Gypsy. Carole Mortimer
Читать онлайн книгу.
numerous aunts and uncles—and all of them looking up to, and ultimately guided by, Lyon. He was the unchallenged head of the Falconer empire, each member of the family working for that empire. Even Ricky, despite his differences with Lyon, had run the American office, that distance between the two brothers allowing a certain respite from the bitter arguments they used to have when Shay and Ricky lived with the rest of the brothers in the mansion the Falconer brothers called home.
‘I’m sure they have,’ she said dryly. ‘Do you have the funeral arranged?’
His mouth tightened with irritation. ‘I called Matthew yesterday and asked him to make the necessary arrangements,’ he admitted grudgingly.
She nodded, as if she had never doubted he would have everything under control. There was only one thing he had never been able to control, and that had been his anger towards her. He had never been able to forgive her for marrying his younger brother and so becoming one of his prestigious family. No doubt, now that Ricky had finally been pronounced dead instead of merely missing, Lyon would see that she ceased being recognised as a member of his family. Only she didn’t intend letting him do that to her, had no intention of bowing gracefully out of their lives.
‘And Neil, how is he?’ she enquired coolly, finding Neil, at thirty-two, very like Ricky, with his blond good looks and easy-going charm, Matthew’s colouring slightly darker, and at thirty-five Ricky had told her he was becoming more like the eldest Falconer every day.
‘We aren’t here to exchange social pleasantries, Shay,’ Lyon told her impatiently.
‘I’m well aware of the reason we’re both here, Lyon,’ she rasped bitterly. ‘And if you would rather we spent the next nine hours in silence then I can assure you I’m more than agreeable.’
‘I’m sure you are,’ he said with barely controlled violence. ‘But it’s been three years since we saw each other, do you really have nothing better to talk about than Neil and Matthew?’
‘The weather?’ she scorned.
Tawny-coloured eyes became like burnished gold. ‘Hell, Shay, can’t we even be polite to each other now?’
‘Were we ever?’ she derided in a bored voice.
‘Once,’ he muttered, his gaze suddenly intense.
If he expected to disarm her he was disappointed, one thing the School of Hard Knocks and Snubs had taught her was invincible poise, and she had learnt that lesson well, from his own family mainly. ‘That was such a long time ago, Lyon,’ she dismissed indifferently.
‘And you’ve forgotten it?’ he scowled. ‘All of it?’
‘Of course not,’ she drawled. ‘Didn’t you ever read page one hundred and twenty-three of Scarlet Lover?’
‘You put me in one of your damned books?’ Lyon demanded incredulously.
‘You didn’t read it?’ she reproved, moving through to the lounge as he didn’t seem to be going to, knowing he would follow her. He did, standing glowering in the background as she smiled her thanks at Jenny for replenishing her glass of iced tea. ‘You really should have done, Lyon.’ She turned to mock him.
‘So it would seem,’ he bit out, glaring at the stewardess as she hovered in the room with them. ‘Don’t you have a meal to prepare? Or something?’ he added darkly.
‘Er—no. I mean, yes—sir.’ Jenny looked taken aback, had worked for the Falconers for the last seven years, and not once before had Lyon lost his temper with her in this way. Of course, this was a sad occasion for the family, and everyone had always known of the friction that existed between Lyon and Ricky’s wife, Shay. ‘Excuse me.’ She made a hasty retreat to the galley, closing the door behind her.
‘Jenny doesn’t appear to be accustomed to your bad humour,’ Shay mocked, sinking gracefully down into one of the comfortable armchairs, once again crossing one elegant knee over the other, unconsciously emphasising the slender beauty of her legs as she did so.
‘Meaning you are?’ Lyon rasped, very aware of all of this woman’s beauty, and despising himself for it. She had once made her dislike of him more than obvious, to want her now, especially now, was pure madness on his part.
‘Oh, yes,’ she derided. ‘Don’t you remember?’
‘I remember a lot of things that happened between us in the past—’
‘Strangely, I don’t,’ Shay cut in firmly. ‘You really should have read Scarlet Lover, Lyon; I was sure you would have recognised yourself.’ She smiled briefly, inwardly, not at or with Lyon. ‘Ricky felt sure you would want to sue me!’
‘Could I have done?’ he asked tightly.
‘I doubt it,’ dismissed Shay coolly, her humour gone as quickly as it had arisen. ‘Of course the man’s name was Leon de Coursey, and he did have blond hair and tawny eyes too, was about the same age—’
‘And was he a despoiler of young maidens too?’ Lyon rasped harshly.
‘No.’ Her mouth tightened. ‘But he was married!’
‘Shay—’
‘You never did tell me how Neil is,’ she interrupted his angry outburst.
‘He’s well,’ Lyon dismissed curtly. ‘But we were talking about one of your books—’
‘Amazing, isn’t it,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘At twenty-one I suddenly discovered I had a talent for writing.’ She still found the fact that she was a bestselling author awe-inspiring.
‘And making money,’ Lyon put in derisively.
She looked at him unemotionally. ‘That too, although it isn’t as much as it might seem. But I must admit I like to look on people’s faces when they realise I’m Shay Flanagan, the author of those historical sizzlers. I hope you’re duly grateful about the fact that I didn’t drag the Falconer name into my disreputable career,’ she continued scornfully. ‘Ricky assured me Grandfather Jonas would have turned in his grave!’
‘Considering the fact that my father, his only child, was born illegitimately, I don’t think Grandfather Jonas would have any right to criticise,’ Lyon drawled. ‘What happened on page one hundred and twenty-three in the book, Shay?’
She had known he wouldn’t be diverted by the deviations in the conversation. ‘I’ll get you a copy,’ she promised casually.
‘I’d rather you told me now,’ he insisted roughly.
Shay shook her head firmly. ‘I never discuss my work with anyone.’
‘But if I feature in one of your books—’
‘I didn’t say that you did,’ she contradicted coldly. ‘Page one hundred and twenty-three is a very explicit sex scene—and we once had a lot of those,’ she added hardly.
‘You were married to Ricky, couldn’t you have used your—times, with him?’ Lyon grated forbiddingly.
‘I said it was a sex scene, Lyon, not a love scene,’ Shay said crushingly. ‘Now, if you wouldn’t mind,’ she stood up, ‘I think I should like to go into the bedroom and rest for a while.’
‘Shay …!’ His hand snaked out and captured her wrist as she would have walked past him.
She looked at him unemotionally. ‘Please, don’t cause a scene, Lyon.’
‘And if I do?’ he challenged.
‘You remember my Irish temper?’ she said calmly.
The hand that wasn’t holding her wrist moved up to the scar on his right temple. ‘Vividly,’ he drawled dryly.
Shay’s gaze moved to the small white scar, remembering how she had once thrown a cup at him, a fine china missile that had