But perhaps Alexa Considine had something of her father in her. In spite of her work for the peasants, she could be an embarrassment to the Illyrian royal family.
Possibly she didn’t need protection because she knew very well how to look after herself…
He had to know more before he worked out how best to exploit the situation. ‘She and Gastano have been lovers for how long?’
‘About two months.’
Rafiq’s dark gaze travelled to the handsome face of his enemy. Although he doubted that Gastano felt anything much beyond a cynical, predatory lust for any woman, he had a reputation for pride. He had always demanded beauty in his amours.
But Alexa Considine—Lexie Sinclair—was not beautiful. Attractive, yes, even striking, but without the overt sexuality the man had always favoured. So why had he chosen her to warm his bed?
Brows drawing together, Rafiq studied the photograph of the woman on Gastano’s arm. It had been taken at a party in London, and she was laughing up at Gastano’s good-looking face.
The illegitimate son of an aristocrat, the man had assumed the title ‘Count’ after the real count, his half-brother, had died from a drug overdose. Gastano might well consider that the Sinclair woman’s connections to the rich and powerful Considine family—tainted though they were—would give him the social standing he’d spent his life seeking.
That certainly made sense. And now Gastano’s arrogance and his conviction that he was above suspicion had delivered him into Rafiq’s hands.
Transferring his gaze to the crest on the wall of his office, Rafiq reined in a cold anticipation as he surveyed the emblem of his family—a rampant horse wearing a crown that held a glitter of crimson, signifying the precious fire-diamonds found only on Moraze.
Rafiq would not be his father’s son—or Hani’s brother—if he failed to use the situation to his advantage.
Revenge was an ugly ambition, but Hani’s death should not be in vain.
As for Alexa Considine—she might have been innocent before she met Gastano, though it seemed unlikely. Her half-sister had worked in the notoriously amoral world of high fashion, so maybe Alexa Considine had a modern attitude to sex, taking partners as she wanted them.
But if not, he’d be doing her a favour. Felipe Gastano was no considerate lover, and once his world started crumbling around him he’d fight viciously to save himself. She’d be far safer out of the way.
Besides, he thought with cold satisfaction, it would give him great pleasure to take her from Gastano, to show the creep the limits of his power and influence before the trap closed around him.
Mind made up, he said evenly, ‘This is what I want you to do.’
Mme Fanchette leaned forward, frowning slightly as he outlined his instructions. When he’d finished she said quietly, ‘Very well, then. And the count?’
Rafiq’s voice hardened. ‘Watch him closely—put your best people onto it, because he’s as wary as a cat.’ He got up and walked across to the window, looking down at the city spread below. ‘Fortunately he is also a man with a huge sense of self-esteem, and a sophisticate’s disdain for people who live in small, isolated countries far from the fleshpots of the world he preys on.’
From beneath lowered lashes, Rafiq watched the woman in the flame-coloured dress. Cleverly cut to reveal long legs, narrow waist and high, small breasts, the silk dress angled for male attention. But Alexa Considine’s face didn’t quite fit its skilful, not entirely discreet sensuality.
The photographs hadn’t lied; she wasn’t a top-class beauty, Rafiq decided dispassionately—although, like every other woman attending the official opening of Moraze’s newest, most luxurious, highly exclusive hotel, she was superbly groomed. Her cosmetics had been applied expertly and her golden-brown hair cut by a master to make the most of her features. However, apart from that eye-catcher of a dress, she stood out, and not just because she was alone.
Gastano, Rafiq noted, was across the other side of the room flirting with a film star of somewhat notorious reputation.
Interesting…
Unlike every other woman in the place, Alexa Considine wore no jewellery. And she looked unawakened, as though no one had ever kissed that tempting, lushly opulent mouth—sensuous enough to make any red-blooded man fantasise about the touch of it on his skin.
Rafiq’s gut tightened. Swiftly controlling the hot surge of desire through his blood, he scanned her fine-boned face with an impassive expression. It seemed highly unlikely that her features told anything like the truth. Mme Fanchette’s source in New Zealand had come up with a blank about any possible affairs, but that didn’t mean Alexa was an innocent. At university no one would have taken much notice of her love life.
And she was certainly Felipe Gastano’s mistress, so that grave, unworldly air had to be spurious, a mere trick of genetics from somewhere in her bloodline.
Yet her cool self-possession challenged Rafiq in some primal, instinctive way. What would it be like to banish the composure from those regular features, set those large, slightly tilted eyes aflame with desire, feel those lips shape themselves to his…?
It took an effort of will to look away and pretend to scan the crowd, carefully chosen for their ability to create a buzz—a gathering wave of gossip and comment that would reach the ears of those who wanted privacy and opulence when they holidayed.
Rafiq had himself vetted the guest list, and apart from the woman in the sunset-coloured dress everybody in this Indian Ocean fantasy of a salon wore their sophistication like a badge of belonging.
Standing alone in the elegant, crowded room, she was attracting interested glances. Rafiq had to rein in a disturbing urge to forge his way through the chattering mob and cut her out, like a stallion with its favourite mare.
As he watched she turned and walked out through the wide doors into the warm, tropical night, the light from the chandeliers gleaming over satiny, golden-amber hair.
Across the room Gastano looked up, said something to the film star, and set off after his mistress. Rafiq fought back a raw anger that drove him to follow Gastano, and moved with the lithe gait of a man in complete control of his body.
He should leave it to the security men, of course, but he wanted to see them together, Gastano and Alexa Considine. That way he’d know for certain the truth about their relationship.
It was, he thought cynically as he stepped out onto the wide stone terrace, a perfect night for dalliance—the stars were as big as lamps, the sea gleamed like black silk shot with silver, and erotic perfumes from the flower farms of Moraze drifted lazily through the palms.
Stopping in the shadow of a vine heavy with flamboyant scarlet blossom, Rafiq watched the count walk up to Alexa Considine, and fought a primitive impulse to follow the man and best him in a territorial contest of overt masculine power.
The impulse startled him. Even in his amours he never allowed himself to be anything other than self-possessed, and this proprietary attitude towards a woman he didn’t even know—and planned to use—was an unwelcome development.
Of course, it couldn’t be personal—well, it was, he thought with a slow burn of anger, but it was between him and Gastano. Attractive though she was, the woman was merely a bystander.
Frowning, he noted her reaction to the count’s opening remark, scanning her face for emotions as she turned from her contemplation of the lagoon.
Although Rafiq had a hunter’s patience, he must have made some slight movement, because the woman looked over the count’s shoulder. Her eyes widened momentarily, only to be hastily covered by long lashes.
Not in fear or surprise, he thought, but in warning. A very cool customer, this one.