Public Wife, Private Mistress
'Are you listening to a word I'm saying?' Mark frowned at her and she dragged herself back to the present.
'Sorry. I was miles away—'
'It's him again, isn't it?' Mark looked exasperated as they walked towards his car and Stasia gave a lopsided smile.
'I'm a lost cause.'
Mark sighed. 'Well, in that case you're going to be pleased by my next piece of news.'
'What's that?'
He looked over her shoulder. 'There's a shockingly expensive sports car losing its suspension on this track that you laughingly call a road.' He craned his neck. 'I think you're about to have company. Billionaire Sicilian company.'
Stasia felt her heart lurch. It had been two weeks. Two long, torturous weeks during which she'd agonized over what might have followed her departure. Had Chiara confessed? Did Rico finally know the truth? And, if he did, would he come after her?
It would seem so—
She'd spent every moment of every day in a state of heightened anticipation, just in case, and now she stood frozen to the spot as the car approached. Even as Rico uncurled his powerful frame from behind the wheel she still didn't move.
He should have looked ridiculous standing in her overgrown front garden but he didn't. He looked spectacular and it occurred to her that she'd never seen Rico look uncomfortable or out of place. He was a man totally at ease in any situation.
But he wasn't looking at her. He was staring at Mark with blatant hostility, the set of his broad shoulders unmistakably confrontational.
Mark had evidently spotted the same thing because he retreated towards his van, clearly intimidated. 'Right then—' He kept his eyes on Rico, as one might watch a lethal predator who had suddenly escaped from captivity. 'I'd better be off.'
'Good decision,' Rico said silkily, his black eyes flashing a warning that only a fool would miss.
Stasia stared at him in exasperation.
What was he playing at? It was far too late to play the jealous husband.
At any other time she would have invited Mark to stay just to make a point but there was a dangerous glint in Rico's eyes that she didn't trust. And she wasn't prepared to use Mark just to get at Rico. So she quickly ushered Mark into his van and helped him stow the painting safely.
'I hope they like it,' she said quietly. 'And thanks, Mark.'
'Any time. You can call me. you know—' He cast another wary look at Rico and Stasia closed the door hastily and stepped back to allow him to drive away.
'What were you thanking him for?' Rico's tone was icy-cold and Stasia gave a sigh.
She wasn't in the mood for confrontation and one look at Rico's face told her that she was about to get it by the bucketload.
'For being a good friend,' she said wearily and then immediately knew she'd said the wrong thing.
'How good a friend?' Rico's mouth tightened and streaks of colour touched his incredible bone structure. The artist in her stared at him in fascination while the woman inside her just melted.
'This is utterly ridiculous,' she muttered, talking to herself as much as him. 'You're acting like a jealous husband and yet there's nothing between us any more.'
'You're still my wife.'
'Just a piece of paper.'
'Not a piece of paper.' He inhaled sharply and raked long fingers through his sleek blue-black hair. 'If you ever walk out on me again without so much as a conversation then I will not be responsible for my actions. That's twice you've done that. There won't be a third time.'
She stared at him in astonishment. Surely he'd wanted her to leave. 'I—'
'You are a woman,' he grated, looking like a man at the edge of his patience. 'You are supposed to storm at me and have tantrums. You are supposed to express your feelings. You're not supposed to just walk out.'
Her astonishment grew. This conversation was not going the way she'd expected. 'You don't express your feelings.'