Letting out a breath, Zane forced himself to relax. “How long do you want me to mind her this time?”
Lucas shrugged. “The weekend. Long enough to get her through the media frenzy that’s going to break following the announcement at the press conference—” he checked his watch “—today.”
Zane’s temper frayed at the possessive concern in Lucas’s voice. “Sure. We got on okay on Medinos.” He drilled Lucas with another cold look. “I think she likes me.”
Lucas looked relieved. “Great, I owe you one. I know Lilah isn’t your normal type.”
Zane’s brows jerked together. “What do you mean, not my type?”
Lucas placed his briefcase on the desk and began loading files into it. “Lilah’s into classical music; she’s arty. I think she paints.”
“She does. I like art and classical music.”
He snapped the case closed. “She’s older.”
Lucas made the age gap sound like an unbridgeable abyss. “Five years is not a big gap.”
Lucas’s cell broke into a catchy tango.
Jaw compressed, Zane watched as Lucas snatched up the phone. “Nice tune. Bolero.”
Lucas shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. This is my secretary’s phone. Mine’s, uh, broken.” He held the cell against his ear and lifted a hand in dismissal. “Hey, thanks.”
“Not a problem.” Jaw taut, Zane took the creaking elevator to the ground floor. If he had stayed in the office with Lucas much longer he might have lost his temper. He had learned long ago that losing control was the equivalent of losing, and with Lilah Cole he did not intend to lose.
He had to focus, concentrate.
A whole weekend. Two days, and nights.
With a woman so committed to marriage she had written a blueprint for success and developed a points system for the men who had scored highly enough to make it into her folder.
Lilah slid dark glasses onto the bridge of her nose and braced herself as she stepped out of her taxi into the midmorning heat of downtown Sydney. Two steps toward the impressive doors of the hotel where the press conference was being held, and a maelstrom of flashing cameras and shouted questions broke over her.
Cheeks hot with embarrassment, she tightened her grip on the ivory handbag that matched her stylish suit, and plowed forward. Someone tugged at the sleeve of her jacket; a flash blinded her. A split second later the grip on her arm and the reporter were miraculously removed, replaced by the burly back of a uniformed security guard. The mass of reporters parted and Zane Atraeus’s dark gaze burned into hers, oddly calm and assessing in the midst of chaos. Despite her determination to remain calm in his presence, to forget the kiss, a hot thrill shot down her spine.
“Lilah, come with me.”
For a split second she thought he had said, “Lilah, come to me,” and the vivid intensity of her reaction to the low, husky command was paralyzing.
She had already had two negative experiences with Atraeus males. Now wasn’t the time to redefine that old cliché by fantasizing about jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire, again.
The media surged against the wall of security, an elbow jabbed her back. She clutched Zane’s outstretched hand. He released her fingers almost immediately and scooped her against his side, his muscled heat burning into her as they walked.
Three swift steps. The glass doors gleamed ahead. A camera flashed. “Oh, good. More scandal.”
She caught the edge of Zane’s grin. “That’s what you get when you play with an Atraeus.”
The hotel doors swished wide. More media were inside, along with curious hotel staff and guests. Lilah worked to keep her expression serene, although she was uncomfortably aware that her cheeks were burning. “I didn’t ‘play’ with anyone.”
“You went to Medinos. That was some first date.”
The nervy thrill of Zane turning up to protect her evaporated. “I didn’t exactly enjoy the experience.”
As first dates went it had been an utter disaster.
Zane ushered her into an open elevator. The heat of his palm at the small of her back sent a small shock of awareness through her. Two large Medinian security guards stepped in on either side of them. A third man, blocky and muscled with a shaven head, whom she recognized as Spiros, took up a position by the door and punched buttons.
Lilah’s ruffled unease at Zane’s closeness increased as the elevator shot upward. “I suppose you’re in Sydney for the charity art auction?”
“I’m also doing some work on the Ambrosi takeover, which is why Lucas asked me to mind you.”
The last remnants of the intense thrill she had felt when Zane had come looking for her died a death. “I suppose Lucas told you what happened last night?”
“He said you found him with Carla at his apartment.”
Lilah’s blush deepened. Zane made it sound like she had been involved in some kind of trashy love triangle. “I didn’t make it to his apartment. Security—”
“You don’t have to explain.”
Lilah’s gaze narrowed. The surface calm she had been clinging to all morning, ever since she had seen the morning paper, shredded. “Since Medinos, I haven’t been able to get an appointment to see Lucas. I got tired of waiting. I was there to resign.”
The doors slid open. Adrenaline pumped when she saw the contingent of press in the lobby of the concierge floor, although these weren’t the sharp-eyed paparazzi who had been out on the street. She recognized magazine editors, serious tabloids, television news crews.
She took a deep breath as they stepped out of the elevator in the wake of the security team.
Zane’s fingers locked around her wrist. “If you run now, what they’ll print will be worse.”
“Any worse than ‘Discarded Atraeus Mistress Abandoned on Street’?”
Zane’s expression was grim. “You should have known Lucas was playing out of your league.”
Something inside her snapped. “Is it too late to say I wish I’d never met Lucas?”
The moment was freeing. She realized she had never actually connected with Lucas on an emotional level. Marriage with him would have been a disaster.
Zane’s gaze captured hers, making her heart pound. “How worried are you about the media?”
Lilah blinked. The focused heat in Zane’s eyes was having a mesmerizing effect. “I don’t have a TV and I canceled my newspaper subscription this morning. Dealing with the media is not my thing.”
“Is this?”
His jaw brushed her forehead. Tendrils of heat shimmered through her at the unexpected contact. His hands framed her face. Dimly, she registered that he intended to kiss her. In the midst of the hum of security, press and hotel staff, time seemed to slow, stop. She was spun back two years to the seductive quiet of the empty reception room, eleven days ago to the flight to Medinos.
She dragged in a shallow breath. She needed to step back, calm down, forget the crazy attraction that zinged through her every time she was near Zane. Constantine and Lucas had both gone through gorgeous women like hot knives through butter, but Zane had a reputation that scorched.
His breath feathered her lips. She closed her eyes and his mouth touched hers, seducingly warm and soft. A shock wave of heat shimmered out from that one small point of contact.
He lifted his head. His gaze, veiled by inky lashes, locked on hers. Instead of straightening, his hands dropped