The Pearl House
A case in point had been when their father had been killed in a car accident years ago. It had been Francesca who had woken their mother up and raised the alarm, insisting there was something wrong. An hour later the wrecked vehicle had been found. It had been too late to save their father, but from that day on they had all paid attention to Francesca’s premonitions.
Francesca took another sip of champagne and stepped away from the bar, her attention once again focused on the colorful, shifting crowd. “I just feel that tonight I could meet that special someone.”
She smiled, although the smile seemed over-bright and a little taut, as she deposited the half-empty flute back on the bar. “Fingers crossed. So far Miami has been a complete washout where men are concerned.” She grinned at Tobias, who was now leaning against the bar, arms crossed over his chest, a rueful expression on his face. “Except for Tobias! Mind if I borrow your date for this dance?”
“Be my guest,” Sophie muttered, her concern for her twin evaporating as she spotted a tall broad-shouldered figure in the crowd. A sharp tingle shot down her spine. He turned, and her attention was riveted by the strong, faintly battered masculine profile, courtesy of the fact that his nose had once been broken, and a rock-solid jaw. It was Ben.
His gaze locked with hers for a searing instant. Her heart sped up, making her feel suddenly breathless, and, out of nowhere, an irresistible thought surfaced. Maybe, the business he was conducting with her brother aside, Ben was here for her. Maybe, after a year of separation, he had finally realized that what they had shared had been special.
Dimly she recognized that this was not the reaction she should have after months of therapy designed to reposition her thinking. She was supposed to be focused on choosing the best for herself, not setting herself up for disappointment again.
All of that was swept away in the sudden realization that Ben was not alone.
Sophie stiffened. Somehow, she hadn’t expected him to be with someone. She had thought that, because her life had ground to a halt while she’d processed the hurt of rejection, he would also be affected in some significant way. That he might even be missing her, or regretting leaving her without a word, without even a phone call—
Her jaw tightened. Of course, that presupposed that Ben had a heart.
Her gaze settled on the woman who was pulling him onto the dance floor. She looked young, barely out of her teens, with tawny blond hair piled in a messy knot, a short turquoise silk dress skimming her curves, a tattoo on one slim shoulder and outrageously high heels.
Sophie’s breath came in sharply. She was only twenty-seven, but looking at the young, vibrant thing in Ben’s arms, she suddenly felt as old as Methuselah and, with her simple white designer dress and low, strappy shoes, just a bit…boring.
However, if she was “old,” then Ben, who was thirty, was ancient and practically cradle snatching.
Though Sophie knew she should drag her gaze away, seeing Ben with the gorgeous blonde made the shock that he had found someone else burn deeper. Even worse, it successfully cheapened the one night they had shared. A night that, for Sophie, had been singularly intense and passionate and seemed to signal the beginning of the kind of deep, meaningful relationship she had thought she might never experience until Ben had strode into her life.
Blindly she turned back to the bar. She was aware of the barman asking her a question. Champagne? Drawing a breath that felt impeded because her throat seemed to have closed up, she dredged up a brilliant smile. “Yes.”
Her fingers closed on the chilled flute. The first sip helped relax her throat, the second made it possible to feel almost normal. Probably because she was focused on something other than the fact that Ben was not the honorable man and exciting dream lover—the dependable, prospective husband—she had foolishly imagined him to be. Instead, he was as shallow as a puddle and a rat to boot. He had utterly betrayed her trust, and the whole situation was made worse by the fact that she had naively given herself to him.
Not that he had noticed that she had been a virgin the night they had made love. That tiny fact had seemed to bypass him completely.
When she had realized he had no clue, she’d felt an odd moment of disconnect, which she should have realized was a sign. Then the warmth of the night and the heady excitement of lying in Ben’s arms had kicked in, and she had dismissed the impulse to tell him. She’d had too many years of warily skirting relationships to let her guard down so easily, and Ben had a formidable reputation with women.
Now she was glad she hadn’t told him the truth, because clearly Ben lacked even the most basic insight into the female psyche. Her virginity was not something she had bestowed lightly. It had been a gift of trust that she had not wanted to see trampled. Sophie had decided that, until they had established an actual relationship, telling Ben that she had been so picky that she had waited making love until him, had seemed too acutely revealing. It would have put her at a disadvantage, and given him entirely too much power.
Finally, she had so not saved herself for him. Sleeping with Ben had just…happened.
She took another sip and checked how much champagne was left in her glass. She hadn’t had that much, maybe a third, but she was already feeling the effects. Not a happy buzz exactly, but the tightness in her stomach had gone and she was definitely starting to feel more kick-ass and in control.
However, the champagne also seemed to be having another effect. Without the normal careful editing of her emotions, the memories were flooding back, bigger, brighter and more hurtful than ever, which was…disappointing. She had gone to a great deal of effort to bury them beneath long work hours and an extremely busy dating life with men who did not remind her of Ben. She took another sip.
Sophie glanced back at the dance floor, which was a mistake, because once she fixed on Ben she couldn’t look away. Now that the initial shock of seeing him with another woman had passed, a weird jagged emotion hit her square in the chest, making it hard to think, making it hard to breathe.
She knew Ben had been dating up a storm; that he had been running through women like a hot knife through butter, because one of the gorgeous blondes he had dated and who was now obviously obsessed with him kept posting photos of them together on a popular social media account. Whenever Sophie needed to remind herself just how big a rat Ben was, all she needed to do was check Buffy Holt’s feed.
But this was the first time she had seen him with a new lover in the flesh.
Another punch of raw emotion caught her, the fierceness of it making her go hot, then cold, then hot again. Her jaw clenched at the horrifying realization that she was jealous.
Her fingers tightened on the champagne flute. She didn’t think she had ever been jealous before. However, she had heard enough about the emotion to understand that the taut, burning anger and explosive desire to do something off-the-wall, like confront Ben and wrench the pretty blonde from his arms, were classic symptoms.
With careful control, she set the flute down on the bar, deciding that it wasn’t helpful to have any more alcohol. The few sips she’d swallowed had already flipped the lid on a Pandora’s box of thoughts and emotions.
Jealousy.
She needed to hit her head against the nearest wall because that meant that somehow, despite every effort, Ben was still important to her. Reaching for calm, she picked up her half-drunk glass of sparkling water and threaded her way to the dance floor. The pretty blonde was now nowhere to be seen, and Ben was standing alone on the edge of the dance floor.
He half turned as she approached, a sleek cell phone held to one ear. Dimly she noted that the call was probably the reason he had ditched his date. Because with Ben, business always came first.
His dark blue gaze connected with hers. His lack of surprise at seeing her informed her that he had known she would be here and he had come to the party, anyway, with another woman. She suddenly knew what the phrase “a woman scorned” meant, because that described exactly how she felt.
“Sophie.” He lifted the phone from his ear. “It’s good to see you—”
A sudden image of the brief note he’d left her after their one night together made her see red. “Don’t you mean nice?”
She’d had time to think as she approached him. She didn’t fling the water because chances were, she was so angry most of it would miss him. Instead, she stepped close and upended the glass over his head. Satisfyingly, water also cascaded over his phone, with any luck killing it.
“Just so you know,” she said crisply, “I’m not a glass half-empty kind of girl.”
Two
Sophie registered the stunned silence punctuated by the motorized click and whir of a high-speed camera, and the flash of multiple cell phone cameras. All documenting the fact that she, a person who hated scenes, had just made a very public, very messy scene with the man she had slept with—and who she was supposed to have dumped—a year ago.
Face burning, feeling quietly horrified, she turned on her heel, walked back to the bar and returned the empty glass to the barman. She managed a cool smile, then made a quick exit out onto the terrace, which led down to a gleaming pool and beautiful gardens. Behind her, she was aware of the hubbub of noise as waiters scurried to clean up the water on the floor so that no one would slip. She was going to have to apologize to them, and to Nick, who would go crazy because she’d made a scene at his launch party.
She reached the secluded far end of the terrace, which was shaded with large, lush potted palms. Gripping the railing, she stared down at the glowing turquoise pool. The sound on Ocean Drive registered. The screech of tires, as if someone had just braked, followed by the long blast of a horn spun her back just over eleven months, to the accident and her last encounter with Ben.
Not that she had been thinking about him when her SUV had skidded on the loose piece of metal on a country road, then rolled down a gully choked with vegetation and trees. She had been focused on a future that did not contain him.
Happily, the airbags had deployed and the safety belt had done its job, but the two full revolutions down the shallow bank had battered her SUV. Worse yet, the seat belt had repeatedly cut into her torso and stomach, leaving a deep bruise and placing an extra load on her spine at vertebrae T11 and T12.
When the SUV had stopped, it was miraculously right side up. After the airbags had deflated, she found herself enclosed by dense brush and staring at the gnarled branches of a tree, which meant she was invisible from the road.
Her handbag, gym gear and bottle of water, all of which had been in the back seat, were now strewn around her in the front of the car. Her nose was stinging from the water bottle hitting her face while the car had been doing its tumbling act.
Not a problem. But the instant she reached for her handbag, a sharp pain in her right wrist and one in her lower back made her freeze in place. A quick inspection of her wrist suggested it had probably taken a hit from both front and side airbags when she’d automatically thrown up her arm to shield her face. It was straight but already swelling, which meant it was sprained not broken. Since she’d had a broken arm as a kid, she knew the difference.
She had no idea how bad the back injury might be. She didn’t think it was too serious because she hadn’t lost any feeling anywhere, but it was starting to throb, and she knew enough from the first aid course she’d done, and from her mom, who had trained as a paramedic, that you didn’t mess around with spinal injuries. The injuries meant she couldn’t afford to try to exit the SUV herself and climb up to the road.
Luckily she had her cell phone with her, which she suddenly loved with passion because it was going to connect her with the good, safe world out there.
She also knew exactly where she was, so at least she could take charge of getting rescued.
Moving carefully, so as not to twinge her back any more than necessary, she retrieved her phone from her bag.
Normally, she would ring the emergency services number, but since her mother, who had trained as a paramedic after Sophie’s father’s death and volunteered for the local ambulance service, it made sense to kill two birds with one stone and ring her.
Annoyingly, she was forced to use her clumsy left hand because her right hand was out of commission. Instead of getting her mom’s number, she scrolled too far and found herself staring at Ben’s.
A sharp, stabbing pain replaced the throb in her back, and she realized she had tensed. The hand holding her phone jerked, and her thumb must have moved on the screen because suddenly the phone was dialing him.
She wasn’t even supposed to have his number, because when he’d walked out on their one night together and disappeared overseas, he hadn’t given her any contact details at all. She’d had to stoop to getting the number off her brother, Nick’s, phone.
A split second later, his deep, cool voice filled the cab. “Sophie? Why are you ringing? Is something wrong?”
Shock and mortification held her immobile for long seconds, along with the realization that for Ben to know it was her calling meant he must have her number—and she hadn’t given it to him.
It registered that his voice sounded more gravelly than usual, as if she had just woken him up. She probably had, since he was living half a world away, in Miami.
A sudden image of Ben sprawled in bed, of his bronzed shoulders and broad chest a stark contrast to white sheets, made the breath hitch in her throat. She cleared her throat, which felt suddenly tight. “Nothing that you can help with.”
“Are you sure? Babe, you sound…odd.”
Babe.
He had only called her that once before, while they had been in bed. He certainly had no right to call her that now! And she was injured. She shouldn’t be lingering on the phone talking with him. What she needed was an ambulance. Suddenly the weird desire to keep Ben with his dark velvet voice on the line was gone and she was back. “You’re in Miami, I’m in New Zealand. There’s no way you can help me.” She hurriedly added, “Not that I need help from you with anything.”
Her jaw tightened at the fact that she had almost let him know that she was, actually, in need of help, a situation that was unthinkable, since she would rather crawl through the scrub and up the bank with her injured back and sprained wrist than accept any help Ben Sabin might care to offer.
“It’s been nice talking to you,” she said smoothly, “but I didn’t mean to call you. Igloos will be melting in the Arctic and polar bears sunning themselves in Central Park before it happens again. It was a misdial.”
With a stab of her thumb—this time deadly accurate—she terminated the call.
She scrolled through her contacts and succeeded in contacting Luisa Messena. With her mom and help on the way, she tried to relax. But the instant she didn’t have anything to do, all she could think about was Ben. Embarrassed heat flooded her that she had actually rung him, which was at the top of her list of things not to do.
On top of that, the fact that he’d somehow gotten hold of her number and had never bothered to contact her made her mad, which was not good, because it meant she was obviously still harboring sneaky feelings for him.
While she was at home convalescing, her mother, who had figured out that she was struggling with lack of closure around her “relationship” with Ben, had suggested she have counseling and had recommended a therapist. Sophie hadn’t thought she would like the process, but she had taken to it like a duck to water, because the therapy had put the power back in her hands.
What she had felt for Ben was past tense and controllable. She did not have to feel disempowered by what he did or did not do. She was free and empowered to make her own choices.
A distant flash of lightning jerked her back to the present, and to Nick’s party, where, once again, she had managed to utterly embarrass herself.
The breeze lifted, blowing loose strands of hair around her cheeks. She was on the point of leaving and returning to the room Nick had reserved for her at the resort when a sense of premonition tingled down her spine. Ben. Her breath hitched in her throat, and for a crazy moment she wondered if she was experiencing one of Francesca’s feelings.
When she turned, he was there. The terrace lights glanced off the clean cut of his cheekbones, emphasizing the intriguing shadows beneath and highlighting the solid line of his jaw. He shrugged out of his jacket, which had water stains down the lapels, and tossed it over the wrought iron railing. The white shirt he was wearing was wet all down the front and plastered across his chest, making him seem even broader and more muscular than she remembered.
He dragged long fingers through his damp hair and wiped moisture from his chin. His gaze connected with hers. “I guess I deserved that.”
Sophie tried not to notice the way Ben’s skin glowed bronze through the wet shirt. She remembered the pretty blonde.
Stomach tight, she glanced past Ben’s shoulder. There were a few people strolling around the terrace, but none of them looked remotely like the girl with whom Ben had been dancing. “Shouldn’t you be looking after your date?”
He dragged at his tie, which she was gratified to see was also soaked. “I don’t have a date. That was Ellie, the daughter of my business manager. And before you ask, my business manager is also female, but fifty-something and happily married.”
Though Sophie wanted to stay angry and distant and cold, relief flooded her. A little desperately she reminded herself that Ben was still a rat, just not a big enough rat to bring a date to a party at which he knew she would be present.
“What makes you think I need to know anything about the women in your life?” She cleared her throat, which felt tight. “You’re free to date who you want, just as I am.”
Ben’s gaze zeroed in on her mouth as if he had picked up on the extra huskiness of her voice, the one sign she couldn’t control when she was upset. It was a reminder that he knew her too well.
Normally, when it came to men, it was easy for Sophie to keep them at a safe distance. But Ben had, literally, become part of the family for eighteen months, turning up for Sunday lunches, sharing celebrations and spending hours sailing with Nick. He had even been invited to family weddings and christenings, all of which, she now realized, had slowly worn away her defenses and changed the way she had thought about him.
She had begun to think of him as possible husband material.
He leaned back against the terrace railing, arms folded across his chest. “According to social media and the tabloids, you haven’t exactly been lonely.”
She stiffened at his clear reference to the guy she had flaunted in front of the paparazzi as her new man just days after Ben had walked out on her. Since then, she had kept up a steady stream of handsome escorts—most of them Francesca’s friendly exes—just to hammer home that she did not miss Ben in the least.
“So, who’s the lucky guy tonight?” Ben’s gaze narrowed. “He looks familiar.”
Probably because Ben had seen him when he was dating Francesca. Warmth flooded Sophie’s cheeks. For a heart-pounding moment she tried to remember the name of her date. “Oh, you mean, uh—Tobias.”
Ben’s expression seemed to sharpen even further. “Tobias Hunt, of Hunt Security?”
Offhand she could not remember Tobias’s surname; he could be from the royal line of Kadir for all she knew. She had met him for only the third time this evening, and all she had was a phone number and a first name, both of which Francesca had supplied. “We’ve only just started dating,” she said smoothly.
Technically, this was a first date, even as she instinctively knew it would also be the last, because Tobias, despite his masculine presence and good looks, was an oddly lackluster companion.
“So, not serious yet?”
“Not so far.” She met his gaze squarely. “Tobias and I are just good friends. Not that it’s any of your business.”
For a disorienting moment Ben’s gaze burned into hers. “It used to be my business.”
Sophie’s heart pounded in her chest. In a moment of clarity she realized that Ben was suffering from the same kneejerk reaction that had affected her when she had seen him dancing with the young blonde; he was jealous. If he was jealous, that meant that he did still feel something for her, something real enough that it had lasted through a year of separation. She even had the sense that he was on the brink of saying that he was sorry he had walked out on her and that he wanted her back. Then his expression seemed to harden and he broke their eye contact.
She thought grimly that he was regretting the momentary lapse. And suddenly her rage was back, which was a relief, even if she was beginning to feel like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. “As I recall, we didn’t exactly date. We slept together one night, then you disappeared.”
His brows jerked together. “You have to know that I didn’t intend to sleep with you that nigh—”
“And that’s supposed to make me feel better? That you slept with me by mistake?”
“It wasn’t a mistake. It was the night of my farewell. I was leaving for Miami, with no plans to come back to New Zealand. That’s not exactly great timing for starting a relationship.”
Though wanting to stay furious because it felt so much stronger and more empowering than feeling dumped, Ben’s use of the word “relationship” literally took the wind from her sails. It meant he had been thinking about her in relationship terms. Although, clearly, he had not been thinking very hard. “We had chemistry for months before that—”
“Babe, if I’d made a move on you earlier, that would have meant we would have been dating. Then I would have been answerable to Nick.”
Babe. There it was again. A secret thrill she absolutely did not want to feel coursed through her. Obviously, where Ben was concerned, she was more vulnerable and needy than she had thought. The fact was she could not afford to weaken because he had called her babe…as if he still saw her as girlfriend material, as if they still had an intimate connection. “What does Nick have to do with any of this?”
Ben leaned on the railing beside her, suddenly close enough that she could feel the heat of his skin. His clean masculine scent teased her nostrils, spinning her back to the one night they had spent together and the heated, addictive hours she had spent locked in his arms. Out of nowhere, the intense awareness that, a year ago, had burned her from the inside out was back.
His gaze touched on hers, and for a fractured moment the air turned molten and she had the crazy thought that Ben was just as affected as she.
“Nick was my boss,” he said flatly. “When he knew I was interested, he spelled it out chapter and verse. Unless I was ready to make a commitment, as in marriage, I should leave you alone.”
Sophie’s startled gaze clashed with Ben’s. The word “marriage” was faintly shocking. It also invested what Ben had just said about Nick with the ring of truth. When it came to the Messena women, Nick and her other three brothers—Gabriel, Kyle and Damian—were territorial and overprotective. It was the kind of medieval, macho behavior that gave her warm fuzzies and a wonderful sense of security when she did need protection. She knew that, hands down, if anyone tried to bother her or touch her when she didn’t want to be touched, he would have to deal with four large, muscled brothers and their version of the law of the jungle.