Chapter Eight #2
She dropped down, which was tricky in her strappy heeled evening sandals and flowing skirts, and lifted her hands to his arms. “Thank you, darling,” she said, her smile radiant, planting a kiss on his forehead and standing up again.
Feeling resolute now, not fuming at what Xander had done so outrageously.
It was Dan she’d done this for, because he’d been so excited, so gleeful, only for him. Yet for all that she knew, with a tightening inside her, that despite that assertion, she could not bring herself to look anywhere near Xander right now.
Emotion churned in her. Heightening her colour. Then Xander was there, standing beside their son, his hand on Dan’s shoulder, drawing her eyes to him again. “Beautiful indeed. A princess truly.”
His voice was a murmur, and his eyes alight with a look that was as familiar as it was distant in time. With the same effect now as then. Somehow, her heartbeat seemed to have ceased.
Xander opened the door of Laurel’s bedroom and ushered her out into the corridor beyond.
Dan had been settled with the babysitter, one of the housekeepers, a sensible-seeming middle-aged woman who was now ensconced in the room’s armchair with a low light beside her and her knitting, tray of coffee and a magazine.
Dan had been kissed goodnight by Laurel with a heartfelt “Thank you, darling one, thank you for my lovely, lovely Easter treat!” to which Xander had added a fond “Sleep well, my treasured son!” in Greek, and was already asleep.
As he shut the door quietly behind him, Xander’s eyes went to Laurel. His breath caught again. He wanted to punch the air with triumph.
Yes!
She had surpassed every hope, every expectation. She looked incredible, fantastic, unbelievable. Total vindication filled him, not just for Dan’s brilliant choice of gown, which he fully endorsed, but for her entire appearance.
Glorious, that was the word to describe her.
His eyes swept over her, from her lush golden tresses, finally loosened from the restricting confines she’d wretchedly always pinned them back with, now flowing like a waterfall down her back, swept around one bare shoulder, his rapt gaze going all the way down her slender, perfectly proportioned figure, graced by that silken gown in its vivid colour, right down to her feet, arched and elegant in her evening sandals.
He could not take his eyes from her.
He was still gazing at her, triumphant and vindicated and so much more, when she turned to him.
Turned on him.
“What the hell,” Laurel ground out, “do you think you’re playing at?”
Her eyes flashed furiously. She didn’t have to hide her feelings about what Xander had done now that Dan was out of earshot.
Xander merely raised his eyebrows. “It’s just as Dan said, this is your Easter treat,” he answered unconcernedly.
Laurel’s eyes flashed again. “Why?” she demanded. “You put Dan up to this!”
“So?” Xander’s retort was still supremely unconcerned at her accusation.
“It’s despicable! Using him to…to…”
An eyebrow rose again. “To what, Laurel?”
To stitch me up! To manipulate me and…and…
Words failed her. She knew what she meant though, and she seethed with it.
Her eyes flashed with fury yet again. Suddenly, her hands were taken, both of them, held in his.
She tried to tug them free but couldn’t.
Xander had stepped up close to her. She caught the trace of his aftershave.
He was too close. Far too close. And totally unapologetic.
He looked down into her agitated face, his expression quizzical.
“Laurel, what is it that you’re objecting to?
That Dan and I plotted together? Of course I involved him!
He’s revelling in it, you saw that! And why shouldn’t he?
He wants you to have a lovely time, wear a beautiful dress, and have a wonderful time tonight.
An Easter treat.” He paused minutely, and something changed in his eyes.
Something that suddenly made her try and tug her hands free again. “And so do I, Laurel,” he said softly.
Far, far too softly.
Then the expression was gone, and the too-soft voice. Replaced by humour. Cajoling humour. Humour she remembered from long, long ago, when he’d wanted to win her round, get his own way.
Like the time he’d kissed her nice again after chucking her in the water on that memorable occasion.
Exactly as he was doing now. Shamelessly.
“And why shouldn’t you too? Why shouldn’t you enjoy dressing up and being wined and dined, and making a night of it?
I’m perfectly happy to run to Easter treats for you, as well as for our son.
And I won’t, I promise you,” he said, holding her eyes, something there she hadn’t seen before that caught at her, “consider it even a millimetre to hang you with! Because this is for me, as well as you.” He took a breath.
Eyes resting on her. “So, why don’t we just go along with it?
We’ll have a gourmet dinner, enjoy the cabaret. Where’s the harm in that?”
Her eyes met his. They were unreadable. In hers, she knew, was all that she was feeling.
Or wanted to be feeling: anger and outrage at being so shamelessly manipulated and manoeuvred into this.
That’s all I should be feeling!
He was releasing her hands, then repossessed one to place it on his sleeve, hooking it through his crooked arm.
“Come on, Laurel,” he said placatingly, but with clear intention too. “Let’s just relax and enjoy the evening. Why not?”
He started to walk along the corridor, drawing her forward again.
Why not? His nonchalant words echoed in her head. She could have given a hundred reasons.
But she never said them.
Out of nowhere, she felt the fight go out of her.
She didn’t know why and didn’t want to ask.
Perhaps, she thought weakly, as Xander started to draw her forward along the corridor, and she went with him docilely, acquiescently, inexplicably, because it made no sense at all to go along with this, to give in to him like this.
Maybe it was just for Dan’s sake. She could hear his little voice in her head, exclaiming in wonder and delight, calling her a princess.
He’ll ask me about it in the morning, want to know everything about it.
So she had to go along with it tonight, didn’t she?
Was that reason enough?
As she walked down the corridor, heels sinking into the soft carpet, burningly aware of her hand on Xander’s sleeve, her arm crooked in his, the trace of his aftershave, the closeness of him, she didn’t know the answer.
Knew only that her heart was beating faster, way, way faster than it should.
“Made your choice?”
Xander’s enquiry was polite. He was being uber polite all round.
On his very best behaviour. Treading lightly as a cat and just as pleased with himself, his inner purring almost audible.
He was here, dining with Laurel, and her beauty—finally revealed to him again in that show-stopping gown his son had chosen so sapiently—was taking his breath away.
She was going along with what was happening, and he was glad and grateful and appreciative. He said as much.
Her expression flickered as he spoke. “I’m doing it for Dan,” she said. “I don’t want to disappoint him.”
But she seemed to have accepted being here like this, and that was good enough for him, for now at least.
She glanced again at the ornate, gilded menu lying on the damask table in the elegantly appointed dining room, which was filled to capacity, everyone in black tie and evening dress. Laurel surpassed all the women present effortlessly.
She always will, wherever she goes.
His gaze rested on her, drinking her in. Happy just to do that.
“The scallops in saffron, I think,” she said now, in answer to his enquiry. “With the carpaccio to start.”
“I’m going for the lamb quenelles,” Xander said. “Terrine to start.”
He looked across at her. “What wine would you like with your fish? I’m thinking a red, but a white would be better for scallops.”
She shook her head. “I’ll have whatever you have. I’m not fussy. And it’s bound to be ferociously expensive! I dread to think what this evening is costing you.”
She spoke lightly, but it jarred a memory. When he’d first whisked her away on his yacht, though she’d been wide-eyed, she’d never mentioned money or cost, even when they ate ashore. She’d just accepted everything.
Then helped herself to Olympia’s bracelet.
He slammed down on his errant thoughts. They were unwelcome. Not here, not now. Banned for this evening. He wanted nothing to spoil it.
“I can afford it, Laurel,” was all he said, his voice dry.
“Even so…” she started.
“Even so nothing,” he stopped her, closing the subject down. “Laurel, like I said, this is your treat. Dan and I both want you to enjoy it, and that’s all there is to it. And I’ll be enjoying it too,” he reminded her.
Oh, I will indeed, purred the inner feline, pleased with itself. His gaze rested on her again, not wanting to tear his eyes away. Wanting to make the most of what he’d achieved, getting Laurel here—with Dan’s essential help—and looking so breathtakingly, heart-stoppingly beautiful.
A waiter came by, presented them with gently fizzing champagne flutes and took their dinner orders. As he glided off, Xander lifted his champagne and tilted it to Laurel. His gaze on her was warm.
“To this evening,” he said. “To your beauty, Laurel.” He paused. “I’ve missed it so much—”
He let his eyes rest on her, saw her expression waver. “And to our son. Our wonderful son!”
Her expression softened, and he went on, saying now what he wanted to be said. “And to us, Laurel.” He held her eyes, saw her expression change again, saw her withdraw.
“Us?” There was a twist in her voice. He heard it clearly. “There can’t be an ‘us,’ Xander.”
He set down his flute again. “There already is, Laurel.” His eyes never left her. “We can’t deny it, and I don’t want to. What caught fire between us seven years ago is still alight. Don’t try and say otherwise, because I won’t believe you.”
Her expression was troubled. “What difference does it make, whether I do or don’t? That bracelet—”
He made a sudden gesture, as if banishing that benighted bracelet to oblivion. “Laurel, we agreed that evening, after we lashed out at each other, that we had to put what happened in Greece aside. We did it then for Dan’s sake. Now—” he drew a breath “—we must do it for ours.”
She looked at him. If there was any expression in her face, it was sadness, he realised.
“How can we? You think me a liar and a thief.” There was more than sadness in her voice. There was what he’d seen at the farm park, a kind of weary defeat.
Carefully, he chose his words. “Laurel, I don’t know what made you do what you did, but—” he took a breath “—I do realise Olympia’s arrival was…difficult…for you.”
It had been difficult for him, too—a clash between two realities. The private idyll with Laurel, their hedonistic, carefree cruising from island to island, oblivious to everything else. Then Olympia’s unwelcome arrival, puncturing that world.
“But you know—” he looked at Laurel, wanting her to understand “—it was difficult for Olympia, too, discovering you on-board. I know she…sniped…at you, taunted you that she expected to be my bride, telling you on purpose that I’d given her that bracelet, making you jealous of her, perhaps, upset by her.
So perhaps,” he spoke carefully, “perhaps that might…explain…why you were so tempted to take her bracelet.”
She was looking at him, and he could not read her expression. But he’d seen it before.
Guarded.
She spoke, her voice low, intentional.
“Xander, I never had any expectations about our time together for Olympia to puncture. It was a classic holiday romance, that was all. You bowled me over. How could you not? Gorgeous looks, private yacht, practised seduction, the whole glittering package! Lethal and loaded! Ideal, perfect, for a holiday romance!” Her expression changed, veiled suddenly.
“Even without Olympia—or her wretched bracelet!—even though our time together might have lasted a little longer, it would have ended, just not so acrimoniously.” Her eyes held his.
“We come from different worlds, Xander. Nothing could come of it but what did.”
She dropped her gaze. Reached, jerkily, for her champagne flute, took a mouthful, set it back down again, lifted her gaze to him again.
“Xander, I didn’t steal Olympia’s bracelet because she upset me by treating me like a good-time floozy. I didn’t steal it because I was jealous you’d given it to her. I didn’t steal it because I resented that she was going to be your wife. Because,” she said, “I didn’t steal it.”
Something moved in her eyes. “It’s…kind…of you to try and dream up…mitigating factors, if that’s what you’re doing. But they don’t apply.”
For a moment he said nothing. Then, “I don’t want to think of you as a thief, Laurel.”
His voice was low. The truth of what he’d just said filling it.
Because I don’t want her to be a thief! I don’t want it to be true!
“I want you to be the woman I knew seven years ago in Greece, the one I sailed away with.” His voice cleared. “The one I want so very much—” his eyes were holding hers again now, willing her to hear what he was saying “—to be here again with me this evening.”
He lifted his flute again, never letting go her eyes, holding them still as he gently touched his flute to hers as it rested in her hand.
“To this evening, Laurel. Just you and me, enjoying the treat our son was so eager for you to have.” He paused, wanting her to accept what he was saying. “Let’s just have this evening.”
He raised his glass to his lips, eyes never leaving hers.
Slowly, carefully, she raised her own glass. Saying nothing. But her silence, as she took a sip of her champagne to match his, surely was acquiescence.
He felt the tension that had mounted in him ease away. The bracelet, Olympia, his failed marriage—all were unimportant. Only having Laurel here again, like this, was important, was all that mattered to him, here, this evening.
His smile on her, as they lowered their glasses, was warm again, embracing.
He let his eyes rest on her, deliberately, lingeringly. This was what he’d wanted the evening to be about. Seeing her beauty celebrated, revealed again, displayed again.
Working its magic again.
He took it in, her perfect features, her deep-set luminous eyes, her sculpted cheekbones, her lushly curving mouth, the way her golden hair swept around her shoulder, the soft folds of her silken gown.
There is no woman more beautiful than she who has this effect on me.
He felt it, knew it. Gave himself to it.