‘Oh? This is fast becoming a real home-truth session,’ he drawled. ‘Do continue, Sabrina—I’m fascinated.’
‘Don’t you have any idea about my need for independence?’ she stormed, ignoring the dangerous note in his voice. ‘Or did you think I would just fall to the ground in a grateful heap because you’ve offered to “support” me?’
‘Clearly not,’ came the dry retort. A lot of women would have done. His mother, for example, had never forgotten what he’d done for her. But that had been different. That had been called survival.
Jenna, he realised, would have adored the idea. So would many of the other trust-fund babes. Not Sabrina, though, he realised slowly. Her principles were in a different class.
‘It’s your flat!’ she stormed. ‘You have all the control here—so just imagine if you started paying for me, too. How unequal would that make things? At least buying groceries now and then makes me feel as though I’m doing my bit!’
He looked at her steadily. ‘So what do you suggest we do?’
She looked at him sadly, realising that she’d talked herself into a corner. There was no solution—or at least not one that would make her happy. Only one thing could do that, and he wasn’t offering her permanence.
Because if she accepted his offer to stay while he supported her, then where would that leave her? Busy clinging on to a relationship which would grow increasingly more one-sided.
Even if she found herself another job here in London, wouldn’t that just be postponing the inevitable heartbreak when he tired of her?
‘I’ll leave at the end of next week,’ she said impassively. ‘As orginally planned.’
Guy’s body quickened, even as his heart felt the unfamiliar pang of rejection. But if she was expecting him to beg her to change her mind, she had a lot to learn about him. Needing something enough to beg made you vulnerable, and he had once made a vow never to be vulnerable again. He paused. ‘So, until you go, will we continue as…before, Sabrina?’
How very delicately phrased, she thought with a slight tinge of hysteria. ‘You mean, will I be sharing your bed at night?’
He thought that there were a few more flattering ways she could have described it. ‘That’s exactly what I mean,’ he answered coolly.
Her hunger for him warred with her self-respect, but it was never going to be much of a battle. She thought about how bleak her future would be without him, and knew that she wanted to savour every last, glorious moment. ‘Ask me tonight,’ she said flippantly.
He knew from the darkening of her eyes just what her answer would be, but any triumph was eclipsed by a slow, ticking anger. So she thought she could just play cat and mouse with him when it suited her, did she?
He rose to his feet with stealthy grace and pulled her into his arms without warning. ‘Why don’t I ask you now?’ he drawled, before claiming her mouth in a kiss which had her reeling.
SABRINA let herself into the flat with a heavy heart and went to put the shopping in the kitchen.
Two more days. Just two.
It was inconceivable. Especially as Guy had spent the last few days seemingly hell-bent on showing her just what she would be missing. He didn’t seem satisfied until he had her sobbing out her shuddering pleasure, night after night…but he’d never asked her to stay.
She made herself a coffee and then went to stand at the window, where the bright hues of early summer dazzled from the garden in the square. How on earth could she ever go back to being what she had been?
Or maybe that was the wrong way to look at it. She could never really go back to being the old Sabrina—there was a new one now, ready and willing to take her place. And rebirth, like birth, was always painful. Why else would she feel this terrible, tearing pain at the thought of never seeing Guy Masters again?
Would he miss her? she wondered achingly. Probably, just a little, yes. And certainly in bed. But the missing, like their relationship, would be unequal. Guy called the shots and Guy had all the control. He would miss her for a little while and then move on.
Sabrina glanced down at her watch. It was only just past six, so there was at least an hour and a half before he would grace the flat with his presence.
She had bought a load of cheap vegetables at the market, and she had just begun to chop them in order to make a soup when there was a sharp ring at the doorbell. Wiping her hands down over the apron which she insisted on wearing, and which Guy always teased her about, Sabrina went to answer it, to find Tom Roberts standing on the doorstep.
‘Hi, Tom.’ She smiled affectionately.
She’d last seen Guy’s cousin at a drinks party a couple of weeks ago, and then he’d been sipping at a Bloody Mary and laughing at something Sabrina had said. But today he looked wary.
‘Hi, Sabrina—may I come in?’
‘Oh, yes, of course, of course,’ babbled Sabrina, and pulled the door open. ‘Only I’m afraid that Guy isn’t back from work yet.’
‘I know that. It isn’t Guy I’ve come to see. It’s you.’
‘Oh.’ She smiled. ‘That’s nice. You’d better come in.’
‘Thanks.’ He followed her into the sitting room and sat down.
Sabrina looked at him expectantly. ‘Can I get you a drink, Tom?’
‘No, thanks—I’m out to dinner later and Trudi will kill me if I turn up with an inane grin on my face.’ He suddenly grew serious. ‘Is it really true? Guy says you’re leaving.’
Hearing the words spoken aloud like that by a third person made Sabrina realise just how horribly true it was.
‘That’s right. I am.’
‘But, Sabrina, why? I mean, I’ve never seen him looking so contented—happy, even! And you’re the first woman he’s ever lived with, even though women have been mounting campaigns to snare him for years. He says that he doesn’t want you to go, but that you’re going anyway. So why?’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t go into it, Tom. It’s too complicated, and it isn’t fair on Guy.’
‘Fair on Guy?’ Tom repeated slowly. ‘Sabrina, look…’ He seemed to be having difficulty choosing the right words. ‘I’ve known Guy all my life, but, with him, what you see isn’t automatically what you get.’
‘You’re talking in riddles, Tom.’
He pulled a face. ‘Everyone looks at him and thinks that he’s Mr Invulnerable—strong and rich and powerful—’
‘Maybe that’s because he is,’ observed Sabrina drily.
‘Yeah, I know all that. And that’s what he likes to project. But that’s only part of the package—he keeps a lot of himself hidden. That highly controlled and tough exterior he’s cultivated—that’s what he shows to the world.’
‘You’re telling me,’ said Sabrina bitterly. ‘The man for whom the term, “workaholic” was invented.’
‘And have you never stopped to ask yourself why?’
‘Tom, you know him better than almost anyone—so you must also know that he doesn’t like to talk about himself.’
‘Well, maybe it’s about time you tried! I mean, like, really tried! Have you?’