"Just let me in," an exasperated female voice demanded, "my husband can explain."
My husband? The words echoed around Naomi's mind, growing louder each time. My husband? What the hell?
"I'm sorry, Madame."
Wrong suite, Naomi assumed.
"There's obviously been some confusion," the male voice continued, "possibly on our part. I assure you Mr. Eaglestone already booked in with a companion"
A woman walked in, pushing past the man who was speaking. Naomi noticed it was the front desk manger. As for the woman, Naomi did a double take.
Naomi had to hold onto a nearby chair to steady herself because it was like looking in a mirror. The woman was slender and elegant, dressed to kill in expensive clothing, and her glossy red hair was swept up in a top knot. It was Lucas's ex-wife, had to be.
When the woman clocked Naomi standing there in a robe, she halted and looked Naomi up and down. "Bloody hell," the new arrival said, "I can see why they were shitting themselves on reception. He's got some bimbo in tow." The woman glared at Naomi, her mouth twisting in annoyance. "Who the hell are you?"
Naomi was momentarily lost for words. Who am I?
The other woman answered for her. "His latest shag. He always did have a thing for redheads, it's his weakness."
In a flash Naomi was back in Edinburgh on her knees – his willing slave — and Lucas was talking about her hair, how powerfully it aroused him. Red hair. Is that all it was? Fury lit her blood. Stand your ground, she silently chanted. She stared at Lucas's wife and then lifted her chin. "Yes, I'm the latest shag. And you're the ex-wife, I assume."
Even as she said it, she faltered. What if they were still married? No, Lucas wouldn't have lied. Or would he? How well did she even know him? She folded her arms across her chest, determined not to look like a fool.
The woman threw her a disdainful look but didn't deny the ex-ness of her status. Thankfully.
The manager nodded over at Naomi. He was clearly unsure how to handle the situation. "Perhaps Madame would like to check in," he suggested to the lady he was escorting, "we have another suite available."
"I'm going nowhere. My husband can sort it out when he gets here." With that, she deposited herself and her over-large handbag on one of the sofas.
Naomi fumed, silently. If she turned away to go get dressed it would seem like defeat, so she stayed where she was.
"So where did he pick you up," Clara said with a scathing glance, "some club I suppose?"
"We're business colleagues, actually." It was almost the truth, and Naomi felt she deserved the exaggeration. It made her feel better. Inside she was squirming. She wanted a drink, preferably a large, neat brandy, and she wanted this woman to be gone. Her mind raced, but before she had a chance to ask the other woman to leave, the desk manager moved to close the door to the corridor in an effort to contain the noise inside the suite, but it suddenly sprung wide open again.
Lucas stood in the doorway, eyes quickly scanning the scene inside.
The manager muttered an apology, backed away and shot off out of the door, taking the opportunity to escape.
For a moment Naomi felt relief that he was here to sort it out. Then she saw the black fury in his eyes.
He addressed his ex-wife. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Lovely to see you too, darling." The woman gave a nasty little smirk, sarcasm ringing in her voice. "I came for mutual support, with Toby."
"We agreed I'd deal with it, and I have, no thanks to you." He stepped closer, glancing at Naomi as he moved.
"I'll leave—" Naomi began.
"No, stay," he interrupted. "Please. This won't take long." He turned his attention back to Clara, who was now perched on the edge of the sofa, one hand loosely gripping her bag.
Naomi noticed she looked uncomfortable. It made her curious. No thanks to you? What did Lucas mean? she wondered.
"Is Toby all right?" the ex asked.
"Now you worry about it." He stepped closer, tension evident in his very posture.
"Of course," she responded, "I've been worried all along."