Modern Romance July 2019 Books 1-4. Sharon Kendrick

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      ‘And in case you’re wondering,’ he continued silkily, ‘Colette now lives in New York, so it’s unlikely you’re going to run into her along the Avenue Montaigne.’

      Emily found herself expelling a huge sigh of relief because she’d actually been dreading bumping into the glamorous supermodel. Was it that or the fact that their time in Paris was drawing to a close which made her suddenly dare to try to open up some further lines of communication between them? Or because they’d gone to bed soon after lunch and his defences were down? He had seemed very much like the Alej of old as he had explored her body and lazily kissed every inch of her skin and she had found herself revelling in their old familiarity and wishing she could deepen it.

      She could hear the sound of the shower being turned off and minutes later he walked into the bedroom, a white towel wrapped around his narrow hips and tiny droplets of water highlighting the honed perfection of his olive skin. She watched his reflection in the mirror. The liquorice-black tendrils of his hair were damp, his buttocks were paler than the dark skin above and below—and wasn’t it predictable that she could feel her body instantly respond, despite the fact that they’d been having non-stop sex all afternoon?

      He opened the wardrobe door, giving her a perfect view of that livid scar on his back—a scar he now seemed comfortable about letting her see, though there had still been no explanation about how he’d acquired it. But everyone had scars, Emily realised suddenly. Just not all of them were visible.

      In a couple of hours’ time they were meeting a friend of his from way back, an Italian businessman named Salvatore di Luca who was bringing along his latest girlfriend—a neuroscientist who happened to look like an underwear model—which was probably why Emily had allowed Alej to buy her a dress from the Chanel shop, which was situated just along the street from his apartment. She was wearing it now and the deceptively simple cut of the fine black silk was ridiculously flattering, as were the killer heels which were sitting beside the door to be put on at the last possible moment. But her appearance was the last thing on her mind. Suddenly she knew that she wasn’t prepared to be fobbed off with throwaway answers any more. She didn’t care if this relationship of theirs wasn’t destined to last—why shouldn’t she learn as much as she could about the man with whom she was temporarily spending her life?

      She waited until he was almost dressed, because his nakedness was distracting, and then she turned from where she’d been seated at the dressing table, applying a light slick of lipstick.

      ‘Are you ever going to tell me how you got that scar?’ she questioned.

      He shrugged as he tugged up the zip on his suit trousers. ‘I told you I didn’t want to talk about it.’

      ‘I know you did. But I do.’

      His eyes narrowed. ‘Why?’

      ‘Because we’re about to have dinner with one of your oldest friends and, unless you want him to guess this is a sham marriage, it might be better if you didn’t come over as a complete stranger to me.’

      ‘And telling you how I got this thing will help?’

      ‘I think so. It might help explain some of a past which you seem determined to keep hidden.’

      He turned around, the movement seeming slow, his green eyes hard and flinty as they surveyed her.

      ‘Please, Alej,’ she added quietly.

      There was a pause. A long pause. And then he gave a long and ragged sigh. ‘I was attacked,’ he said finally. ‘By a man with a razor. Or, to be more accurate—by several men.’

      He saw her flinch, as if a steel blade had penetrated her tender flesh. Her fingers flew up to her lips in shock and she looked about eighteen again.

      ‘Oh, my God,’ she breathed. ‘What happened?’

      He wondered afterwards what made him continue with his story because he’d never told anyone else. Was it the afterglow of the delicious sex they’d recently shared? Or because living with someone was way more intimate than he’d anticipated, with the inevitable erosion of all the barriers you tried to erect around yourself?

       Or maybe it was simply because it was Emily and she had always been the one to burrow beneath his skin.

      And suddenly he was right back there. A different time and a different place. And a very different man. He unlocked the memory and it floated free.

      ‘I’d been playing in Argentina and my team had won the last match of the season, as we were expected to do,’ he began slowly. ‘I even scored the winning goal.’

      ‘That must have been a good feeling,’ she said.

      He gave a bitter laugh. ‘Not really. I’d been approached to fix that match, but, like every other time it had happened, I’d refused.’ There was a pause as he looked at her. ‘But the offer still left a bad taste in my mouth and it added to my growing disenchantment with some aspects of the sport.’

      She nodded, but she didn’t speak. She was an astute woman, he acknowledged—one who had learned to use silence to her own advantage. Because he could have stopped the story there. Told her he’d had a few drinks and got into a fight but didn’t bother reporting it because he didn’t want the negative press of some barroom brawl. Explained how he’d found a backstreet medic to suture it for him on the quiet—hence the resulting scar. All these things were true, and Alej was a man with a powerful aversion to lies. But there had been other reasons for him not wanting the truth behind the brawl to emerge, hadn’t there? He wondered if it was the soft expression in Emily’s deep blue eyes which made him want to confide in her, or the sudden realisation that some secrets were so dark that they had the power to eat away at your very soul, if you let them.

      ‘I was in a bar,’ he continued. ‘A rough, simple kind of place not far from where I’d grown up, where a man can go unbothered and drink his beer in peace.’ But it hadn’t been like that. Word had got out that he was there and someone had come to find him. The oily thug in the cheap suit Alej had recognised instantly. His face had been ugly with anger, his words uglier still. ‘I was approached by a man,’ he said, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on Emily’s face. ‘The same guy who’d tried to get me to fix the match. He blamed me for refusing and for all the money he’d lost as a result. And then he told me that my mother was nothing but a cheap hooker and that he’d “had” her.’

      She flinched again, but this time a dull red flush stained her cheeks and he saw the way she clenched her hands into tiny fists. ‘How dare he say that?’

      He almost smiled at the fervour of her instant denial because hadn’t he felt exactly the same, when for a few foolish and naïve moments he’d thought the man was lying? ‘He even tried to explain how and where, in very graphic detail, and that’s when I hit him.’

      ‘Good! I’m glad you hit him. He deserved it!’

      Another sigh left Alej’s lungs. The crack of bone and the pliant dip of giving flesh had satisfied him, but only for a moment. Nothing ever lasted for longer than a moment, he reflected bitterly. ‘And that’s when two of his gorillas came charging in, picked me up and carried me out of there and nobody tried to stop them. And behind that bar, in a dark and stinking alley, they each took turns to trace patterns on my back with a rusty blade, so I would never forget them.’

      ‘Oh, Alej.’ СКАЧАТЬ