It was Dan she’d done this for, because he’d been so excited, so gleeful, only for him. Yet for all that she knew, with a tightening inside her, that despite that assertion, she could not bring herself to look anywhere near Xander right now.
Emotion churned in her. Heightening her colour. Then Xander was there, standing beside their son, his hand on Dan’s shoulder, drawing her eyes to him again. “Beautiful indeed. A princess truly.”
His voice was a murmur, and his eyes alight with a look that was as familiar as it was distant in time. With the same effect now as then. Somehow, her heartbeat seemed to have ceased.
Xander opened the door of Laurel’s bedroom and ushered her out into the corridor beyond. Dan had been settled with the babysitter, one of the housekeepers, a sensible-seeming middle-aged woman who was now ensconced in the room’s armchair with a low light beside her and her knitting, tray of coffee and a magazine. Dan had been kissed goodnight by Laurel with a heartfelt “Thank you, darling one, thank you for my lovely, lovely Easter treat!” to which Xander had added a fond “Sleep well, my treasured son!” in Greek, and was already asleep.
As he shut the door quietly behind him, Xander’s eyes went to Laurel. His breath caught again. He wanted to punch the air with triumph.
Yes!
She had surpassed every hope, every expectation. She looked incredible, fantastic, unbelievable. Total vindication filled him, not just for Dan’s brilliant choice of gown, which he fully endorsed, but for her entire appearance.
Glorious, that was the word to describe her.
His eyes swept over her, from her lush golden tresses, finally loosened from the restricting confines she’d wretchedly always pinned them back with, now flowing like a waterfall down her back, swept around one bare shoulder, his rapt gaze going all the way down her slender, perfectly proportioned figure, graced by that silken gown in its vivid colour, right down to her feet, arched and elegant in her evening sandals.
He could not take his eyes from her.
He was still gazing at her, triumphant and vindicated and so much more, when she turned to him.
Turned on him.
“What the hell,” Laurel ground out, “do you think you’re playing at?”
Her eyes flashed furiously. She didn’t have to hide her feelings about what Xander had done now that Dan was out of earshot.
Xander merely raised his eyebrows. “It’s just as Dan said, this is your Easter treat,” he answered unconcernedly.
Laurel’s eyes flashed again. “Why?” she demanded. “You put Dan up to this!”
“So?” Xander’s retort was still supremely unconcerned at her accusation.
“It’s despicable! Using him to…to…”
An eyebrow rose again. “To what, Laurel?”
To stitch me up! To manipulate me and…and…
Words failed her. She knew what she meant though, and she seethed with it. Her eyes flashed with fury yet again. Suddenly, her hands were taken, both of them, held in his. She tried to tug them free but couldn’t. Xander had stepped up close to her. She caught the trace of his aftershave. He was too close. Far too close. And totally unapologetic.
He looked down into her agitated face, his expression quizzical. “Laurel, what is it that you’re objecting to? That Dan and I plotted together? Of course I involved him! He’s revelling in it, you saw that! And why shouldn’t he? He wants you to have a lovely time, wear a beautiful dress, and have a wonderful time tonight. An Easter treat.” He paused minutely, and something changed in his eyes. Something that suddenly made her try and tug her hands free again. “And so do I, Laurel,” he said softly.
Far, far too softly.
Then the expression was gone, and the too-soft voice. Replaced by humour. Cajoling humour. Humour she remembered from long, long ago, when he’d wanted to win her round, get his own way.
Like the time he’d kissed her nice again after chucking her in the water on that memorable occasion.
Exactly as he was doing now. Shamelessly.
“And why shouldn’t you too? Why shouldn’t you enjoy dressing up and being wined and dined, and making a night of it? I’m perfectly happy to run to Easter treats for you, as well as for our son. And I won’t, I promise you,” he said, holding her eyes, something there she hadn’t seen before that caught at her, “consider it even a millimetre to hang you with! Because this is for me, as well as you.” He took a breath. Eyes resting on her. “So, why don’t we just go along with it? We’ll have a gourmet dinner, enjoy the cabaret. Where’s the harm in that?”
Her eyes met his. They were unreadable. In hers, she knew, was all that she was feeling.
Or wanted to be feeling: anger and outrage at being so shamelessly manipulated and manoeuvred into this.
That’s all I should be feeling!
