“Logic. If you couldn’t make him fall in love with you in two years, then it’s probably not going to happen.”
The fatal flaw in her plan.
Relief rolled through Gemma. Lilah had stated the one simple fact that she had somehow managed to talk herself around, but that happily undermined every one of her plans. Time had passed and nothing had happened between her and Zane, and there had been plenty of opportunities.
She had put it down to the fact that she was always so tired and stressed with juggling Sanchia, a never-ending stream of nannies and a job that often included travel. Sex had just not been a priority. But it should have been for a hot alpha male like Zane.
The grim fact was that they were more like brother and sister than possible lovers.
Sudden embarrassed heat washed through her as she realized how exposed she was to Lilah, dressed for seduction and obviously waiting for Zane. And now she couldn’t wait to leave.
Zane. Panic jolted through her.
She had to get out of his suite before he found her.
With a brief apologetic look toward Lilah, she closed the door, found the bag with her dress and raced to the bathroom. Wrenching the negligee off, not caring when the fine silk and lace caught and tore, she fumbled into her dress, dragged the zipper up and jammed the negligee into the bag, out of sight.
She did a quick check of the bathroom and bedroom to make sure she left nothing behind. Walking through to the small kitchenette, she retrieved the bottle of champagne she had put in the fridge.
Embarrassed heat burned her cheeks as she found her shoes, jammed them on her feet and did a last hurried check of the sitting room before she left.
She must have been mad, certifiable, in thinking that she could have convinced Zane Atraeus that she could be more than just an employee and friend, that she could possibly be his lover or his wife. It was the same mad optimism she had clutched at when she had made the mistake of sleeping with Gabriel.
She could still remember the dull depression when she had realized that the few hours they had spent together hadn’t meant a thing to him, and she’d heard the relief in his voice when she’d said she wasn’t pregnant.
Lilah Cole’s pale, blank expression minutes ago said it all. Gorgeous, hot billionaires did not marry small-town girls with no substance behind them. Slinging the strap of her evening bag over her shoulder, she headed for the door, now desperate to get out of the suite. But as she reached for the handle, Murphy’s law—the one that states that what can go wrong, will go wrong—kicked in. The door popped open and Zane strode in.
An excruciating few moments later, after realizing a stunning truth, that Zane was in love with Lilah, Gemma made a hasty escape.
A giddy sense of relief clutched at her as she practically jogged down the corridor. High heels tapping on flagstones, she almost failed to recognize a reporter she had seen circulating at the party walking straight toward her.
She caught his sly grin as she spun on her heel and started back the way she had come. She had no intention of reentering Zane’s suite. There were a number of other doors, and what looked like an exit onto a terrace ahead. She would find a door, any door that was unlocked, and hide out for a few minutes.
With dismay, she noticed Zane’s door, which she had closed behind her, was now ajar. A flash of movement confirmed that Zane was near the door, zipping a bag closed, on the point of leaving.
Panic clutched at her. When Zane stepped out into the corridor, the reporter would get a picture of the two of them together. Now that there was no possibility of a relationship, that was something she absolutely did not want to happen.
She broke into a jog again, determined to get past Zane’s door before he stepped out. At that moment another door popped open right in front of her. It was one of two concealed doors, which she vaguely remembered reading about when she’d studied up on the Castello, that led to the old armory and the stables. A secret network built into the fortress in case of attack, and as such designed to be unobtrusive.
A dark, masculine head ducked under the low lintel.
Startled, Gemma almost ran full tilt into him. Lean hands closed around her arms, steadying her as she clutched at broad shoulders. Heat and a clean, male scent engulfed her.
Not a member of the staff using the convenient shortcut with fresh linen or a tray, but a bona fide member of the Atraeus family who, in centuries past, would have fitted the mold of fortress protector. Gabriel Messena.
Her heart slammed against her chest at the sheer shock of running into Gabriel. The pressure of his hands on her bare skin sent a raw shiver up her spine. Almost in the same moment she registered the flash of a camera, the shadowy shape of the reporter still lurking at one end of the corridor.
Gabriel’s gaze dropped to the bag she was clutching, the incriminating trail of black lace and the foil top of the champagne bottle. Knowledge flared in his dark gaze.
Hot color washed across her skin, her stomach clenched on an acid burn of shame. She didn’t know how, but Gabriel knew exactly what she had attempted.
Instead of loosening his hold, his fingers tightened, anchoring her in place, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his big body.
His head bent, his breath feathered her cheek, warm and damp. “Zane is about to get engaged.” The sexy low timbre of his voice shivered all the way to her toes, making places inside her that should be frozen and immune instantly melt. “If you don’t want the newspapers to report that you’ve moved from being Zane’s girlfriend to his mistress, you should consider kissing me.”
Another flash from the reporter’s camera lit up the dim corridor, making her stomach hollow out. Although not as much as the knowledge that Gabriel must have read the various tabloid stories and assumed that she was involved in an affair with Zane. “I know Zane wants Lilah. Now.”
Something like relief registered in his gaze. “Good.”
Her jaw tightened against another heated rush of humiliation. In terms of the welfare case against her, she absolutely could not afford to be viewed as Zane Atraeus’s mistress. “One kiss.”
Lifting up on her toes, she braced her palms on the hard muscle of his shoulders. The firm touch of his hands at her waist, drawing her closer, sent a sensual shock through her as she took a shallow breath and touched her mouth to his.
The kiss, as brief as it was, sent sensation shivering through her, unexpectedly powerful and laced with memories that were still sharp-edged and bittersweet.
The humid warmth of a summer’s night, the sibilant wash of waves on the beach, the weight of Gabriel’s body pressing down on hers...
She inhaled and the faintly resinous scent of his cologne shivered through her. If she hadn’t known before that she had made a mistake in kissing Gabriel, she knew it then.
It had taken her years to be able to view what they had shared as a casual encounter that had gotten out of hand, years to get over his easy defection.
The heated tension cut off as another camera flash temporarily blinded her, followed by the sound of retreating footsteps as the reporter made his escape.
The reporter. Her stomach churned at the new publicity, which she hated, even though she knew that in this case kissing Gabriel had been expedient. Doing so negated the earlier, potentially damning photo that had been taken of her hugging Zane.
Gabriel’s head lifted, and in that instant she was aware of the creak of a door opening a few meters down the hall. It was Zane.