Summer Sins

by Julia James

  His mouth was a thin line. ‘Your hopes are well founded,’ he said. ‘And you may also know how much worse I felt when my brother told us of how you had tried to earn the money to pay for Lila’s operation yourself. What you were prepared to put yourself through for your sister’s sake. And yet again I ask you—why did you not tell me why you were in that sordid job? Do you think I would have condemned you if I’d known why you worked there? So why, why did you never tell me?’ There was accusation in his voice.

  Lissa’s eyes widened disbelievingly.

  ‘Tell you? What business was it of yours?’

  A French expletive broke from him.

  ‘What business was it of mine?’ he echoed. ‘We spent two weeks together. Do you not think that enough to let me know something, anything, of the truth about you?’

  She backed away from him, horrorstruck. Disbelieving.

  ‘Truth?’ It was her turn to echo him now. ‘Truth—you speak to me of truth? You complete and absolute bastard. How dare you say that to me? How dare you? The only truth I ever got out of you was when you threw me out. Then I got the truth. I got the truth about what you’d done to me.’

  She shut her eyes, unable to bear this. Unable to bear the horror of it.

  ‘You boasted of it,’ she said. ‘You boasted of how you had deliberately sought me out in order to seduce me away from Armand. You boasted of it—and then you threw me out like I was some kind of filth.’

  Her eyes had flown open again as she hurled her accusation at him. She saw him blanch, and a savage gladness filled her. Darkness misted her eyes, her mind. The darkness of rage.

  And worse, much worse.

  ‘It wasn’t like that.’ His voice was flat.

  ‘Yes, it was! You told me—to my face. You told me exactly what you’d done. Sought me out and seduced me—cold-bloodedly, calculatingly, deliberately. Your only purpose was to make sure I couldn’t ever trap your brother into marriage.’

  ‘No.’ His denial was immediate, urgent. ‘No, Lissa—listen to me. Listen. It wasn’t like that.’

  ‘You mean you didn’t deliberately seek me out in the casino?’

  His teeth gritted. ‘Yes, yes—I did that. But—’

  ‘So it is true, then, isn’t it? Everything you hurled at me that morning on the island. Everything.’

  ‘No.’

  Her eyes flashed fire. ‘You’ve just admitted it. You’ve just said it was true. You deliberately sought me out, deliberately singled me out for your attention. Because you thought I was some kind of slut who wasn’t fit to marry your brother.’

  ‘I didn’t think that—I needed to find out, that was all. Lissa, listen to me—I was justified in being suspicious on behalf of my brother. He’s too trusting, too … gullible. He’s been taken in before—by a woman who preyed on his good nature, took advantage of his kindness and generosity. When he told me he’d met someone he wanted to marry, I had to protect him. I had to make sure that this time he was not being targeted by another unscrupulous gold-digger who was just after his money. That’s why I had you investigated. I needed to find out what kind of woman Armand was involved with. I had to check you out—personally.’

  ‘And remove me from being any kind of threat to your brother.’ Her voice was flat now, her face dead. ‘By seducing me. In cold blood. Just to be on the safe side. Because I was obviously, as a casino hostess, unfit to marry into your family.’

  He breathed in sharply. ‘It wasn’t like that.’

  She lost it again. ‘You keep saying that. You keep saying it like some kind of parrot. “It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t like that.” But it was. And you’ve admitted it. So don’t even try and deny it. Because there’s no point.’

  She dragged air into her ragged lungs, harshly and tearingly. When she spoke again it was with a defeated, deflated air.

  ‘And there’s no point talking anymore. I accept—all right? I accept what you’ve told me. You didn’t know. You just didn’t know. I never told you about Lila and you’re not a mind-reader, so how could you possibly know about her? All you saw was a woman who worked as a casino hostess and was apparently having an affair with Armand simply because he was a rich guy and I was after his money. You knew your brother had told you he wanted to marry a girl you thought was me, so you moved in to protect your brother—how the hell can I blame you for that? And how can I blame you for misinterpreting that phone call from Armand and assuming it was me he was talking about marrying—not Lila? And when you heard me blithely accepting, even though I’d just been merrily having a fling with another man, it just confirmed, in your eyes, that Armand meant nothing to me. I can’t blame you for thinking that.’ She took another harsh breath in.

  ‘I can’t blame you for anything,’ she said bleakly. ‘Anything at all. The whole thing was just … just … a screw-up, that’s all. A screw-up.’

  She turned away, pressing her hands down over the low balustrade that girdled the gazebo. Bougainvillaea rioted over the stonework and climbed up the gazebo supports, brilliant crimson. A butterfly hovered over one of the vivid blossoms, then fluttered away to sip another flower, the pattern on its wings in complete focus. Everything was in super-focus. Crystal-clear.

  Just like what she now knew about what had happened to her.

  A screw-up. No other word for it.

  Heaviness crushed her. She’d wanted to hate Xavier for what he’d done to her, but how could she? He hadn’t treated her badly because it hadn’t been her, the real her, he’d manipulated and accused. He’d done it to some mythical gold-digging floozy who had never existed.

  The butterfly was still sipping its nectar. Then it stretched out its wings again. The pattern wasn’t in focus any more. It was blurred. And getting more blurred with every second. She ought to go indoors. There was no point being here. She straightened her shoulders, lifting her chin, blinked to clear her vision. Then she turned.

  Xavier was still there, watching her.

  Her stomach hollowed at the sight of him. The way it always did—every time she saw him. She quelled it immediately. No point in that. None at all. What did it matter that Xavier Lauran stood there, turning her knees to jelly? What did it matter that he’d once held her in his arms, kissed her, embraced her, made love to her so breathtakingly that the universe had burned for her? Of course it didn’t matter. It hadn’t mattered for weeks now—not since that morning when he’d explained just why it was that he’d had an affair with her. Deliberately, calculatedly, cold-bloodedly. To separate her from the brother he’d assumed she was trying to ensnare into marriage.

  So why, if it hadn’t mattered for weeks now, did it feel as if a knife were being plunged into her side? Slowly, and with exquisite intent to hurt her.

  She knew the answer. Because until this moment she’d been using her hatred for him for another purpose.

  Anaesthetic.

  Crude, but effective. Effective enough to make her capable of functioning. To get through the weeks, the days, the endless hours. Make her capable of enduring seeing Xavier again here, like this, at her sister’s wedding.

  But she’d had to let go of the hatred. She couldn’t blame him for what he had done. End of story. End of hatred.

  But if the hatred went, what would be left?

  The knife in her side reached deeper. Closer to its target.

  Her heart.

  Terrifying realisation swept through her. Without her hatred for Xavier Lauran only one thing was left. And it damned her, damned her utterly.

  She would have to go. As soon as possible. Tomorrow. Tonight she had to stay for the party that Armand’s parents were giving for the bridal couple—she could not leave before then. But tomorrow she would leave immediately.

  And until then she would just have to get through. Endure.

  She lifted her chin. Xavier was looking at her, but there was nothing in his face. Nothing in his eyes. That was good.

  ‘So,’ she said, ‘that’s that. It was all just a screw-up.
That’s all.’

  Something shifted in his eyes.

  ‘That’s all?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He walked towards her. There was something very controlled in the way he was walking. She took a step back, but she was already against the stone balustrade.

  ‘You call everything that happened between us a screw-up?’ There was nothing in his voice beyond measured enquiry.

  ‘Xavier, I’ve just said I can’t blame you for what you did. You wanted to protect your brother and that seemed the best way to do it. That’s all there is to it.’

  ‘You think that, do you?’ The same measured tones. They made her angry suddenly.

  ‘You said yourself that’s how it was. You said yourself that was the truth of it. You spelt it out with crystal clarity that morning. Just because you didn’t know I wasn’t who you thought I was, it doesn’t stop it being the truth of why you had an affair with me. To free your brother from me and for no other reason.’

  The knife slid in deeper as she made herself say it. It was the truth—brutal and cruel. But it didn’t stop it being true. However much it hurt.

  There was something in the back of his eyes, but she didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to meet his eyes. She wanted to get away. But the stone balustrade was preventing her. Her hands pressed back against the stonework as if she could push it away.

  He was standing in front of her. Far, far too close. Her breath was tightening in her lungs.

  ‘And what about this truth?’ he said. His voice changed. Husked. Her palms pressed down onto the stone as if she would collapse without it.

  His hands reached for her, cupping her face.

  ‘What about this truth?’ he asked again.

  What had been at the back of his eyes was at the fore now. She could see it, and it made her tremble. It was liquid gold, and it was pouring from him and melting through her.

  He lowered his face to hers. His kiss was slow, and deep and sensual. It melted down her spine. But she mustn’t melt. She must not. It was essential she did not melt. Ever again.

  She pulled away. ‘This was never the truth. It was just a lie to protect Armand from me.’

  ‘Don’t you understand?’ he demanded explosively. ‘That was the lie. Telling you that I’d had an affair with you in order to separate you from my brother. That was the lie. Because it was the only way to hit back at you for what you’d done to me—betrayed, as I believed, everything I’d believed we had between us. It was never true, Lissa, never. Yes, I sought you out at the casino deliberately. But once I’d seen you for yourself, I wanted you. It was torment to think of you as being my brother’s intended bride—and when you contacted me to tell me, so I thought, that your relationship with Armand was finished, I snatched you to me. I shut everything out of my mind, until … until that morning, when my world imploded around me. Hearing that call, thinking you were returning to marry Armand after all, nearly destroyed me. Forgive me, I beg of you, for what I said to you then. For all that I thought of you so wrongly.’

  She swallowed. Her throat hurt. Her body hurt. Everywhere in her whole being hurt.

  ‘On the evidence you had, it was reasonable to think what you did,’ she said. What else could she say?

  ‘Reasonable?’ he echoed. His voice sounded hollow. ‘Yes, you are right—it was very reasonable of me to think what I did.’

  There was a strange look in his face.

  ‘Reason. Logic. Evidence. Truth. Good words. All of them. Every one of them.’ His voice had changed—it seemed to come from very far away. ‘They were the words I used about you, Lissa. Right from the start—when I first heard of your existence and looked at that damning photo of you—and right to the end. When I heard your conversation with Armand and damned you with it. I applied reason to every judgement I made of you—every decision I took about you. It’s the way I’ve lived my life—with my head. Always my head. Always logical—always rational. Nothing else ever made sense to me.’

  He took a breath—deep and rasping.

  ‘But you see …’ he said, in that same strange, remote voice, that came from somewhere so very far away. And she stood there, unable to move, unable to think or breathe. ‘You see, there was something I omitted to take into account in my dealings with you, Lissa. Something I must tell you—something I have discovered.’

  He paused, and when he spoke again his eyes were very clear, his voice very clear.

  ‘I’ve always trusted reason,’ he said, ‘but it does not answer everything. You see …’ his clear, clear eyes held hers ‘… le coeur a ses raisons, que la raison ne connaît point.’

  For a long, timeless moment she held still, letting the words enter her mind.

  ‘Do you need me to translate?’ His voice was quiet, his eyes, so clear, still holding hers.

  She shook her head. His face was blurring. She could not speak. Only whisper. ‘The heart has its reasons, which reason does not know.’

  She felt the tears well up in her eyes, well and spill like diamonds. Her face constricted.

  He was there in an instant. She reached gropingly for his hands.

  The warmth of his fingers enclosed hers. Safe, cherishing.

  She felt her heart turn slowly over.

  ‘Xavier—’ It was a breath. A hope. A hope she dared not have.

  He folded her hands against the strong wall of his chest. She could feel the heavy beat of his heart. He was so close to her, so close.

  He gazed down at her. His eyes were dark, and they stayed the breath in her lungs.

  ‘My heart, Lissa—my heart is yours. And it is what I should have trusted all along. Not what I knew, but what I felt.’

  The tears ran down her cheeks. Washing away so much—so much pain and hurt. He kissed them away, his lips tender. And then his mouth sought hers again, and into his kiss he poured his heart.

  ‘Ah, mignonne, how much I love you.’

  She clung to him. She was weeping now, and he held her, cradled her and murmured to her, cherishing her and keeping her safe. As he would for ever.

  Emotion swelled in him like a wave. Gently he drew her down to sit on the stone balustrade. For a long while they sat, while Lissa quietened, and then they sat longer still, content to wind their arms around each other and gaze out over the azure sea beyond.

  Presently, she spoke.

  ‘I tried to hate you, Xavier—or what you said to me, for what you did to me—but it only covered up what I truly felt. It hurt so much, knowing that everything I’d thought was between us was just a lie—that you had planned and manoeuvred and plotted the whole thing. That everything was false. Everything you had done or said—except during that last hideous exchange—was false.’ She took a ragged, shuddering breath. ‘Because to me— to me it had been the most precious time of my life, those weeks with you. I didn’t think it could last—I never dreamt that you could love me. I only knew that I had taken that time with you, while Lila was in America, and that if the operation had not worked, if Armand hadn’t felt for her what I’d so hoped, so prayed he did, then I would need to go to her, to be there for her. I could not abandon her to chase my own happiness. I did not dare love you …’

  She lifted his hand, still holding hers, to her mouth.

  ‘But Lila has her miracle—and her miracle is not just her escape from the prison of her wheelchair. It is Armand. As mine …’ her voice wavered ‘… as mine is you.’

  She kissed his hand again, and folded it to her, then reached to kiss his mouth.

  Love was in her lips.

  Her gaze.

  And happiness such as she could not believe was in her heart, and in her soul.

  He cupped her cheek and smiled at her.

  ‘I would marry you this minute, this hour, this very day. I love you so much, mignonne. But let us give your sister and my brother their celebration together—we will not steal their thunder. We will dance at their wedding, and they—’ he smiled again ‘—they will dance at ours. But I c
annot wait until then, mon amour, to make you mine again.’

  He nodded down towards the base of the gardens. ‘My stepfather keeps a launch at the villa’s private mooring, just below. We do not need to put in an appearance again here for quite a few hours. So I was thinking—’

  Lissa looked at him.

  ‘It’s a fast launch,’ said Xavier. ‘It would get us back in time for the party tonight.’

  ‘Back from where?’

  But she knew. Knew exactly where Xavier wanted to take her. And where she longed to go.

  He drew her to her feet. His eyes were glinting suddenly, and just as suddenly her knees were as weak as jelly.

  ‘Where we found our happiness,’ he told her. ‘And where,’ he said, ‘we’ll have our honeymoon.’ He frowned momently. ‘Are you content with such a simple destination? My villa on the Île Ste Marie? Or do you want to go somewhere else?’

  She shook her head. ‘I only want you,’ she said. ‘Wherever in the world you are.’

  ‘And I you. All my life.’

  He pressed a kiss upon her mouth to seal their vow, and then, with mutual, unspoken haste, they headed down to the sea, and to their life and their love together.

  WILLINGLY BEDDED,

  FORCIBLY WEDDED

  MELANIE MILBURNE

  About the Author

  MELANIE MILBURNE says: “One of the greatest joys of being a writer is the process of falling in love with the characters and then watching as they fall in love with each other. I am an absolutely hopeless romantic. I fell in love with my husband on our second date, and we even had a secret engagement, so you see it must have been destined for me to be a Harlequin Mills and Boon author! The other great joy of being a romance writer is hearing from readers. You can hear all about the other things I do when I’m not writing, and even drop me a line, at: www.melaniemilburne.com.au.”

  To Jan Heyward-Casey

  There can be no more beautiful person working in

  the beauty industry than you.

  Thank you for all of your support—you wax my

  worries away both literally and figuratively!