A Breathless Bride
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Fiona Brand
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16
One
With a wolf-cold gaze, Constantine Atraeus scanned the mourners attending Roberto Ambrosi’s funeral, restlessly seeking…and finding.
With her long blond hair and dark eyes, elegantly curved body and rich-list style, Roberto’s daughter Sienna stood out like an exotic bird among ravens.
His jaw compressing at the unmistakable evidence of her tears, Constantine shook off an unwilling surge of compassion. And memories. No matter how innocent Sienna looked, he couldn’t allow himself to forget that his ex-fiancée was the new CEO of her family’s failing pearl empire. She was first and foremost an Ambrosi. Descended from a once wealthy family, the Ambrosis were noted for two things: their luminous good looks and their focus on the bottom line.
In this case, his bottom line.
“Tell me you’re not going after her now.”
Constantine’s brother Lucas, still jet-lagged from a long-haul flight from Rome to Sydney, levered himself out of the Audi Constantine had used to pick up both of his brothers from the airport.
In the Sydney office for two days of meetings, Lucas was dressed for business, although he’d long since abandoned the jacket and tie. Zane, who was already out of the car and examining the funeral crowd, was dressed in black jeans and a black shirt, a pair of dark glasses making him look even more remote.
Lucas was edgily good-looking, so much so that the media dogged him unmercifully. Zane, who was technically their half brother, and who had spent time on the streets of L.A. as a teenager before their father had found him, simply looked dangerous. The outer packaging aside, Constantine was confident that when it came to protecting his family’s assets both of his brothers were sharks.
Constantine shrugged into the jacket he’d draped over the back of the driver’s seat as he watched Sienna accept condolences, his frustration edged by a surge of emotion that had nothing to do with temper.
Grimly, he considered that the physical attraction that had drawn him away from The Atraeus Group’s head office on Medinos, when his legal counsel could have handled the formalities, was clouding his judgment.
No, that wasn’t it. Two years ago Constantine had finally learned to separate sexual desire from business. He was no longer desperate.
This time if and when Sienna Ambrosi came to his bed, it would be on his terms, not hers.
“I’m not here to put flowers on Roberto’s grave.”
“Or allow her to grieve. Ever heard of tomorrow?” Lucas shrugged into his jacket and slammed the door of the Audi.
Constantine winced at Lucas’s treatment of the expensive car. Lucas hadn’t been old enough to remember the bad old days when the Atraeus family had been so poor they hadn’t been able to afford a car, but Constantine could. His father’s discovery of a rich gold mine on the Mediterranean island of Medinos hadn’t altered any of his childhood memories. He would never forget what it had felt like to have nothing. “When it comes to the Ambrosi family, tomorrow will be too late.” Resignation laced his tone as he eyed the press gathering like vultures at a feast. “Besides, it looks like the story has already been leaked. Bad timing or not, I want answers.”
And to take back the money Roberto Ambrosi had conned out of their dying father while Constantine had been out of the country.
Funeral or not, he would unravel the scam he had discovered just over a week ago. After days of unreturned calls and hours of staking out the apparently empty residences of the Ambrosi family, his patience was gone, as was the desire to finish this business discreetly.
Lucas fell into step beside Constantine as he started toward the dispersing mourners. Grimly, Constantine noted that Lucas’s attention was fixed on the younger Ambrosi daughter, Carla.
“Are you certain Sienna’s involved?”
Constantine didn’t bother to hide his incredulity.
Just what were the odds that the woman who had agreed to marry him two years ago, knowing that her father was leveraging an under-the-table deal with his, hadn’t known about Roberto’s latest scam? “She knows.”
“You know what Roberto was like—”
“More than willing to exploit a dying man.”
Constantine made brief eye contact with the two bodyguards who had accompanied them in a separate vehicle. The protection wasn’t his choice, but as the CEO of a multibillion-dollar corporation, he’d had to deal with more than his share of threats.
As they neared the graveside, Constantine noted the absence of male family members or escorts. The wealthy and powerful Ambrosi family, who had employed his grandfather as a gardener, now only consisted of Margaret— Roberto’s widow—the two daughters, Sienna and Carla, and a collection of elderly aunts and distant cousins.
As he halted at the edge of the mounded grave, the heavy cloud, which had been steadily building overhead, slid across the face of the midday sun and Sienna’s dark gaze finally locked with his. In that fractured moment, something close to joy flared, as if she had forgotten that two years ago, when it had come down to a choice between him or the money, she had gone for the cash.
For a long, drawn out moment, Constantine was held immobile by a shifting sense of déjà vu, a powerful moment of connection he had been certain he would never again feel.
Something kicked in his chest, an errant pulse of emotion, and instead of dragging his gaze away he allowed himself to be caught, entangled…
A split second later a humid gust of wind sent leaves flying. In the few moments it took Sienna to anchor the honeyed fall of her hair behind one ear, the dreamy incandescence that had ensnared him—fooled him—so completely two years ago was gone, replaced by stunned disbelief.
A kick of annoyance that, evidently, despite all of his unreturned calls, Sienna had failed to register his presence in Sydney, was edged by relief. For a moment there, he had almost lost it, but now they were both back on the same, familiar page.
Constantine terminated the eye contact and transferred his attention to the freshly mounded soil, now covered by lavish floral tributes. Reasserting his purpose, reminding himself.
Roberto Ambrosi had been a liar, a thief and a con man, but Constantine would give him his due: he had known when to make his exit.
Sienna, however, had no such avenue of escape.
* * *
Sienna’s heart slammed hard as Constantine closed the distance between them. Just for a few moments, exhausted by sadness and worn-out from fighting the overwhelming relief that she no longer had to cope with her father’s gambling addiction, she had let the grimness of the cemetery fade.
She’d trained herself to be a relentlessly positive thinker, but even for her, the wispy daydream had been unusually creative: a reinvention of the past, where love came first, instead of somewhere down a complex list of assets and agendas. Then she had turned and for a disorienting moment, the future she had once thought was hers—and which she had needed with a fierceness that still haunted her—had taken on dazzling life. Constantine.
The reality of his clean, powerful features—coal-black hair brushing broad shoulders and the faintly resinous male scent that never failed to make her heart pound—had shocked her back to reality.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded curtly. Since the embarrassing debacle two years ago, the Ambrosis and the Atraeuses had preserved an icy distance. Constantine was the last person she expected to see at her father’s funeral, and the least welcome.
Constantine’s fingers closed around hers. The warm, slightly rough, skin-on-skin contact sent a hot, tingling shock through her. She inhaled sharply and a hint of the cologne that had sent her spiraling into the past just seconds ago made her stomach clench.
Constantine was undeniably formidable and gorgeous. Once he had fascinated her to the point that she had broken her cardinal rule. She had stopped thinking in favor of feeling. Big mistake.
Constantine had been out of her league, period. He was too rich, too powerful and, as she had found out to her detriment, utterly focused on protecting his family’s business empire.
Bitterly, she reflected that the tabloids had it right. Ruthless in business, ditto in bed. The CEO of The Atraeus Group was a catch. Just don’t “bank” on a wedding.
He leaned forward, close enough that his cleanly shaven jaw almost brushed her cheek. For an electrifying moment she thought he was actually going to kiss her, then the remoteness of his expression wiped that thought from her mind.
“We need to talk.” His voice was deep and curt—a cosmopolitan mix of accents that revealed that, his Mediterranean heritage aside, he had been educated in the States. “Five minutes. In the parking lot.” Jerking her fingers free, Sienna stepped back, her high heels sinking into the soft ground.
Meet with the man who had proposed one week, then discarded her the next because he believed she was a calculating gold digger?
That would be when hell froze over.
“We don’t have anything to discuss.”
“Five minutes. Be there.”
Stomach tight, she stared at the long line of his back as he strolled away through the ranks of marble headstones. Peripherally she noticed Lucas and Zane, Constantine’s two brothers, flanking him. Two security guards kept onlookers and the reporters who inevitably hounded the Atraeus family at bay.
Tension hummed through her at the presence of both brothers and the security. The bodyguards were a reality check, underlining the huge gulf between her life and his.
She registered a brief touch on her arm. Her sister, Carla. With an effort of will, Sienna shook off the shock of Constantine’s presence and her own unsettling reactions. Her father’s sudden death and the messy financial fallout that followed had consumed every waking moment for the past few days. Despite that, all it had taken had been one fractured moment looking into Constantine’s gaze and she had forgotten where she was and why.
Carla frowned. “You look as white as a sheet. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Desperate to regain her equilibrium, Sienna dug in her purse, found her compact and checked her makeup. After the tears in church and the humid heat, any trace of the light makeup she had applied that morning was gone. Her hair was tousled and her eyes were red-rimmed—the exact opposite of her usual cool, sophisticated façade.
Carla—who was far more typically Medinian than Sienna in appearance with glossy dark hair and stunning light blue eyes that stopped people in their tracks—watched the Atraeus brothers, an odd expression in her eyes. “What are they doing here? Please don’t tell me you’re seeing Constantine again.”
Sienna snapped the compact closed and dropped it into her purse. “Don’t worry, I’m not crazy.”
Just confused.
“Then what did they want?”
Carla’s clipped demand echoed Sienna’s question, although she couldn’t afford the luxury of either anger or passion. For the sake of her family and their company, she had to be controlled and unruffled, no matter how worried she felt. “Nothing.”
Constantine’s series of commands replayed itself in her mind. Another gust, this one laced with fat droplets of rain, snapped her numbed brain back into high gear. Suddenly she formed a connection that made her pulse pound and her stomach hollow out.
Oh, damn. She needed to think, and quickly.
Over the past three days, she had spent long hours sifting through her father’s private papers and financial records. She had found several mystifyingly large deposits she couldn’t match to any of the business figures. Money had come in over a two-month period. A very large amount. The money had been used to prop up Ambrosi Pearls’ flagging finances and cover her father’s ongoing gambling debts, but she had no idea of its source. At first she thought the money had to be winnings, but the similar amounts had confused her. Roberto Ambrosi had won large sums of money in the past, but the amounts had differed wildly.
Now Constantine wanted a conversation.
Desperate to deny the conclusion that was forming, and to distract Carla, who was still locked on the Atraeus brothers like a heat-seeking missile, she craned around, searching for their mother. “Mom needs help.”
Carla had also spotted the reporter chatting to Margaret Ambrosi, who was exhausted and still a little shaky from the sedatives the doctor had prescribed so she could sleep. “Oh, heck. I’ll get her. It’s time we left anyway. We were supposed to be at Aunt Via’s for lunch ten minutes ago.”
A private family lunch at the apartment of their father’s sister, Octavia, not a wake, which Sienna had decreed was an unnecessary luxury.
The last four days since her father had collapsed and died from a heart attack had been a roller-coaster ride, but that didn’t change the reality. The glory days of Ambrosi Pearls, when her grandfather had transferred the company from the disaster zone Medinos had become during World War II to Sydney, were long gone. She had to balance the need to bolster business confidence by giving the impression of wealth and stability against the fact that they were operating on a shoestring budget. Luckily, her father had had a small insurance policy, enough to cover basic funeral expenses, and she’d had the excuse of Margaret Ambrosi’s poor health to veto any socializing.
Her gaze narrowed. “Tell Via I’m not going to be able to make it for lunch. I’ll see you at home later on.”
After she had gotten rid of Constantine.
* * *
Constantine sent a brooding glance at the sky as he unlocked the Audi and settled in to wait for Sienna.
From the backseat Zane crossed his arms over his chest and coolly surveyed the media who were currently trying to bluff their way past Constantine’s security. “I can see she still really likes you.”
Constantine stifled his irritation. At twenty-four, Zane was several years his junior. Sometimes the chasm seemed much wider than six years. “This is business.” Not pleasure.
Lucas slid into the passenger-side seat. “Did you get a chance to discuss the loan with Roberto?”
The words before he died hung in the air.
Constantine dragged at his tie. “Why do you think he had the heart attack?”
Apparently Roberto had suffered from a heart condition. Instead of showing up at Constantine’s house, as arranged for the meeting that he himself had requested, he had been seated at a blackjack table. When he hadn’t shown up, Constantine had made some calls and found out that Roberto had gone directly to the casino, apparently feverishly trying to win the money he needed.
Constantine had sent his personal assistant Tomas to collect Ambrosi, because going himself would have attracted unwanted media attention. Tomas had arrived to find that seconds after a substantial win the older man had become unwell. Tomas had called an ambulance. Minutes later Roberto had clutched at his chest and dropped like a stone.
Constantine almost had a heart attack himself when he had heard. Contrary to reports that he was ruthless and unfeeling, he had been happy to discuss options with Roberto, but it was not just about him. He had his family and the business to consider and Roberto Ambrosi had conned his father.
Lucas’s expression was thoughtful. “Does Sienna know that you arranged to meet with her father?”
“Not yet.”
“But she will.”
“Yep.” Constantine stripped off his tie, which suddenly felt like a noose, and yanked at the top two buttons of his shirt.
He wanted to engage Sienna’s attention, which was the whole point of him dealing with the problem directly.
It was a safe bet that, after practically killing her old man, he had it by now.
* * *
Thunder rumbled overhead. Sienna walked quickly toward her car, intending to grab the umbrella she had stashed on the backseat.
As she crossed the parking lot a van door slid open. A reporter stepped onto the steaming asphalt just ahead of her and lifted his camera. Automatically, her arm shot up, fending off the flash.
A second reporter joined the first. Spinning on her heel, Sienna changed direction, giving up on the notion of staying dry. Simultaneously, she became aware that another news van had just cruised into the parking lot.
This wasn’t part of the polite, restrained media representation that had been present at the beginning of the funeral. These people were predatory, focused, and no doubt drawn by the lure of Constantine and the chance to reinvent an old scandal.
The disbelief she’d felt as she’d met Constantine’s gaze across her father’s grave increased. How dare he come to the funeral? Did he plan to expose them all, most especially her mother, to another media circus?
With an ominous crash of thunder, the rain fell hard, soaking her. Fingers tightening on her purse, she lengthened her stride, breaking into a jog as she rounded the edge of a strip of shade trees that bisected the parking lot. She threw a glance over her shoulder, relieved that the rain had beaten the press back, at least temporarily. A split second later she collided with the solid barrier of a male chest. Constantine.
The hard, muscled imprint of his body burned through the wet silk of her dress as she clutched at a broad set of shoulders.
He jerked his head at a nearby towering oak. “This way. There are more reporters on the other side of the parking lot.”
His hand landed in the small of her back. Sienna controlled a small shiver as she felt the heat of his palm, and her heart lurched because she knew Constantine must have followed her with the intent of protecting her. “Thank you.”
She appreciated the protection, but that didn’t mean she was comfortable with the scenario.
He urged her beneath the shelter of the huge, gnarled oak. The thick, dark canopy of leaves kept the worst of the rain off, but droplets still splashed down, further soaking her hair and the shoulders of her dress.
She found a tissue in her purse and blotted moisture from her face. She didn’t bother trying to fix her makeup since there was likely to be very little of it left.
Within moments the rain slackened off and a thin shaft of sunlight penetrated the watery gloom, lighting up the parking lot and the grassy cemetery visible through the trees. Without warning the back of her nose burned and tears trickled down her face. Blindly, she groped for the tissue again.
“Here, use this.”
A large square of white linen was thrust into her hand. She sniffed and swallowed a watery, hiccupping sob.
A moment later she found herself wrapped close, her face pressed against Constantine’s shoulder, his palm hot against the damp skin at the base of her neck. After a moment of stiffness she gave in and accepted his comfort.
She had cried when she was alone, usually at night and in the privacy of her room so she wouldn’t upset her mother, who was still in a state of distressed shock. Most of the time, because she had been so frantically busy she’d managed to contain the grief, but every now and then something set her off.
At some point Constantine loosened his hold enough that she could blow her nose, but it seemed now that she’d started crying, she couldn’t stop and the tears kept flowing, although more quietly now. She remained locked in his arms, his palm massaging the hollow between her shoulder blades in a slow, soothing rhythm, the heat from his body driving out the damp chill. Drained by grief, she was happy to just be, and to soak in his hard warmth, the reassurance of his solid male power.
She became aware that the rain had finally stopped, leaving the parking lot wreathed in trailing wisps of steam. In a short while she would pull free and step back, but for the moment her head was thick and throbbing from the crying and she was too exhausted to move.
Constantine’s voice rumbled in her ear. “We need to leave. We can’t talk here.”
She shifted slightly and registered that at some point Constantine had become semi aroused.
For a moment memories crowded her, some blatantly sensual, others laced with hurt and scalding humiliation.
Oh, no, no way. She would not feel this.
Face burning, Sienna jerked free, her purse flying. Shoving wet hair out of her face, she bent to retrieve her purse and the few items that had scattered—lip gloss, compact, car keys.
Her keys. Great idea, because she was leaving now.
If Constantine wanted a conversation he would have to reschedule. There was no way she was staying around for more of the same media humiliation she’d suffered two years ago.
“Damn. Sienna…”
Was that a hint of softness in his eyes? His voice?
No. Couldn’t be.
When Constantine crouched down to help gather her things, she hurriedly shoveled the items into her bag. The rain had started up again, an annoying steamy drizzle, although that fact was now inconsequential because every part of her was soaked. Wet hair trailed down her cheeks, her dress felt like it had been glued on and there were puddles in her shoes.
Constantine hadn’t fared any better. His gray suit jacket was plastered to his shoulders, his white shirt transparent enough that the bronze color of his skin showed through.
She dragged her gaze from the mesmerizing sight. “Uh-uh. Sorry.” She shot to her feet. She was so not talking now. His transparent shirt had reminded her about her dress. It was black, so it wouldn’t reveal as much as white fabric when wet, but silk was silk and it was thin. “Your conversation will have to wait. As you can see, I’m wet.”
She spun on her heel, looking for an avenue of escape that didn’t contain reporters with microphones and cameras.
His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her back against the furnace heat of his body. “After four days of unreturned calls,” he growled into her ear, sending a hot shiver down her spine, “if you think I’m going to cool my heels for one more second, you can think again.”
