Gypsy. Carole Mortimer
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still had the power to attract women in their droves!
Tawny eyes flashed with specks of green as Lyon angrily sensed her derision. ‘I didn’t just mean physically,’ he rasped as Jenny disappeared into the galley.
She calmly reached up to remove her hat, placing it on the seat beside her, her neck long and slender, her hands equally so as she brailled the neatness of her severely-styled black hair. ‘I grew up, Lyon, if that’s what you mean,’ she drawled dismissively, turning to look out of the window as the small jet began to taxi towards the runway. ‘Marilyn isn’t with you?’ She arched perfectly curved brows at him, her slender hands, adorned only by her thin gold wedding band, folded neatly on top of her fastened seat-belt.
Lyon’s mouth tightened. ‘No, Marilyn isn’t with me,’ he bit out.
‘I just thought, she is the family lawyer …’
‘One of them,’ he confirmed gratingly.
‘And your wife,’ Shay added tauntingly.
‘Yes,’ he acknowledged abruptly. ‘But I’d really rather not discuss her right now.’
Navy eyes sharpened to purple. ‘As you wish,’ she nodded distantly. ‘You came alone, then?’
‘There was no reason for anyone to accompany me. Our lawyer in Los Angeles was able to deal with anything that had to be done.’
‘Of course, David Anders,’ she nodded again, having worked closely with the American lawyer herself the last two months, coming to the airport today as per his instructions, knowing he had managed to secure the release of Ricky’s body. She had hoped Lyon wouldn’t be sharing the flight with her, although she had known it was a futile hope; the haughty head of the Falconer family wouldn’t rest until his youngest brother was back in England where he felt he had always belonged, even if Ricky’s body were now lifeless.
‘He did a magnificent job,’ Lyon said curtly, his mouth grim.
‘Yes,’ she acknowledged, her face suddenly looking stricken.
Lyon was alert to the sudden change in her. ‘You still don’t like flying?’
‘I hate it,’ she answered pleasantly, sipping her tea, not showing now even by a tremor of her hand how her senses lurched at the acceleration of the jet engines as they prepared for take-off.
‘Perhaps it would have been better if you had remained in Los Angeles—’
‘And not come to England?’ Her eyes flashed her anger at the suggestion. ‘Ricky may have been your brother, Lyon,’ she said icily, ‘but he was my husband, and I want to be there when you have him put in the ground!’
Lyon winced noticeably. ‘The last two months of waiting have been a strain for you,’ he bit out. ‘This journey can only be causing you more pain.’
He didn’t know the half of the pain she had suffered in the past two months, she had made certain he wouldn’t know, had remained alone in California after Ricky’s plane had crashed in the mountains, all the time hoping that he had survived the crash, that by some miracle he had lived when the light plane he had been piloting had gone down during a freak thunderstorm in the mountains. It was the ‘somewhere’ that had caused all the pain, no one knowing exactly where the plane had gone down, Ricky and the plane remaining undetected until three weeks ago. Until that time she had lived with the hope, not sleeping, not eating, anxiously waiting for news from the people she had paid to continue searching for him after the authorities had given up. David Anders had informed her that Lyon had flown over briefly after the accident had been reported, that he had been convinced by the authorities that there was no way Ricky could have survived the crash in the area he had gone down. Shay had refused Lyon’s request to see her then, would have refused to be with him now if it were in her power to do so. But it wasn’t.
‘I can cope,’ she told him distantly.
‘I’m sure you can,’ Lyon nodded grimly. ‘God, Shay!’ He fumbled with the fastening of his seat-belt as her skin turned a sickly green as the plane parted with the ground, striding across the cabin to her side as the plane ascended dramatically.
She looked up at him with uncomprehending eyes. ‘You aren’t supposed to do that,’ she said dazedly as he came down on his haunches beside her, her hands looking pale and delicate as he took them into his warm, much larger ones.
‘Are you going to faint?’ he asked briskly.
Shay’s eyes widened at the suggestion. ‘No!’ she denied—and promptly did so!
She came round with a slow groan, turning over to bury her face in the pillow as she lay on the double bed in the converted bedroom off the lounge area, Lyon standing with his back towards her, staring out of the small window as they flew above the blanket of fluffy-white clouds.
She had wanted to remain so composed, had once sworn this man would never see any sign of weakness in her again. Collapsing in the way she had had definitely been weak! But she hadn’t cried when they told her Ricky’s plane had gone down, nor during the following two months, not even when they finally found him still seated in the crashed aircraft, his neck broken from the impact with the ground; surely she was entitled to one fainting fit? She just wished it hadn’t been Lyon who had been the one to witness it!
She swung her feet to the carpeted floor, her shoes neatly beside the bed, putting up a trembling hand to her mussed hair, smoothing it before Lyon turned suddenly, aware of her return to consciousness, his eyes narrowing as her head went back challengingly.
Shay could have no idea how vulnerable she looked, would have been dismayed if she had known, and Lyon was aware of that. Shay had grown up in the last six years, had grown more beautiful too, and he had to clench his hands at his sides to stop himself from reaching out for what had once so nearly been his. She had been his brother’s wife since then, he hadn’t seen her for three years, and yet he only had to think of her to ache with an unrequited desire, knew that he ached with that desire even now.
He could still remember the first time he had seen her, her long hair untamed, purple eyes alight with laughter as she giggled with some of the other typists before silence fell over the room as they realised the head of the company had walked in to their office with one of the directors. The other girls had quickly looked away and got on with their work, but purple eyes had remained on him curiously. Such open interest from one so young hadn’t been something he had experienced before. God, he had already been thirty-three then, past the age of instant attraction, especially with such a child. Or so he had thought …
‘I’m sorry,’ she was saying now, her composure back in place. ‘I’ve disliked flying even more since it was the way Ricky died.’
Lyon could feel the agony of jealousy over his young brother rip through him, hadn’t known a day go by without feeling that same jealousy since Ricky had announced his intention of making Shay his wife. Ricky may be dead now, but Lyon still couldn’t forgive his young brother for marrying the girl he—The girl he had wanted, damn it!
This beautifully elegant woman might not be that girl—but he still wanted her!
To Shay he looked as coldly remote as usual, none of the cauldron of emotions burning so hotly beneath that surface-cool exterior in evidence. He was a cold-hearted bastard, always had been and always would be. It was a pity he and Marilyn couldn’t make more of a success of their eleven-year marriage, there was no doubt they made the perfect couple!
‘I should have thought of that,’ he murmured abruptly. ‘This just seemed the quickest way …’
‘And after waiting all this time I’m sure you just wanted to get Ricky home so that you can bury him!’ She slid her slender feet into the black sandals before standing up, feeling at too much of a disadvantage sitting on the bed.
‘Shay!’ Lyon rasped.
‘Sorry,’ she drawled in a bored voice. ‘But you and Ricky were never close,