She walked up to the kitchen and made a fresh pot of coffee, pouring herself a cup before retracing her way downstairs again.
It was useless to try to go to bed for a while; her head was spinning with all that had been said and the dull ache in her heart told her she wouldn’t be able to fight the thoughts of Clay that would swamp her immediately as she laid her head on the pillow. And she was sick to death of crying herself to sleep.
Work, the panacea, as she had proven over the last few days. It might not cure all ills, but at least by the time she fell into bed after working into the early hours she was too exhausted to do more than have a little cry before sleep claimed her for two or three hours, and tonight, maybe, she might even get the victory over that? Because she couldn’t carry on like this.
It was gone midnight when the knock came at the front door, startling her so much that half a cup of stale coffee went flying over the papers on the desk.
‘Damn, damn, damn!’ Her heart was thuddin
g as she whisked the papers up and shook them—the best she could do in the circumstances—but then, when the knock came again, she put them on Drew’s desk and her hand went to her throat.
Who on earth would be standing outside at this time of night? she asked herself nervously. Admittedly burglars didn’t normally knock to gain entrance, but one heard such funny things these days with kids high on drugs and so on. What should she do? She continued to stand there, her eyes fixed on the front door.
On the third time of knocking, Robyn walked warily to the door and called loudly, ‘Yes, who is it?’
There was silence for what seemed like an eternity but in reality was no more than a second or two, and then an unmistakably deep, husky voice said, ‘Clay.’
She stood frozen to the spot, her heart thumping so hard it actually hurt and her mind unable to take it in until his voice came again, slightly irate this time. ‘Robyn? It’s Clay. Can you hear me? Open the door; it’s all right.’
He was here. She glanced wildly about the room as though it would provide the answer as to why Clay Lincoln was standing outside her front door in the middle of the night, and then nerved herself to reach up and turn the knob, still not really believing he would be standing outside.
He was.
She saw his eyes narrow as they took in her slim figure encased in the cream shot-silk chiffon dress she had worn for a meeting with an important client earlier in the day and had not bothered to change once she was home again, his gaze lingering on her hair—which she had loosened out of its clip on top of her head and had allowed to cascade free some time during Margo’s visit. ‘Hello, Robyn.’ His voice was deep and husky.
She didn’t answer, couldn’t answer, and the silver gaze slanted still more as he said, ‘Can I come in or do you have a visitor?’ as he glanced behind her into the room.
‘A visitor?’ she repeated breathlessly.
‘I saw the lights were still on and assumed you were up, but if you have guests…’
‘I was working.’ It suddenly clicked that he suspected she had a man here and her voice was curt, even as she thought, It would have served him right if I had.
‘So, can I come in?’ he repeated quietly. ‘We need to talk.’
She stood aside for him to enter, hoping with all her being that she didn’t look as poleaxed as she felt at the sight of him. He was wearing a pale grey shirt and black jeans and he took her breath away. But he looked tired too, ill almost.
‘What do you want, Clay?’ As she turned to face him after shutting the door she was amazed her voice sounded so calm and ordinary when her nerves were jangling and she could feel the blood pounding through her veins. ‘It’s very late.’
‘I know.’ He hadn’t moved a muscle after stepping into the room and now he surveyed her with unblinking eyes. ‘You look tired.’
Did he mean she really looked tired—as she’d thought about him—or that she looked a mess? Robyn asked herself silently. She managed a tight smile as she said, ‘It’s been a long day and this heat is wearing. They’ve been saying for days that the heatwave is going to break, but it hasn’t happened.’
He nodded, the piercing, unrevealing stare continuing to hold her. ‘The heat hit me when I stepped off the plane,’ he agreed softly. ‘It was cooler in the States for once.’
So he had just flown in. She ought to offer him a drink or something. The thoughts were there but the full enormity that he was actually standing in front of her was dawning, and she didn’t dare move or speak in case it revealed the trembling that was threatening to take her over.
‘I know I shouldn’t have come at this time of night.’ He was speaking quietly, watching her face with a curious expression in his eyes that she couldn’t fathom. ‘But I had to, I had to try at least. If the lights hadn’t been on…’
What was he talking about lights for? Why didn’t he say why he was here? Was it something to do with the business? Was he going to tell her he was pulling out of their agreement now their tenuous relationship was over? The thoughts were screaming in her head but at the back of them was the realisation that she was hoping it was something else—she’d started hoping the moment she had heard his voice. Which made her the biggest idiot under the sun because, when it turned out not to be her he had come for, she would die all over again.
‘Clay.’ Her voice was croaky and she swallowed before she could try again. ‘Clay, why are you here?’
‘I need to explain.’ And then, as though he had only just realised they were both still standing within a few feet of the door, he added, ‘Do you want to go upstairs and sit down? It will take a while.’
It will take a while. She felt her senses freeze and go into cold storage. He hadn’t come to say he wanted her, that he was prepared to try again, that…that he loved her. Those three words only took a second to say. But of course he hadn’t, she told herself numbly. Why would he? He could have any woman he wanted so why would he come here and tell her he loved her? Oh, she was going mad here. Why couldn’t he get on with it? ‘No, I don’t want to go upstairs,’ she said on little more than a whisper, forcing the words out through stiff lips.
‘Then, sit down at least.’ Now he touched her for the first time and she had to nerve herself to show no emotion as she felt the warmth of his flesh on her arm as his hand guided her to her chair. She moved like a robot, stiff and unyielding.