Billionaire's Mediterranean Proposal
His eyes rested on Marc.
‘Ilse,’ Marc heard him say, as if from a long way away, ‘has done me the very great honour of agreeing, when the time is right, to make me the happiest of men. I know,’ he added, ‘that you will wish us well.’
Marc might have acknowledged the introduction. He might have said whatever was required of him. Might have been aware of Hans’s gaze becoming speculative.
But of all of those things he had absolutely no awareness at all. Only one thought was in his head. One blinding thought. One absolute realisation. Burning in him.
And then Bernhardt was leading away his fiancée, and the woman who was to be both his mother-in-law and his stepmother, into the throng.
Hans paused. His eyes were not speculative now. They were filled with compassion. ‘Go,’ he said quietly, to Marc alone. ‘This...here...’ he gestured to the party all around them ‘...is not important. You have others to see to it. So—go, my friend.’
And Marc went. Needing no further telling...
CHAPTER TWELVE
A BLACKBIRD WAS hopping about on the lawn, picking at the birdseed which Tara had started to scatter each day now that autumn was arriving. A few late bees could be heard buzzing on what was left of the lavender. There was a mild, drowsy feel to the day, as if summer were disinclined to pack its bags completely and leave the garden, preferring to make a graceful handover to its successive season.
Tara was glad of it. Sitting out here in the still warm sunshine, wearing only a light sweater and cotton trousers, her feet in canvas shoes, was really very pleasant. The trees bordering the large garden backing on to the fields beyond were flushed with rich autumnal copper, but still shot through with summer’s green. A time of transition, indeed.
It echoed her own mood. A time of transition. She might have finally made the move from London to Dorset some weeks ago, but it was only now that she was really feeling her move was permanent. As was so much else.
She flexed her body, already less ultra-slim than she’d had to keep it during her modelling career. It was filling out, softening her features, rounding her abdomen, ripening her breasts.
Her mind seemed to be hovering, as the seasons were, between her old life and the one she was now embarked upon. She knew she must look ahead to the future—what else was there to do? She must embrace it—just as she must embrace the coming winter. Enjoy what it would offer her.
Her expression changed, her fingers tracing over her midriff absently. She must not regret the time that had gone and passed for ever—the brief, precious time she’d had during that summer idyll so long ago, so far away, beside that azure coast. No, she must never regret that time—even though she must accept that it was gone from her, never to return. That Marc was gone from her for ever.
A cry was stifled in her throat. Anguish bit deep within her.
I’ll never see him again—never hear his voice again—never feel his mouth on mine, his hand in mine. Never see him smile, or laugh, or his eyes pool with desire... Never feel his body over mine, or hold him to me, or wind my arms around him...
Her eyes gazed out, wide and unseeing, over the autumnal garden. How had it happened that what she had entered into with Marc—something that had never been intended to be anything other than an indulgence of her overpowering physical response to him—had become what she now knew, with a clutching of her heart, to be what it would be for ever?
How had she come to fall in love with him?
She felt that silent cry in her throat again.
I fell in love with him and never knew it—not until he left me. Not until I knew I would never see him again. Never be part of his life...
Her hands spasmed over the arms of the padded garden chair and she felt that deep stab of anguish again.
But what point was there in feeling it? She had a future to make for herself—a future she must make. And not merely for her own sake. For the sake of the most precious gift Marc could have given her. Not the vast treasures of his wealth—that was dust and ashes to her! A gift so much more precious...
A gift he must never know he had given her...
Her grip on the arms of the chair slackened and she moved her hands across her body in a gesture as old as time...
She would never see Marc again, and the pain of that loss would never leave her. But his gift to her would be with her all her life... The only balm to the endless anguish of her heart.
In the branches of the gnarled apple tree a robin was singing. Far off she could hear a tractor ploughing a field. The hazy buzz of late bees seeking the last nectar of the year. All of them lulled her...
She felt her eyelids grow heavy, and the garden faded from sight and sound as sleep slipped over her like a soft veil.
Soon another garden filled her dreamscape...with verdant foliage, vivid bougainvillea, a glittering sunlit pool. And Marc was striding towards her. Tall, and strong, and outlined against the cloudless sky. She felt her heart leap with joy...
Her eyes flashed open. Something had woken her. An alien sound. The engine of a car, low and powerful. For a second—a fraction of a second—she remembered the throaty roar of Marc’s low-slung monster...the car he’d loved to drive. Then another emotion speared her.
Alarm.