Claimed

To make up for it, she flashed Gideon a wide, warm smile. “I’m sorry. I’ve just been caught up in my thoughts. But I’ll put them away for now, I promise.”

He grinned back at her. “Careful with that smile, woman. It’s a lethal weapon.” His own grin faded. “You know, if you need anything you can count on me, right?”

“Of course. But I’m fine. I swear.” She leaned into him, gave him a brief kiss on his cheek. “Though I am thirsty.”

“Your usual?” he asked, steering her toward a group of colleagues that they were both friendly with.

“That would be perfect.”

After depositing her among their friends, Gideon took off toward the bar. Isa tried to relax, to enjoy the ebb and flow of the quick-witted conversation she was usually right in the middle of. But she couldn’t. Not when it felt as if Marc’s eyes were boring holes right between her shoulder blades.

“So, how was the ballet you went to last week?” asked Maribel, one of the other professors at the GIA. “I’m so sad I had to miss it.”

“Yes, well, I think an appointment with your obstetrician trumps an afternoon at the theater,” Isa told her. “But the ballet was great. It was student written and performed, but you would have never known it. The San Diego Ballet Academy has a really good program.”

“Well the next time one of those afternoons of student work comes along, I want in. Even if it means I have to get a babysitter.” Mirabel softly rubbed her swollen tummy.

“How is the baby? And how are you feeling?”

“The baby’s fine and I feel gigantic. I can’t believe I have two more months of this to go.”

“Hopefully it will go fast,” her husband, Michael, told her as he gently rubbed her back.

She snorted in response. “Really? And you know this because you’re carrying around a beach ball in your stomach?”

They all laughed, even Michael, and Isa felt the tension finally begin to drain from her shoulders. Yes, Marc was here but there was no reason they had to do anything more than exchange a polite hello. If that.

Gideon came back with her drink—a crisp, cold glass of Pinot Grigio—but before she could do more than smile her thanks at him, she heard the dean’s voice right behind her. “Good evening, everyone. I’d like to introduce you to the newest guest lecturer on our faculty.”

The man hadn’t even said Marc’s name before her stomach dropped to her toes. Because, really, who else would the dean be personally escorting around the cocktail party besides the CEO of the second largest diamond conglomerate in the world?

Her friends welcomed Marc easily, much to her dismay. Not that she could have expected any differently. They were a fabulous, friendly, nosy bunch of people and any new lecturer—especially one of Marc’s stature—would be of interest to them.

He fit in well, of course. Remembered everyone’s name on the first go round. Told a quick story with a punch line that had everyone roaring with laughter. Asked appropriate questions that gave everyone in the group a chance to show off a little.

In other words, Marc was in perfect social mode—the one he slipped into so easily when he was doing the party circuit and the one she’d never been able to perfect, no matter how hard she’d tried. When they’d been together, she’d wanted to be the fiancée he could be proud of. She had tried so hard to be as charming and at ease as Marc was in the various social situations he’d thrust her into. But the fact of the matter was, she was shy.

She loved talking to her students, loved talking to her friends. But making small talk with strangers? Struggling to come up with something to say that would hold people’s attention—especially the people Marc introduced her to? Those situations had made her intensely uncomfortable to the point that she would have anxiety attacks hours before they went out.

She’d never told Marc, of course. Had never wanted him to feel ashamed of her or find her lacking. She’d loved him so much, had been so desperate to be Mrs. Marc Durand, that she would have done anything he asked of her. Had done anything, everything—except betray her father. And that one decision, that one stand against Marc, had cost her everything.

Anger churned in her stomach, combined with the wine and nerves until she felt more than a little nauseous. Gideon noticed that something was wrong right away. He put an arm around her waist and pulled her against him.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his lips pressed against her ear so no one else could hear. He was one of the few people she’d ever trusted with her social anxiety. It was one of the reasons he insisted on being her escort to parties, and why he always made sure she was with friends before he left her side to get drinks or anything else.

“I need some air,” she whispered back.

“The terrace is open. I’ll take you.”

“No, I’m fine.” He’d been enjoying the conversation immensely—the talk of ballet had turned into a spirited discussion of San Diego’s arts scene—and it wasn’t fair to take him away from it. “Stay. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”

He frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” She leaned into him a little more, gave him a quick hug. Then excused herself to use the ladies’ room.

As conversations ebbed and flowed around her, Isa made her way to the wide-open doors at the end of the room. They let out onto the terrace that overlooked the ocean and as she got closer she could feel the sea breeze sweeping through the room. It was a little chilly, a little salty and exactly what she needed to help her get her head back on straight. And to forget about Marc and the painful past she had no hope of changing.

Slipping around the last group of people, she walked straight out to the darkest part of the terrace. Bracing her hands on the iron fence that closed it in, she closed her eyes and let herself breathe. In, out. In, out. In, out. Already, she felt calmer. More in control. She wondered how long she could stay out here before Gideon came looking for her.

* * *

She was gorgeous. Dressed in a simple purple sheath that stood out like a beacon amid the sea of black cocktail dresses, she was as sexy, as sensual, as he’d remembered. More so even, maturity lending a lushness to her face and figure that hadn’t been there before.

It was a lushness that clown Gideon had noticed. One he’d taken every chance to brush against or touch or hold. Standing there, doing nothing, while that bastard had pawed Isa had been one of the hardest things Marc had ever done. Especially when he’d wanted nothing more than to smash his fist into the jerk’s face.

Only the fact that Isa seemed to like Gideon’s touch had stopped him, even as it had cranked his anger into a lethal place. One where the six years between now and when she’d been his had melted into nothing, like snow on the first warm spring day.

He watched her weave her way through the bodies, watched as she slipped out onto the terrace, finding a dark corner with only a little light to stand in.

Watched as she took a deep, shuddering breath. Then another and another.

Her beautiful breasts trembled against the deep V of her neckline and Marc’s fingers itched—ached—with the need to touch her there. To hold the warm, firm weight of her in the palms of his hands while he kissed, licked, sucked her nipples until she orgasmed.

It had been one of his favorite things to do when she’d been his.

As he stood there, watching her, an image came to him. One of Gideon on his knees in front of her, pleasuring her the way Marc used to. Rage exploded within him, turned his voice harsh and tinted his vision with red. Or maybe that was green.

Within seconds he was next to her. “Who is this Gideon guy to you?” The question came out before he even knew he was going to ask it.

Isa’s eyes flew open and she whirled to face him, one shaky hand pressed to her chest.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“What are you doing out here?”

“I followed you.” He stepped forward, ran his fingers down the sweet softness of her cheek.

“Why?”

He ignored her question, focused instead on the sudden increase in her breathing. She was either nervous or aroused. Or maybe both. He wanted to revel in her reaction, probably would have, if he hadn’t been struck by the sudden realization that her response might be for Gideon instead of him.

“Who is that guy to you?” he asked again.

“Gideon?”

He didn’t like the way she said the guy’s name, all soft and familiar. It pushed at him, made him snarly. And more determined than ever to have her in his bed again. “Yeah.”

“He’s my escort. And—and my friend.”