Modern Romance July 2015 Books 1-4. Maisey Yates
but even so. Hard to believe this was the same Jess who wore classy clothes in shades of cream and taupe while her sensible ponytail bobbed behind her. The same Jess who had stood wobbling awkwardly in the gondola during the first shoot, looking like a little girl dressed up in her mother’s clothes.
His throat tightened.
The black and white photos were broken only by the magenta gleam of her lips and the Lulu ribbon which lay in a gleaming swirl by her feet. Against the imposing backdrop of the iconic city, she tipped her head at an angle and looked straight into the lens. Her breasts were highlighted by the low-cut bodice, showcasing the diamonds which blazed like ice fire next to her pale skin. A gentle breeze had lifted the blonde hair so that the blunt-cut strands whipped around her chin, and her smoky eyes were emphasised by the heavy fringe.
But it was more than her beauty or the air of fragility she seemed to project, or even the way her eyes seemed full of a strange, clear light. She personified sex...that was the thing. It radiated from every pore of her body. It was there in every gesture she made. The pout of her lips was defiant and the hand slung carelessly against her jutting hip made her look like every man’s fantasy come true. The teenage sweetheart was all grown up.
‘What the hell happened to her?’ Gabe was asking, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Loukas.
Loukas didn’t answer. How could he possibly answer, when he knew it would sound like some kind of chest-thumping macho boast if he told the truth? She looks like a woman who has just been thoroughly ravished and I should know because I was the one doing the ravishing.
And that was another shock to the system. He hadn’t expected the sex to be so good. He’d thought that once the novelty of having her in his arms again had worn off, he would realise that there were plenty of lovers more exciting than Jessica Cartwright. He’d tried to convince himself that he had built up the memory of their lovemaking in his mind to be something it wasn’t. Only it hadn’t turned out that way. It had been mind-blowing. Every time. He’d felt as if he were touching the stars. He’d spent his entire time in the city in a dazed and permanent state of arousal.
Was that why he had persuaded her to stay on? Why one night had turned into two and then three? He’d intended them to fly back to England the day after they’d returned Marco to his parents, but something had stopped him and he told himself it must have been sex. But there had been something else which had made him want to prolong it, and that had been the nagging certainty that this relationship would not survive the cold light of reality. A love affair in Venice was one thing, when you could get swept away by the history and the atmosphere and the sheer beauty of the city. But life back in the UK, with their normal lives threatening to collide? No way.
He realised that Gabe was still staring at him, waiting for a reply to his question.
‘I guess she grew up,’ said Loukas simply.
‘You know we have to capitalise on this?’ said Gabe. ‘Give the campaign a kick-start. Show the world that this is going to be big...’
Almost absently Loukas nodded as he studied the shot of her in the black and white dress and a pair of rubber boots, standing ankle-deep in water in a flooded St Mark’s Square. They’d caught her looking up at something overhead—a bird?—and she was giggling and, despite being all grown up, suddenly she looked about eighteen again. Something clenched at his heart. ‘How?’ he questioned huskily.
‘We throw a cocktail party for the press at the Granchester on Monday night, with the new look Jessica as the guest of honour.’
Loukas frowned. ‘Isn’t that a little short notice?’
‘Not on a Monday—and not with your name attached to the invitation,’ said Gabe drily. ‘It’s amazing the space people can find in their diaries if the person holding the party is influential enough. I’ll get Patti to sort out Jessica’s wardrobe and make sure she has something suitable to wear.’ He frowned. ‘Another dress, I think, and some of the best gems in your collection. But not diamonds this time. Let’s go for something different.’
‘Sapphires,’ said Loukas slowly, and the thought of the darker hue contrasting with the aquamarine gleam of her eyes sent a thrill of desire skittering over his skin. ‘She will wear my sapphires.’
* * *
Jessica stared at herself in the mirror. This time the dress was blue, and her jewellery gleamed as darkly as the midnight sky. She lifted her hand to her hair, watching her reflection mimicking the movement, her fingertips brushing against a small sapphire and diamond clip which glittered like starlight.
The sound of a footfall disturbed her and as she looked up to see Loukas reflected back in the glass, her heart began to pound erratically.
‘You look beautiful,’ he said.
She closed her eyes and shivered as he lowered his head to plant a kiss on one bare shoulder. ‘Do I?’
‘You know you do. You don’t need me to tell you that, Jess.’
But that was where he was wrong—she did. She stared at his dark, bent head. She still felt like someone playing dress-up. She still felt vulnerable—especially since they’d arrived back in England and Loukas had persuaded her to stay in London. He’d told her that it was crazy not to use her luxury suite at the Vinoly Hotel, while they continued to enjoy one another. He had said this while trickling one finger over the swell of her naked breast and she hadn’t really been in a position to say no. In fact she hadn’t been in a position to do anything except make love, which was what he had been doing to her at the time.
But the reality of being in London like this didn’t sit comfortably. Loukas went into the office each morning, and although she made sure that she took advantage of all that the city had to offer—including a gorgeous exhibition of Victorian embroidery—she felt like a fish out of water. As if she was waiting all the time. Waiting for him.
And Loukas seemed...well...different. She stifled a sigh. It wasn’t something she could put her finger on. Was his lovemaking more cold-blooded than it had been in Venice, or was that just her imagination? It wasn’t something she could really discuss with him without causing offence—and she didn’t want to offend him. She wanted... She stared at his reflection in the mirror as he continued to kiss his way along her shoulder... She didn’t know what she wanted, only that it was unlikely to involve roses and moonlight. Not from him. She sensed that for him it was already over, like when you turned an egg timer and the sand started to trickle away—the countdown had begun.
But she wasn’t going to let him see her insecurities or her fears. She was going to take it all in her stride, because she was good at doing that. So as he lifted his lips from her shoulder she was able to smile so widely that she almost convinced herself she was happy. She thought about the evening ahead and sent him a slightly anxious look. ‘So all I have to do tonight is chat to people and twirl around?’
‘You’ve got it in one. Why don’t you practise now?’ His voice lowered. ‘Twirl around. Go on.’
‘Loukas.’ Something in his face was turning her stomach to jelly. ‘You...mustn’t.’
‘Mustn’t what?’
Her voice sounded breathless. ‘You can’t kiss me now because my lipstick will—’
‘Tough,’ he said darkly, blotting out all her objections and kissing her so thoroughly that afterwards she had to apply the magenta-coloured gloss all over again.
But his behaviour during the short journey to the Granchester seemed to reinforce her growing insecurity. Nobody would have ever guessed they were a couple because he made no outward sign that they were anything more than working colleagues. He didn’t touch her, or take her hand in his. There was no complicit smile which might indicate to the world that she was sharing his bed. Tonight she was very definitely the employee and he the boss, and she found herself thinking that their relationship had always been defined by secrecy.
A barrage of photographers was waiting outside