His finger flicked the tip of her nose, his blue gaze glittering with dark amusement. “You’re not suggesting I go on our honeymoon by myself, are you?”
Her smile faltered on her lips, her gut dropping through an endless fall. “You can’t be serious,” she murmured. His posture screamed unyielding determination, confirming her worst fear. “There’s no need. Kim will be back.”
“Then you better start hoping she’s here tomorrow morning.”
She gripped the counter behind her. “I can’t go anywhere with you. We hate each other, remember?”
He laughed, the rippling sound of it surrounding her in overwhelming waves. “Yes, but not as much as I hate being front-page fodder for trashy tabloids.”
“This isn’t funny.” She moved away from the intoxicating scent of the dratted man and opened the calendar on her phone. “I have to do a pitch for our agency in two weeks. I can’t miss it.”
“Still playing at being the hardworking career woman?” His gaze dropped to the sketch pad peeping out of her handbag and dismissed it the next second. “Give it up, Olivia. You don’t have it in you.”
Her breath whooshed out of her, his words dealing a nasty punch to her middle. Before the phone slipped from her shaky fingers she threw it back into her bag. The pitch to LifeStyle Inc. was the only thing that could build her career—her only opportunity to silence corrosive comments like his. She couldn’t miss it. She pushed out the fury scratching at her throat and steadied herself. “It’s your honeymoon, Alexander. No one will know you’re by yourself unless you advertise it.”
His fingers gripped her arm and turned her around. His gaze was frantic in its search of hers. “You truly live in your own world, don’t you?” Bitterness laced his every word. “The press hounds me wherever I go, whatever I do, and I refuse to throw even a morsel of scandal their way. If you’re not going to tell me the truth, you’re damn well going to stick with me until Kim’s back.”
Unable to control the rising hysteria inside her, Olivia pushed him back with force, every muscle in her flexing with the need to escape. This day couldn’t get worse. Was the universe finally catching up with her in the form of this infuriating man?
“Fine. I’ll go with you. But I have to return to New York in two weeks. If you try to stop me. If you....” She blew at a lock of hair that fell on her forehead, fighting the urge to pummel him. “Remember, nothing is scandalous enough for me—and I have nothing to lose.”
“Not even your sister’s happiness?”
“I’m seriously beginning to doubt if that lies with you.” She ran her fingers over her forehead, her head throbbing with increased pressure. “Where are we going?”
He didn’t answer. Only stared at her searchingly, his blue gaze inscrutable. And Olivia knew she had been wrong earlier. The day had just gotten much worse—kick-you-while-you’re-down worse.
His gaze glittered with unspoken warnings. His mouth was an uncompromising line. “Paris.”
* * *
Only Olivia Stanton could look like a deer caught in headlights at the mention of Paris.
Alexander stood with his hands folded, his mind whirring, waiting for his staff to finish laying out food on the table. The delicious aromas assailed his nostrils. But even Pierre’s culinary talent couldn’t entice his hunger tonight. At least not for food.
He should have been in his bed tonight with Kim, lost to the world. Respecting her wishes to take it slow, he hadn’t pushed her—which meant he hadn’t had sex in six months. Ironic that his libido ran rampant tonight for a woman he didn’t even like. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his trousers and turned his head this way and that, trying to loosen the stiffness in his neck muscles.
He turned around as his staff left.
Her face lit up like a child’s on Christmas, Olivia was eying the fragrant dishes on the table. Despite himself, he smiled. “I thought you would be too upset to eat?”
Settling down at the dark oak table, she shrugged. “That’s your problem.”
She bit into a sandwich, slid a little lower in her chair, her head thrown back, and moaned, highlighting the delicate jawline, the graceful arch of her neck. He cursed, feeling too warm in his clothes.
“Like everyone else on the planet, you assume you know me. You don’t. For the record, I am upset. But it doesn’t mean I’ll starve myself.”
She took a sip of wine and then got up and sauntered over to the intercom again. He watched in fascination as she thanked Pierre in perfect French, a teasing smile coloring her words. She’d probably won over Pierre for life.
Alex moved toward the table, picked up a French fry and popped it into his mouth. He almost missed the look she threw over her shoulder at him. Almost. She was laughing, lounging casually against the wall. But he didn’t mistake it for anything other than the show it was.
He couldn’t trust Olivia as far as he could throw her delectable body. She wasn’t going to mutely follow orders. He knew it as surely as the tightness he felt in his muscles as she licked her lips and laughed.
He pulled his cell phone out and made a quick call to his head of security, issuing instructions for him to locate Kim. He looked into the darkness, past the French windows, frustration holding him immobile in its grip. With everything he had confided in her Kim should have known better than to leave him with her reckless twin—known there was no way he could travel to Paris without his wife.
He searched through the cabinets and heaped coffee into the state-of-art coffeemaker—the only appliance in the otherwise bare kitchen.
It was going to be a long night. Just not the pleasurable one he’d expected.
He inclined his head when Olivia wished him goodnight and sauntered out of the kitchen.
Until Kim was back he needed the blasted woman—whether he liked it or not.
* * *
Olivia tiptoed through the bedroom in the darkness, wary of switching on even the bedside lamp. She pulled on the black cargo-style capris she had left at the foot of the bed last night. The soft material whispered against her skin, the sound of it raising every nerve ending in her to attention in the pitch black of pre-dawn. A mint-green sleeveless top with built-in bra, a white sweatshirt finished her outfit and she pulled on sneakers.
Sliding her laptop and notepad into her handbag, she took one last look around the bedroom. She eyed the suitcase she was leaving behind. Dragging it with her through the silent mansion wasn’t an option. Nothing in there that she couldn’t replace. She never wanted to lay eyes on that damned designer gown again, anyway. Her stomach growled in hunger. After hearing Alexander’s plans for her last night, the delicious food had tasted like sawdust. But she had eaten it, anyway, refusing to let on how much his announcement had derailed her.
Her heart thudding, she opened the door and stepped into the dimly lighted corridor. A feeling of déjà vu descended on her. How many times had she snuck through her high-security private school when she had been a teenager? It hadn’t ended well even a single time.
Within minutes she’d entered the main foyer, with the gleaming marble floors that led to several bedrooms. Ceiling lights here and there illuminated her path, drawing attention to the elegant angles of the mansion, shedding light on the priceless art pieces everywhere she looked.
Any other time she would have enjoyed the beauty of this house surrounded by lush gardens and the private beach. Her studio apartment, the size of a walk-in closet, in a not-so-good neighborhood of Manhattan, was hardly conducive to creativity. But this mansion, with its sky-high ceilings taking advantage of natural light during the day, was the perfect location to relax, to let the ideas fighting for life inside her head breathe onto paper.