The Trophy Husband. LYNNE GRAHAM
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on her. ‘You should be celebrating your freedom. Life is far too short for regrets. You’ve already wasted two years of it on that little salesman. The future has to offer far more entertaining possibilities—’
‘How did you know Brian was a salesman?’ Sara breathed, the words slurring slightly.
‘Isn’t he? He looks like one,’ Alex informed her smoothly.
Something not quite right tugged at her instincts and then drifted away again, for nothing in her entire world was right any more.
‘You live with your cousin, don’t you?’ Alex probed.
Again she was disconcerted by his knowledge and perhaps it showed, because he added, ‘Marco mentioned it to me.’
‘Yes.’ Sara flushed, reluctantly recalling all the unwanted, gory details which had been forced on her during Antonia’s short-lived affair with Alex’s brother. That connection had embarrassed Sara.
‘Naturally you do not want to return to your home at this moment,’ Alex murmured, and casually tossed a set of keys onto her lap. ‘You can use the company apartment until you have made other arrangements.’
Even in the state she was in Sara was staggered by such a proposition. The apartment was a penthouse on the floor above, used only by the Rossini family and, very occasionally, their personal friends. ‘I couldn’t possibly—’
‘Where else have you got to go?’
She clutched the keys, meaning to return them but thinking helplessly of the humiliation of dealing with Antonia as she felt now. Her strained eyes unguarded and vulnerable, Sara stared back at him. ‘I’m very grateful.’
‘A fresh start,’ Alex murmured intently. ‘I’m having a dinner party tonight. Why don’t you come? You shouldn’t be on your own.’
A nervous laugh lodged in her aching throat. A party? He thought that she was in the mood for a party? Was he insane or just downright incapable of comprehending the immensity of what had happened to her today?
‘I’ll be fine,’ she returned tremulously, wondering if he needed someone to supervise the caterers. Pete usually attended Alex’s dinner parties, checked the seating arrangements, oiled the conversation and ensured that everything went smoothly. Alex Rossini paid for that kind of service. Alex Rossini was so rich that he could afford to burn money for amusement.
‘I’ll call you later. I’ll send a car to pick you up at seven,’ Alex told her as if she hadn’t spoken.
Dully she fumbled for an excuse. ‘I have nothing—’
‘I’ll buy you a dress to wear. No problem, cara. Don’t even think about something so trivial.’
‘But I—’
Strong brown hands reached down and closed over hers, tugging her gently upright. He angled her towards the door as if she were a walking doll. ‘Go up to the apartment and lie down for a while; practise thinking optimistic, happy thoughts. Smile…’ he urged softly, and a blunt fingertip skimmed below the trembling curve of her full lower lip and withdrew again, the contact feather-light and strangely soothing.
Unwarily, like someone in a dream, Sara looked up at him, connected with shimmering, mesmeric gold eyes and staggered slightly. He balanced her again with ease. An ache unlike anything she had ever experienced made her shiver. ‘Mr Rossini—’
‘Alex…Cristo!’ he exploded, abruptly freeing her.
Sara almost fell over. Numbly she watched him stride over to sweep up the phone that she hadn’t even heard ringing. He swung smoothly back to her. ‘Go up to the apartment and lie down,’ he instructed her again.
Sara backed out slowly and walked back down to her office to collect her bag. Her head was aching. She put a hand up to her hair and undid the tight plait, running her fingers through the loosened tresses. The phone on her desk was ringing. For an instant she hesitated, and then she lifted it.
‘Sara?’ Pete demanded impatiently. ‘Where have you been?’
‘I was—’
‘Look, I need a favour,’ he broke in. ‘Alex told me to get Marco’s signature on some papers yesterday but I forgot. They’re in the top right-hand drawer in my desk. Take a cab over to the studio and get it seen to before Alex asks for them…OK?’
Sara took a deep breath, grimaced and then wearily sighed. ‘OK.’
‘You’re an angel. I bet your replacement won’t be half so helpful.’
The reminder that she was actually working out her notice hit Sara hard as she climbed into a taxi. She would be in the dole queue soon, she realised dully. Her successor was already picked, due to take her place in a fortnight’s time. Brian hadn’t wanted a working wife. And she had no savings. She had poured every penny of her salary into renovating and furnishing the Victorian terrace house that Brian had bought. Weekends and evenings, she had scraped walls, plastered, decorated, cut out and sewn and hung curtains. She had put her heart into transforming that house. The knowledge that now she would never live there sank in on her slowly and then blistered her soul like an acid burn.
Real anger began to rise inside her. Three years ago Sara had stood by, watching Brian pursue Antonia without success. But her cousin would take just for the sake of taking, and throughout the years that Sara had lived in the Dalton home she had been taught that lesson over and over again. Anything she had been foolish enough to value had inevitably been taken from her by her cousin…only this time it had not been a toy or a sentimental keepsake, it had been the man she loved. She clambered dizzily out of the cab with a white, frozen face.
She had never been in Marco Rossini’s high-tech photographic studio before. The reception area was incredibly busy. It made her feel claustrophobic. She forced her passage through the throng and trekked down the corridor indicated by the laconic redhead on the desk.
Marco was lying back in a chair inside the perimeter of a blinding circle of lights in an empty studio. He looked half-asleep but his mobile dark brows hit his hairline at speed when he saw Sara hovering, and he sprang upright with a mocking smile. ‘To what do I owe the honour? Don’t tell me you’ve finally decided to take me up on my offer? Miss December in red boots and a tasteful sprinkling of holly berries…what do you think?’
Sara gritted her teeth as she felt her cheeks burn. She was in no mood to take one of Marco’s baiting sessions. Evading his malicious gaze, she murmured flatly as she extended the file, ‘These documents require your signature.’
Marco suddenly laughed.
‘What’s so funny?’ Sara heard herself demand almost aggressively, the words slurring slightly.
‘Private joke.’
‘If it’s about me, it’s not private!’ Sara told him fiercely, standing her ground.
Marco surveyed her with intense amusement. ‘There’s a price.’
‘A price?’
Marco laughed again. ‘You tell me something first…haven’t you ever once got the hots in my brother’s radius?’
Sara looked back at him blankly. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Alex is a very good-looking guy, beats the women off with sticks. If he wasn’t family, I’d hate the smooth bastard! Come on, you can tell me…if it wasn’t for true love, you’d have given him a whirl, right? You know that movie where Robert Redford pays a million bucks for one night with Demi Moore—Indecent Proposal? You too could have made your fortune…’
‘I don’t understand.’ It was a lie. Sara just couldn’t believe what Marco was insinuating.
Marco dealt her an incredulous glance. ‘Are you saying you didn’t even notice? Or are you telling me that Alex didn’t once chance his arm?’
‘If