Bittersweet Passion

‘No one else knew,’ Dane cut in.

Not a single word was exchanged on the flight back to London. Dane was seething and she pretended to fall asleep because she was so wretched in the other man’s presence, certain she had him to blame for Dane’s peculiarly fast change of attitude. When they reached the apartment, the strain was making her feel physically ill but at least Lew was no longer with them.

‘I swear it wasn’t me,’ she murmured, following Dane into the split-level lounge. ‘I’ll swear on a Bible if you like. I told no one about the wedding. I didn’t even tell Hannah. Dane?’

Ignoring her, he poured himself a shot of whisky from a decanter on one of the low

oak-carved units.

Claire hovered. ‘Look, I’ll get out of here now,’ she promised.

Dane swung round. ‘To go where? Max? Move in with another guy the day you marry me?’ he outlined curtly, his mouth twisting in eloquent incredulity. ‘Like hell you will! As far as everyone is concerned, you’re now my wife.’

She tautened. ‘But we know that’s not true.’

He appraised her with cold intensity. ‘No, it’s not but I could be forgiven for beginning to wonder.’

‘We could get an annulment,’ she pointed out wildly. ‘Then we wouldn’t be married any more.’

‘An annulment?’ he repeated harshly, staring at her in disbelief. ‘Let you make a bigger fool of me in public?’

‘I just thought …’

‘Forget it. That’s out of the question. But if I find this is a trap, Claire, you’ll wish you’d stayed out of my path.’

Stockstill, she whispered, ‘A trap?’

Hard blue eyes glittered before his black lashes swept down. ‘Just one too many coincidences,’ he breathed and strode over to the phone, punching out a number, not removing his eyes from her once. ‘Any joy yet, Ken?’ His strong jawline tensed. ‘OK, ring me when you can stand by that,’ he advised and dropped the receiver back down on to its cradle.

‘Is there something wrong?’ she muttered.

Something was terribly wrong, above and beyond those reporters besieging them in Paris and again in London. It was written in every aggressive line of his long, lean body, his eyes so bright a blue they were opaque. ‘If I were you, I’d ask Thompson for a late lunch in your room.’

The tip of her tongue crept out to wet her dried lips. ‘Dane?’

‘You sound like a repeating clock, Claire, and it’s very, very irritating,’ he murmured. ‘Do as I ask before I get less polite.’

‘… polite?’ she echoed on the brink of tears. How dared he dismiss her like a naughty child to her room! But she went because she was at a total loss and he was in a very dangerous mood, an aura of scantily leashed violence clinging to him, though he had yet to raise his voice, yet to hurt her—apart from that loathsome kiss.

‘The remainder of your clothes have arrived, madam. I took the liberty of hanging them.’ Thompson stepped out in front of her with the merest hint of a smile.

‘Clothes?’ What clothes was he talking about?

‘May I ask if you wish a maid to be hired, Mrs Visconti?’

Claire froze three steps past him and surprised a grin on the older man’s features. Damn him, he’d only been testing her.

‘I’m very happy …’ he announced stertorously.

‘Oh no … please don’t let Dane know you know!’ Claire hissed in despair. ‘Please Thompson—it would be the last straw …’

Impervious to his avid curiosity, Claire fled. She snatched up the phone in her room and rang directory enquiries for the number of the one friend she did have in London. She had gone to school with Randy, who was now a model. The line was engaged, which was more than hopeful. Randy had her own flat and the spare room she had mentioned on more than one occasion suddenly sounded very tempting. She whipped out a case from the foot of the wardrobe.

‘If that is anything to do with what I suspect—’ a soft drawl sizzled from just inside the door ‘—nowhere is big enough—not even London—for you to do a vanishing act until the heat dies down. If you fondly imagine you’re going to walk out the day you marry me, you’re a fool.’

She was on her knees, a rather apt position as he moved forward, already shorn of his elegant suit. A pair of tight-fitting, faded jeans that were fresh out of the wash and left little to her imagination now hugged his narrow hips.

‘It’s better if I leave now,’ she responded. ‘Anyway, you don’t want me here.’