Authors: Darah Lace
she heaved an exaggerated sigh and reached for the
sheet to cover herself. “Too bad. I’d hoped for more.”
As he fastened the button at his waist, he came
to stand over the bed. His dark eyes, filled with such
tender passion moments ago, blazed with barely
controlled anger. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like
this.”
“Really?” She stretched, sore muscles making
themselves known again now that the euphoria of
their lovemaking had faded, and covered her mouth
to yawn; she really was exhausted. “Did you have
another position in mind? You should have said
something.”
“You know what I mean.” His hand slashed
toward the bed. “I didn’t want this.”
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That much was painfully clear. She studied her
fingernails with a raised brow. “I could have sworn
you did. It certainly felt like you participated.”
Looking up, she met his gaze. “Fully.”
“Dammit, Charlotte, you tied me up and
tortured me until I broke. Only a saint could have
resisted, and I’m no saint. There’s only so much a
man can take.”
Before he could see how much the reminder of
what she’d done hurt, she rose from the opposite side
of the bed, taking the sheet with her. “What’s the big
deal, Marcus? It’s
just
sex.”
He flinched, his head jerking back as if she’d
slapped him. The heated anger slowly drained from
his eyes, replaced by a cold fury. “Well, it sure as
hell should be about more than that.”
“What else is there?”
“Love, damn you. There should be love.” He
strode to the chair in the corner to swipe his shirt
from beneath her sweater and jerk it over his head.
“I guess you wouldn’t know anything about that.”
Love? Was that the one thing he wanted?
Surely, he didn’t mean he wanted it from her. Her
heart beat faster at the prospect, though she couldn’t
be certain what caused it, excitement or fear.
Geez, a relationship was one thing, but love?
She couldn’t. She didn’t. Or did she?
She’d tried so hard to ward off that destructive
emotion, built a world for herself, an intricate web of
lies, all for protection against it. Marcus had
breached most of those barriers when he learned her
secrets. Had he also slipped into her heart when she
wasn’t looking?
Charlotte shook her head in denial, then caught
herself, glad he had his back to her so he couldn’t see
the shock and confusion she felt. This was crazy. She
was crazy. She couldn’t allow herself to think about
it. She had come too far to turn back now. She had to
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finish what she started.
“Sex is a game to you.” He raged on, jamming
his feet into the brown cowhide boots he seemed to
favor, oblivious to her dismal thoughts. “With new
players in every round.”
Sucking in a fortifying breath, she relaxed her
tense shoulders and schooled her expression into one
of boredom. “What can I say? I like variety.”
He straightened from lowering his jeans over his
boots and stared at her, his face growing almost
purple at her taunt. “You’ve—hell, I’m wasting my
breath. You’ll never change.”
“I don’t want to. I told you that.”
“Yes, you did. And I’m sorry I didn’t listen.” He
snagged his coat on his way to the door. “I need some
air.”
“Go ahead, leave,” she called after him. “I got
what I came for anyway.”
The door to the suite slammed a second later,
and Charlotte wilted, a sob catching in her throat.
She might have gotten what she came for—more
than she’d bargained for, really—but she’d lost so
much more.
Her self-respect was in tatters after what she’d
done to Marcus, and the wall around her heart had
been nearly decimated. Only the portion that had
kept her from begging his forgiveness remained, and
it was crumbling fast. Even now she wanted him to
come back and take her in his arms, to call her bluff
and demand she admit he was right about her all
along.
She’d lost her secrets, most of them anyway, and
her reason for keeping them. Her decided lifestyle
had always been the burden she’d carried to keep
men at a distance, and for the past five years, her
efforts had all but gone to one man. Now that she’d
driven him out of her life for good, she’d rid herself
of that burden, too.
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After all, why bother keeping up the charade
when, no matter how much or how often she denied
it, she’d lost her heart.
****
Marcus entered the hotel and shook the snow from
his boots. In his haste to get away from Charlotte, he
had forgotten to put on socks and his feet were
freezing. But two hours spent in the cold night air
had done the trick in cooling his temper and clearing
his head. He could deal with her now, say some of
the things he should have said and take back some
of the things he had.
With determined strides he crossed the lobby
and boarded the elevator, ignoring the curious stare
of the night clerk. No doubt the man thought there
was trouble in paradise with the bachelor and his
lady. He punched the correct button for their floor
and leaned against the back wall.
Rubbing a hand over his face, he went over all
the things he’d said to her. Things meant to hurt.
He’d been so damned furious at himself for failing to
prove
he loved her, he’d forgotten to tell her.
He’d been angry at her, too, for forcing him
beyond his control. He hadn’t thought, just lashed
out, throwing her past in her face, when it wasn’t at
all what he’d believed before coming on this trip,
only a fabrication, an enhanced and sometimes
distorted version of the truth.
He should have realized she only reacted the
way she had out of fear. Hell, he’d known he loved
her before they made love—and it damned well was
making love, not just sex. Yet even expecting to feel
something extraordinary, he’d still been scared by
the depth and power of the emotion that consumed
him. And he’d seen the same sentiment reflected in
her tear-filled eyes. It had to have frightened her.
That didn’t mean her words hadn’t cut him to
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the quick. They’d come too close to those she’d
uttered that night in the garden beneath the gently
swaying willow after he’d stroked her, made her
whimper with need and held her as she shuddered
through an orgasm.
That was a real treat, Preston, but next time
you’re coming with me.
He’d told her then that there wouldn’t be a next
time; he wouldn’t join the ranks of those who had
gone before him. Yet he hadn’t been able to stay
away. He had used his need to apologize as an
excuse to be near her at the auction, to hear her soft
voice, touch her satiny skin, breathe in the scent of
her exotic perfume.
He wondered if he would have seen the same
emotion in her eyes had they made love that night in
the garden. Would he have recognized it, known
sooner that she loved him? That she only pushed
him away because she was afraid to love and be
loved? Probably not.
But he understood it now. No one made love like
that if they didn’t care to some significant degree.
Even if she was only at the dawning of love, he could
work with that. First, he had to confront her, confess
his feelings and make her admit what was in her
heart. They weren’t going home until she did.
Stepping off the elevator, Marcus hurried
toward their suite. He let himself in and shrugged
out of his coat. All was quiet. What had he expected?
For her to wait up for him?
He moved quietly toward her closed door, lifted
his fist to knock and hesitated. Now that he was
here, he hated to wake her, especially after the fall
she had taken. She needed her rest. He started to
turn away then stopped. Dammit, he’d waited long
enough. They could catch a later flight and she could
sleep all day if she wanted, preferably in his arms.
But they were going to have this out. Now.
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He thrust the door open. As light spilled into the
room, slicing over an empty bed, awareness snaked
through him. He didn’t need better lighting to know
the rest of the room was as empty as the bed. His
gut twisted into a hard knot as he stepped further
into the bedroom. Her clothes were gone from the
closet, suitcases too. A glance inside the bathroom
and at the uncluttered counter confirmed his
suspicions. She was gone. Only the lingering scent of
her perfume remained.
I got what I came for
.
He turned away from the room—and the
thought—and headed across the sitting area with
determined strides. Her leaving was just another
one of her evasion tactics. She was running scared
again.
Well, he’d be damned if he let her go without a
fight. She hadn’t even tried. He deserved that much
from her. They both did. He could probably catch up
with her at the airport if he hurried.
But when he entered his room, he stopped short.
His heart twisted in his chest as he took in the
rumpled sheets. In the center of the headboard, a
bright blue scarf hung limp, as if innocent and
denying any part of what had happened. The smell
of sex, along with the underlying scent of her
perfume, reached out, drawing him closer until his
knees hit the bed.
I got what I came for
.
Well, maybe she had. Maybe he’d been fooling
himself and the love he thought he’d seen in her eyes
was only wishful thinking on his part and nothing
else. She’d tried to tell him she wasn’t looking for
more than a good time, but he had wanted her to be
wrong so he hadn’t listened.
Marcus sank to the edge of the mattress, and his
fingers brushed something cool and soft. The scarf
he’d torn loose from the footboard and later removed
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from his ankle before rolling Charlotte beneath him.
He fisted it in his hand and brought it to his face.
Closing his eyes, he inhaled. She was there, vaguely,
but enough to reawaken his need and his heart.
It sickened him to think he’d almost told her he
loved her. That if she’d still been here, he would
have told her and maybe even begged her to give
them a chance. God, she would have laughed him
out of the room. At least he could be thankful for
something.
He clenched his jaw and rose to his feet. She’d
made her decision. And now, as much as it killed
him, as much as he wanted things to be different, he
had to make his. Hell, what difference did it make
what he wanted?
She was already gone.
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“How do I look?”
Charlotte wiped a tear from her cheek—the last
she’d shed today if it killed her—and turned from
the window and the man outside, who unknowingly
held her heart. She’d cried enough in the two weeks
since returning from Aspen to last her a lifetime.
And Christmas Eve was not a time for tears.
Still wearing the cranberry silk bridesmaid
gown, she glided across the tiny dressing room to
stand behind Melody at the full length mirror. “You
look like a happily married woman.”
“She does, doesn’t she?” Melody’s mother
straightened from tugging the hem of her daughter’s
going away suit, a pink wool skirt and jacket with a
winter white blouse and matching three inch heels.
“And she owes it all to you. If you hadn’t told her
about the position available at Preston Enterprises,
she never would have met Spencer.”
“That’s true.” Charlotte lifted the pearls she’d
let Melody borrow and draped them around her neck
to finish off the outfit. “And I’ll cash in on that debt
someday. Just you wait.”
Melody let her chestnut hair fall into place and