Page 34 of On His Bride's Terms

Even so, she felt almost guilty when she said, ‘I’m actually going to Dublin for the night. There’s a dinner in Dublin Castle to celebrate some of Ireland’s biggest living artists as part of their annual culture week.’

Primo frowned. ‘That wasn’t in the diary.’

‘No, because I thought I couldn’t go. But since I’m in Paris, and it’s less than a couple of hours’ flight, I told them I could make it after all.’

His gaze narrowed on her for a moment, and then he said, ‘That sounds like an interesting evening.’

Faye almost had the urge to say something crazy like,Do you want to come?

But he was looking at his watch and saying, ‘I should get back to the hotel. I have one more meeting before I head back to New York. I have meetings there tomorrow.’

‘Of course. I need to get back and pack too.’

She was glad she hadn’t blurted out the invitation. That would really have been muddying the waters.

Primo said, ‘I’m glad you came to Paris... You know, Faye, I’d like to get to know you better. I think we can really enjoy ourselves in this marriage if you give it a chance.’

Faye felt all at once gently chastened, guilty, and something far less identifiable. ‘I... Okay.’

‘You can smile too, if you want. Your face won’t crack, I swear.’

It suddenly struck her to wonder when she’d started to hold herself so rigidly. After her divorce?

She forced herself to take a breath and smiled.

Primo shook his head. ‘One day, Faye MacKenzie, you’ll smile for real.’

Dublin

‘One day...you’ll smile for real.’

The words were still reverberating in Faye’s head later that evening as she was guided to her dinner seat in Dublin Castle’s magnificent and historic St Patrick’s Hall. There had been a drinks reception in the Portrait Gallery before the gala dinner, and Faye had met with some of Ireland’s biggest artists.

Usually an event like this would consume all her energy, as she would be thinking of people she could link the artists up with—galleries or clients—but this evening she was distracted.

Why did Primo care if she smiled for real? Why couldn’t he just accept the status quo, with them appearing together when necessary and spending the night together when it was convenient?

Although, thatdidn’t quite capture the heat and intensity of their chemistry. It wasn’t so muchspending the night togetheras mutually combusting and passing out in a pleasure-induced coma.

Faye looked around her now and a sense of isolation struck her. Like at the Venice Carnival Ball, it seemed that everyone was paired off and chatting animatedly.

She was wearing a green silk evening gown, cut on the bias and low on the chest, with small capped sleeves. Flowing and romantic. She’d spotted it in a boutique window before leaving Paris and now, as she sat here, she realised she’d bought it because she’d imagined Primo seeing her in it and wanting her.

Now she felt silly. It was too whimsical and exposing—physically and emotionally.

Damn Primo Holt for making her behave like a teenager with a crush. And for making her more aware of her isolation and also of how tightly wound she was. She took a deep breath in a bid to force herself to relax. She took another sip of her sparkling wine that she’d carried into the dining room with her—and then promptly nearly spat it out again when she saw the object of her fevered thoughts being directed to the table where she sat and the empty chair beside her.

She couldn’t quite believe it, but the somersaulting sensation in her belly told her he was real. And his scent. Crisp and spicy and earthy.

He was wearing a classic black tuxedo and smiling benignly at her, ‘Hi.’

Then he looked down at her dress and back up. There was very explicit heat in his eyes.

‘You look...amazing.’

Her wish was fulfilled. As if a fairy godmother had heard her thoughts.

There were a million and one reasons why Faye should be prickling at the sight of Primo so improbably here, in Dublin. But the last few moments of self-recrimination had dissolved, replaced by instant pure desire, and Faye was revelling in the very obvious desire in his gaze. Exactly as she’d fantasised.

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