Oh, God, what had he done?
‘Better now?’ She ran her hand lightly down the side of his neck.
He screwed his eyes shut, wanting to reject her touch.
Because, no, he was not better. His body might be spent, but he still wasn’t satisfied. He didn’t know if he ever would be. The feelings scared him. He couldn’t suppress them. It had never happened before. Never been like this. ‘I’m sorry.’ He shook his head and made himself look at her. ‘You didn’t have time.’ Hell—had he hurt her?
‘Didn’t I?’
He saw a smile stretch her puffy lips, the pure satisfaction glowing from inside out. ‘Really?’ But it didn’t ease his conscience.
She closed her eyes, tilted her head to let the water flow over her face.
Her beauty hurt him. Everything about her hurt him.
Because he could have hurt her. He wouldn’t even have known—certainly wouldn’t have been able to stop. In those moments just now, he’d totally lost it. The wild animal he knew was caged inside him had been freed—he’d been operating on blind, raw emotion and been utterly unable to think, to be aware of anything but his need to let that emotion have free rein. Just as he had all those years ago. Only then he’d pulverised some random person’s car—had taken a bat to it in a blind rage, had smashed and destroyed, his anger thermonuclear. Unstoppable. Uncontrollable. Terrifying.
Loss of control over his emotions was unacceptable. It didn’t matter what emotion—lust was as bad as anger. And if he’d lost it over one, he could lose it over another just as easily. The years of hard work, the self-discipline gained from physical training and concentration meant nothing now. He’d thought he could manage it? He didn’t have a hope.
And hurting anyone—hurting her—was not an option. He’d always choose isolation over running that risk. And he’d enforce it now.
He looked at her—she wasn’t even naked. She’d only stopped to take off her knickers before reaching to touch him as he’d showered. And now she was wet and bedraggled and beautiful.
Her eyes opened and in that moment he saw it—the vulnerability, the confusion, the questions. His blood ran cold. He couldn’t possibly answer those questions.
He pushed away, switched the water off and got out of the intimacy of the shower room. ‘Here.’ He handed her a towel. ‘Strip off and I’ll hang your clothes to dry.’
They needed to talk. It was a talk they should have had the day before but she’d been too scared. Honestly she was still too scared. She didn’t want to shatter this fragile moment—this happiness seemed so fleeting.
But it was disappearing anyway. She could see him retreating. His face had frozen, the brooding look back in his eyes. She tried not to let it hurt her. But that was like trying to stop the sun from rising.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said, suddenly realising what might be bothering him. ‘I’ve started the pill. I won’t get pregnant.’
‘What?’ He spun to face her.
She blinked. ‘In the shower just now, we ah…’ She didn’t finish.
His eyes had widened in horror. ‘You’ve started taking the pill?’
‘I thought it was for the best.’ She didn’t want babies yet. Judging by the look on his face he didn’t want babies at all. So it was better not to run the risk of accidents. She’d known it was the wise thing to do.
‘When?’
When had she started taking it? ‘Last week.’
‘Oh.’ He still looked shocked, only now a frown had overlaid the discomfort on his features too. ‘I’ll, um…just find you a robe.’
He hurried from the bathroom.
An affair. She rubbed her skin hard with a towel and tried to remind herself that that was all it was. A one night fling that was having a few replays—okay, was on a continuous loop. But she couldn’t make herself believe that was all there was to it despite his rapid cooling off now. If she were sensible, if she were reading the signs, she’d stop it. Walk away. But she was utterly lost in the web of desire for him. Her body held in thrall by his. And there was more than that.
She was in love with him. Head first, totally, desperately in love with this complicated, lonely, generous man. She ached to give him everything—and could only hope that maybe he’d ask for it, maybe accept it. She couldn’t end it now—it would be like ripping out her own heart.
She walked back to the living area, looked at the cards he’d designed on the computer. He’d clearly studied her work—because he’d done the samples in her favourite colours, the swirling design that she saw was a key part of her style. He really did have an eye. The fact he’d done them for her blew her away—and gave her hope. Then she turned and looked at the way he was frowning into the fridge, seeming to take hours to decide what he was looking for.
Suddenly she knew what she had to do—there was even a song about it, wasn’t there? About setting something you loved free. ‘You know, I can get my clothes tomorrow. If you wouldn’t mind me borrowing your robe and you running me home?’
He looked up quickly. ‘You don’t want to stay?’
Of course she did. But his relief was heartbreakingly obvious.
‘No.’ She pulled the robe closer around her. It was a warm day but she was growing colder by the second. He didn’t want her to stay. Her heart shrank from the truth. She didn’t want to be where she wasn’t really wanted. He’d just had all he wanted.
Stupid girl.
She stayed away from work the next day—phoned through to Jemma the temp and explained she had family stuff to tend to. Not an untruth. She always had family stuff to tend to. Lorenzo didn’t call, didn’t come to her flat that night. She pretended to sleep. He’d never called her phone before—there was no need to be checking it every three minutes all night.
On Wednesday she went in—had to finish up the last details and pack everything up to take it to the theatre. She checked with Kat on the way in, hoped she hid her disappointment when the receptionist told her Lorenzo was scheduled to be out at meetings most of the day. It was a good thing really—she still had a few hours’ work to do. She didn’t need the distraction.
She worked hard—the labels and business cards were printed and in a box waiting on the table. She was thrilled with the finished product, for the first time feeling excitement about the show. She’d done her best work and now she was excited about showing it to the world. Late in the day she heard the heavy tread on the stairs, couldn’t stop from flying to the doorway with an all over body smile that was impossible to hold back.
‘Why are you looking so happy?’ The brooding shadows were dark beneath his eyes.
Some instinct warned her not to admit that it was because he’d just appeared. ‘I’ve found the most fabulous frock to wear tomorrow night.’
The smallest of smiles lifted his expression and he came into the room. ‘Of course. Shopping maketh a woman smile.’
Oh, no, in truth it was just him. ‘I’m actually starting to look forward to it now.’ And she was. Sure, she was nervous about what her family would think of her designs, but at least she did have a stellar outfit to go in—and an even better escort. ‘Are you wearing a tux? It’s formal dress.’
His eyes narrowed a fraction and he turned away. ‘I’m not going.’
She looked after him, stunned. ‘Not going? You’re not coming to the opening?’
He walked over to the window. ‘No. We’re not a couple,