ‘You dislike our hospitality?’

  ‘No.’ He laughed. Only, it wasn’t a real laugh because it erred too close to the threshold of panic. ‘I just need to be somewhere else.’

  She was calling him. Like the witch she was, she was casting a spell somewhere, he was sure of it. He could feel her tugging him back to her like a dog on a lead. And he wanted to go back. He didn’t even mind the lead he could feel tightening around his neck. He wanted his woman. He needed his woman.

  Maybe he knew. Maybe Sheikh Hassan Al-Qadim wasn’t all self-centred arrogance. Because he simply glanced at him, just glanced, once, read something in his face—heartache, heartbreak, heart-something anyway—and with a click of his fingers he brought a servant running.

  ‘Have my plane made ready for an immediate departure,’ he instructed smoothly. ‘Mr Hayes, your transport to…somewhere…awaits,’ he then drawled sardonically.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  EVE was casting spells in the garden. They wound around a tall, dark, idiot Englishman with no heart worth mentioning.

  She wasn’t happy. Everyone in her grandfather’s house knew that she wasn’t happy. She’d rowed with Grandpa. No one had ever heard Eve row with her grandpa.

  But, like the Englishman, she had come to realise that Theron Herakleides had no heart either. He’d let her down. When she’d needed his comfort and support more than she’d ever needed it, he had withdrawn both with an abruptness that shocked.

  ‘No, Eve,’ he said. ‘I will not let you do this.’

  ‘But you don’t have a say in the matter!’ she cried.

  ‘On this point I do,’ he insisted. ‘I gave you two weeks to come to your senses about that man. When you did nothing but claim how much you adored him, I gave in to your wishes, soft-hearted fool that I am, and went ahead with planning tonight’s party. You are not, therefore, going to make the Herakleides name look foolish, by cancelling at this late juncture!’

  ‘But I no longer have a man to become betrothed to!’

  ‘Then find one,’ he advised. ‘Or you will dance alone tonight, my precious,’ Theron coolly informed her, ‘with your honour lying on the floor by your pretty feet and the Herakleides pride lying beside it.’

  ‘You don’t mean it,’ she denounced.

  But he did mean it. Which was why she was sitting in the garden wondering what she was supposed to do about a party she didn’t want, meant to celebrate a betrothal she didn’t want, to a man who wasn’t here to share either even if she did want him!

  Where was he?

  Her heart gave a little whimper. Was he with Leona right now, worshipping the unattainable, while her long-suffering husband played the grim chaperone—just to save face?

  I hope they’ve had him thrown into a dungeon, she decided savagely. I hope they’ve cast him out into the desert with no food and water and definitely no tent!

  But where was he? her stupid heart cried.

  Today was Saturday. Yesterday she’d left a message on the answering machine in San Estéban asking him to call her. Couldn’t he have done that at least? He owed her that one small consideration for all the love she’d poured into him.

  I want him back. I don’t want him back. She stood up, sat down again, let her hands wring together, looked down to find the thumb from the right hand rubbing anxiously at a finger on the left where Ethan’s ring used to be.

  I miss it. I miss him. Come and get me, Ethan! Oh, good grief, she never knew anything could feel this wretched.

  ‘Eve…’

  ‘Go away, Grandpa.’ She didn’t want to speak to anyone.

  ‘There was a telephone call for you—’

  ‘From Ethan—?’ She shot eagerly back to her feet. Seeing the pity in her grandfather’s eyes made her wish the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

  What have I let that man do to me?

  ‘It was Aidan Galloway,’ her grandpa told her. ‘He is on his way from the airport. I said you would be glad to see him.’

  ‘Why?’ Her green eyes began to spark with aggression. ‘Are you thinking that Aidan could stand in as substitute?’

  It made her even angrier when he dared to laugh. ‘That is not a bad idea, sweetness,’ he mused lazily. ‘He will be here in a few minutes. I will leave you to put the suggestion to him.’ With that he strolled off, still grinning from ear to ear.

  He was enjoying this, Eve realised. It amazed her that she hadn’t realised before what a twisted sense of humour her grandfather possessed. Her life was on the line here—her one hope at happiness—and he thought it was funny to watch her tear herself apart?

  Theron did pause for a moment to wonder whether he should put her out of her misery and tell her what he already knew. He had been in touch with Victor Frayne about the Greek project. Victor Frayne had, in turn, told him about Ethan’s quick departure from Rahman.

  If the man wasn’t coming to claim his granddaughter, then his name wasn’t Theron Herakleides. Keeping Eve unaware of this prediction was good for her character. Good things came too easily for Eve, he’d come to realise. She had sailed through her life without feeling the pangs that hunger breeds. She had wit, she had grace, she had charm and intelligence, and she knew how to use them all to reach her goals with ease. But love stood on its own as something that must be worked at if it was to develop into its fullest potential. Feeling the sharp-edged fear of losing love should make her appreciate and heed the fear of losing it again.


  Why did he feel she needed to do that? Because Ethan Hayes was a man of hidden fibre, he’d discovered. To keep up with the sneaky devil she was going to have to learn dexterity and speed.

  Ethan landed in Athens and had to utilise some dexterity and speed to get through an airport that the rest of the world had seemed to decide to use at the same time.

  He managed to grab a taxi by jumping the queue with the help of a British fifty-pound note. The drive through the city set his teeth on edge. The heat, the crowded streets, the knowledge that he had taken a chance and come here directly from Rahman, instead of checking out San Estéban, all helping to play on his stress levels. So, by the time he passed through the gates of the Herakleides mansion, he was beginning to regret this madly impulsive decision to chase after Eve.

  The taxi pulled to a halt in front of a stone-fronted residence built to emulate Greek classicism at its most grand. A maid opened the door to him, smiled in recognition of the times he had been here before. When he asked to see Eve, she offered to take his suit bag from him then directed him towards the garden at the rear of the house.

  His heart began to pump with the adrenaline rush of relief because he now knew his instincts had not let him down and he had been right to miss out San Estéban to come straight here.

  It was mid-afternoon and as he stepped out onto the wide stone-flagged terrace the air was just taking on the warm golden glow that reminded him of the Caribbean. Striding forward he paused at the head of a set of wide shallow steps which led down into the garden. Standing on a hill as the house did, the garden itself sloped away from him in a riot of summer colour, so from up here he should easily be able to pick out Eve.

  He did so immediately. It would have been impossible not to do when she was wearing a hot-pink stretchy top with a short lavender skirt. She stood out in this garden of colour like the most exotic flower ever created. As his heart began to pound in response to wrapping all of that vivid colour to him and never letting go of it again, he saw her move, realised that she wasn’t alone, realised that she was also standing in the exact same spot he had seen her standing the last time he’d seen her here—and locked in the arms of the same man.