‘That we take it very easy from here on in,’ he replied, watching her, his eyes never leaving her face for a moment. ‘He agrees with me that your memory is not buried quite so deep as you assume it to be. Your reaction to me is enough to substantiate that. But he advises no brutal question-and-answer sessions. No intense probing, but to allow things to come out in a slow, natural everyday way because he thinks the fainting thing is worrying. So we have to tread very carefully if we are not to cause further problems. And he wants to see you before we go back to London. He—’
‘London?’ she interrupted. ‘Who said anything about me going to London?’
‘I did,’ he said. ‘It’s where we live. Or one of the places we live, at any rate,’ he wryly amended. ‘I have a branch office there. We have a house. He suggests we go there and try to pick up the threads of our normal life so that you can—’
‘What normal life?’ she countered tautly. ‘What is even vaguely normal about me going to London with a man I don’t remember, to a house I don’t remember, to a life I don’t remember?’
‘What is normal about not remembering?’
Her face froze over, her awareness that he was only speaking the truth filling her with her own sense of helplessness. But she hated him for making her feel that she had no right to direct her own life because she didn’t have a functioning brain in her head!
‘If, between you, you’ve both already decided on what’s best for me, then why does he want to see me at all?’ Her voice throbbed with resentment.
He did not respond to it. ‘He feels you may need—reassurance that I mean you no harm,’ he explained.
‘Really? Does that include some reassurance that he has my best interests at heart also?’ Her green eyes flashed him a look of scorn. ‘Well, forgive me for not seeing things that way!’
‘Why are you so angry?’ he questioned curiously.
If she didn’t get out of here she was going to toss the last of her wine in his face. ‘Because you went behind my back and discussed my situation without my agreement,’ she sliced at him. ‘And if that isn’t devious, I don’t know what is! And to make it all worse, he actually let you get away with it!’ She could barely breathe she was so infuriated by that!
‘I needed advice and he needed to be in possession of all the facts before he could offer me that advice.’ The arrogant devil was shrugging it all off, as if his answer justified what he had done.
And it did in one way, Samantha conceded. But it certainly did not in another. ‘You could have lied through your teeth to him for all he knows!’
‘I told him the truth,’ he stated quietly.
‘So everyone knows the truth about Samantha but Samantha. How cosy,’ she derided, and got to her feet.
‘Running away again, darling?’ he taunted dryly.
She didn’t bother to reply—didn’t want to, actually. Did not damn well want to! she told herself fiercely as she walked away.
And she did it without a hint of a limp, André grimly noted as he watched her go. She would probably pay for that bit of pride in the morning, he predicted.
Ignoring looks from their fellow diners, who had been keeping a curious eye on them from the moment the altercation had begun, he hissed out a tense sigh, thinking, So much for believing there was safety in numbers. Then he lifted his glass to his lips to swallow what was left of the red wine before getting up to go after her.
As he had known she would be, she was standing by the suite door, bristling with frustration because she didn’t have the means to let herself in so that she could complete her angry exit by shutting herself away in her room before he could get to her.
And he grimly wished she had been able to do that—not for his sake but for her sake. Because her inability to get into the suite without his help was just another example of how out of control of her own life she must be feeling right now.
And she was trembling, he realised as soon as he came up beside her and silently fitted the card into the slot. Stiff-backed, chin up, eyes staring fiercely ahead—but trembling like a fine slender leaf having to fight against the wind that was trying to blow her away.
‘Samantha—’
‘Don’t speak to me,’ she cut in, walking through the door the moment he released the locking mechanism.
He followed her inside, closed the door, and watched her stalk stiffly across the room and shut herself away.
Maybe that wasn’t a bad thing, he told himself as a real bone-weariness began to pull at him. It had been a long and gruelling day for the both of them, and he was still suffering the remains of jet lag. A night’s cooling-off period might do them both a bit of good, he decided. And, with a little bit of luck, by the morning she might be seeing the sen
se in what he’d done.
Not that he held out much hope of that, he then admitted with a grimace that was half a smile. Because he knew Samantha, even if she didn’t know herself. She was hot and she was stubborn. And he was in for a battle.
A battle he fully intended to win. For there was no room to back down now. No going back. And the sooner Samantha came to terms with that, the better it was going to be for both of them.
CHAPTER SEVEN