A Tangled Affair. Fiona Brand

With Zane.

      His stomach clenched at the image of Carla, mouthwateringly gorgeous in red, her fingers twined in Zane’s tie, poised for a kiss he had interrupted.

      He didn’t trust Zane. His younger brother had a reputation with women that literally burned.

      The call went through to voice mail. Carla’s voice filled his ear.

      Despite the annoyance that gripped him that Carla had decided to ignore his call, Lucas was riveted by the velvet-cool sound of the recorded message. The brisk, businesslike tone so at odds with Carla’s ultrasexy, ultrafeminine appearance and which never failed to fascinate.

      During the two months he had been in the States he had refrained from contacting Carla. He had needed to distance himself from a relationship that during an intense few days in Thailand had suddenly stepped over an invisible boundary and become too gut-wrenchingly intimate. Too like his relationship with Sophie.

      Carla, who was surprisingly businesslike and controlled when it came to communication, had left only one text and a single phone message to which he had replied. A few weeks ago he had seen her briefly, from a distance, at her father’s funeral, but they hadn’t spoken.

      That was reason number two not to become involved with Carla.

      The ground rules for their relationship had been based on what she had wanted: a no-strings fun fling, carried out in secret because of the financial scandal that had erupted between their two families.

      Secrecy was not Lucas’s thing, but since he had never planned on permanency he hadn’t seen any harm in going along with Carla’s plan. He had been based in the States, Carla was in Sydney. A relationship wasn’t possible even if he had wanted one.

      The line hummed expectantly.

      Irritated with himself for not having done it sooner, Lucas terminated the call.

      Grimly, he stared at the endless expanse of sea, the faint curve of the horizon. Carla not picking up the call was the best-case scenario. If she had, he was by no means certain he could have maintained his ruthless facade.

      The problem was that, as tough and successful as he was in business, when it came to women his track record was patchy.

      As an Atraeus he was expected to be coolly dominant. Despite the years he had spent trying to mold himself into the strong silent type who routinely got his way, he had not achieved Constantine’s effortless self-possession. Little kids and fluffy dogs still targeted him; women of all ages gravitated to him as if they had no clue about his reputation as The Atraeus Group’s key hatchet man.

      Despite the long list of companies he had streamlined or clinically dismantled, he couldn’t forget that he had not been able to establish any degree of control over his relationship with Sophie.

      Jaw taut, Lucas padded inside. He barely noticed the warm glow of lamplight, the richness of exquisite antiques and jewel-bright carpets.

      His gaze zeroed in on the newspaper article again. A hot pulse of jealously burned through him as he studied the Greek millionaire who had his arm around Carla’s waist.

      Alex Panopoulos, an archrival across the boardroom table and a well-known playboy.

      Given the limited basis of Lucas’s relationship with Carla, they had agreed it had to be open; they were both free to date others. Like Lucas, Carla regularly dated as part of her career, although so far Lucas had not been able to bring himself to include another woman in his life on more than a strictly platonic basis.

      Panopoulos was a guest at the wedding tomorrow.

      Walking through to the kitchen, he tossed the paper into the trash. His jaw tightened at the thought that he would have fend off the Greek, as well.

      He guessed he should be glad that it was Zane Carla seemed to be attracted to and not Panopoulos.

      Zane had been controllable, so far. And if he stepped over the line, there was always the option that they could settle the issue in the old-fashioned way, down on the beach and without an audience.

      Dinner passed in a polite, superficial haze. Carla made conversation, smiled on cue, and avoided looking at Lucas. Unfortunately, because he was seated almost directly opposite her, she was burningly aware of him through each course.

      Dessert was served. Still caught between the raw misery that threatened to drag her under, and the need to maintain the appearance of normality, Carla ate. She had reached the dessert course when she registered how much wine she had drunk.

      A small sharp shock went through her. She wasn’t drunk, but alcohol and some of the foods she was eating did not mix happily with an ulcer. Strictly speaking, after the episode with the virus and the ulcer, she wasn’t supposed to drink at all.

      Setting her spoon down, she picked up her clutch and excused herself from the table. She asked one of the waitstaff to direct her to the nearest bathroom. Unfortunately, since her grasp of Medinian was far from perfect, she somehow managed to take a wrong turn.

      After traversing a long corridor and opening a number of doors, one of which seemed to be the entrance to a private set of rooms, complete with a kitchenette, she opened a door and found herself on a terrace overlooking the sea. Shrugging, because the terrace would do as well as a bathroom since all she required was privacy to take the small cocktail of pills her doctor had prescribed, she walked to the stone parapet and studied the view.

      The stiff sea breeze that had been blowing earlier had dropped away, leaving the night still, the air balmy and heavily scented with the pine and rosemary that grew wild on the hills. A huge full moon glowed a rich, buttery gold on the horizon.

      Setting her handbag down on the stone pavers, she extracted the MediPACK of pills she had brought with her, tore open the plastic seal and swallowed them dry.

      Dropping the plastic waste into her handbag, she straightened just as the door onto the terrace popped open. Her chest tightened when she recognized Lucas.

      “I hope you weren’t expecting Zane?”

      “If I was, it wouldn’t be any of your business.”

      “Zane won’t give you what you want.”

      Carla swallowed to try and clear the dry bitterness in her mouth. “A loving relationship? The kind of relationship I thought we could have had?”

      He ignored the questions. “You should return to the dining room.”

      The flatness of Lucas’s voice startled her. Lucas had always been exciting and difficult to pin down, but he had also been funny and unexpectedly tender. This was the first time she had ever seen this side of him. “Not yet. I have a … headache, I need some air.” Which was no lie, because the headache was there, throbbing steadily at her temples.

      She pretended to be absorbed by the spectacular view of the crystal-clear night and the vast expanse of sea gleaming like polished bronze beneath the moon. Just off the coast of Medinos, the island of Ambrus loomed, tonight seemingly almost close enough to touch. One of the more substantial islands in the Medinos group, Ambrus was intimately familiar to her because her family had once owned a chunk of it.

      “How did you know these are my rooms?”

      She spun, shocked at Lucas’s closeness and what he’d just said. “I didn’t. I was looking for a bathroom. I must have taken a wrong turn.”

      The coolness of his glance informed her that he didn’t quite believe her. Any idea that Lucas would tell her that he had made a mistake and that he desperately wanted her back died a quick death.

      A throb of grief hit her at the animosity that seemed to be growing by the second and she pulled herself up sharply. She had run the gamut of shock and anger. She was not going to wallow in self-pity.

      It was clear Lucas wasn’t going to leave until she did, so she picked up her bag and started toward the door.

      Instead of moving aside, Lucas moved to block her