Maybe she could hide out in some hippy artist colony in New Mexico and learn how to make Aztec jewellery, one of her recent passions.
Only the papers would no doubt publish that she had been in rehab. And why did she care so much? Well, for one, because she was tired of people suggesting that she coasted through life because of her name. Tired of being labelled the bad girl of the family. Somehow the bad-boy reputations of her twin brothers—Orsino and Lucca—were revered. Hers was issued as a subtle put-down and last night Aidan Kelly had made her feel cheap.
She wasn’t. She’d had two lovers in her life—though no one would believe that.
It wasn’t fair.
Nothing was fair.
Cilla would tell her to stop being ‘so sensitive’ but Cara couldn’t help it. She didn’t know any other way to be.
Feeling trapped and maudlin, she decided to go to the airport and look at the destination board and pick the place farthest away from anywhere else.
As far as plans went it wasn’t much of one and … who was she kidding? She hated being alone and she knew that if she was she’d relive every moment of last night over and over until the only place she’d be fit for was an asylum.
Quickly texting Harriet she asked her agent if she could crash on her couch for a couple of days. It was the safest place she knew at this point in time even if she would have to explain everything and probably grovel. Harriet responded with an immediate yes, but somehow Cara didn’t feel any sense of relief.
She’s going to be so disappointed in me.
Trying not to picture her agent’s face when she arrived, and wondering which parts of last night she would share with Harriet, she stuffed clothes into her suitcases, wishing she’d packed a little lighter for once. The one thing she could never tell Harriet about was how Aidan Kelly had kissed her and touched her last night. Or how much she still craved the touch of a man who didn’t even like her. There was pathetic and then there was pathetic.
And as much as her father might think that she was worthless, she knew deep down in her heart that she wasn’t. That she just felt a little … lost sometimes. As if she didn’t belong anywhere.
Not wanting to dwell any more on negative thoughts Cara pulled on loose linen pants and a singlet top. Her Jackie O sunglasses would hide the fact that her eyes looked ravaged from lack of sleep and too much crying and a baseball cap would help cover most of her hair to stop anyone from recognising her.
Then she closed her suitcases and dialled down to reception.
If she hadn’t been so sleep deprived and preoccupied with her problems she might have been more prepared for the wall of paparazzi that surged towards her as soon as she stepped outside of the hotel.
But she wasn’t prepared at all and before she had time to blink she found herself backed up against the glass wall and her cap and sunglasses knocked to the ground. Quickly bending to retrieve them she shielded her eyes from the prying lenses of the cameras.
Wedging her glasses back into place she stood up and tried not to appear as if she was cowering. But she was and the barrage of reporters had her perfectly trapped as they pitched questions excitedly at her head.
As a general rule Aidan was an early riser. It was a habit he’d established the day he’d taken over his father’s business.
He usually started the day with a session in his gym, or a run around the Sydney Botanical Gardens near his home. Then he’d return, have a shot of espresso his housekeeper would have prepared and take his chauffeur-driven car to work.
In the old days, in the beginning, he’d have driven himself to work. His first car had been a late-model powder blue sedan—as ugly as they came and he’d hated it. He used to dream about the day it would be turned into a Ferrari. Fire-engine red. Why go for the discreet black or sun-flower-yellow. At the time he’d wanted bright and bold. Out there.
Somehow he’d never gotten around to buying that Ferrari. Why own a car you didn’t have time to drive?
He frowned. The Merc made more sense. He could make phone calls in it, work on his computer, or take a meeting if he was in a rush. Hell, he’d even had sex in his limousine one night when he’d been pushed for time and his lover had begged.
He remembered now that he hadn’t enjoyed the experience that much. Not like last night.
And what the hell was Cara Chatsfield doing in his head again?
His frown turned into a scowl. She was like a sore that wouldn’t heal. A painful one. He never should have touched her. How many times had he told himself that already? How many times had he told himself that one taste of her honeyed charms had been more than enough?
Last night he’d been so tied up in his need for revenge that he’d become almost paranoid. He hadn’t been able to see what was real and he still wasn’t sure he knew. All last night had revealed was that the issues of his past hadn’t felt lifted when he’d beaten Ellery and he’d taken that out on Cara.