Gypsy

‘Shay brings out uncharacteristic emotions in most men,’ Lyon remarked with bitterness.

Matthew’s expression was mocking as he arched dark blond brows. ‘What emotions does she still bring out in you, big brother?’

‘None of your damned business!’ Lyon scowled, not willing to admit to anyone the torment of knowing Shay was so close to him once again. He found himself wanting to keep reaching out and touching her just to see if she were real or a figment of his tortured imagination. And then those purple eyes would rake over him contemptuously, and he would know it wasn’t all a dream!

‘I had a feeling it wouldn’t be,’ his brother drawled derisively.

Damn Matthew, he always had been able to see and guess too much. Being in a wheelchair might have physically incapacitated him but his other senses worked overtime. Matthew saw, and understood, too much!

‘Isn’t it time you told me exactly what happened to your arm?’ prompted Lyon determinedly.

Now it was Matthew’s turn to scowl, his humour fading completely. ‘I don’t need reminding of the embarrassing episode,’ he snapped. ‘One of the maids found me sprawled out in the study, and I had to suffer the humiliation of being dragged back into my chair by Hopkins! I’d really rather not talk about it right now.’

Lyon could understand his brother’s feeling of helplessness at having their butler haul him back into his chair; Matthew had never accepted the restrictions of his incapacity well, had mastered everything for himself so that he never had to rely on other people. Lyon had no doubt that if it weren’t for Matthew’s injured wrist he would have managed to get himself back into the chair and wouldn’t have mentioned the incident to anyone.

He walked to Matthew’s side. ‘Okay, we’ll discuss the progress you’ve made on the Thorpe contract this last week—then we’ll talk about your fall.’

His younger brother glared at him. ‘You’re a determined bastard!’

Lyon grinned. ‘I don’t think there’s anyone who would argue with that!’

THE BASTARD, the lousy, unfeeling bastard!

The accusation resounded round and round in Shay’s head all the way up the wide spiral staircase and along the hallway to the suite she and Ricky had shared for the first two years of their marriage. She stiffened as she entered, finding a young maid unpacking her suitcases for her; she had always taken care of the apartment herself in Los Angeles.

The young woman straightened, a pretty blonde with mischievous blue eyes, although she looked more than a little concerned at the moment. ‘Are you all right, Mrs Falconer?’

‘I’m fine—er—?’ She looked at the other woman enquiringly.

‘Patty,’ she supplied absently. ‘You look—ill,’ the maid finished awkwardly.

‘Could you possibly come back and do that later?’ Shay ignored the query in the other woman’s voice.

‘Of course,’ Patty agreed instantly. ‘Is there anything I can get you before I go?’ She still looked worried by how pale Shay was.

‘I believe someone was getting me a pot of tea,’ Shay managed steadily, wishing the other woman would just go—before she broke down.

Patty nodded. ‘I’ll bring it up to you.’

Shay nodded her gratitude, afraid to trust her voice again, standing straight and proud until the other woman had left the room, her shoulders drooping dejectedly as soon as she was alone. Damn Lyon, damn him to the hell he belonged in! How dare he replace Ricky as if he had been of no importance, and with Neil of all people. Not that she had anything against Neil, after Ricky he was by far the most uncomplicated, and likeable, of the Falconer men. But by putting him in Ricky’s place he made Ricky seem of no consequence, as if he had already been forgotten by the Falconer family.

He would never be forgotten by her—he had been loving, honest, and open, the two of them friends as well as lovers. In fact, they had been friends first. How dare Lyon do this to Ricky’s memory!

‘Is it safe to come in?’

She spun round at the sound of that gentle voice, her stormy gaze locking with Matthew’s mocking one. ‘What do you think?’ Shay muttered.

‘I think a man, but particularly a Falconer, would have to be a fool to want to interrupt your privacy at this precise moment,’ he drawled.

‘And are you a fool?’ she asked hardly.

‘I think I must be.’ Matthew propelled himself into the room with his uninjured hand at the controls. ‘Although perhaps the fact that I’ve brought your tea with me,’ he indicated the tray balancing on his knees, ‘will soften your heart towards me. I persuaded Patty to let me bring it up to you,’ he explained.

‘Come in, by all means.’ Shay turned towards the dressing-table mirror, removing the hat, also taking out the single comb that held her hair in place, running her fingers through the feathered waves as it cascaded down past her shoulders. ‘But don’t expect a pot of tea to soften my attitude towards the Falconer men,’ she advised sharply as she turned back to face him.

Matthew looked at her admiringly, completely undaunted by her harshness. ‘You look magnificent when you’re angry, Shay. Like a heroine from one of your own books,’ he added challengingly, putting down the tray to pour tea for both of them, adding the milk but no sugar that he knew Shay preferred.

She frowned. ‘You’ve read one of my books?’

‘Not just one, all five of them,’ he revealed with satisfaction.

She swallowed hard. ‘I see,’ Shay said tightly. ‘Out of curiosity?’ she challenged.

His mouth twisted. ‘A person only needs to read one book by a particular author out of curiosity, five can only be read out of enjoyment.’

‘You like historical romances?’ she asked sceptically.

‘I like yours.’

She gave him a scornful look. ‘Don’t think you have to say that; Lyon felt no compunction in telling me he’s never even looked at one!’

‘You should know me better than that, Shay,’ Matthew reproved. ‘I’ve never been known to waste my time on worthless compliments.’

It was a valid criticism; Matthew, like all the Falconer men, could be brutally honest. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said stiffly.

‘No, you aren’t,’ he accepted good-naturedly. ‘You’re so damned angry at all of us at the moment you would like nothing better than to tell us all to go to hell.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘So why don’t you?’

Shay looked at the gleam in his eyes, his expression of relish. ‘You would like that, wouldn’t you?’ she slowly began to smile.

Matthew shrugged. ‘It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Lyon this—’

‘I’d prefer not to discuss Lyon,’ Shay cut in forcefully. ‘I’ve done my best to forget his existence the last three years, and once—once all this is over, I shall endeavour to forget him again.’

‘You might have done your best, Shay,’ Matthew said gently. ‘But it wasn’t good enough.’

Her gaze sharpened. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I said I had read all of your books, Shay; Scarlet Lover was a written tribute to what you had with Lyon.’

‘It was the story of a man who was never satisfied with one woman, who trampled over the feelings of all women! Damn it, that character wasn’t the hero of the book!’ Her eyes glittered emotionally.

‘Maybe not,’ Matthew conceded. ‘But you left the readers wishing he were.’

She flushed. ‘Only another man could consider that immoral alley-cat a hero!’

‘Correct me if I’m wrong,’ he said softly, ‘but didn’t your editor try to get you to change the end of the book so that de Coursey did get the heroine?’

Her eyes widened. ‘How did you know that?’ she demanded agitatedly.