Modern Romance May 2015 Books 1-8. Кейт Хьюит
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Jaul’s gaze flamed bright gold. ‘They are my children—’
‘But it doesn’t say so on their birth certificates, does it?’ Lizzie cut in with unashamed satisfaction. ‘You’ll have to come back tomorrow when Chrissie is here—’
‘Where has she gone...clubbing?’ Jaul asked with distaste.
And to Lizzie’s annoyance, Cesare gave Jaul information that she would have withheld.
‘Why on earth did you tell him?’ she demanded when Jaul had driven off again in his glossy limousine adorned with official Marwani flags.
Cesare shot her a sudden unreadable look that disconcerted her. ‘He’s Chrissie’s husband.’
‘But she hates him!’
‘It’s not our place to interfere. Making an enemy of him isn’t likely to help anyone and least of all their children, cara mia,’ he reasoned.
* * *
Escorted into the plush VIP area of the exclusive club, Jaul was restless. His bodyguards had perked up though, he noted with a sudden amusement that pierced his exasperated mood. His protection team was overjoyed to be in what his father would have described as a ‘Western den of iniquity’. He stood on the balcony overlooking the dance floor packed with scantily clad girls below but his thoughts were far removed from the sight.
Chrissie’s family disliked and distrusted him and in the wake of the chaos his father had created that was hardly surprising, Jaul conceded grudgingly. Even so, such a poor reception struck at his pride and his sense of honour for in twenty-eight years of life he had never once shirked his responsibilities. With the exception of Chrissie, he acknowledged bitterly, running through all the reasons why that had happened. He cursed his own pride and vanity for not finding some way to make enquiries of his own and check out what his father had told him.
Yet such misgivings about his only parent would never have occurred to Jaul before. Jaul had been very close to his father and positively coddled. A man who had virtually panicked whenever his only child succumbed to common childhood illnesses was not a man to inspire distrust. Jaul tucked the memories away hastily, working through the bitter bite of his lingering grief for the older man while feeling disloyal about the vague doubts that Chrissie’s condemnations had stirred up.
Instead Jaul found himself wondering how often Chrissie came to such clubs. He told himself that in the circumstances that was none of his business. Unhappily, traits stronger than reason and a bred-in-the-bone possessiveness for what was his quarrelled with that rational conviction. He was hoping that she had more clothes on than women normally wore in such places. He was also already questioning the wisdom of having followed her to such a venue. He had acted on an angry impulse, an urge that rarely led to a satisfactory conclusion. And in the same second that he was about to leave the club he saw her, a bright figure in a short fuchsia-pink dress accompanied by two other young women. She was laughing, smiling, clearly not in turmoil, he noted, gritting his teeth at the sight. He wondered why he was agonising when she, so patently, was not.
Blessing her foresight in their exchange of numbers, he texted her, watched from above as she literally froze, full pouty pink mouth down-curving, shoulders tensing. Annoyance licked through Jaul’s long, lean frame at the clear message that his presence was as welcome in the club to her as a marauding gorilla’s. He summoned the waiter to order champagne and snacks.
* * *
Rage crackled through Chrissie when she read the text.
Please join me in the VIP section
Her one night out on the town in months and Jaul had to ruin it by reminding her that she was not as free as the other young women around her. Suddenly she wished she had a man in tow, rather than being with Cesare’s sisters, who were simply excited to death to be invited to the VIP section. But no, whether she liked it or not she was Jaul’s wife and the mother of his children and telling him to get lost wouldn’t work because Jaul was relentless about getting his own way.
Once she had believed that Jaul was incredibly solid and trustworthy and honourable. She had virtually worshipped the ground he walked on and remembering that now made her feel nauseous. But then, to be fair, the night their relationship had at last changed into something more at university, Jaul had played a blinder, she recalled numbly.
She had finally started dating someone while still suppressing her attraction to Jaul with all her might. Adrian had been blond, blue-eyed and sporty and as different from Jaul as day was from night. She had gone out with Adrian several times, enjoying casual dates in cinemas and cafés and telling him no when he got too pushy about sex. Back then she’d had a complex about sex and hadn’t known or much cared whether she would ever get over it because it had stemmed from something sordid that had frightened her when she was still a child. And she had never told anyone, not even Lizzie, about that sleazy secret.
Adrian and his mates had taken her to a party in a big house and at some stage of the evening her memory had shut down. She suspected Adrian had put something in her soft drink and it had been Jaul who had found her slumped by Adrian’s side and clearly out of it. He had stepped in to rescue her because he had known that, like him, she didn’t touch alcohol. Jaul had punched Adrian when he’d tried to object and had carried her out of the party. She had no recollection of the rest of the night, only of waking up the next morning to find herself safe in Jaul’s apartment. For the first time she had seen another side to Jaul. He hadn’t taken advantage of her. He had stepped in to look after her when she’d needed help, had protected her from what could have been a very nasty scenario, making her suddenly painfully aware that he was miles more mature and decent than many of the young men she met. All her prejudices against him had crumbled that same day.
‘I would never hurt you,’ he had murmured.
But that had proved the biggest lie of all. She was so angry with him, still so angry with him, she acknowledged ruefully, but what was the point of all that aggression so long after the event? Their marriage was dead and gone—that was the end result. Let it all go, put it away, she urged herself wryly, let him have his divorce and move on to a better, happier future. Their lawyers would be meeting tomorrow: the divorce would soon be rushed through for Jaul’s benefit.
Chrissie sank into the designated comfortable seat right in front of Jaul and wondered why his bodyguards were bowing in her direction as if she were a real somebody. She looked amongst them for two familiar faces, but the men who had once protected Jaul in his university days were not there. Turning back to Jaul, she noticed that he was casually dressed, had actually got in wearing jeans and an open-necked white shirt, proving the point that entry to such exclusive clubs depended more on who you were than what you wore. The white of his shirt against his golden skin tone was eye-catching and a deeply unsettling tingle quivered through her slender body when she connected with his brilliant dark golden eyes surrounded by lashes longer and more luxuriant than her own. He was gorgeous, no point denying that, she allowed, her keen gaze tracking the lean, strong lines of his masculine features while she tried not to wonder who he was planning to marry next...
Chrissie wasn’t stupid. After all, that was obviously why Jaul was in London in the first place talking about needing a divorce and fast. While he was planning to marry wife number two, he had discovered he was still married to wife number one. How very inconvenient, she thought bitchily while Sofia and Maurizia stared goggle-eyed at Jaul and sat down at a table across the way to happily tuck into the champagne and snacks laid out for them.
‘I hope my arrival has not disrupted your evening,’ Jaul remarked stiffly, striving not to react to his ringside-seat view of her long, perfect legs crossed, little feet he had kissed shod in glittery pink high heels. With difficulty he dragged his attention up to linger on the lovely face he knew so well, willing back the almost instantaneous surge of blood to his groin with an actual prayer for self-control.
‘Of course not,’ Chrissie lied, angling her pale head back, shimmering hair swishing across her shoulders like silk as she strove to be gracious for