Because We Belong (Because You Are Mine #3)(44)
She hung the green dress back in the closet and withdrew a long-sleeved, ruched sheath dress in brilliant cobalt blue. Five minutes later, she studied herself in the full-length mirror. Her long hair spilled around her shoulders, the reddish-gold color a striking contrast to the brilliant hue of the dress. She wore drop pearl earrings and no necklace. The dress had a low-cut, square-neck collar that left her throat, chest, and the top curves of her breasts exposed. It clung to her body, but the ruched fabric added an element of modesty. Overall, the dress gave the impression of sophisticated, confident sexuality.
The last thing she wanted to do at that moment was to let the world suspect how she felt on the inside. This dress would handily disguise all that.
Or that was her plan anyway. She thought it might work until she walked into the subtly lit sitting room minutes later, chin held high, only to discover it was empty. Deflated, she paused just inside the room, checking the clock on one of the bookcases. No . . . it was seven o’clock sharp. Had Clarisse mentioned the wrong room?
A sudden prescience overtook her and she turned to the right. Ian stood at the far side of the room looking devastating in a tuxedo with black tie, a book in his hand, his eyes gleaming from the shadows as he watched her.
* * *
She wavered awkwardly in her heels for a moment before she recalled the confident, unconcerned role she was supposed to be playing for the evening. Shit, she thought as Ian calmly replaced the book he’d been perusing in the shelf and walked toward her. She’d never been much of a good actress.
“Where is everyone else?” she asked.
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” he said. His gaze dropped over her, lingering on the exposed skin of her chest and breasts. Her nipples pinched tight. She gritted her teeth. “That’s a pretty dress.”
“You bought it for me,” she said, as if it were an unimportant, throwaway fact. She started to glance around the empty room, but did a double take when she noticed his small smile.
“And are you wearing it for me?” he asked, his low voice causing her neck to roughen in awareness.
“I brought exactly four dresses to Belford. You’ll likely see me wear most of them. Knowing you, you’ll think I’m wearing all of them for you. I can’t control what you think,” she said coldly.
“No,” he said, his gaze lowering over her once again. Hot. Possessive. His nostrils flared slightly. “It’s hard enough to control our own thoughts. Isn’t it?” She realized she’d been staring covetously at his chest and wide shoulders. He looked indecently handsome in his tux.
She inhaled sharply and looked around the room. “Should we go and look for the others?”
“No, the fire has been laid and a man was in earlier restocking the liquor. This is where we are meeting. Would you like anything from the bar?” he asked.
“A glass of white wine, please,” she said, eager for an excuse to get some distance between them. She stayed where she was at the edge of the room, comforted by the shadows that clung there. He returned soon enough, however, a glass of chardonnay in one hand, a highball glass of bourbon and water in the other. She took the glass from him quickly when he offered it.
“Who told you we were meeting in here tonight?” she asked, fixating on the reason why they were alone instead of surrounded by the protection of chatting friends and family.
“Gerard mentioned it I think. He must have gotten the time wrong.”
“Maybe he wanted to get back at you for earlier,” she said, taking a sip of the chilled, dry wine.
“Get back at me?” he asked in polite confusion, black brows arching.
She rolled her eyes. Sometimes he was so British in what he chose to notice and what he decided to ignore.
“Earlier today. Here in the sitting room. The keys to the cottage?” she pressed when he remained impassive. “What was all that about between you two?” she demanded, finding a vent for her all of her unspoken, volatile questions.
“It was nothing,” he said, shrugging. She gave him a sarcastic glance. He frowned and took a sip of his drink, seeming to consider. “Gerard and I are like brothers at times. As you probably guessed from working with him on the Tyake acquisition, he would do anything for me, and I would do the same for him if he were in a pinch. But the other side of that is a little . . .”
“Brotherly rivalry?” she said dryly. “You never told me about that part of your relationship with him before.”
“I don’t consider it relevant,” Ian replied, leaving her with the definite impression that if there was an issue, it was on Gerard’s side. “Maybe it’s inevitable. His mother and my grandfather were exceptionally close, even though my aunt Simone was almost a generation younger than Grandfather. Gerard was always close to my grandfather as a result of that bond, and they only grew closer when Gerard’s father and mother died years back. Gerard was only eighteen when they were killed in a car wreck. He stayed alone at Chatham, a force unto his own from that day forward. But he still sought out Grandfather. He needed him, I think. Craved a pillar of strength, despite his show of independence. My grandparents have been parental figures to both Gerard and me. It’s only natural that there might be some friction once in a while.”
“And then there’s the whole issue of the title and the properties being divided up between you two,” Francesca observed. “How does Gerard feel about that?” she wondered, knowing from personal experience that Ian was very insouciant about the fact that his grandfather’s title would go to his nephew versus his direct descendent—Ian himself.