Baby By Accident(51)
“Is it?” The man sat and she finally was able to see him.
His hands might tell one story, but his perfect profile told quite another. The man was as gorgeous as any man she’d ever seen. His classic nose cut between two chiseled cheekbones in a straight arrow of precision. His hair wasn’t merely blond. The curls were gold like ancient coins and curled around his masculine face as if craving his attention. Just like her husband, his hair was long, but instead of making a woman think of pirates and plunder, this fall of golden beauty made a woman think of heaven and angels.
His blue eyes met hers and blinded her with their brilliance.
Her husband coughed. “This usually happens.”
She swung her stare across to him and wondered if he were jealous. But there was only wicked amusement in the tawny eyes. “What usually happens?”
“Alex makes an impression.”
The man coughed too as if slightly embarrassed about his perfection. “When did this marriage happen?”
“A couple of weeks ago.” Her new husband leaned back in his chair, putting on a satisfied smile that she knew for a fact was a fake. “We’re on our honeymoon.”
Those amazing blue eyes widened. “Congratulations to both of you. What excellent timing to run into you during this joyous moment.”
“Speaking of timing,” Vico said. “I’ve got a building I want you to design in the middle of London.”
A confident smile slid across the handsomest mouth she’d ever seen. “Really? And what is going to be in this building?”
“My new company.”
The hair on the back of her neck rose. My new company. “You can’t possibly mean—”
“HSF Financial.”
Vico Mattare did mean her company. “The building my company occupies has been our headquarters for twenty years,” she snarled.
“Precisely.” Her husband didn’t bat an eye in the face of her fury. “Time for a change.”
The blond, elegant man sitting between them arched a pair of golden brows. “It’s apparent to me there needs to be more conversation before this project moves forward.”
“Nonsense.” Her bull-headed husband plowed forward with his stupidity.
Alexander Stravoudas looked at her and laughed. “Vico, you might want to—”
“You are the most idiotic, stupid man I know.”
Vico stared at her in stunned silence. The blond man, who clearly wasn’t stupid at all, kept his peace.
Lise jerked herself out of her seat. “I’ll see you back at the flat. Much to my regret.”
Before either man could move, she stomped down the Paris street, anger bubbling inside, but also, relief. All her lust and affection were gone. In one single second of male arrogance.
She knew what a girl should do.
Return to London. And fight hand and tooth for her company.
Chapter 12
The woman was driving herself into the ground. And driving him insane.
Vico sat at his office desk, his fingers tapping on the glass top.
He waited for his wife. Waited for the inevitable fight.
Two weeks. Two weeks back in London and all the hard work he’d done in Paris was gone.
The first night of his honeymoon, he’d promised himself and he’d kept the promise. Sex was not what was most important. Laying a good foundation for the bridge he planned on building between them was. He’d turned his libido to off and made some decisions.
No loss of temper no matter how much she aggravated him.
No harsh words. No threats.
His entire focus had been on calming the nature of their relationship and establishing some kind of peace between them. More than anything else, though, his focus had been on getting her to relax, getting her healthy. Getting her to drop her defenses.
All his concentration on her had worked. Brilliantly, if he did say so himself.
“Mr. Mattare?”
Vico glanced at the intercom. “Si?”
“Mrs. Mattare is running a bit late.”
He growled under his breath. “Tell her I will expect her as soon as she’s free.”
“I will.” Sally clicked off.
His heart thumped with immediate worry, sweeping over the impatience. Was she ill again? Not inconceivable the way she drove herself. Fourteen-hour workdays would do that to a pregnant woman. Along with long stretches of work on the weekends.
He knew what she was doing. He knew what this was.
An avoidance tactic.
That last day in Paris everything had been coming together. He’d felt the pull, he’d felt her drawing close. They’d teetered right on the edge of something wonderful.
He’d instinctively known it, relished it, yearned for it.
But then she’d used his simple introduction to the leading architect in the world and his simple suggestion to change some things at HSF. Used them both by blowing everything all out of proportion so she could avoid what was right in front of her.