A Breathless Bride (8 page)

Eight

C
onstantine tracked Sienna’s leisurely progress across the crowded reception room. Even if he hadn’t been informed that she had entered the ballroom of Medinos’s newest and most spectacular hotel, it would have been easy to spot her by the turning of heads as she strolled past.

Terminating a conversation, he placed his drink on a sideboard, his temper flashing to a slow burn when he saw what she was wearing.

Her hair was caught up in a knot, emphasizing the dress, which was designed to induce a stroke. A pale champagne halter, the gown was deceptively plain, the silky fabric an almost perfect match for the color of Sienna’s skin so that at first glance he had thought she was naked. Added to that, the halter neck meant she wasn’t wearing a bra.

His jaw tightened against a throb of mingled desire and irritation. Ankle length and discreetly cut, the gown paid lip service to the dress code he had demanded she follow, while subtly undermining it at every turn.

Beside him Lucas let out a low whistle.

“Look too long,” Constantine said calmly, “and I’ll put your eyes out.”

When he had been dating Sienna, to avoid the press they hadn’t gone out together at night. Normally, when he had been in Sydney, he had picked her up from work and taken her back to his apartment, or he’d followed her home to her place. The clothes she’d worn had been elegant, sleek, businesslike and sexy; he had barely noticed them.

The only other clothes he had seen had been her casual at-home gear, a bikini that had driven him crazy and her underwear, which for the most part had been tantalizing, but practical. What Sienna did or didn’t have in her wardrobe hadn’t interested him. Until now.

Zane, who had flown in from the States that morning for the resort opening, watched Sienna with his usual cool assessment. If Lucas was a shade on the wild side, Zane was worse, but he had the good sense to stay quiet about it. A couple of years on the streets of L.A. after he had run away from his mother’s fourth marriage, and before they had managed to track him down, had left their mark. On the surface Zane was cool and calm with a killer charm. He never lacked for feminine company, but it was a fact that he didn’t trust any of the women he had dated.

Zane sipped the beer he’d been nursing for the past twenty minutes. “It could be worth it. I notice she didn’t bring her accountant with her.”

Or anyone else, Constantine thought with grim satisfaction.

Lucas lifted a brow. “No briefcase, either.”

No briefcase. No bra.

Zane took another swallow of his beer. “She doesn’t look happy to be here.”

Rub salt into the wound,
Constantine thought bleakly. But at least she wasn’t carrying that damned sample case.

“You don’t need this,” Lucas said bluntly.

Constantine’s expression remained impassive. He hadn’t discussed what had happened in Sydney, nor would he, but he was aware that Lucas knew exactly how focused he was on the CEO of Ambrosi Pearls.

He could have left the talking to their legal team. The options were clear-cut and his people were very, very good. Unless Sienna produced a large check, The Atraeus Group owned Ambrosi. But since those intense moments across the gravesite, this had ceased to be about the money.

At least for him.

He watched as Sienna paused to talk to an exquisitely dressed Japanese couple, her cool poise at odds with the off-the-register passion and fire that had seared him in Sydney.

The reason Sienna was in Medinos was simple. Aside from the fact that he wanted to make love to her again, he needed to know just how far she would go to clear the debt. The thought that she would agree to sleep with him in order to influence the negotiations wasn’t something he wanted to dwell on, but after the debacle two years ago, and the fact that she had let him make love to her so easily the other night, he couldn’t afford to ignore the possibility.

“The situation with the water rights has…complicated things,” he explained to his brother.

Lucas shook his head. “The only real complication I can see is ten meters away and closing.”

Zane finished his beer and set the glass down, his expression wry. “Ciao. Watch your back.”

Constantine’s gaze narrowed as a male guest moved in on Sienna. His jaw tightened when he recognized Alex Panopoulos.

His phone vibrated. He registered the Sydney number of the security firm he had used to investigate the Ambrosi family. As he lifted the phone to his ear, Sienna turned to speak to Panopoulos. If he’d thought the front view of the dress was daring, the back of the gown was nonexistent. “It’s not my back that’s the problem.”

* * *

Sienna managed to extricate herself from Alex Panopoulos on the pretext that she had to check her wrap. Pausing in a quiet alcove decorated with marble statuary and lush, potted palms, she folded the transparent length of champagne gauze into almost nothing and stuffed it into her evening bag. What she really wanted was a few moments to study the room and see if she could spot Northcliffe, the de Vries rep she was scheduled to meet with in the morning.

She caught a glimpse of Constantine, darkly handsome in evening dress as he talked into a cell phone, and her heart pounded hard.

Nerves still humming, she merged with the flow of guests while she examined that moment of raw panic.

Every time she remembered that she had encouraged Constantine to make love to her, her stomach clenched. Like it or not, where Constantine was concerned she was vulnerable, and the emotional risk of getting too close was high.

A waiter cruised past. She refused an array of canapés, too on edge to either eat or drink until she had identified Northcliffe. Pausing beside a glass display, she studied a series of gorgeously detailed pieces of jewelry, advance samples of tomorrow’s product launch. For a timeless moment the room and the nervy anticipation dissolved and she was drawn into the fascinating juxtaposition of lucent tourmaline and smoothly worked gold.

She wasn’t a designer. When it came to creating art or beautiful jewelry, she was utterly clueless. Her passion had always been the business side of things. Her father used to jokingly proclaim that she had the heart of a shopkeeper. It was a fact that she was never happier than when she was making a sale.

A faint tingling at her nape made her stiffen.

A glimpse of broad shoulders increased her tension.

If that was Constantine, then he had crossed the room, which meant he had seen her.

“Sienna. Glad you could make it.”

She saw taut cheekbones and a tough jaw, but it wasn’t Constantine. It was his younger brother, Lucas.

With his slightly battered features, courtesy of two seasons of professional rugby in Australia, and his smoldering bad-boy looks, he was undoubtedly hot.

Lucas had once tried to date Carla. Fatally, he had made his move after Constantine had walked out on Sienna and before Lucas had realized the wedding was off. Carla, who was loyal to a fault, had taken no prisoners and the public spat at a fabulous new nightclub had become the stuff of legend.

Magazines had lined up for the short time both Ambrosi girls had hit the publicity limelight, although Carla had handled the attention a lot better than Sienna. With her PR mind-set she had decided to view the fight with Lucas as a gold-plated opportunity to boost Ambrosi Pearls’ profile, and thanks to her, orders had flooded in.

“You know me, Lucas.” She checked out the last place she had seen Constantine. “Gold, jewels, objets d’art. I couldn’t resist.”

“You look like one of Constantine’s objets d’art yourself.”

Sienna countered his comment with a direct look. The dress she wore was sexier and more revealing than anything she would normally have worn to a business occasion, but in this case it was warranted. The gown had been used in their latest advertising campaign. Harold Northcliffe, who should have received the glossy press kit she had expressed to his Sydney office, would instantly recognize it. The jewelry itself was a set of prototypes they had designed with de Vries and the sophisticated European market in mind. “If you want to score points off me, Lucas, you’re going to have to try harder than that. The dress belongs to Carla.”

The amusement flashed out of his dark gaze. “It was the jewelry that really caught my eye.”

“I didn’t know you were interested in jewelry design.” Lucas was known as The Atraeus Group’s “hatchet man.” His reputation was based more on corporate raiding than the creative arts.

“Not normally,” he murmured, an odd note in his voice, “but I’m certain Constantine will be. When I first saw you I thought you were wearing a traditional set of Medinian bridal jewels. Quite a publicity stunt considering that you used to be engaged to Constantine.”

Dismayed, Sienna touched the pearls at her throat. The pieces she was wearing were based on her grandfather Sebastien’s original drawings. The delicate choker consisted of seed pearls woven into classical Medinian motifs, with a deep blue teardrop sapphire suspended from the center. Matching earrings with tiny drop sapphires dangled from her ears, and an intricate pearl bracelet studded with sapphires encircled her wrist.

“Speaking of the devil,” Lucas murmured, looking directly over her shoulder.

A hot tingle ran down Sienna’s spine. The knowledge that Constantine was directly behind her and closing in was so intense that for a moment she couldn’t breathe.

Even though she was prepared, the confrontation was a shock. Dressed in a formal black evening suit, Constantine seemed taller, physically broader and, in that first moment, coldly remote. Although the impression of remoteness disappeared the instant she met his glittering gaze.

“We need to talk.”

The curt demand sent another hot tingle through her. She resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest. Suddenly the dress seemed too thin, too revealing, definitely not her best idea. “That is why I’m here.”

A muscle pulsed along the side of his jaw. If she hadn’t known he was angry before, she knew it then.

“Outside. Now.”

Her jaw tightened at the low register of his voice, the unmistakable whiplash of command. “I don’t think so.” The last time she had taken orders she had been five and she had
wanted
that Barbie doll.

His hand closed around her arm; his palm burned into her naked skin. A pang of pure feminine fear shot through her, making all the fine hairs at her nape stand on end, but she dug her heels in. To anyone watching they would no doubt appear to be engaged in an intimately close conversation, but Constantine’s grip was firm.

When her resistance registered, he bent close. His lips almost brushed her ear and his warm breath fanned her neck, sending another fiery pang through her, this time straight to her loins. She froze, pinned in place by the potent lash of sensation. For a split second she couldn’t move. Worse, she didn’t want to.

“We’re leaving now. If you make a fuss, I’ll carry you out and no one will stop me.”

“You can’t do this.”

“Try me.”

Wildly she checked for Lucas, but he had conveniently disappeared. “This is assault.”

He laughed, and the weird primitive female thing that had frozen her in place and which was probably designed as a survival mechanism for the race so that women would have sex with men even if they were hideous and had no manners at all, dissolved. Suddenly, she was back. “I’ll call the police.”

“Before or after our business meeting tomorrow?”

Her teeth snapped together at his blatant use of the power he had over both her and Ambrosi. “That’s blackmail.”

He applied pressure, unceremoniously shunting her out of the room. “Babe, that’s business.”

Nine

S
ienna dug in her high-heels as they entered a deserted gallery with tall, arched windows along one wall, softly lit works of art on the other. “This is as far as I go. We’re out of the ballroom, which strangely enough you wanted to leave despite the fact that it’s your party. But if we go any farther, I’m afraid no one will hear my screams.”

“Calm down, I’m not interested in hurting you.”

Ignoring her protest, Constantine swung her up into his arms.

Sienna pushed at his shoulders and attempted to wriggle free. “You could have fooled me.”

Constantine strode a short distance then set her down directly in front of a large oil painting, grunting softly when her elbow accidentally caught him in the stomach.

Just when she was congratulating herself on finally ruffling his steely control, one long tanned finger flicked the sapphire teardrop just above the swell of her cleavage. “Part of the new promotion?”

Her cheeks burned with a combination of irked fury and a dizzying heat. “How would you know about that?”

“I’m still on your client mailing list. I get all of your pamphlets.”

“I’ll have to speak to my assistant.”

Better still, she would edit the list herself. Those glossy pamphlets were too expensive to mail out to people who were never going to buy their products.

Constantine’s expression was grim. “When you walked into the ballroom wearing Medinian bridal jewels you caused quite a stir. Was that planned, or a coincidence?”

She followed the direction of his gaze. The jewel-bright colors of the large oil painting that loomed overhead came into sharp focus. She studied what was, without doubt, a wedding portrait. “I had no idea these were wedding jewels.”

“Or that the press could put two and two together and make ten.” Constantine’s expression was frustratingly remote. “This isn’t a game, Sienna.”

She flushed. The only thing she was guilty of was trying to save her family business and she would not apologize for that. “I’m not playing a game or pulling a publicity stunt.”

Constantine folded his arms over his chest. “Prove it.”

She was tempted to explain nothing, pack her bag and leave on the earliest flight out, but until the loan situation was resolved, she was stuck. “Very well. Come to my room and I’ll show you.”

* * *

Unlocking the door to her suite, she stepped inside and flicked a switch. Lights glowed softly over the marble floors and luxurious white-on-white furnishings.

She set her evening bag on a coffee table flanked by cream leather couches and walked to the wall safe. Punching in her PIN, she dragged out the sample case, which was sitting on top, removed her laptop then quickly shoved the sample case back in the safe, out of sight.

She placed the laptop, a girly pink model with all the latest bells and whistles, on the coffee table. Booting it up, she accessed the jewelry design files, which contained a photographed portfolio of designs that had belonged to her grandfather. She found the scanned page she wanted then removed the jewelry she was wearing and arranged it alongside the laptop. “These jewels are prototypes. They’re not in production—”

“Until you locate a buyer.”

Sienna drew a calming breath. “—until we have received expressions of interest.”

“Otherwise known as a sales order.”

Her jaw tightened. “The Ambrosi versions aren’t an exact match of the jewels my grandfather sketched. The designs have merely been based on his drawings. We had no idea they were bridal jewelry.”

Constantine was oddly still, the pooling lamplight softening the taut line of his jaw, the chiseled cheekbones and the faint hollows beneath. In the lamplight, with his coal-dark hair flowing to his shoulders, he looked fierce and utterly male, much as she had imagined ancient Medinian warriors must have looked. “It seems I owe you an apology.”

“Not at all.” Grimly, she powered the laptop down and then had to go through the whole risky rigmarole of taking the sample case back out of the safe in order to slot in the laptop.

“Allow me,” Constantine said, smoothly taking the sample case from her grasp.

Heart pounding, Sienna reclaimed the case and jammed it back in the safe. If Constantine discovered she was here trying to make a deal with de Vries, that would not be good. With any luck, he hadn’t seen the discreet branding on the case because the printed side had been facing away from him when he had taken it from her.

A tiny clinking sound drew her attention. Constantine had picked the necklace up off the coffee table. The delicate combination of pearls and sapphires looked even more fragile against his hands. He gently touched a pearl. Sienna shivered, as if his finger had stroked across her skin.

His gaze connected with hers. “So, who did you wear those pearls for, if it wasn’t me?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Desperate for a distraction, Sienna walked through to the small adjacent kitchenette and bar, opened a cupboard and found glasses.

After filling the glasses with chilled water from the fridge, she handed one to Constantine, taking care to avoid brushing his fingers.

Constantine finished his drink in two long swallows.

Intensely aware of his gaze on her, she placed her drink on the coffee table and gathered up the sample jewels. The sooner they were out of sight the happier she would feel. If she had understood the potential for disaster inherent in the Medinian designs, she would have stuck to the more modern flower-patterned pearls.

Walking through to her bedroom, she wrapped the jewels in a silk scarf and placed them in the top dresser drawer. She would put them back in the sample case and lock them in the safe once Constantine had left.

When she returned to the sitting room Constantine was pacing. He picked up a small bronze statuette then set it down almost immediately. If she didn’t know better, she would think he was nervous.

He glanced at his watch. “Have you eaten?”

The complete change in tack startled her enough that she answered without thinking. “Not since the flight.”

“Then I’ll order dinner in.” He picked up the sleekly modern phone, which was situated on an escritoire.

His suggestion was subtly shocking. Her heart sped up at the thought of spending any more time secluded and alone with Constantine. “No. I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat, and I’ve made you miss dinner. If you don’t want to eat here, we can go somewhere more public.”

Sienna considered her options. Constantine had made no bones about the fact that he wanted her. The realization that she was actually contemplating sleeping with him again stopped her in her tracks.

Just days ago she hadn’t been ready for a sexual relationship with anyone. Yet, despite being burned twice by Constantine, a stubborn part of her was still dizzily, irresistibly attracted.

Sex had to be out of the question.

She was here on business. For her family and Ambrosi Pearls’ sake she had to stay focused.

To shield her blush, she busied herself with the unnecessary job of checking the lock on the safe. “I do need to eat, but not here.”

If they ate out it would be easier to avoid talking business and it was a fact that she needed to stall Constantine until late morning at least. By then she would know whether or not de Vries was going to place an order.

“Suits me.”

Constantine’s unexpectedly mild tone was surprising. For a moment, she thought she saw relief in his gaze, which didn’t make sense.

Confused, she walked to her bedroom and grabbed a silk shrug that would cover her bare shoulders and décolletage better than the wrap she’d worn earlier. When she returned to the sitting room, Constantine was replacing the telephone receiver.

“I’ve booked a table at a small café on the waterfront.”

“Sounds great.” She sent him her brightest, most professional smile. At this time of year, the height of the tourist season, a waterfront café would be crowded. They would be lucky to hear themselves think, let alone talk. A business discussion would be out of the question.

She picked up her evening bag and her key, and preceded Constantine through the door. She glimpsed their reflection in the ornate hall mirror as they strolled out of the suite. Constantine was tall, broad-shouldered and remote in his formal evening dress. She looked unexpectedly provocative, the soft silk clinging to her curves as she walked.

A powerful sense of déjà vu gripped her as she closed the door behind her, laced with a cocktail of emotions she thought she had dealt with, and dismissed, two years ago.

The image could have been a film clip from the past. They had looked like a couple. They had looked like lovers.

Renewed panic gripped her when she considered that technically they were lovers. That all she had to do was give in to the pressure Constantine was exerting and she would be back in his bed. Again.

* * *

The restaurant was tiny and packed with customers but Sienna’s relief faded when the two dark-suited bodyguards who had shadowed them since they’d exited the hotel suddenly disappeared and the proprietor led them to a private courtyard. A lone table, which had obviously just been vacated by early diners, was in the process of being set.

Within seconds they were alone.

Girding herself for an unpleasant discussion that would spell the end of Ambrosi, Sienna took the seat Constantine held for her, but instead of launching into business, Constantine seemed content to relax and enjoy the meal. Listening to his casual banter with the proprietor who served them personally and observing his teasing charm when a small child ventured out of the kitchens to chatter shyly at them, she found herself gradually relaxing as well.

An hour later, after dining on creamy goat cheese and figs, followed by an array of fresh seafood including spicy fried squid, the local specialty, Sienna declined dessert.

Her tension snapped back as soon as they reached the enclosed gardens of the resort. The security team melted away once again and she found herself alone with Constantine. Warily, she studied a walled garden with its limpid ornamental pool. Nothing about this part of the resort was familiar. “Where are we?”

“My private quarters. I was about to offer you a nightcap.”

Something kicked hard in her chest. Disappointment. “If this is a proposition, believe me, right now sex is the last thing—”

“What if I cleared the debt?”

His words were like a slap in the face, spinning her back two years to the scene in her apartment when Constantine had point-blank accused her of agreeing to marry him in order to guarantee the financial health of Ambrosi Pearls.

It had taken months but she had finally decided that if he didn’t know who she was, or what was important to her, that was his problem not hers.

It was difficult to believe that she had ever been naive enough to imagine that he had fallen in love with her, that they had spent six weeks together making love.

Not making love, she corrected. Get it right. Having sex. Doing exactly what they had done on his couch three nights ago in Sydney.

Constantine hadn’t moved. He was simply watching her, his arms folded over his chest, utterly cool and in control. She was suddenly sharply aware that she was being manipulated.

He wanted a refusal.

He had deliberately goaded her in order to get one. Interesting.

Why ask if she would sleep with him for money now, and in such an insulting manner, unless he had finally realized that he had been wrong about her two years ago?

“Last I heard,” she said quietly, “you weren’t finding it that hard to get a date.”

“I take it that’s a ‘no.’”

“Take that as a definite ‘no.’”

“Would the answer have been different if, instead of a temporary arrangement, I’d proposed marriage?”

Bleakly, Sienna decided, that question hurt even more than the last. She scanned the garden in order to get her bearings and find the quickest route back to her room. “There’s no point to this conversation since you didn’t propose. But since you’re so interested…” Hating the huskiness in her voice, she started toward an indentation in the wall that looked like a door. “If I ever do marry, the relationship and my husband will have to fit around my needs.”

“I take it that means Ambrosi Pearls?”

A sharp thrill coursed down her spine when she became aware that Constantine had padded up close behind her. As she stepped deeper into the inky shadows that swamped the courtyard, the notion that she was not only being maneuvered but actively hunted, intensified. “Not anymore, since you’re intent on relieving me of that particular burden.”

Halting at the wall, she studied the door, searching for a way to open it. Like the problems in her life, there did not appear to be a simple answer.

“Interesting,” he muttered, “that you should use the word burden. I would never have guessed that you craved freedom.”

“Freedom. Now there’s a concept.” The thought of being free of the debt burden was suddenly, unexpectedly heady, even if it did mean the demise of the company.

Guilt for the disloyal thought fueled her irritation as she pushed at the door. It gave only slightly. Frustration gripped her. She was over being a victim, especially of garden designers. “Please tell me this opens.”