The Trophy Husband. LYNNE GRAHAM
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done that? Why had she done it? Had she sunk so low in self-esteem that she had been grateful to Alex Rossini for finding her desirable? Had she needed the proof that she could still attract a man after seeing Brian in Antonia’s arms? Or on some level had she sought revenge for that agonising betrayal? If that had been her motivation, she was now discovering that revenge was a two-edged sword that could turn back on you and inflict piercing pain and regret.
When she and Pete arrived at the office Gina, the svelte receptionist, gave her a curious, veiled look as she murmured a greeting. Two executive secretaries were out in the corridor having a close conversation, but fell silent as she walked past. Their greetings were very muted indeed. Sara didn’t have to wait long to find out why.
‘Miss Lacey?’ A uniformed waiter whipped the covers from a selection of food on a heated trolley. ‘Breakfast, compliments of Mr Rossini.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Pete said only half under his breath as he drew to a halt beside her. Clearing his throat, he said rather loudly, ‘I hope there’s enough for two. Working so late, I slept in—didn’t have time for much this morning.’
Sara was so taken aback that she couldn’t even throw Pete a look of gratitude for his efforts to cover up for her. In any case, who was likely to believe that Alex had demanded Pete to leave his wife’s side and work overtime last night?
She sank down behind her desk, watched numbly as the food was served. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast yesterday, but she might have eaten last night had she not been far more intent on seducing Alex Rossini into spending the night with her. Hectic colour fired her creamy skin. Alex hadn’t wanted her to return to the office. He would be well aware that such an extravagant gesture would create gossip—the kind of gossip that Sara shrank from. Could he be cruel enough to use that as a weapon against her?
‘What did Molly have…a boy or a girl?’ she asked, striving valiantly for normality.
‘Didn’t Alex tell you? He was on the phone a good ten minutes with me yesterday…’ Pete flushed. ‘Sorrylittle girl. We’re going to call her Flora.’
‘Congratulations.’ Sara lifted her knife and fork, her fingers all thumbs.
‘Sara…you look like death warmed over,’ Pete said, tight-mouthed.
‘I’m fine.’
She wondered if she would ever feel fine again. As she forced herself to eat, she drowned in a torrent of brutally unwelcome erotic images. She sat there growing ever more appalled, ever more bewildered by the wanton creature that she had become in Alex Rossini’s arms. If only it had been unpleasant, sordid, disappointing even…She hated him all the more for the fact that it hadn’t been! She did not think that she could ever forgive herself for finding Alex Rossini more physically exciting than the man she loved. What did that say about her?
Maybe her aunt had been right about her all along. Janice Dalton had regularly lectured Sara on the dangers of promiscuity. As a quiet, far from precocious teenager, Sara had found those sessions deeply humiliating and she had bitterly resented the knowledge that the older woman feared the hereditary factor. ‘I don’t want you turning out like your mother did,’ her aunt had told her. Had the mother she barely remembered slept around? The concept had been distastefully implied more than once. There had always been a grim irony in Janice Dalton’s blind refusal to see how her own daughter lived her life.
‘Sara?’ Pete was in the doorway.
Sara glanced up from the accounts that she was checking. Her job covered a lot of ground. She had overall responsibility for the day-to-day running of Alex’s various homes round the world. She dealt with minor household crises, changes of staff, repair and maintenance bills, indeed all the boring minutiae that Alex didn’t have time to deal with but which had to be dealt with if the smooth running of his domestic arrangements was to continue with the faultless efficiency that he took for granted.
‘I understand that Alex gave an order that you were to receive no personal calls yesterday afternoon.’
‘Did he?’
Pete grimaced. ‘Brian is on his way up in the lift.’
Every scrap of colour ebbed from her cheeks.
‘See him in here. I’ll take myself off.’
‘But Alex—’
‘So Alex doesn’t allow personal visitors…but then Alex isn’t in yet.’
Sara stood up slowly. Brian appeared on the threshold. He looked as if he’d been up all night—pasty pale, tense, his eyes bloodshot. Pete closed the door on his way out, giving her a ludicrous thumbs-up sign behind Brian’s back.
‘Sara…’ Brian swallowed. ‘What do I say to you?’
It was as if a glass wall stood between them, as though a thousand years had passed since yesterday. ‘There’s nothing to say.’ She felt nothing, absolutely nothing at all, only a terrible emptiness.
‘She’d been chasing after me for weeks,’ he muttered unevenly. ‘I’m not making excuses…but—’
‘It gave you a kick because she wasn’t interested three years ago.’
He flushed and then nodded with compressed lips.
‘And you just couldn’t help yourself.’
His strained brown eyes met hers. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. I don’t even like Toni. I know what she’s like. It was just…you know…a physical thing. Damn it, Sara, how do I say to you that I just wanted to go to bed with her and then forget she existed? But that’s how it was!’ he told her with sudden fierceness, and she could feel him willing her to believe him. ‘There was no emotion involved. I know you have to think that’s disgusting but it’s you
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