Secrets In The Boardroom: A Perfect Husband / The Boss's Secret Mistress / Between the CEO's Sheets. Fiona Brand
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that it was … what? Some kind of down payment on my becoming his mistress?”
“Maybe not right now, but it could have been, eventually.”
She let out a breath and tried to calm down. So … okay. She could understand his thinking, because she knew something of his background. She knew his mother had fallen from the glamorous life of an A-list party girl into drug addiction and had depended on a string of less than A-list men to support her and her son. It had been a precarious existence, and Zane had been forced to live it until he was fourteen. “What I don’t get is, why you could think that?”
He stepped close and threaded his fingers through her hair. She felt the pins give, moments later her hair slipped down around her shoulders. “You traveled to Medinos for a first date with Lucas. Now you’re here, a resident, and Lucas is planning on having a couple of days on Medinos … without his bride-to-be.”
She frowned. “Lucas is my boss, that’s all. The only thing I really liked about him was that he looks like you.”
The bald statement hung in the air, surprising her almost as much as it surprised Zane.
“You hardly knew me.”
She gripped the lapels of his shirt and absently worked a button loose. “But then that’s how it works.”
Zane tilted her face so she was looking directly at him. “You’re losing me.”
“Fatal attraction. The coup de foudre, the clap of thunder.”
“Still lost.”
“Sex,” she muttered baldly. “As in … an affair.”
His expression turned grim. He released his grip on her. “A dangerously unstable affair. With a younger man.”
She blinked at the grim note in his voice. “Uh—more or less.”
A split second later she was free altogether and Zane was several feet away, gripping the back of a leather chair. “Before we go any further let’s get one thing clear. I didn’t bring you here for a quick, meaningless thrill. If you want me to make love to you, we’re going to go about it in a normal, rational, adult way.”
Instead of throwing herself at him like some desperate, love-starved teenager. The way she had the last time.
The way she had been about to do about thirty seconds ago.
Lilah’s cheeks burned. Zane was still gripping the back of the chair. As if he needed the protection.
She had known this was going to be a sticky area, and she had messed up, again. She was beginning to understand what had gone so disastrously wrong for Cole women over the years. With their naturally passionate natures they tried too hard to be “good” then got caught in an uncontrollable whiplash of desire. “Now that you mention it, I don’t think this is the greatest time to make love.”
His gaze was as cool and steady as if those heated moments had never happened. “Then, good night. If you need anything, I’m just down the hall. Or, if you prefer, you can call on Jorge and Marta who are sleeping in the downstairs apartment, although they don’t speak any English.”
The words But what if I change my mind? balanced on the tip of her tongue. She hastily withdrew them as he padded across to the ornate liquor cabinet and splashed more brandy into a clean glass.
She had already made a string of rash decisions with regard to Zane. Before she made even more of a fool of herself, she needed to think things through.
Although the fact that she was going to make a fool of herself again was suddenly, glaringly, obvious.
The following morning, Lilah woke, exhausted and heavy-eyed after a night spent tossing and turning.
She had lain awake for hours, listening to the sounds of the sea and Zane’s footsteps when he had finally gone to bed in the small hours. Aware of Zane, a short distance away in the next bedroom, she had eventually dropped off, only to wake periodically, thump her pillow into shape and try to sleep again.
Kicking the sheet aside, she padded to her bathroom and stared at her pale face and tangled hair in the mirror.
Zane’s withdrawal had created an odd reversal in her mind. Sexually, the ball was in her court. If she wanted him, it was clear she would have to make the first move. No more excuses or deception about who was driving what.
His demand had succeeded in focusing her mind. Now, instead of trying to talk herself out of a wild fling with Zane, she was consumed with how, exactly, one went about asking a man for sex.
Lilah showered and dressed in a white camisole and a pair of board shorts, a bikini beneath, in case she felt like a swim.
After applying sunscreen, she walked out to the kitchen, only to discover that the nervous tension that had dogged her all morning had been unnecessary. Zane had left the house early. According to Marta’s gestures and the few words Lilah could recognize, he had gone sailing.
Feeling relieved and deflated at the same time, she walked out on the deck where the table was set for breakfast. One glance at the empty sweep of the bay confirmed that the yacht was gone.
After breakfast she walked down to the beach and went for a swim. After sunbathing until she was dry, she walked back to the house, showered off the salt and changed back into the camisole and boardies.
To fill in time, she strolled through the house, examining the art on the walls, pausing at the watercolor that had been done by Sebastien Ambrosi.
Zane had said the painting was an actual place on the island, behind the villa. From the distant peaks included in the landscape, the cave was set on high ground. On impulse, she decided to see if she could find the cave and, at the same time, see if her cell phone would work.
Pulling on a pair of trainers, she slipped her cell in a pocket and indicated to Marta that she was going to walk to the place in the painting.
A few minutes exploring around the old villa site and she found the entrance to a narrow track that ran up through the steep hills behind the villa.
Twenty minutes of intermittent walking and climbing and she topped a rise. The view was magnificent. In the distance she could even make out hazy peaks that formed part of the mountainous inland region of Medinos. She hadn’t seen any evidence of the cave.
Sitting down on a rocky outcropping, she tried the phone, but the screen continued to glow with a “No Service” message.
Instead of feeling trapped and frustrated, she felt oddly relieved. She had done her duty, attempted to make contact with the outside world, and had failed.
She was clambering down a steep, rocky slope when she saw Zane’s yacht dropping anchor in the bay. Her heart skipped a beat as she watched Zane toss the inflatable over the side. In the same instant her foot slipped. A sharp pain shot up her ankle. She tried to correct her footing and ended up sliding the rest of the way down the bank.
Sucking in a breath, she tested her ankle, the same one she’d turned in Sydney. Annoyed with the injury, which, while minor, would make the trip down slow, she began to hobble in an effort to walk off the injury.
It started to rain. She was congratulating herself on traversing the narrowest, most precipitous part of the track with steep slopes on both sides, when she glimpsed Zane walking toward her and slipped again, this time landing flat on her back. She lay on the wet ground, eyes closed against the pelting rain, and counted to ten. When her lids flipped open, Zane was staring down at her, water dripping from his chin, wet T-shirt plastered to his torso faithfully outlining every ridge and muscle. “Two days. Paradise, you said.”
“It would have been if we’d spent the time in bed.”
“Huh.”