‘I’ll go and open the door,’ she said, scrambling inelegantly in her haste to be out of the car. ‘That way you won’t have to stand out in the cold too long.’
Luis watched her walk up the short path to the lighted porch, willing himself to calm down, to get a grip on himself. Strong fingers drummed a restless tattoo on the rim of the steering wheel in an outward expression of the inner turmoil of his thoughts.
The drive from the city centre had been a particularly sophisticated sort of torment, with every cell in his body reacting urgently and painfully to the presence of Isabelle’s slim form so close to his after all this time.
She was so familiar and yet so unknown. Dios! She still wore the same perfume as she had done then, the mixture of rose a
nd sandalwood tantalising his nostrils and making him harden instantly. And then, while he’d still been struggling to control the hungry need that simply being with her had sparked off, she had had to mention Lynette Michaels.
‘No!’
He muttered the word aloud as he pulled his key from the ignition and pushed the door open. He would not think about it. Wouldn’t even let the memory of Rob Michaels into his thoughts. If that happened then he would turn and leave, heading away from here like a bat out of hell.
So he made himself walk down the road towards her, follow her into the small, narrow hallway. He watched in astonishment as she took out another key and pushed it into the first door on the right.
‘What? You have a flat here?’
Her face was turned to him sharply, confusion stamped clearly on it.
‘Of course—what did you think? You didn’t think I owned the whole house, did you?’
‘I thought…I sent you money.’
‘I didn’t want your money.’
‘Evidently.’
The door was open now and those golden tiger’s eyes were scanning the small, slightly shabby room, taking in the deep brown, well-worn settee and chairs, the equally elderly table and dresser. The only saving graces in what was a rather ugly place were the clean, freshly painted cream walls, and the pretty floral-patterned curtains and cushion covers. Isabelle had made those herself in an attempt to brighten the place up.
‘I would have kept you better than this.’
‘You wouldn’t have kept me at all, Luis! I can look after myself. And you made it only too plain that you never wanted to see me again, that you wanted me out of your life for good.’
‘And does that surprise you? You slept with another man while you were married to me.’
‘I did no such thing. I didn’t!’ she emphasised as he eyed her sceptically, obvious disbelief darkening his eyes. ‘It never happened, Luis.’
Was he listening to her? He had to listen to her!
Two years before, he had refused even to hear a word she’d tried to say. He’d simply turned and walked out of her life without a backward glance. He had cut himself off from her so completely that it had been as if he had vanished off the face of the earth. Her phone calls had gone unanswered, her letters had been returned unopened.
That was why, in the end, she had resorted to sending him a solicitor’s letter telling him that she wanted to legalise their separation. It had been the most painful decision she had ever had to make.
‘I didn’t do it. I was innocent of everything you accused me of. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know how Rob got there.’
He almost believed her. When she turned that pleading face on him, green eyes wide, the disturbing thing was that the sudden kick of his heart told him that he was still weak enough for it to matter. That, blind stupid fool that he was, he wanted to believe her.
But that was forgetting that she was an actress. That she had spent years training to do just this. To deceive an audience into believing that what she did, what she said, was the truth. He had seen her act, knew how good she was at it. But he had never expected to see that skill of hers turned against him.
‘Luis, you have to understand…’
He had hesitated just long enough to light a tiny flame of hope inside her. A hope that flickered, steadied, grew for a moment…then died painfully abruptly as he shook his dark head, scowling savagely.
‘I have to do nothing!’ he snarled.
But then, another second later, a disturbing change came over his face. The burn of anger disappeared from his eyes, leaving them cold and opaque, and his shrug was cool, totally indifferent. And Isabelle found that even more frightening than his icy rage.
‘It doesn’t matter. It’s in the past. It doesn’t affect the present.’