He’d told me that he’d originally planned to change things at Covet before I came into his life and distracted him. He was doing it now but on a much larger scale, purging the beta program his House had been instrumental in for so long.
I opened another tab and typed Luc’s name in the search bar. Dozens of images of Luc filled the screen, making my stomach warm and toss like a boat on the open ocean.
He was as sexy as ever—his muscular body filling out the charcoal suit, his thick dark hair barely brushing his collar, a hint of stubble on his square jaw, and his unique and stormy gray eyes as mesmerizing and intimidating as they always were. His skin was golden, as if he’d been out in the sun more than usual, and as I studied him, I could practically smell him through the screen—that intoxicating mixture of jasmine and spice and rum that had the power to ignite a fire deep in my belly.
There were pictures of him talking with other men in suits, in sunglasses walking down the street, at a fashion show, standing on the sidelines. But the one I clicked on was of him and a blond woman walking out of a swanky restaurant in what I immediately recognized as Venice.
She was dressed in a little black number and high heels, her straight blond hair falling around her perfect face. I could tell with one look that she was a model—she had that thin, perfect build and long shapely legs. And she was clutching her purse at her front as she stepped onto the sidewalk, looking down so she wouldn’t trip as the paparazzi took her photograph.
Luc was beside her, looking dapper in his black slacks, a white dress shirt open at the collar, and a fancy black jacket. He was also looking down, but his hand was at her back, directing her, and from the tense line of his shoulders and the flex of his jaw beneath his sexy stubble, I could tell he had no use for the photographers harassing them, and that he only wanted to get somewhere private.
I sat back in my seat, a mixture of loss and despair washing over me as I studied the images. Memories of the way he’d rescued me from the paparazzi that had swarmed around us outside that fashion show in Rome filled my mind. The way he’d rushed right toward me, pulled me against his strong body, and swept me up into his arms, carrying me into the car where I was safe and protected by him.
My gaze dropped to the article below the picture, and even though I knew better, I couldn’t keep from reading it.
Marriage rumors swirl around billionaire playboy Luciano Salvatici and supermodel Mila Diedrich. The two were spotted for the fourth time together at the exclusive Acquerello on San Clemente Island.
I looked back at the picture and focused on his left hand, hanging at his side. No wedding band. No sign of the tattoo that used to hide beneath.
I’d known neither would still be there—we were divorced, our marriage had even been annulled—but a hole opened up inside me just the same. I looked back at the woman he was intimately touching at his side, and my stomach pitched with the thought of him in Venice with someone else. Even though I knew it would only torment me more, I couldn’t stop from wondering if he’d taken her to the Gritti Palace. To the hotel where he’d taken me. To the place where I’d first realized I’d fallen in love with him.
The door at my side opened, and I flinched. Reaching for my laptop, I quickly closed the lid and swiveled toward my mother, standing in the doorway.
“Hi, Mom.” I plastered on a fake smile I hoped she couldn’t see through. “I thought you’d left already.”
“Not yet. I was finishing the payroll.” She eyed me warily, then came in and sat in the chair across from my desk without an invitation.
I drew a calming breath and met her gaze. In her early fifties, my mother was just as beautiful as she’d ever been, with very few lines on her face that showed her age. After I’d arrived in the South Pacific, I’d learned that my step-father had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer while Luc and I had been in Italy. He’d hung on for a couple of months but was gone by Christmas. My mother had stayed on the ranch in Montana until March, then finally caved and sold the property, taking a leap of faith to join me in the islands.
She refused to live with me—said a woman my age needed my space—but I knew the real reason was because she wanted her space. She was single for the first time in her life. She’d bought a gorgeous house on the beach in Papeete and had made numerous friends. And even though she’d never admit it to me, I knew she was happy down here in the sun, away from all the old stereotypes and expectations of what a rancher’s wife should be.
In that way, we were alike. Both free. The only difference was, I still didn’t feel free. My fingers toyed with the thick band still on my left hand. I felt as if I were in limbo, waiting. For what, though, I didn’t know.
My mother tipped her head, her soft brown curls falling to her shoulders, and pinned me with blue eyes that were exactly like mine. “Any new news?”
I pursed my lips, hating that she knew I’d been searching for news about Luc. I’d told her about him—I’d had to, considering he’d left me the villa and the island and the business—but I’d kept everything about the Entente secret. I didn’t want to put her in danger by revealing too much. Life was easier to handle if you didn’t know the world’s sinister secrets—I’d learned that the hard way.
“No.” I reached for the computer bag at my feet and slid my laptop into the pouch. “Do you want to come out to the island for dinner? I think Sela was making lasagna tonight.”
“No, thank you. I’ve got plans.”
“With who?” I stood and set my bag on the desk, grabbing the reports I needed to review tonight and sliding those into my bag as well.
“Sexy American retiree I met at the marina.”
I glanced up at her.
She grinned and crossed one leg over the other as she sat back and swung her foot. “His yacht is huge, and he has an extensive wine collection on his boat.”
I rolled my eyes and went back to grabbing my things. My mother was clearly not going to stay single for long. “And just how did he make his millions? Drugs?”
My mother scoffed. “You and your pessimism. Yes, drugs, but the legal kind. He was in pharmaceuticals.”
I was sure he had to be dirty, but I kept my opinion to myself. “Well, if you change your mind, you’re always welcome.”
“I won’t, but thanks.”
As I turned to grab my purse from the cabinet behind me, my mother’s voice softened.
“You really need to start dating, honey. It’s been a year and a half. This work, home, no-social-life thing you’ve got going isn’t healthy. It’s time you moved on.”
A familiar resentment churned inside me. My mother had been telling me to get out there and date for years—long before I’d met Luc—and while I’d put up with it before, I was tired of it now. I had no desire to date anyone.
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“But you’re not.” She pushed out of her seat and stepped to my desk. “You haven’t gained back any of the weight you lost, and anyone who looks at you can see you’re exhausted all the time. You’re working yourself to the bone for nothing.”
She’d always thought I was too heavy before. Now I was too thin? I sighed. “I like my job.”