But no—if she had, would last night have been so devastating? So overwhelmingly sensual? Surely if her mind, her heart were already straying, she couldn’t have responded to him in that way?
‘So we are in agreement?’
‘Mmm…’
Cassandra’s head was buried in the wardrobe and as she pulled out a dress whatever she had said in response was hopelessly muffled.
‘Neither of us wants more than we already have?’ Joaquin continued, feeling as if he were inching his way through shark-infested water, not at all sure what he might find. ‘What we agreed on from the start?’
‘No ties, no commitment…’
Cassandra’s attention was on the dress, checking it over with what he privately considered excessive care.
‘Exacto!’
His tone brought her eyes to his face in a rush and just for a moment he wondered… But then she smiled and nodded emphatically.
‘Exactly!’ she confirmed, her voice as firm and unwavering as her wide-eyed gaze. ‘That’s what you offered from the start. You were always straight with me. Have I ever asked for more?’
‘No.’
Joaquin flashed her a quick, wide grin, using it to hide the maelstrom of feeling inside.
‘That’s why we fit together so well—why I’m so comfortable with you. You don’t want any more than I can give.’
‘No,’ Cassandra said, an odd, strangled note in her voice. ‘No, I don’t want anything more than you can give.’
Her eyes moved away from his, glancing at the clock on the bedside table, and when she spoke again that odd, inexplicable note had vanished, so totally that he was forced to wonder if it had ever been there at all. Or if, in fact, he had just imagined it.
‘If you have to go to work, then you’d better get a move on,’ she said unexpectedly casually, her previous annoyance at the prospect seeming to be forgotten. ‘You don’t want to be late.’
‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
Moving forward, he planted a quick, hard kiss on her lips, putting into it the relief he felt that, perhaps, after all they had moved past this difficult, uncomfortable stage and into clearer waters. To his surprise she didn’t respond as fervently as she usually did, her mouth remaining stiff and unresponsive under his. Perhaps she wasn’t over her annoyance as much as he had thought.
But he didn’t have time to wonder, or to waste in any more argument. He really was going to be late if he didn’t hurry. Tonight they could talk.
‘I’ll see you tonight,’ he said. ‘We’ll continue where we left off…’
The swift, burning glance that swung from her face to the bed with its evidence of the passionate night they had shared left no doubt as to exactly what he meant. At least in bed they had no difficulty in communicating with the utmost clarity.
‘Tonight,’ he repeated, already heading for the door.
‘Goodbye…’
Her reply was faint, cut off before it was completed as the door slammed to behind him.
‘Goodbye…’ Cassie repeated on a higher, quavering note, her voice breaking in the middle of the word. ‘Goodbye, my love.’
Tears brimming in her eyes, she pressed her fingers to her mouth as if to crush down the kiss that he had left her with. It might be—had to be—the last kiss she would ever have from Joaquin and she wanted to hold onto it for as long as she possibly could, taste the faint lingering touch of his mouth on hers for as long as she could make it last.
She hadn’t managed to ask her question outright. In the end she’d chickened out, cowardice and the sheer terror of knowing the truth holding her back and preventing her from speaking even though she had resolved to do so.
But she hadn’t needed to speak. As it happened, Joaquin had answered the question completely and honestly, without her ever having to ask it.
‘I told you I don’t do commitment!’
‘Neither of us wants more than we already have.’
‘No ties, no commitment.’
‘You don’t want any more than I can give.’
What else did she need to know? How much clearer could Joaquin make things? He didn’t see any real future for them together. Didn’t want any more than what they already had. And it was obviously only by sheer luck that he hadn’t already imposed his usual twelve-month-cut-off rule to what was left of their relationship.
No, not luck.
Recalling his last words, the way he had looked at her before he’d left, and the way his black-eyed gaze had gone to the bed, Cassie told herself miserably that she knew exactly why he hadn’t imposed that cut-off rule yet.
Sex.
‘We’ll continue where we left off…’
And where they had left off was in bed. Making passionate love…
No! Not making love, but having hot, passionate sex. Hot passionate, unemotional sex.
That was it. That was all he saw between them. All he cared about. All he wanted.
It was not enough for her. It was not all she wanted. Very definitely not all she cared about.
And knowing it was all that he could offer was not something she could cope with.
She loved him so very much. And loving him so much, she couldn’t endure being with him and knowing he felt nothing for her.
So she had to go.
She didn’t want that either, but she had no choice. What Joaquin could give her was not enough to sustain her, or keep her heart happy in any way. It would kill her eventually. It would drain even the deep, deep well of love she had for him in the end. And it would destroy her more completely than leaving now would do.
If she left now, she would have less pain in the long run. It would be a clean, sharp, single blow—over and done with like an amputation. Like an amputation, the wound would scar over, in the end. It would never fully heal. There would always be a part of her, a large piece of her heart, that would be empty and damaged, but she would at least be able to function.
But if she stayed, she might end up totally destroyed, or, even worse, hating Joaquin so much that she set out to destroy him too.
So she had to go. Though she had nowhere to go to.
Now, while she still had the chance. While Joaquin was out of the way and wouldn’t try to stop her. Because if he tried to stop her, for whatever reasons, then she knew she would give in and would lie down and let him walk all over her, emotionally at least. He would only have to say the single word, ‘Stay,’ and, fool that she was, she would stay, clinging on vainly to the hope that there would one day, in her dreams, be something more.
‘And there never will be,’ she sighed aloud. ‘Never. He’s made that quite clear.’
He couldn’t have made it plainer if he’d tried. The axe might not be falling to sever their relationship right now, but she couldn’t delude herself that it wouldn’t fall, hard and fast, in the end when Joaquin decided that he had tired of her in bed too. He’d just about said as much, and, in pain and too scared to show it, she had reacted in instinctive panic. She had played a role, been colder, harder, more demanding than she would ever be capable of being in reality.
When Joaquin came home and found her gone, he would remember only that role. He would recall how she had been angry—at the fact that he wasn’t celebrating their anniversary, he would believe. He would think that