‘I know that you want me, Vaughan, and I know that I want you. But…’
‘Why does there have to be one?’ His voice was so low, so raw she had to strain to catch it. ‘How do you know that we won’t still feel this way tomorrow?’
He was moving in to kiss her, moving in for the final delicious kill, and Amelia only knew she had to stop him—had to hit him with her final defence. ‘Because you’re Vaughan Mason.’
His hands dropped to his sides and she could have walked away. But she felt stronger now—strong enough to see this through
‘Because I’ve got a past you mean?’
‘No, Vaughan, because I’ve got a past. I know your type…’
‘My type?’
‘Yes, your type, Vaughan. The type of man who attracts women, who likes women, who effortlessly attracts them and for a while adores them until just as effortlessly he moves on.’
‘Now who’s doing the sweeping generalisations?’ Vaughan sneered. ‘So what? You want commitment before you sleep with someone? Is that what you’re saying?’
‘No, I just know—’
‘Know what?’ Vaughan broke in. ‘That I’m a bastard? That I’m setting you up for a fall?’
‘Not deliberately, perhaps…’ She shook her head in an attempt to clear it. ‘Vaughan, this won’t last—you surely know that. And I’m not going to allow myself to get involved with a man who can only hurt me in the end.’
‘You think you’ve got me all worked out. You’ve read my bio and from that you know me. Well, I’m not some doped-up popstar with an ego that needs feeding.’
So brutal were his words that she felt as if she’d been hit—appalled that he knew, and that somehow he’d worked out so much from so very little.
‘How—?’ The word strangled in her throat, ‘How could you know that?’
‘I can read you, Amelia.’ His low husky voice reached her ears. ‘But don’t worry, I’m not going to make you do what you want to. I’m not going to beg for something we both know you want. But think about this when you creep into that cold bed alone—just think about this as you lie there staring at the ceiling: any man you feel for could ultimately hurt you; any man who can make your body respond the way it just did could one day use it against you. So if you’re looking for iron-clad guarantees, if you’re looking to safeguard your heart against pain, you can kiss goodbye to passion.’
And even though he didn’t move, not by a hair, he made love to her all over again. His eyes were almost black as he stared down at her body, the navy obscured by his dilated pupils, scorching through the robe she gripped tightly in her trembling hand. So bold was his stare she could almost feel his hand again on her breast, feel the champagne bubbles of arousal fizzing, and she ran a nervous tongue over her lips. Only it didn’t help. The delicious taste of him was still there in her mouth. It was as if he held the remote control to her body—he pushed her buttons, turning her on at will and she only knew that she had to get out.
This time she meant it. Wrenching open the door and fleeing down the passage, she only breathed when her own door was safely closed behind her. Her body burned with dissatisfaction, her emotions utterly violated by his brutal words—and damn him, Amelia realised, he was right.
Creeping into bed, she lay there, supremely aware of him just as few metres away, on the other side of the flimsy hotel wall, her whole body burning with a desire she’d chosen to starve in the name of preservation, staring appalled at the life that lay before her.
A life without passion.
A life that was safe.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘GOOD morning!’ Her greeting rang out loudly as Vaughan made his way over to the breakfast table—one of the same tables they’d idly watched being laid up only hours ago.
The piano stood proud and silent now—no gentle background noise to fill this difficult moment as the restaurant area slowly filled up with bleary-eyed early risers and crisp businessmen and women grabbing a caffeine fix before they headed for the office. Melbourne was stirring into life after a long sultry night.
She said her greeting again when he sat down, and again Vaughan didn’t respond—didn’t even acknowledge the smile she’d firmly painted on this morning—instead sitting down and signalling to the waiter to fill his coffee cup.
She’d been determined to get in first and set the tone, put last night firmly behind them and resume normal services. But, Amelia realized as Vaughan sat down and scowled at his newspaper, not even bothering to thank the waiter who had promptly filled his cup, there had been no need to rush to greet him—Vaughan, it would appear, wasn’t in a hurry to talk to anyone. Sulky and broody, he stared at his paper, his only movement an occasional hand reaching out for his coffee.
‘Did you sleep well?’ Amelia attempted, ready to rip the bloody paper from his hands if that was what it took, utterly determined to get this over with.
‘No.’ Navy eyes peered over the top of his paper. ‘Are you going to try and tell me that you did?’
God, why did he have to be so direct? Why couldn’t he act like any normal person and pretend that last night’s events simply hadn’t happened?
‘I did, actually,’ Amelia lied, spooning sugar into her tea and getting most of it on the table. She damn well wasn’t going to tell him she’d spent the night pinned to the bed, simultaneously reeling at her boldness, her utter stupidity for going into his room so inappropriately dressed, for responding to his kisses with such blatant ease, yet all the while berating her self for terminating it.
His words had stung her to the core. All night she’d played them over in her mind—too terrified to flick on the kettle in case he heard her, reluctant to go out on the balcony in case he saw her. Knowing that with one crook of his manicured finger she’d run to him, that with one more taste of that decadent mouth she’d fall into his bed with nothing to save her.
‘Vaughan—please!’ Still she spoke to the sports page. ‘If this is about last night…’ She held her breath as the paper slowly dropped, his eyes frowning as he met hers. ‘If this silent treatment—’
‘Silent treatment?’ He shook his head, a mirthless smile almost evident on his taut lips, then to her utter fury lifted the paper again and proceeded to read.
‘Look, if this is going to affect our working relationship…’
‘Amelia, on reflection you made a very valid point last night.’ Vaughan slowly folded up his paper and placed it on the table beside him as she sat squirming with embarrassment. He stretched out her discomfort for as long as possible before finally continuing. ‘Perhaps people should get to know each other before they sleep together. Maybe people should know that just because someone chooses not to bounce across to the breakfast table squawking like a galah, it doesn’t mean that they’re ruing the fact they didn’t get their rocks off last night, but that they are quite simply people who like at least a few micrograms of caffeine in their system before they enter into a deep and meaningful discussion.’
‘Getting your rocks off?’ Amelia sneered, embarrassed at her overreaction, yet sure, quite sure, that she had been right—that Vaughan ‘in control’ Mason was seriously rattled because, unlike most women, she hadn’t succumbed to his undeniably skilful charms. ‘I made more than one valid point last night, Vaughan. And a man who refers to it as “getting his rocks off” really isn’t the type of guy I want to be sharing a bed with.’
‘And a woman who refers to sex as “it” clearly doesn’t know how to enjoy herself!’
‘So I’m frigid, am I?’
She saw the tiny upward flicker of his eyebrow, knew that she had shocked him slightly, but years spent in journalism had taught Amelia not to shy away from embarrassing subjects, to face tough conversations head-on. This was tough, supremely difficult, but she was damn well going to see it through.
‘Are you trying to say that because I—heaven for bid—chose not to sleep with you it means that deep down I can’t really like sex very much? That it has nothing to do with the fact that I didn’t want to be yet another notch on your well-worn bedpost? Does the fact I demand more of myself than to be another of your conquests mean, according to your fragile male ego, that I don’t really like it very much at all? Oh, sorry,’ Amelia snarled a correction, ‘you don’t like that word, do you? I meant to say—’
‘I get the picture.’ A hand shot up to stop her. He was clearly embarrassed at her boldness, for once looking anything other than cool. ‘Look, let’s just for get it, shall we?’
‘That’s what I was trying to do this morning,’ Amelia pointed out. ‘For your information, I’m not a morning person either.’
‘Can we please start again?’ Vaughan asked, and after a moment on her high horse Amelia relented.
‘Good morning, Vaughan.’
‘Good morning, Amelia. Did you sleep well?’
‘Actually, no. How about you?’