Twin Scandals. Fiona Brand
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toward him, a vibrating sound emanated from his jacket pocket.
“That’ll be the call I was waiting for.” Leaving her holding the handkerchief, John stepped away, cell held to one ear.
Francesca teetered, just a little off balance. She had actually been on the verge of kissing him. Her cheeks burned even hotter. Had he noticed? she wondered. In any event, she no longer had to die wondering why John had been on the terrace. He had not come looking for her as she had hoped; he had been waiting for a call.
Feeling embarrassed and flustered because she had been a split second away from humiliating herself completely, Francesca remembered her jaw. She found her compact and peered at the scratch, which was absurdly small yet had bled quite a lot. Luckily, her dress was red and, thankfully, the pressure had worked, stopping the bleeding. Refolding the once pristine handkerchief, she stuffed it in her clutch and resolved to launder and return it to John. Probably by post.
A few paces away, leaning on the wrought iron railing, one hand thrust casually in the pocket of his narrow dark pants, phone to his ear, John was speaking not in English, but in liquid, totally sexy Medinian.
Francesca knew she should cut and run now, before she did make an utter fool of herself. Instead, she lingered near John, while she soaked in the liquid cadences of his deep voice and the romance of a language that their families shared and which she now wished she’d made more of an effort to learn.
Using the excuse of needing to tidy herself before she went back to the party as a reason for staying out on the terrace, she extracted another twig from her hair and tossed it into the midst of the tree branches. Searching through her beaded evening bag, she found a comb and began running it through her hair with slow, systematic strokes.
When her hair felt smooth and sleek, she deposited the comb back in her bag and snapped the clutch closed. As she did so a thought made her mood plummet. She was probably wasting her time waiting out here with John. Even though his last flame, a gorgeous blonde model, was finally out of the picture, and there did seem to be a momentary vacuum of blondes, it was entirely possible that John had brought someone else to the party.
Every other time she had been at the same social event with John, he’d had a beautiful girl on his arm. She didn’t know why she hadn’t considered that possibility before now.
Feeling both annoyed and depressed, she dragged her gaze from the mouthwatering cut of John’s cheekbones and the intriguing hollows beneath, the totally sexy dimple that flashed out as he grinned. She scanned the terrace, half-expecting to see his beautiful new girlfriend waiting for him.
Suddenly, changing her hair color to blond so she could level the playing field and give herself a fighting chance seemed a little desperate. She had been certain that the attraction she felt was mutual, but now her thinking seemed horribly flawed and any hope that she would finally end up in John’s arms practically nonexistent.
John terminated the call and straightened away from the wrought iron railing. He slipped the cell back into his jacket pocket, and suddenly nerves she normally never felt with a man kicked in.
She was used to being in charge, to picking and choosing and being the one who said no. But for reasons she could not quite pin down, John Atraeus was important. Every time she bumped into him, she got the feeling, and tonight it was stronger than ever, tingling through her like an electrical charge and reaffirming a conviction that had stayed steady for almost two years: that John Atraeus belonged to her, and she to him.
John glanced at her hair, a faint frown of puzzlement making him look even more handsome. “So, why were you hiding behind the ficus? A new life as a private detective?”
“Just looking out for my sister. She’s with someone who—well, I’m not so sure he’s good for her—”
“Ben Sabin. He’s hard to miss.”
Francesca’s fingers tightened on her clutch. For some reason John seemed disposed to stick with her and talk, which was putting her on edge. Was he just being friendly? Or did he mean something more by it?
Now that she finally had the one-on-one time with him she had craved, contrarily, all she wanted to do now was hurry back to the room Nick had reserved for her at the resort, find some chocolate and try to pretend that tonight had never happened. “What about you?” She rubbed her palms over her upper arms, which now felt slightly chilled. “I’m guessing this is a work visit, since I saw you in Nick’s office.”
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