AllFreeNovel
Share Us
That she wantedhim.
‘Of course.’ He motioned to gleaming French doors which led to the world-famous café where everyone who was anyone came to be seen. It was safer there—because the idea that they wanted one another had taken hold like a weed that couldn’t be dug out. ‘We can go—’
‘No!’ He didn’t think she could get any paler, but somehow she had. Clutching an oversized bag close to her with whitened knuckles, her other hand curled tight into a fist. ‘In private. Please.’
He held her gaze for a few heartbeats. It was impossible to tell what was going on behind those pale blue eyes of hers. But he knew fear when he saw it. The over-bright glitter of her gaze. A forced smile that wasn’t for him, but for the world at large. There was nowhere private in this place to talk, and hiding behind a plant meant she didn’t want to be seen. Really, there was only one option. Even if it started a pulse deep and low in his body, which he desperately fought to ignore.
‘We can go to my room.’
Sara wilted a fraction, then straightened. Began walking to the lifts, all stiff and severe. He guided her to one, separate from the others. The gleaming gold doors whispered open and they walked inside. It was a small space—too small when she edged to the opposite corner and all he could smell were the flowers of some perfume he’d remember for ever as the scent of her. She slumped against the wall.
‘The Presidential Suite?’ she asked, her voice soft and lilting.
‘It’s always reserved for members of my family if we ever come here.’ One of the benefits of being a friend of the deceased King. He loathed it, but still used it.
‘Do you often?’
‘No.’ And he suspected after tomorrow he’d be here even less often than before.
The lift slid in a quiet rush to the top floor and the door opened with an elegant chime. Lance motioned for her to exit and slid his key card into the lock of a glossy white door, which released with a quiet click. He beckoned her in.
Sara walked ahead of him, through the parquetry entrance hall with its opulent vase of flowers, which didn’t smell as delicious as her, towards an expanse of mullioned windows overlooking the old city. A view of tiled roofs swept down to Lake Morenburg, which sat in the middle of the scene like a livid blue inkblot staining the landscape, rimmed by the brooding Alps behind.
She stood at the panelled glass, staring out at the capital, the brilliant, bright day outside at odds with the gloomy dark clothing she wore. He hated that she appeared to still mourn a man who’d never deserved her.
‘Would you like something? A drink? Coffee, perhaps?’
She shook her head then turned her back on the city and walked to the couch, falling onto it. Slid her bag from her shoulder and dropped it to the carpet with a thud. He wanted to go to her. Instead, he stood behind an armchair with his fingers gripping the back, pressing into the fine brocade fabric. Far safer here as she took the hat from her head and placed it on the table in front of her.
Sara ran her fingers distractedly through her hair to tame the curls that now spilled around her shoulders. He didn’t want to be standing behind a damned armchair. He wanted to walk over to her, bury his hands into that unruly tangle and drag her to him like some caveman who had no place in her life. He’d crush this fragile creature who looked as if she could grow wings and flutter away from it all. So he didn’t move.
‘What do you want to talk about?’
He tried for cool, impassive. It seemed to jolt her out of some sort of inertia. She sat forwards, picking some lint from her black coat.
‘Scandal.’ There was nothing cool or impassive about her words. She blurted them out a little too loud and a lot too breathy. ‘You said you could do that and I need one.’
Those words stabbed like a blade. Of course she didn’t really wanthim. Anyone could give her a scandal. He didn’t know why that hurt. He’d never cared before. That sort of question usually had him leaping in feet first with indecent enthusiasm.
Lance moved to sit in the armchair to her right, at the head of the coffee table. He was up for many things, but he loathed being used. When he walked into anything it was with eyes wide open, usually as the instigator. He couldn’t abide secrets and lies from someone who wouldn’t say what shereallywanted. He demanded honesty at all times.
‘What sort of scandal?’
Her eyes widened a fraction. ‘Pardon?’
He crossed his leg, slung one ankle over his knee and sprawled there, not taking his eyes from her. ‘Do you need a tiny garden-variety scandal that will excite a few gossips over their afternoon tea and cake? Or a monstrous scandal that threatens to tear the fabric of your known universe and leave everyone ducking for cover?’
‘Something...in between, I suppose.’
The flame burning in his gut flared a bit brighter and angrier. ‘If you don’t know what sort of scandal you want, I can’t help you.’
She wasn’t expecting that, he could tell. A small frown troubled her brow, her fingers restlessly smoothing over her dark trousers when she wouldn’t look him in the eye.
Coward.
‘Total ruin. Give me that.’
He gritted his teeth. He’d been thinking about the way she fitted in his arms, how she might feel the same, and she’d obviously been thinking about using him for her own mysterious ends. He wasn’t sure why he found that so...disappointing.
