“And to interview Clive Boston.”
“Clive?” The image of Corina sitting down with flirty, womanizing Clive sparked a green flame of jealousy. “I thought he avoided the press.”
“Apparently he’s agreed to an exclusive with theBeaumont Post. Shows how far he’s fallen.”
“Ha! More likely he heard you’d do the interview and he can’t resist a beautiful face.”
But did he blame Clive? Look at her, with those amber eyes and raven hair. She was stunning. And for the time being, his wife. Stephen fidgeted. This emotional trip was not one he should be taking. She was his wife on paper only and free to do what she wanted. “Congratulations on the interview.”
“I’m half convinced he’ll stand me up, but we’ll see.” She remained in the same spot, staring at him without wavering.
Stephen leaned against the car, arms folded, his left ankle propped on his right. “So it was you, wasn’t it? The tweet?”
“I couldn’t resist.” Her smile faded. “But I see you were quick to deny me.”
“No, I said you weren’t my date. What did you expect? For me to reveal the full monty? ‘Yes, Hyacinth, I know Corinaverywell.’ ” He arched his brow. “If you know what I mean.”
“Har, har, but you could’ve said we were friends.”
“To what end? It’d only put them onto us. Corina, we’ve annulment papers on the table. We can get through this with no scandal, no hounding paparazzi or media. With no disgrace to either one of us. Speaking of which, I think you should just go forward and sign them.” There, that was rather princely, commanding. Getting the job done. Little Leslie had inspired him.
“Oh really?” She stepped closer, bringing her fragrances, her aura with her. “Well I think you should go forward and give me the details on Carlos that I want. So do you have any news?”
Stephen pushed away from the car, fired with frustration. “We cannot keep going round this mountain. You know what I know.”
“Are you saying you know nothing? Because that’s what I know.”
“You keep beating this dead horse, love. There’s nothing more to tell. He died a hero.”
“I’ll be here for about a week, in case you happen across anything more specific.”
“I won’t, but good to know.” He folded his arms, staring at her, slapping bricks around his feeble, toppling heart.
“So, you really have a date for the premier?”
“Yes.”
“No.” This from Thomas. Traitor.
“Ah, I see.” Corina adjusted the strap of her bag as well as her stance. “Thomas, are you free that evening?” she said. “I’m in need of an escort.”
Stephen stiffened. What? She could not attend the premier with Thomas. They’d make a terrible couple.
“I’m honored, miss, but I’m the date of His Highness.”
“So you don’t have a date-date?” She leaned toward Stephen. “Just Thomas?”
“I’ve a date.”
“Really?” This from Thomas again, who walked round the car to join Corina. “Who? Don’t say your mum.”
“Why not? She’s a great patron of the cinema.” He flipped his hand toward Corina, then leveled his gaze on her. “And a Clive Boston fan.”
“Okay, Sir Blue Eyes,” Corina said. “Don’t get your knickers in a wad.”
Sir Blue Eyes. The nickname slammed him like a defender and smacked his heart to the pitch, and he desired what he hadn’t had in over five and a half years. Intimacy. Corina.
But with using the strength of every internal force, Stephen closed the cracking door of his inner soul. He could never be with her. A life of hiding the truth from the woman who had shared his bed crushed his sense of worth and reason. But if he told her, she’d neverwanta life with him. She’d hate him. And he’d deserve every negative emotion she could muster.
