Secrets In The Boardroom: A Perfect Husband / The Boss's Secret Mistress / Between the CEO's Sheets

It made perfect sense. With Carla in the mix, Lucas had hedged his bets and asked Zane to fly her out. Now Zane had stepped in to stop her making a scene. It placed her in the realms of being “a problem.”

“No.”

The flatness of Zane’s denial was reassuring. His motives shouldn’t matter, but suddenly they very palpably did. She couldn’t bear the thought that she was just another embarrassing, or worse, scandalous, situation that Zane was “fixing.”

In the distance a door opened. The sharp tap of heels on flagstones, the clatter of dishes, broke the moment.

Zane straightened away from the wall. “You could do with a drink.” His hand cupped her elbow. “Somewhere quiet.”

The heat of his palm against her bare skin distracted Lilah enough that she allowed him to propel her down the corridor.

Seconds later, Zane opened a door and allowed her to precede him. Lilah stepped into a sitting room decorated in the spare Medinian way, with cream-washed walls, dark furniture and jewel-bright rugs scattered on a flagstone floor. A series of rich oils, no doubt depicting various Atraeus ancestors, decorated the walls. French doors opened out on to one of the many stone terraces that rimmed the castello, affording expansive views of a moonlit Mediterranean sea.

Zane splashed what looked like brandy into a glass. “When did you realize about Lucas and Carla?”

She loosened her death grip on her clutch. “When we arrived at the castello and Carla flung herself into Lucas’s arms.”

“Then why go to Lucas’s room when you had to know what you would find?”

The question, along with the piercing gaze that went with it, was unsettling. She was once again struck by the notion that beneath the urbane exterior Zane was quietly, coldly angry. “I’d had enough of feeling uncomfortable and out of place. Dinner was over and I was tired. I wanted to go back to the hotel.”

He pressed the glass into her hands. “With Lucas.”

The brush of his fingers sent another zing of awareness through her. “No. Alone.”

She sipped brandy and tensed as it burned her throat. She was not about to explain to Zane that she had not gotten as far as thinking about the physical realities of a relationship with his brother. She had assumed all of that would fall into place as they went along. “I put a higher price on myself than that.”

“Marriage.”

She almost choked on another swallow of brandy. “That’s the general idea.”

Fingers tightening on the glass, she strolled closer to the paintings, as always drawn by color and composition, the nuances of technique. Jewelry design was her trade, but painting had always been her first love.

She paused beneath an oil of a fierce, medieval warrior, an onyx seal ring on one finger, a scimitar strapped to his back. The straight blade of a nose, tough jaw and magnetic dark gaze were a mirror of Zane’s.

Seated beside the warrior was his lady, wearing a parchment silk gown, her exotic gaze square on to the viewer, giving the impression of quiet, steely strength. Lilah was guessing that being married to the brigand beside her, she would need it. An exquisite diamond and emerald ring graced one slim finger; around her neck was a matching pendant.

She felt the heat from Zane’s body all down one side as he came to stand beside her. The intangible electrical current that hummed through her whenever he was near grew perceptibly stronger.

Lilah swallowed another mouthful of brandy and tried to ignore the disruptive sensations. The warmth in the pit of her stomach extended to a faint dizziness in her head, reminding her that she had barely eaten at dinner and had already sipped too much wine. She stepped closer to study the jewelry the woman was wearing.

“The Illium jewels.”

Lilah frowned, frustrated by the lack of fine detail in the painting. “From Troy? I thought they were a myth.”

“They got sold off at the turn of last century when the family went broke. My father managed to buy them back from a private collector.”

Lilah noticed the detail of a ship in the background of the painting. “A pirate?”

“A privateer,” Zane corrected. “During the eighteen hundreds his seafaring exploits were a major source of wealth for the Atraeus family.”

Lilah ignored Zane’s smooth explanation. After a brief foray into Medinian history, she had gleaned enough information about the Atraeus family to know that the dark and dangerous ancestor had been a pirate by any other name.

She stepped back from the oil painting in order to appreciate its rich colors. The play of light over the warrior’s dark features suddenly made him seem breathtakingly familiar. Exchange the robes, soft boots and a scimitar for a suit and an expensive black shirt and it was Zane. “What was his name?”

“Zander Atraeus, my namesake, near enough. Although my mother didn’t have a clue about my father’s family history.” He turned away. “Finish your drink. I’ll take you back to your hotel.”

She followed Zane to the sideboard and set her empty brandy glass down. She noticed the glint of the seal ring on the middle finger of Zane’s left hand. “Your ring looks identical to the one in the painting.”

“It is.” His reply was clipped, and she wondered what she had said to cause the cool distance.

Suddenly she understood and busied herself extracting her cell from her clutch. She knew only too well what it was like to be an illegitimate child and excluded from her father’s family. As much as she had tried to dismiss that side of the family from her psyche, they still existed and the hurt remained.

“You don’t have to take me back to the hotel. I can call a cab.” Unfortunately, the screen of her cell was cracked and the phone no longer appeared to work. It must have happened when her purse had gone flying.

Zane checked his watch. “Even if the phone worked, you wouldn’t get a cab after midnight on Medinos.”

Her stomach sank. She was a city girl; she loved shops, good coffee, public transportation. All the good-natured warnings friends had given her about traveling to a foreign country that was still partway buried in the Middle Ages were coming home to roost. “No underground?”

A flash of amusement lit his dark gaze. “All I can offer is a ride in a Ferrari.”

Her stomach tightened on the slew of graphic images that went with climbing into a powerful sports car with Zane Atraeus. It was up there with Persephone accepting a ride from Hades. “Thanks, but no thanks. You don’t need to feel responsible for me.”

Zane’s expression hardened. “Lucas won’t be taking you back to the hotel.”

Her chin jerked up. “I did get that part.” She had been stupidly naive, but not anymore. “Okay, I’ll accept the lift to my hotel, but that’s all.”

Zane’s fingers brushed hers as he took her empty glass. “Good. Don’t throw yourself away on a man who doesn’t value you.”

“Don’t worry.” She stepped back, unnerved by how tempted she was to stay close. “I know exactly how much I’m worth.”

She realized how cool and hard that phrase had sounded. “I didn’t mean that to sound … like it did.”

His expression was neutral. “I’m sure you didn’t.”

Another memory surfaced. Two weeks after “the kiss,” at another function, Zane had found her politely trying to fend off her friend and escort’s boss.

She could still remember the hot tingle down her spine, the sudden utter unimportance of the older man who had decided she was desperate to spend the night with him. For an exhilarating moment she had been certain Zane had followed her because he wanted to follow up on the shattering connection she had felt when they had kissed.

Instead, his gaze had flowed through her as if she didn’t exist. He had turned on his heel and left.

In a flash of clarity she finally understood why she had agreed to travel to Medinos with a man she barely knew.

The date had been with Lucas, but it was Zane she had always wanted.

In her search for Mr. Dependable she had somehow managed to fixate on his exact opposite.

Lucas had been an unknown quantity and out of her league, but he was nothing compared to Zane. With Zane there would be no guarantees, no safety net, no commitment. The exact opposite of what she had planned for and needed in her life.