A Tangled Affair

by Fiona Brand

  She frowned, feeling distinctly uncomfortable with the subject and the way he was regarding her, as if she was a concubine who had somehow escaped the harem and he had ownership rights. “I should know in another couple of days. But whether I’m pregnant or not, it needn’t concern you.”

  Actually, she could find out right that minute if she wanted. The test kit had said a result could be obtained in as early as seven days. She had studied the instructions then chucked the box in the back of one of her drawers. She still felt too raw and hurt to face using the kit and discovering that not only had she lost Lucas, her life was about to take a huge, unplanned turn. In a few days, when she felt ready, she would do the test.

  Anger flickered in his gaze. “You would abort the child?”

  “No.” She felt shocked that he had even jumped to that conclusion. If there was a child, there was no way she would do anything other than keep the baby and smother it with love for the rest of its life. “What I meant is that if there is a child, I’ve decided that you don’t have to worry, because you don’t need to be involved, or even acknowledge—”

  “Any child of mine would be acknowledged.”

  The whiplash flatness of his voice, as if she had scraped a raw nerve, was even more shocking. Carla sucked in a breath and forced herself to loosen off the soaring tension. She was clearly missing something here. “This is crazy. I don’t know why we’re discussing something that might never happen. Is that all you wanted to know?”

  “No.” He propped himself on the edge of the desk. “Have a seat. There’s something else we need to discuss.”

  There were three comfortable client seats; she chose the one farthest away from Lucas. The second she lowered herself into the chair she regretted the decision. Even though he wasn’t standing, Lucas still towered over her. “Let me guess—I’m fired in a week’s time? I’m surprised it took you so long to get around to—”

  “I’m not firing you.”

  Carla blinked. Constantine had fired Sienna almost immediately, although his reasons had been understandable. Continuing on as CEO of a company in Sydney while he was based in Medinos had not been viable.

  His gaze flicked broodingly over the crisp little suit. “Do you always dress like that for work?”

  His sudden change of tack threw her even more off balance. She realized that from his vantage point he could see more than the shadowy hint of cleavage that was normally visible in the vee of the jacket. She squashed the urge to drag the lapels together. “Yes. Is there a problem?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Nothing that an extra button or a blouse wouldn’t fix.”

  She shot to her feet. “There is nothing wrong with what I’m wearing. Sienna was perfectly happy with my wardrobe.”

  He straightened, making her even more aware of his height, the breadth of his shoulders, the incomprehensible anger simmering behind midnight-dark eyes.

  “Sienna was female.”

  “What has that got to do with anything?”

  “From where I’m standing, quite a lot.

  She didn’t know what was bothering him. Maybe a major deal had fallen through, or even better, Lilah had dumped him. Whatever it was she would swear that he was behaving proprietorially, but that couldn’t be. He had dumped her without ceremony; he had made it clear he didn’t want her. To add insult to injury, the tabloids were having a field day reporting his relationship with Lilah.

  His gaze dropped once again to the vee of her jacket. “Who are you meeting today?”

  Temper soaring at the lightning perusal, the even more pointed innuendo, she reeled off two names.

  “Both male,” he said curtly.

  “Chandler and Howarth are contemporaries of my father! And I resent the implication that I would resort to using sex to make sales for Ambrosi, but if you prefer I could turn up for work in beige. Or, since this conversation is taking a medieval turn, maybe you’d prefer sackcloth and ashes.”

  His mouth twitched at the corners and despite her spiraling anger she found herself briefly mesmerized by the sudden jolt of charm. Lucas was handsome when he was cool and ruthless, but when he smiled he was drop-dead gorgeous in a completely masculine way that made her go weak at the knees and melt.

  “You don’t own anything beige.”

  “How would you know?” she pointed out, glad to get her teeth into something that could generate some self-righteous anger.

  She wasn’t vengeful, nor did she have a desire to hurt Lucas. It was simply that she was black-and-white in her thinking. They were either together or they weren’t, and she couldn’t bear the underlying invitation in his eyes, his voice, to be friends now that he had decreed their relationship was over. “As I recall, you were more interested in taking my clothes off than noticing what I was wearing. You had no more interest in my wardrobe than you had in any other aspect of my life.”

  His brows jerked together. “That’s not true. You were the one who decreed we had to live separate lives.”

  Her hands curled into fists. “Don’t say it didn’t suit you.”

  “It did, at the time.”

  “Ha!” But the moment of triumph was hollow. She just wished she had realized she wasn’t built for such a shallow, restricted relationship.

  Pointedly, she checked her wristwatch. “I have a meeting in ten minutes. If there’s nothing else, I need to go. With the product launch in two days’ time, there’s a lot to do.”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. We’ve made some changes to the arrangements for the launch party. Nina will be heading up the team running the promotion.”

  Not fired, Carla thought blankly. Sidelined.

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, but when she spoke her voice was still unacceptably husky. “Some product launch without the most high-profile component, or have you forgotten that I’m ‘The Face of Ambrosi’?”

  Broodingly, Lucas surveyed Carla’s perfect face, exquisite in every detail from exotic eyes to delicate cheekbones and enticing mouth. Add in the outrageously sexy tousle of dark hair trailing down her back and she was spectacularly irresistible.

  Ambrosi had cut costs and cashed in on Carla’s appeal, but he found himself grimly annoyed every time he noticed one of the posters. “It’s hard to miss when your face is plastered all over the front of the building.”

  And in every one of the perfumed women’s magazines he had been forced to flick through since he’d stepped into Sienna Ambrosi’s front office.

  Triumph glowed briefly in her gaze. “You can’t sideline me. I have to be there.” She began ticking off all the reasons he couldn’t surgically remove her from the campaign.

  His frustration levels increased exponentially with every valid reason, from interviews with women’s magazines to a promotional stunt she had organized.

  “I have to be there—it’s a no-brainer. Besides, the costuming has all been completed to my measurements.”

  He cut her off in midstream. “No.”

  Carla’s eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

  Not a subject he was prepared to go live on, he thought, gaze fixed on the sleek fit of her red suit.

  Every time he saw one of the posters, he had to fight the irrational urge to rip it down. The idea that Carla would do a promotional show in the transparent, pearl-encrusted creation he had viewed in front of an audience filled with voyeuristic men was the only no-brainer in the equation.

  Over his dead body.

  He felt as proprietary as he imagined a father would feel keeping his daughter from hormonal teenage boys. Not that his feelings were remotely fatherly. She could threaten and argue all day; it wasn’t going to happen.

  “You haven’t been well, and you could be pregnant,” he said flatly. “I’ll do the interviews, and I’ve arranged for a model to take your place for the promotion. Nina is hosting the promotional show. Elise will take care of the styling.”

  Styling. He gripped the taut muscles at his nape. A week
ago he didn’t even know what that meant.

  “I’m so well I’m jumping out of my skin. I’m here to work. The launch is my project.”

  “Not anymore.”

  Silence hung heavy in the air. Somewhere in the office a clock ticked; out on the street someone leaned on a car horn. Carla groped for the fire-engine-red bag that matched her suit.

  Lucas’s stomach clenched when he saw tears glittering on her lashes. Ah, damn… He resisted the sudden off-the-wall urge to coax her close and offer comfort. He had expected opposition—a fight—but he hadn’t been prepared for this level of emotion. Somewhere in the raft of detail involved with taking over Ambrosi and figuring out how to handle Carla, he had forgotten how passionately intense and protective she was about her family and the business. Although how he could forget a detail that had seen him sidelined in Carla’s life, he didn’t know. “Carla—”

  “Don’t.” She turned on her heel.

  Jaw clenched against the need to comfort her and soothe away the hurt, he reached the door first. His hand landed on the cream-and–gilt-detailed panel of the door, preventing her from opening it. “Just one more thing. My mother and Zane fly in tomorrow. I’ve organized a press conference to promote The Atraeus Group’s takeover of Ambrosi and the product launch, then a private lunch. As a family member and PR executive your presence is required at both.”

  She stared blankly ahead. “Will Lilah be there?”

  “Yes.”

  Lucas had to restrain himself from going after Carla as she strode out of his office. His jaw tightened as he noted the outrageously sexy red heels and the enticing sway of her hips as she walked. The fact that he had lost his temper was disturbing, but ten days kicking his heels while she had disappeared off the radar had set him on edge. The second he had seen her in the red suit he had lost it. He had been certain she wasn’t wearing anything but a bra under the tight little jacket, and he had been right.

  Closing the door, he prowled back to the window and held aside the silky curtains that draped the window, feeling like a voyeur himself as he watched Carla stroll out onto the street and climb into the sports car that was waiting for her.

  He had questioned her assistant extensively about her meetings, then, dissatisfied with her answers, had looked both Chandler and Howarth up on the internet.

  Elise had been correct in her summation. Both men were old enough to be her father. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to cut any ice with him. They were men, period.

  At a point in time when he should have been reinforcing the end of their relationship by keeping his distance, he had never felt more possessive or jealous.

  Instead of moving to Sydney, he should have stepped back and simply kept in touch with Carla. If she was pregnant, whether she told him or not, he would soon have known. Instead he had grabbed at the excuse to be close to her.

  The fact that he had lost control to the extent that he had made love to Carla after they had broken up, without protection, still had the power to stun him.

  Worse, he found the idea that they could have made a baby together unbearably sexy and appealing.

  Maybe it was a kickback to his grief and loss over Sophie, but a part of him actually hoped Carla was pregnant.

  He dropped the curtain as the taxi merged into traffic. Broodingly, he reflected that when it came to Carla Ambrosi, he found himself thinking in medieval absolutes.

  For two years one absolute had dominated: regardless of how risky or illogical the liaison was, he had wanted Carla Ambrosi.

  Despite breaking up and replacing her with a new girlfriend—a woman he had not been able to bring himself to either touch or kiss—nothing had changed.

  Seven

  Carla checked the time on the digital clock in her small sports car. She had ten minutes to reach Alex Panopoulos’s office and rush hour was in full swing, the traffic already jammed.

  On edge and impatient, Carla used every shortcut she knew, but even so she was running late when she reached the dim underground garage.

  Late for an interview that was becoming increasingly important, she grabbed her handbag and portfolio and exited the car.

  Her heels tapped on concrete as she strode to the elevator, just as a sleek dark car cruised into a nearby space. The tinted driver’s side window was down, giving her a shadowy glimpse of the driver. The car reminded her of the vehicle Lucas’s security detail used when he was in town.

  Frowning, she stepped into the elevator and keyed in the PIN she had been given. She punched the floor number, then wished she hadn’t as the doors slid shut, nixing her view of the driver before he could climb out of the car. Maybe she was paranoid, or simply too focused on Lucas, but for a split second she had entertained the crazy thought that the driver could be Lucas.

  She kept an eye on the floor numbers as they lit up. She caught her reflection in the polished steel doors. The scene with Lucas accusing her of dressing to entice replayed in her mind.

  Hurt spiraled through her that he clearly had such a bad opinion of her and was so keen to get rid of her that he had replaced her both personally and professionally. She wondered if he intended to escort Lilah to the event, then grimly decided that of course he would.

  As a publicity stunt, the move couldn’t be faulted. The media would love Lilah fronting for Ambrosi and the further evidence of her close relationship with Lucas. Ambrosi couldn’t ask for a better launch gimmick…except maybe an engagement announcement at the launch party.

  Her chest squeezed tight on a pang of misery. Suddenly, that didn’t seem as ludicrous or far-fetched as it should, given that Lucas and Lilah had only been publicly dating for a couple of weeks. Lucas was legendary for his ruthless efficiency, his unequivocal decisions. If he had decided Lilah was the one, why wait?

  The elevator doors opened onto a broad carpeted corridor. Discreetly suited executives, briefcases in hand, obviously leaving for the day, stepped into the elevator as she stepped out.

  The receptionist showed her into Alex’s office.

  Twenty minutes later, the interview over, Carla stepped out of the lift and strode to her car. She had been offered the job of PR executive for Pan Jewelry, but she had turned it down. Five minutes into the interview she had realized that Alex hadn’t wanted her expertise; he had wanted to utilize her connection with the Atraeus family. Apparently, he could double his profit base in two years if they allowed Pan to trade in the luxury Atraeus Resorts.

  She had been prepared to withstand his smooth charm, possibly even reject an attempt at seduction. She had done that before, on more than one occasion. Alex had made it clear he was prepared to deal generously with her in terms of position and salary, including a free apartment, if she came to him.

  Stomach churning at the sexual strings that were clearly attached to his offer, and because she had missed lunch, Carla tossed her portfolio and purse on the backseat of her car. Flipping the glove box open, she found the box of cookies she kept there for just such an emergency. Part of the reason she had ended up with an ulcer was that she had a high-acid system. She had to be careful of what she ate, and of not eating at all. Stress coupled with an empty stomach was a definite no-no. Popping a chunk of the cookie in her mouth, she drove out of the parking garage.

  The car she had thought could possibly belong to Lucas’s security guy was no longer in its space, but, as she took the ramp up onto the sunlit street, the distinctive dark sedan nosed in behind her.

  Spine tingling with a combination of renewed anger and the flighty, unreasoning panic of knowing someone was following her—no matter how benign the reason—she sped up. The car stayed with her, confirming in her mind that it was one of Lucas’s men snooping on her.

  Still fuming at his high-handed behavior, she pulled into her apartment building. When the sedan slid past the entrance and kept on going, she reversed out and made a beeline for Lucas’s inner-city apartment.

  Twenty minutes later, after running the gauntlet of a concierge and one of
Lucas’s security detail, she pressed the buzzer on Lucas’s penthouse door.

  It swung open almost immediately. Lucas was still dressed in the dark pants and white shirt he had worn to the office that morning, although minus the tie and with the shirt hanging open to reveal a mouthwatering slice of taut and tanned torso. He leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb, unsubtly blocking her from barging into his apartment.

  “Tell me that wasn’t you following me.”

  “It wasn’t me following you. It was Tiberio.”

  “In that case, do you really want to have this discussion in the hallway, where anyone can overhear?”

  Cool amusement tugged at his mouth. “I rent the entire floor. The other three apartments are all occupied by my people.”

  “Let me rephrase that, then. Do you really want to have this discussion where your employees can overhear what I’m about to say?”

  His jaw tightened, but he stepped back, leaving her just enough room to march past him. She was in the hallway, strolling across rug-strewn wooden floors into an expansive, airy sitting room before she had time to consider the unsettling fact that Lucas might not be alone. With his shirt hanging open and his sleeves unbuttoned it was highly likely he had company.

  Her stomach churned at the thought. She’d had plenty of time on the drive over to consider that Lilah could be here.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when she registered that the sitting room, at least, was unoccupied, although that didn’t rule out the bedrooms. Until that moment she hadn’t known just how much she dreaded seeing Lilah in Lucas’s home, occupying the position in his life that until a few days ago she had foolishly assumed was hers.

  Fingers tightening on her purse, she surveyed the sitting room with its eclectic mix of artwork and sculpture. Some she knew well; at least two she had never seen. “Nice paintings.”

  But then that had been one of the things that had attracted her to Lucas. He wasn’t stuffy with either his thinking or his enjoyment of art.

  As her gaze was drawn from one new painting to the next, absorbing the nuances of line, form and color, her stomach tensed. “A new artist?”