The picture of Laurel burned in his brain again. Damian cleared his throat. “Interesting.”
“Cheap is a better word. Totally cheap...which is why I just don’t understand what made you bother with her.”
“You’re talking nonsense, Gabriella.”
“I saw the way you looked at her and let me tell you, I didn’t much like it. You have an obligation to me.”
Damian pulled up at the entrance to the inn, shut off the engine and turned toward her.
“Obligation?” he said carefully.
“That’s right. We’ve been together for a long time now. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“I have not been unfaithful to you.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.” She took a deep breath. “Can you really tell me you sat through that entire wedding without feeling a thing?”
“I felt what I always feel at weddings,” he said quietly. “Disbelief that two people should willingly subject themselves to such nonsense along with the hope, however useless, that they make a success of what is basically an unnatural arrangement.”
Gabriella’s mouth thinned. “How can you say such a thing?”
“I say it because it’s true. You knew that was how I felt, from the start. You said your attitude mirrored mine.”
“Never mind what I said,” Gabriella said sharply. “And you haven’t answered my question. Why did you keep looking at that woman?”
Because I chose to. Because you don’t own me. Because Laurel Bennett intrigues me as you never did, not even when our affair first began.
Damian blew out his breath. It was late, they were both tired and this wasn’t the time to talk or make decisions. He ran his knuckles lightly over Gabriella’s cheek, then reached across her lap and opened her door.
“Go on,” he said gently. “Wait in the lobby while I park the car.”
“You see what I mean? If we’d come by limousine, you wouldn’t have to drop me off here, in the middle of nowhere. But no, you had to do things your way, with no regard for me or my feelings.”
Damian glanced past Gabriella, to the brightly lit entrance to the inn. Then he looked at his mistress’s face, illuminated by the cruel fluorescent light that washed into the car, and saw that it wasn’t as lovely as he’d once thought, especially not with petulance and undisguised jealousy etched into every feature.
“Gaby,” he said quietly, “it’s late. Let’s not argue about this now.”
“Don’t think you can shut me up by sounding sincere, Damian. And I keep telling you, my name’s not Gaby!”
A muscle knotted in his jaw. He reached past her again, grasped the handle, slammed the door closed and put the Saab in gear.
“Wait just a minute! I’m not going with you while you park the car. If you think I have any intention of walking through that gravel in these shoes...” Gabriella frowned as Damian pulled through the circular driveway and headed downhill. “Damian? What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” He kept his eyes straight ahead, on the road. “I’m driving to New York.”
“Tonight? But it’s late. And what about my things? My clothes and my makeup? Damian, this is ridiculous!”
“I’ll phone the inn and tell them to pack everything and forward it, as soon as I’ve dropped you off.”
“Dropped me off?” Gabriella twisted toward him. “What do you mean? I never go back to my own apartment on weekends, you know that.”
“What you said was true, a few minutes ago,” he said, almost gently, “I do have an obligation to you.” He looked across the console at her, then back at the road. “An obligation to tell you the truth, which is that I’ve enjoyed our time together, but—”
“But what? What is this, huh? The big brush-off?”
“Gabriella, calm down.”
“Don’t you tell me to calm down,” she said shrilly. “Listen here, Mr. Skouras, maybe you can play high-and-mighty with the people who work for you but you can’t pull that act with me!”
“I’d like us to end this like civilized adults. We both knew our relationship wouldn’t last forever.”
“Well, I changed my mind! How dare you toss me aside, just because you found yourself some two-bit—”
“I’ve found myself nothing.” His voice cut across hers, harsh and cold. “I’m simply telling you that our relationship has run its course.”
“That’s what you think! What I think is that you led me to have certain expectations. My lawyer says...”
Gabriella stopped in midsentence, her mouth opening and closing as if she were a fish, but it was too late. Damian had already pulled onto the shoulder of the road. He swung toward her, and she shrank back in her seat at the expression on his face.
“Your lawyer says?” His voice was low, his tone dangerous. “You mean, you’ve already discussed our relationship with an attorney?”
“No. Well, I mean, I had a little chat with—look, Damian, I was just trying to protect myself.” In the passing headlights of an oncoming automobile, he could see her face harden. “And it looks as if I had every reason to! Here you are, trying to dump me without so much as a by-your-leave—”
Damian reached out and turned on the radio. He punched buttons until he found a station playing something loud enough to drown out Gabriella’s voice. Then he swung back onto the road and stepped down, hard, on the gas.
Less than three hours later, they were in Manhattan. Sunday night traffic was sparse, and it took only minutes for him to reach Gabriella’s apartment building on Park Avenue.
The doorman hurried up. Gabriella snarled at him to leave her alone as she stepped from the car.
“Bastard,” she hissed, as Damian gunned the engine.
For all he knew, she was still staring after him and spewing venom as he drove off. Not that it mattered. She was already part of the past.
CHAPTER THREE
JEAN KAPLAN had been Damian Skouras’s personal assistant for a long time.
She was middle-aged, happily married and dedicated to her job. She was also unflappable. Nothing fazed her.
Still, she couldn’t quite mask her surprise when her boss strode into the office Monday morning, said a brisk, “Hello,” and then instructed her to personally go down to the newsstand on the corner and purchase copies of every fashion magazine on display.
“Fashion magazines, Mr. Skouras?”
“Fashion magazines, Ms. Kaplan.” Damian’s expression was completely noncommittal. “I’m sure you know the sort of thing I mean. Femme, Chic...all of them.”
Jean nodded. “Certainly, sir.”
Well, she thought as she hurried to the elevator, her boss had never been anyone’s idea of a conventional executive. She permitted herself a faint smile as the doors whisked open at the lobby level. When you headed up what the press loved to refer