‘You weren’t being silly,’ Lyon told her quietly as they left the house a few minutes later, a bright moon shining in the darkness outside. ‘You were terrified,’ he added with some amusement. ‘Do you think I’ll make that much of a despot of a husband?’
‘You aren’t going to be my husband!’ Silke snapped, recovering some of her usual spirit, her initial shock over now, and the nausea having receded too.
Lyon raised dark brows as he unlocked the passenger door of his car for her. ‘I didn’t necessarily mean as a husband to you, I mean as a husband to any woman,’ he drawled mockingly.
She swallowed hard. He was right, she had been terrified at the thought of marrying this man, but the thought of him as someone else’s husband...! She suddenly felt sick again.
‘Get in the car, Silke,’ Lyon told her wearily as he saw her expression of abject misery—and completely misread it. ‘Maybe you have eaten something that’s disagreed with you, after all. You certainly look as if you’re about to be ill again!’
She felt ill again. She couldn’t marry Lyon, because he didn’t love her, but the thought of him marrying someone else actually caused her a physical pain in her chest. Oh, God, this was a hopeless situation. How could she have fallen in love with someone so unsuitable, someone who couldn’t possibly return her love?
She shook her head. ‘I’ll drive my own car.’
‘Get in, Silke,’ he told her in a voice that brooked no argument.
She glanced down at the leather seats. ‘What if I’m sick again?’
‘Then I’ll have the car cleaned,’ he dismissed with his usual arrogance. ‘Oh, for God’s sake get in, Silke,’ he said impatiently. ‘Otherwise we’ll have your mother or Henry out here in a moment wanting to know what’s going on!’ He looked pointedly towards the house, the lights from the dining-room glowing out into the driveway, the people seated around the table perfectly visible to them—as they must be to them!
Silke got into the car, too tired now to argue any more. That was probably half the reason she had reacted as she had earlier and actually been physically sick; she hadn’t slept at all well this last week, couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her time in Lyon’s arms. And its possible consequences!
‘I can collect my car in the morning,’ she told Lyon distractedly as he got into the car beside her.
‘That’s right, keep your independence to the last,’ he bit out hardly, turning on the ignition, his face appearing to be chiselled out of granite in the eerie light coming up from the dashboard. ‘If you’re feeling better you can collect your car in the morning; otherwise—’
‘Lyon—’
‘Silke?’ he returned in hard challenge.
She glared at him. ‘I only agreed to letting you drive me home at all because I didn’t want to upset my mother and Henry, I certainly have no intention of letting you tell me what I can or can’t do now that we’ve left. I—’
‘I’m well aware of the reason you agreed to my driving you home,’ he cut in drily. ‘And quite frankly I don’t give a damn what made you agree; I would have carried you out of there kicking and screaming in protest if that’s what it would have taken!’
He would have, too, Silke could tell that by his determined expression. God, how had she let herself become entangled with this man? How could she have let herself fall in love with him?
‘At last,’ he murmured several minutes later.
Silke looked at him wearily. ‘Sorry?’
‘I’ve rendered you speechless at last,’ he softly taunted.
‘Not exactly,’ she snapped. ‘And I haven’t exactly noticed you’re ever at a loss for words either!’ She glared at him in the semi-darkness.
Lyon smiled. He actually smiled! A genuinely amused smile, without mockery, or any of those other cynical emotions Silke had come to associate with him. And in her already weakened state she could only wish he hadn’t; he looked more attractive than ever grinning at her like that. And she didn’t want to find him attractive, wanted to stay angry with him; it was her only defence at the moment.
‘You would be surprised,’ he finally murmured.
And just exactly what did he mean by that? Silke frowned. Certainly not that she had ever rendered him speechless. She couldn’t think of a single occasion when he had been at a loss for... She gave a gasp in the darkness as she remembered all too well the one occasion when she had definitely rendered him speechless!
‘Exactly,’ he acknowledged softly beside her. ‘That night was very special, Silke,’ he added with husky gentleness.
She eyed him warily. It had been special for her, of course it had, but in what way could it possibly be special for him? ‘Don’t tell me,’ she bit out angrily. ‘I’m the first virgin you’ve ever taken to bed!’
‘Silke—’
‘Don’t “Silke” me.’ She was so upset now she was almost shouting in her agitation. ‘You—’
‘I didn’t “take you to bed”; we made love to each other,’ he cut in harshly. ‘There’s a distinct difference.’
‘You should know!’ she snapped forcefully. God, this was awful; she didn’t want actually to talk about that night; she just wanted to try and forget it had ever happened. If she could. She certainly didn’t want Lyon to tell her that night had been ‘special’ to him too!
How could it be ‘special’ to him? He was thirty-five years old, very attractive, must have made love to lots of women in the past.
His next words confirmed that. ‘I’m ten years older than you, Silke,’ he said almost gently. ‘I’m certainly no innocent,’ he acknowledged grimly. ‘But neither do I take lightly what happened between the two of us last week.’
She stared straight ahead, her hands tightly gripping her small evening-bag. ‘You’ve already made your feelings of responsibility perfectly plain,’ she bit out tautly.
‘Is that what you think it is?’ He frowned.
‘Of course,’ she dismissed scathingly.
‘I don’t—’
‘Look, Lyon, could we just drop this subject?’ she said wearily. ‘I have a headache now too, and I really don’t want to think about this any more. I’ll have enough explaining to do to my mother in the morning, without this!’ she added resentfully.
The silence that followed this outburst wasn’t exactly comfortable—but it was certainly preferable to their conversation! She had known she shouldn’t have gone to the dinner party, had guessed it would be a disaster as far as she was concerned—she just hadn’t realised how much of one it would be! She just wanted to go to bed now, go to sleep, and hope this whole situation—and Lyon!—would go away.
There didn’t seem much chance of Lyon proving co-operative to her wish once they reached her flat, as he insisted on coming in with her, to make sure she was ‘all right’ before he left. She wasn’t going to be OK until he had had left!
‘I’ll make you a hot drink,’ he offered once they were inside her flat, looking around him for the kitchen. ‘You go and get into bed and I’ll bring it into you.’
He wouldn’t have any trouble finding the bedroom, knew all too well where that was!
‘I’m not an invalid, Lyon,’ she snapped—although in truth she wanted nothing better than to crawl into bed and go to sleep; she still felt awful. ‘I have no intention of going to bed.’ Not until after he had left, anyway!
Lyon looked at her with a steady grey gaze. ‘Tea or coffee?’ he asked quietly.