Sharon Kendrik - Marriage Scandal, Showbiz Baby!

Jennifer’s heart contracted in her chest. It had been so long since she’d seen him. Too long, and yet not long enough.

And women were screaming his name.

Screaming it as once she had screamed it, in his arms and in his bed.

Matteo.

She felt like a mannequin in a shop window—with the look of a real person about her, but a complete inability to move.

But she had to move. She had to.

The cameras would be trained on both faces. Looking for a reaction—any reaction, but preferably one which would provide the meat for a juicy story.

She willed some warmth into her frozen smile and began to walk up towards him, thanking her impossibly tight silk dress for the slowness of her steps.

It was a walk which seemed to go on for ever. The roar of the crowd retreated and the blur of their faces merged, and as she grew closer she could see the dark shadowing of his jaw and the cruel curve of his lips. Men like Matteo did not grow on trees, and his outrageous beauty and sex-appeal often made the casual observer completely awestruck. Well, he would not intimidate her as he had spent his life intimidating the studio. He was her cheating ex-husband—nothing more and nothing less—and she needed to take control of the situation.

She lifted her head as she reached him. ‘Hello, Matteo,’ she said coolly.

To see her was like being struck by lightning, and Matteo could feel the hot rods of desire as he saw the creamy thrust of her breasts edged by silk as deeply blue as the ocean. He tensed, his mind racing with questions as he stared down at his estranged wife.

Che cosa il hell stava accendo?

But his face stayed unmoving, even though his groin had begun to tighten, and he cursed his erection and despised the unfathomable desire which made him so unbearably hard. For there were women more beautiful than Jennifer Warren—but none who had ever made him feel quite so…so…

He swallowed down thoughts of what he would like to do, and how much he despised himself for wanting to do it. Weak was not a word he would ever use to describe himself—but something about the physical spell his wife had always cast over him was as debilitating as when Delilah had shorn off Samson’s hair…

What the hell was she doing here? And why the hell had he not been told?

He knew that the cameras were trained on him—and on her—waiting for their reactions. A flicker of emotion here. A tell-tale sign there. Something—anything—to indicate what either was thinking. And if they couldn’t find out, then they’d make something up!

Training took over from instinct and he kept the tightening of his mouth at bay. Only the sudden steeliness of his eyes hinted at his inner disquiet, and that was far too subtle to be seen. He would give them nothing!

The glance he gave Jennifer was cursory, almost dismissive—but visually it was encyclopaedic to a man who had grown up appreciating women, who could assess them in the blinking of an eye. He felt the quickening of his pulse and the silken throb of his blood, for the bright blue silk of her dress clung indecently to every curve of her magnificent body.

For a moment he ran his eyes proprietorially over the soft swell of her breasts and the narrow indentation of her waist, and he did so without guilt. Why the hell should he feel guilt? She was still his wife—maledicala—even though her greedy lawyers were picking over the carcass of their marriage.

Two of the Festival staff moved towards him to usher him inside, but he waved them away with a dismissive gesture.

Should he turn his back on her? That was what he wished he could do. But he decided against it—for would that not just excite more comment from the babbling idiots who would fill their gossip columns with it tomorrow?

Instead, he gave a bland and meaningless smile as she reached him, and looked down into her sapphire eyes, which were huge in a china-white face and blinking at him now in that way which always made him…

Don’t do vulnerable, Jenny, he thought. Don’t turn those big blue eyes on me like that or I may just forget all the anger and the rifts and do something unforgivable, like taking you in my arms in full view of the world and kissing you in a way that no man will ever come close to for the rest of your life.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ she said weakly.

‘Wondering if you’re wearing any knickers,’ he murmured.

‘I’m surprised you haven’t worked that out for yourself—women’s underwear is your specialist subject, isn’t it?’

How crisp and English she sounded! Just like when they’d met—and then he’d been blown away by it. That cool wit and ice-hot sexuality. But—like a rare, hot-house flower—she had not survived the move to the tougher climes of Hollywood. Her career had flourished, but their relationship had withered.

‘Oh, cara, don’t you know that when you’re angry you’re irresistible?’

She wanted to tell him that she didn’t care. But it wasn’t true. Because if she didn’t keep a tight rein on her feelings then she might just let it all blurt out and tell him things that he must never know.

That the pain of seeing him was almost too much to bear, and that in the wee, small hours of the morning she still reached for the warmth of her husband in the cold, empty space beside her.

Then remember, she told herself fiercely. Remember just why you’ve haven’t seen him in so long.

‘I had no idea you were going to be here,’ she said, gritting her teeth behind her smile.

‘Snap!’

‘You didn’t know either?’

His black brows knitted together. ‘You think I would have come here if I had?’ he demanded softly. ‘Cara, you flatter yourself!’

Oddly enough, this hurt more than it had any right to and almost as an antidote to meaningless pain, Jennifer forced herself to ask the question which twisted her gut in two. ‘Is your girlfriend with you?’

His mouth hardened. ‘No.’

Jennifer expelled a low breath of relief. At least she had been spared that. Fine actress she might be, and pragmatic enough to accept that her marriage to Matteo was over, but she didn’t think that even she could have borne to see the smug and smiling face of her husband’s new lover. ‘I’m going inside,’ she said, in a low voice.

He gave a cold smile as he walked up the red carpet beside her and into the glittering foyer. ‘Looks like we’ve got each other for company,’ he drawled. ‘Pity we’re both on the guest-list, isn’t it, Jenny? I guess that’s one of the drawbacks of a couple making a film together and then separating soon afterwards!’

‘Matteo!’ It was Hal’s voice. He had obviously judged it safe to talk to them.

Jennifer and Matteo both turned and—for all their differences—their expressions were united in a cold-eyed assessment of their publicist as he panted his way up the stairs and gave them both an uneasy smile.

Matteo spoke while barely moving his mouth. ‘You’re history—you know that, Hal,’ he said easily. ‘You tricked me to get me here, and you bring me face to face with my ex-wife in the most awkward of circumstances. I am appalled—furious—at my stupidity for not having realised that you would stoop to this level in order to publicise your damned film. But, believe me, I shall make you pay.’

‘Now, let’s not be hasty,’ blustered Hal.

‘Oh, let’s,’ vowed Jennifer, her bright smile defusing the bitter undertone in her voice. ‘This is the most sneaky and underhand thing you’ve ever done.’

An official appeared by their side, a brief look of perplexity crossing his brow as he sensed the uncomfortable atmosphere. He made a slight bow. ‘May I show you to your seats, monsieur, madame?’

Matteo raised his elegant dark brows. ‘What do you want to do, Jenny? Go home?’