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Theos, he was losing his mind. But the more he examined the feeling, the more unsettled he felt. He threw his phone down and jumped up, the need for Belle almost too strong to bear.
He needed to see her, to hold her.
Striding to the door, he threw it open. They had one last night before Fate decided what was in store for them. He was determined not to waste it.
In the dimlight of a hotel bathroom, Charles Mwana stood in front of the mirror and carefully peeled away the prosthetic nose and fake moustache. Next, he used the cleanser and deep pore astringent to wash off the heavy make-up masking his scar. When his face was devoid of the trappings aiding his disguise, he rubbed his jaw, lost in thought.
His plan was unravelling. No, not unravelling…taking a different course. But he was nothing if not adaptable. His prize was close at hand, he could feel it in his bones. Thanks to the breaking news, he now knew where Belle was headed.
Hearing her voice on the phone last week—thanks to Richard coming through for him with a phone number—had brought both pleasure and a pain. The promise of seeing her again held him together. She would have a good explanation for deserting him; he knew she would. And this time he didn’t intend to let her ex-husband get in his way.
He looked around the hotel room, at the arsenal of weapons laid on the bed. Whoever had said money and sweet words greased the way through life didn’t know of a much, much more powerful tool—one that had served him well for almost twenty years. As puppets went, Richard Francis was a highly efficient one. Funny how one man’s tiny indiscretion could dictate the course of the rest of his life.
His puppet had been dispatched on another diversionary errand, one that would ensure that Mwana would triumph once and for all over his enemy.
He went back to the bedroom and picked up Belle’s passport. Opening it, he stared at the photo. Her face smiled back at him.
He ran a finger over the image.
Soon.
With the certainty of their union lifting his spirits, he let his forgiveness for the way she’d left him ease his pain. She would make it up to him when he found her, he was sure of it. She’d promised herself to him, and he knew she wasn’t a liar. He’d seen the truth in her eyes.
It was herex-husband—he had no idea why the press referred to him as her husband—who kept her from him. When he found her, he’d free her from the bastard. He passed his fingers over Belle’s passport picture one last time, placed it over his heart, and turned off the light.
Belle came downafter her shower to find Nick standing at the large open French doors of the living room, his back to her. He’d changed into a pair of grey tailored trousers and short-sleeved shirt. From the dampness in his hair, she guessed he’d also taken a shower. As usual, his breadth of shoulder and leanness of hipmade her pulse race. Unable to resist the urge, she went up to him and slid her arms around his trim waist.
He gave a small start, then turned to hook an arm around her to bring her to face him.
A strange light she couldn’t decipher gleamed in his eyes, but it was the strained set to his mouth that caught her attention. Wondering whether anything else had happened after she’d gone upstairs, she asked, “Is everything all right?”
For a moment he didn’t answer, just continued to look into her face. Then he leaned down and brushed her nose with his.
“Kiss me first, then ask me again.”
She did, then lifted her head when he went to deepen the kiss.
“What’s wrong?”
He took her hand and led her to the sofa, sitting down before pulling her onto his lap. A zing of pleasure went through her as she realized this was fast becoming her favourite place to sit. When he lifted her hand and deposited a hot kiss in her palm, she momentarily lost her ability to think. But she rallied, regarding him in silence until, resigned, he took a deep breath.
One hand caressed her back in a soothing motion. “I’ve spoken to my PR people. The only sure-fi re way to avoid being hounded by the media is to give a small press conference. Give them what they want, this time. Let the world see you, assure everyone you’re okay. Then we can return to London and live in blissful anonymity.” The last words were said tongue-in-cheek, eliciting an unladylike snort from her.
“That’d be the day. Besides, don’t we have a despotic bastard to take down first?”
His smile held a hint of tension. “We do. Demetra’s packing our bags. The jet’s on its way from Athens. We leave first thing in the morning.”
“I didn’t want to come here, but now I don’t want to leave.” She couldn’t suppress her sadness. She fingered the rings on the chain, drawing Nick’s eyes to them.
Expecting him to comment, she was surprised when he just smiled.
“Come on. Demetra insists we have an early supper since neither of us did justice to the lunch she so lovingly put together this afternoon.”
Recalling the emotional rollercoaster the picnic had turned into and the passionate lovemaking that had preceded and ended it, she blushed. “Was she very upset?”
“No. I told her other things came up, so we didn’t have the appetite for food.”
She felt her colour deepen. “Other things? But she’s going to think?—”