'Nothing forced,' he continued persuasively. 'It was a natural progression...spontaneous. What,' he enquired icily, 'is so funny about me being spontaneous?'
'It's just not a term I associate with you.'
He gave her a second suspicious sideways glance before returning his attention to the road ahead. 'Neither of us had any expectations and things just progressed naturally. We're not in love, but it doesn't make the physical aspect any less fulfilling. I think things have turned out very well.'
Maybe he was right, she reflected. He looked a lot more relaxed than she'd ever seen him before. Perhaps sex without the unstable element of love was less fraught. Who was she fooling? Deep down she knew she couldn't have slept with him if she hadn't been in love with him; it was an integral, inseparable part of the equation for her. Men were obviously different.
'Shall I take your silence as agreement, or should I start to worry?'
My God, I could tear his comfortable appraisal to shreds with three little words—three little words I'm not going to use. He'd never know how bitterly ironic his cutting assessment of the lovelorn nanny was.
'If propinquity and convenience were all that mattered, surely most men would sleep with their secretaries.' She pursed her lips reflectively. 'Maybe most men do sleep with their secretaries.'
'Obviously I find you attractive.'
'It's not obvious to me.'
He dismissed this statement with a sceptical smile. 'Would you have married me if you'd found me physically repulsive, no matter how attractive the package I offered you? I don't think so.'
'Correct me if I'm wrong, but the logical progression of that argument seems to be that if I'd been a real dog you wouldn't have popped the question. Your frankness has a unique charm all of its own, Ethan.' Whilst she didn't expect to be romanced with sweet nothings, this was stretching her tolerance to breaking-point. 'And it would be a mistake to assume that, just because you're a pin-up, all women feel sexually attracted to you. Women are not as predictable as men.'
'Have I said something to annoy you, Hannah?'
'Whatever gave you that idea?'
'I thought you'd appreciate candour. Or are you still miffed because I didn't make love to you back at the pool?'
'My God,' she breathed, her bosom heaving, 'when they handed out ego you got a double dose.'
'You were expecting me to.'
'I was not!' she lied firmly.
'I thought you might think the setting a bit too... obvious.
'You're so sensitive.'
'I'm glad you appreciate the sacrifice,' he replied with cheerful unrepentance. 'It was a sacrifice.' This time there was no humour in his voice. 'When you look at me with those big, hungry eyes I personally couldn't give a damn about the decor.'
'I don't have...' She couldn't bring herself to say 'hungry eyes'.
'Are those sweet little cotton things in your bag?' He moved his hand from the gear lever to flick the handle of her leather bag and she nodded vaguely, her head still spinning. 'So you're wearing what, exactly, under those?' Briefly his glance flicked over the russet cotton sweater and above-the-knee black skirt she was wearing.
She glanced down, just to check the lacy top of her hold-up stocking wasn't showing. Her heart was beating slow and strong and she was conscious of every separate thud.
'Nothing would be my guess,' he said thickly. 'You'd better come clean because I have every intention of finding out for sure when we get home.'
The mental picture that accompanied his words breached her feeble mental defences and robbed her body of strength in one fell swoop. 'Don't I have any say in the matter?'
'The idea excites you as much as it does me.'
'How do you know?' She plucked at the stretchy fabric of her sweater, as it showed an unfortunate tendency to cling to the visible proof that supported his theory.
'I know—the same way I know it's my face you see when you close your eyes when I'm making love to you. My face—not some shadowy figure you still harbour romantic fantasies about.'
'What are you talking about?'
'You told me about your unrequited love. Did you forget?'
Lies had a way of catching up on a person! I really don't have a good enough memory to lie effectively, she thought, trying desperately to recall exactly what she had said.
'I don't want to talk about it.' Did I give this face-saving device a name? she wondered. She racked her brains and still couldn't recall.
'Do you feel guilty because you enjoy it when we have sex? Do you feel you're betraying your love?'
Hannah raised her eyes from her stubborn contemplation of her clasped hands. Was this a classic case of transference? Was that actually how he felt when he made love to her?
For some reason he was working himself up into a real temper. One glance at his rigid profile told her that.