Net of Lies (2 page)

‘
He likes beautiful women, Kate.’

His answer left her speechless
, and her jaw dropped in surprise.

M
arc, visibly uncomfortable, played with his fork. ‘He is a womanizer, as far as I know. He just got divorced, and I have been told that he isn’t wasting any time replacing his ex-wife, if you get what I mean.’

‘I don’t think I do, actually.’
Still reeling from his revelation, her lips stiffened. ‘Do you want me to flirt with him, Marc? Is that why you invited me here tonight? To have some old, leering perv paw at me in the spirit of closing the deal?’

‘
Jesus, Kate, don’t make it sound like that.’ Angry red spots appeared on his cheeks as he shook his head and whispered back, ‘Of course not. Nothing like that. I just thought you could be nice to him. Bat your lashes and smile, nothing more… I want to keep him happy, that’s all.’

‘
Do you really need him so badly?’ she asked, already knowing the answer. Times were tough, not only for new artists, but also for the people who tried to make a living selling those pieces. The economic nosedive’s dire repercussions in the art collecting circles had turned the initial rush to invest in art into a standstill, especially for the larger galleries selling the most expensive art. Marc’s family hadn’t escaped unscathed from the crisis. The dwindling sales and disappearing orders had forced them to close at least two of their galleries in Britain.
Not that one could tell by the way they carry themselves,
she thought, recalling the impressive cars and even more impressive homes Marc’s family owned.

‘I do need him, Kate.’
He confirmed her silent musing, shaking his dark hair in theatrical despair. ‘From our conversation over the phone, he’s one of those lucky bastards that has more money than he knows what to do with. And frankly, I don’t give a damn how he found out about our exclusive sales, as long as he is actually going to buy something.’

A
whole wing of the gallery was reserved for his most distinguished and selective clients, where private visits and sales signed behind closed doors projected an air of exclusivity and privilege to those who could afford it. Her knowledge had been vague, though. Her job kept her mostly in the main wing of the gallery.

‘
I will try my best, Marc.’ She sighed and was rewarded with his handsome smile. She was bothered by how little his smile affected her; his obvious charm didn’t quite reach into her soul, but she tried to smile back. ‘But I can’t promise I’ll do a great job. I certainly don’t have the flirting skills or good looks for captivating men.’

‘Now that’s a statement I
disagree with,’ a voice interfered.

Her
blood froze in her veins even before she raised her eyes to look at the man who had arrived at the table and overheard her last statement. She would have recognized this voice among millions of others. Every rich nuance of its slightly foreign accent was etched in her memory.

Slowly
, she lifted her head to confront him, her heart beating loud enough for her to fear he might hear it. She gasped in shock. He hadn’t changed.

She avoided
his gaze for as long as possible. And when her eyes finally met his, she shivered in an uncontrollable response to the contempt she found in the depths of his jet-black gaze. Her knees trembled, and she was grateful she was seated. Her past had finally caught up with her.

She
’s scared,
Raoul thought, waiting for the feeling of triumph to wash over him as her face paled and her pupils dilated. Her fear should have made him feel good. She swallowed convulsively as she searched for words. He searched his heart, and, to his utter disappointment, he didn’t find even an ounce of satisfaction; his senses were consumed with taking in every detail of her slim frame.

She had lost weight
. His eyes traveled over her slender arms and tiny waist, and he was sure he could span it with his hands. Her face was thinner, too. Her eyes were too large above the high cheekbones and pointed chin. The softness he had so enjoyed before had been replaced by sharp features. Her beauty reminded him of a fine painting, detailed and haunting. Not that it took away any of her overwhelming loveliness. The lines of her cheeks and the curve of her generous mouth were still heart stopping. And her glorious hair had remained as glossy and thick as he remembered. The long, wavy tresses tumbled down her shoulders in a cascade of brown silk. As she swallowed, his eyes followed the movement of her skin to the hollow of her throat, where he noticed a single teardrop ruby. Its size and magnificent craftsmanship belied a value of thousands of pounds.

Raoul
cursed his momentary weakness, reminding himself that the decorated woman sitting next to the man he despised was nothing like the girl he’d known in a different time and place. It was better to get straight to business and safely set aside his personal feelings for later. He nodded at Marc, whose confused face started to fold into a frown.

‘Marc
Stevenson, isn’t that right?’ Stepping closer, he offered a wintry smile, and the other man nodded in consternation. ‘I allowed myself to tell the waiter, who was eager to accompany me to your table, that I’m perfectly capable of introducing myself, Mr. Stevenson. The idea of being delivered like some kind of a prize didn’t sit too well with me, I have to confess.’

Judging by M
arc’s expression, Raoul could tell he would have preferred that the waiter had delivered the message because it would have made a much more grandiose opening to their conversation. But Raoul had always hated all kinds of formalities, avoiding them at each turn unless absolutely necessary. After his investigation of Marc and his business, he knew it was even more pressing to remain as aloof as possible.

Marc seemed to have finally shaken off his confusion
. He rose to his feet, his eagerness nearly sending his chair crashing to the floor. He stretched out his hand, and a beaming smile crossed his handsome face. His good-host mode switched on in an instant.

‘You must be Don Raoul de Santos y
Lorrena, then.’ Marc laughed with unjustified cordiality. ‘Now, I’m not usually easily surprised, but you managed just that.’

‘And this is just the beginning
.’ Shaking the other man’s hand, Raoul smiled again. The smallest flicker of unease flashed across Marc’s eyes as he smiled in response. The skin of his cheeks stretched out until his face looked like a mask.

‘Sit down, please.’ Overcoming his
sudden awkwardness, Marc gestured toward the empty seat, his eyes going to Kate, who still sat frozen in her chair. ‘I don’t believe you know my lovely assistant here?’ Not waiting for Raoul’s response, Marc grinned and added, his head dipping conspiratorially, ‘She is absolutely fabulous at her work. A real treasure.’

He knew it better than Marc could ever imagine
, and his whole body tensed with grim anger. He was tempted to say it aloud, just to wipe the self-satisfied smirk from the face of the man who wasn’t much more than a common thief as far as Raoul was concerned. But he reminded himself of his true goal, curbing his impatience as he smiled back.

‘
I’m sure of it, Mr. Stevenson.’ His eyes glided over her features, coming to rest on her mouth. The fullness of her beautifully cut lips brought back memories that were better left unexplored in such a public place. He remembered her taste and the mixture of innocence and passion that he’d never bothered to resist in the past. He wondered briefly if she responded with an equal lack of inhibitions to the man at her side, and the idea bothered him more than he cared to admit. They were lovers; he had no doubts about that. It was obvious in the way he looked at her and in the familiarity of their arms resting less than an inch apart on the tabletop. He fought the sudden impulse to push Marc aside, away from Kate. Marc introduced them, his smooth voice annoyingly intimate as he talked to Kate. Raoul found himself on the verge of shaking this man, but all his plans would be destroyed if he caused a scene.

Instead
, he turned to Kate. ‘Do you enjoy working in a gallery? What does an assistant do in a place like that, I wonder?’ She wasn’t much more than a coffee fetcher, at best, and he knew it.

She
must have known it, as well. Her cheeks flamed as she looked up to him, their eyes meeting properly for the first time that evening. ‘Actually, I’m responsible for quite a few things, Mr. Santos. I organize the showings, contact the artists, and oversee the construction of exhibits. Of course, I’m just one of many people working at the Stevenson Gallery, since it’s quite large and requires many helping hands. But I’m sure you must be aware of it, since you managed to find us among so many others.’

The clothes and hairdo might have changed, but her voice
had remained the same, and his gut tightened in response. He recognized the slight tremor her voice got when she was upset. He’d heard it many times, even though he’d never been its cause.

He
hadn’t been there to hear it on the one occasion when he—and he alone—had upset her enough that she’d left, abandoning her place in the span of hours. His brain reminded him of it mercilessly, the all-too-familiar feeling of fury washing over him as he pushed aside the memories.

It didn’t matter
then and never would again. The past was a closed book, and they had become people very different from the ones they had been when they’d baked under the sun on the Spanish coast. Her obvious association with Marc put her in a totally different category.

‘I don
’t know much about working in a gallery, I have to admit.’ He shrugged indifferently, then added silkily, ‘I don’t know too many people who are planning to work in one, either. When I think about it, I’ve only ever known one art student. But then again, she planned on actually starting her own business, if I’m not mistaken. Still, money for such an endeavor is hard to come by nowadays. Who knows, maybe she changed her mind and is doing something easier and more profitable.’

He had hoped his comment would make her slip up, but she didn’t take the bait
. Her eyes darkened dangerously, and she bit her lower lip as if to stop herself from blurting out a spontaneous response, but she managed to keep it under wraps. Her serene smile was an insult in itself. ‘Well, sometimes, life plays tricks on us all, doesn’t it?’ Long lashes veiled her eyes as she looked up at him with unfazed confidence. ‘People often say and do different things. I learned that a long time ago. Sometimes, it’s difficult to see their true intentions, isn’t it?’

T
he waiter arrived with Raoul’s appetizer, interrupting their exchange. The charged atmosphere went unnoticed as Marc took the opportunity to talk business.

‘I was wondering if you were interested
in taking a tour of our gallery, Raoul.’ The two glasses of wine were having an effect on his speech, and his blue eyes were slightly out of focus as he smiled at the other man with a cordiality that made Kate cringe.

‘I know you have seen the catalogue and have your own ideas about what you like, but I would strongly recommend
getting a closer look at all our treasures. Some of them aren’t even featured in the catalogue.’

As if
I didn’t know.
Raoul nodded, careful not to give away any of the agitation that twisted his sides. Instead, he smiled, his eyes going back to Kate. ‘If I may steal your wonderful assistant to be my guide, I’m in.’

Marc’s
enthusiastic response left Raoul to guess that there were two possibilities for his total lack of worry about lending him Kate for a private after-hours tour. Maybe their commitment was deep enough that he didn’t need to worry about her being alone with another man. Or, more likely, he wanted to use her as bait to reel in a promising client.

Kate’s
barely hidden, horrified expression told him it was the latter. Hers was not the face of a woman in love who trusts her partner and his decisions. Obviously, she hadn’t shared her past with him. This pleased him because, for whatever twisted reason, the thought of Kate diminishing their relationship to a few sentences about a past mistake was unbearable.

‘Sounds like a plan.
We can arrange it at your convenience—at any time, really.’

Raoul could have sworn that Marc was already counting the money he would make
from the sale, and his cheerful expression was at odds with his girlfriend’s subdued demeanor. She pushed her food around the plate and barely sipped her wine. While Marc tucked into his meal, his hands swift and efficient as he cut his meat into bite-sized chunks and polished his plate as if he were having his last meal, Kate stared ahead, her smile glued to her face with what must have been an inhuman effort.

Raoul
wondered what part she played in her lover’s schemes. Did she know everything about the ‘private gallery’ reserved for Marc’s special clients? He found himself hoping that she didn’t, though that was hard to believe. Her serene face and flawless body didn’t mean she was innocent—not by any stretch.

I’ll find out soon,
he promised himself, as he sipped his wine and listening to Marc’s animated tales about the artists he had met and featured in his gallery. Raoul watched Kate, barely hiding his interest as his eyes clung to her lovely face. After two years of living with just the memories, he enjoyed merely feasting his eyes on her smooth skin, glorious eyes, and perfect little nose with a light dusting of freckles that he had loved to kiss.