Magnate's Make-Believe Mistress by Bronwyn Jameson Read Free Book Online Page B

in the lines that fanned from their corners, and the concerns he’d almost quashed with the power of his charismatic presence came flooding back. Her heart beat hard in her chest. A new tightness grabbed her by the throat, a mixture of suspicion and protective wariness.
    Who are you, Cristiano Verón, and why are you so interested in my family?
    From the corner of her eye she saw they were about to be interrupted, not by one of the waitstaff but by a man she pegged as the manager. Their barely touched plates had probably drawn his attention. Isabelle didn’t pay complete heed to the man’s quiet, apologetic words. Sorry to interrupt, something about a phone call, yada yada. Her eyes were trapped hard on Cristo’s, awaiting the moment they were alone, while her mind whirred with questions of what to say next.
    Could she risk this job, this pay packet from heaven, by confronting him? Perhaps she had imagined his reaction. Perhaps she’d misjudged the reason behind it. Perhaps it would be wise to let the conversation play out until all his cards were on the table….
    Then she heard it—the one name guaranteed to snap her to instant, complete attention.
    â€œMr. Harrington,” the manager continued in a sombre tone, “said I should tell you this is urgent and that it concerns Gisele.”

Five
    B efore the manager finished speaking, Cristo had tossed his serviette aside and pushed back his chair. Isabelle’s shock registered as a brief flash, like a snapshot taken and stored for later viewing, while his focus homed in on the waiting call.
    When at breakfast he’d returned the call from Chloe, his head groom, she had expressed a slight concern over Gisele’s lack of appetite. He’d asked her to keep him apprised, but he was unprepared for the grim news delivered by Hugh. The mare’s life hung in the balance as a result of acute colic. When Chloe couldn’t contact Cristo—he’d turned off his phone, not wanting interruptions to his conversation with Isabelle—in desperation she’d called on Hugh to track him down. They knew he would want to monitor the situation minute by minute. They knew him well.
    He cut short their lunch. Then he spent the next five hours with a phone at his ear, talking to his stable staff and the vet,feeling distant and powerless. If getting on a plane could have achieved anything, he would have been airborne right now, taking the fastest route home. But he was a day away from England; the critical stage would have passed long before he arrived. So he returned to Pelican Point, and he paced and he sweated until the final call came through.
    The tremendous courage and strength Gisele showed on the polo field had seen her through the worst. The crisis was over. For now she was safe.
    A huge wave of relief washed through him, leaving Cristo spent and empty. The perfectly made bed at the centre of the room looked clean and wide and welcoming. Operating on autopilot, he shed his clothes en route to the bathroom. Perhaps it was the sight of that pristine bed or the act of getting naked or the fact that his mind was devoid of all that had occupied it during the long afternoon. Whatever the reason, the picture he’d stowed back at the restaurant suddenly reappeared in full, glossy, living detail.
    Isabelle Browne, soft lips parted and eyes wide with shock at the mention of the Harrington name.
    Standing with arms braced and hands splayed against the tiles while the shower streamed over the tense muscles of his shoulders and back, Cristo’s mind darkened with all the other cues she’d given off over the past days. The baggy uniform. Her refusal to drink coffee or wine. How she’d counted her family as just one sister…at the moment.
    There had been no mention of Hugh or their interrupted conversation on the drive home or in the hours since. She’d made several expeditions up the stairs with sandwiches, coffee and