‘Maybe you should.’
Alej drank another mouthful of beer, leaning back against one of the worktops, his gaze fixed on the sudden stillness of her pale face. A shaft of guilt pierced at him, but he forced himself to disregard it. Why should he feel guilty? She’d treated him like a stud. Hell, she was still treating him like a stud. Even if the last few weeks had been good, the only reason she was here was because he’d offered her money and because he turned her on.
So tell her. Tell her just how gullible she’s been.
‘It started back in March, when I heard you were in town for the reading of your stepfather’s will,’ he began softly. ‘And I can’t deny I was curious.’
Not just curious. The very mention of her name had stirred up all kinds of stuff inside him—stuff he’d thought he’d forgotten. Stuff he’d wanted to forget. Anger and resentment and bitterness, too. But most of all—when he had clicked onto the photo on the internet and seen her smiling face and golden hair—he had felt lust. That same powerful lust which had always overwhelmed him whenever he saw her. He remembered the kick to his heart and the way his mouth had dried as he’d stared at the sapphire glitter of her eyes.
‘Okay,’ she said cautiously, but her voice was still filled with confusion. ‘You were curious. That figures.’
He shrugged, his fine silk shirt whispering against his torso. ‘I saw your photo and I was intrigued. I decided I wanted to see you again. I’m sure you can imagine why.’ He paused as he flicked her a look. ‘So I had to work out a way of doing that.’
‘Please tell me I’m not hearing this, Alej,’ she said quietly.
‘Oh, but you are,’ he said, steeling his heart to the sudden tremble of her lips. ‘I read that you were part-owner of a modest PR agency and figured you would probably find it difficult to turn down an obscenely well-paid project if it was offered to you on a plate. And so I decided to employ you, but first I had to work out a good reason for doing so. I was known for my playboy lifestyle and avoidance of commitment—but neither of those things had ever impacted negatively on my career before. So I decided I needed a new career, one where image did matter—and that’s when Alejandro Sabato, the would-be politician, was born.’
Her lips opened into an expression of disbelief. ‘You mean...you mean you never intended to run for office?’
He put the half-empty beer bottle down on the counter. ‘Never. Politicians have never been my favourite people. Oh, I’ve been approached often enough in the past to get involved, but I’ve always preferred to channel my energies and money directly into my charitable foundations. The politician is just the middleman who takes his cut along the way.’
She walked over to the window and stared out in silence. ‘And the marriage?’ she questioned eventually, her back still to him. ‘What was the point of that?’
‘It guaranteed that you would stay for as long as I wanted you,’ he said. ‘In fact, I quite enjoyed watching your enthusiasm as you planned it all, reinforcing my opinion that all women are suckers for a wedding. And on a practical level, a marriage of convenience meant I could rid myself of the tiresome playboy handle, once and for all.’
She turned around then and her cheeks were even paler than before, making her eyes look like two huge sapphires which dominated her face. ‘So you were lying to me all the time?’
He didn’t flinch at her accusation. Why should he? Yet the clench of his heart was uncomfortable—as uncomfortable as acknowledging the pain which was glittering from her big blue eyes. ‘Yes, I was lying,’ he grated. ‘Now you know how it feels.’
Emily didn’t move from the window as a flood of conflicting emotions rushed through her, making her feel faint and light-headed. There was
hurt, of course there was. Bitter hurt. And she felt foolish, too—for having walked straight into his cruel trap to get her into his bed and wreak some sort of revenge on her.
But she’d gone willingly, hadn’t she? There had been no coercion on his part, and that chemistry of old had exploded as if they’d never been apart. Only this time, their relationship had been on a deeper level than before. Or so she’d thought. It hadn’t just been about first love and sexual awakening. He’d confided to her about his mother. He’d laid his soul bare for her to see all the darkness there. And yes, he had lied—but he was right: she had done exactly the same. Did it matter? she wondered suddenly. Could their lies have simply cancelled each other out so that they could forget all about them and start over?
And then she shook her head as if to clear it, wondering if she was in danger of going completely mad. Because of course it mattered. She’d told him lies because she’d been young and scared and had been backed into a corner. She hadn’t cold-bloodedly worked out some torturous form of revenge, as Alej had done. He’d plotted to get her back into his bed but he’d played with her emotions, too. All these days here when she had been lulling herself into a sweet and romantic dream about a tentative future—while Alej must have been quietly laughing at how stupid she was.
Had he let his defences down in order to manipulate her—to try to get her to fall in love with him all over again?
And hadn’t he succeeded?
‘You bastard,’ she hissed, and suddenly it felt as if something had broken inside her. As if her determination to do the right thing and say the right thing had all crumbled away. What a dupe she had been, she thought disgustedly. Hadn’t she learnt the hard way that you could never rely on a man for your happiness? That her independent life and career was the only reliable path to contentment? There might not have been anyone since Alej—but neither had there been this tearing pain which made her heart feel as if it were splintering into a thousand tiny pieces. ‘I may have been guilty of telling lies, but not of cold-blooded emotional manipulation,’ she raged. ‘And at least I had youth on my side. What was your excuse? Because you know what? I actually feel sorry for you, Alej.’
‘Sorry for me?’ he questioned furiously. ‘This from the woman who married me purely for money?’
‘What other reason would I have for wanting to marry you when you’re so closed up and cold and don’t dare to ever trust anyone?’ she retorted. ‘You’re just stuck in some empty loop where all you can see is the negative. You can’t seem to shake off the past and appreciate what you have right now. Well, thank goodness I saw this side to you before I—’
‘Before you what, Emily?’
She shook her head, aware that she had almost given herself away, because she sure as hell wasn’t going to feed his already massive ego by telling him she loved him. Because surely now her main goal must be to eradicate him from her mind, and from her life. ‘None of your damned business! You know what I suggest you do? That you go and find your blood brother. You find him and meet with him—because that’s something which might help you make sense of your past, since nothing else has worked. Oh, and you can keep these!’
She twisted the yellow-diamond engagement ring and the matching studded wedding band from her finger and threw them on the table, where they landed with a clatter. ‘And in the meantime, I’d like a car to take me to the airport where I intend getting the first scheduled flight back to England. And don’t even think about putting me on your private jet, Alej—because there’s no way I’m setting foot on it.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IT WAS THE dullest day Emily could remember, but then she’d been particularly sensitive to adverse weather conditions of late. When you spent a lot of your leisure time staring out of the window, you tended to notice things like spattering raindrops and fog so thick that it looked as if the world were permanently shrouded in a grey blanket. Maybe she should be grateful that the world wasn’t all bright and sunny. Imagine if the sun were shining and the sky bright blue—wouldn’t that only emphasise just how dark her world was and how broken her heart?
She just missed him. So much. She hadn’t factored that in when she’d stormed from the Argentinian billionaire’s estancia, barely even gritting out a goodbye when the car had arrived to take her to the airport. And in the intervening weeks there had been nothing. No email, no phone call—not even a letter from his lawyer, announcing that he wanted a divorce. He probably wasn’t even going to bother asking for a divorce, she thought gloomily. He could get one automatically in a couple of years on grounds of desertion and, in the meantime, his marital status might stop other women from trying to rush him to the altar. Being an estranged husband would only add to his inestimable appeal.