Magnate's Make-Believe Mistress by Bronwyn Jameson Page B

returned the press of Cristo’s palm against hers, absorbing the heat and his energy and telling herself it was okay to enjoy the sensation. It was a necessary act; for Chessie and for Amanda she could play along.
    A tiny frown creased Amanda’s forehead. “What has your gorilla got?”
    â€œKitchen emergency,” Cristo replied smoothly. “Isabelle was wanting to help with dinner. I’ve been convincing her that help isn’t necessary.”
    Amanda turned accusing eyes on her brother. “If you had told me you were eating in, I would have cancelled my plans and joined you.”
    â€œPerhaps that is why I didn’t tell you.”
    â€œWell, I know when I’m de trop,” she sniffed. “I’ll leaveyou to whatever you were about to get up to, but please will you speak to the caterer? He pays no attention to me or to the planner, but you have weight.”
    Cristo assured her that he would deal with it. With that off her shoulders, Amanda kissed them both warmly on each cheek in a very Continental manner and assured Isabelle that she would call and arrange a date “to lunch at Ivy,” before departing as abruptly as she’d arrived.
    A second later her face reappeared at the door.
    â€œI almost forgot. Vivi is in Rome for an exhibition for Patrizio.” She rolled the r in the name and her eyes simultaneously. “She left strict instructions that I was to attend the Delahunty gala, but Harry won’t be back in time and now you are, so I think I can quietly opt out.” Her eyes slid to Isabelle and back. “I imagine you will be taking Isabelle, which will certainly make the night…interesting.”
    â€œGood night, Amanda,” Cristo said firmly, closing the door on her cheeky grin.
    Isabelle had no idea what that exchange was about. Her mind spun with names but also with a heady sense of relief because so much could have gone wrong and hadn’t. In the post-Amanda quiet, she could feel the textured heat of Cristo’s hand more intensely. Alone that connection felt stronger, more intimate. He stood too close, their arms aligned from shoulder to wrist, his thigh a whisper away from hers. She knew she should put an end to this charade—she would, once her mind stopped spinning.
    â€œSo that was your sister,” she said, because something had to be said. “She is…” Her voice trailed off because she didn’t know quite how to describe the pint-size virago.
    â€œLoud? Exhausting? Overindulged?”
    â€œWell, it takes someone to do the indulging,” she said, andhe laughed, a lazy ripple of amusement that did crazy things to her pulse.
    â€œI accept some culpability.” He shifted slightly; Isabelle felt the brush of his hip against hers. Some parts of her body melted, others tightened, but she sensed a shift in the mood along with his stance, and her whole being tuned in to that weighty tension. Despite the laughter, she knew he was about to get serious.
    â€œAmanda was born with a heart murmur,” he said. “She was always this tiny little thing, fragile but game. She’s had a string of operations, but she would not give up, even when her heart stopped beating. So, yes, we tend to indulge her. We have only ourselves to blame.”
    Her heart had stopped beating? Little wonder he was so protective. Isabelle had never faulted him for that, but now that she knew the full story…all the physical sensations were forgotten as she grappled with a new, deeper, more dangerous desire. She wanted more than her fingers curled in his. More even than to curl into his body, to wrap her arms around him, to reach for his mouth to taste that husky male laughter.
    She wanted to know more.
    She wanted to know him.
    â€œAnd now?” she asked, the emotion gruff in her voice. “She looks healthy.”
    â€œHealthy as an ox. The last operation did the trick.”
    â€œI’m