His eyes narrowed. ‘And presumably you survive on just your waitressing salary—which is not a particularly high salary?’
‘That’s right.’
He stared at her. ‘So how come you dramatically ripped up the cheque I left you?’
Incredulously, she stared back. ‘You know exactly why.’
‘If I knew, then I wouldn’t be asking.’
‘Think about it!’ she bit out as she turned on her heel and walked into the sitting room, hearing his footsteps following behind her. And suddenly, she was terribly afraid that she would go to pieces. Say or do something she might later regret—because the truth was that she hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind, or her heart. She’d barely had a single thought that didn’t involve her Russian lover. Sx-lover, she reminded herself fiercely.
Reaching down into a cupboard, she found a dusty bottle of livid-coloured orange liqueur, which had been there for as long as she could remember, and poured a measure into a little glass. ‘Do you want any?’ she asked ungraciously.
‘Tempting. But I think I’ll pass.’
Zara sipped at the fiery spirit, grateful for the instant little boost of energy it gave her. Drinking at midnight wasn’t a pastime she indulged in regularly, but it had been a long day. There had been a big directors’ lunch, followed by afternoon tea, and then she’d grabbed at an extra job which had come in, only to discover that it had been a windswept party on a river-boat which had been full of drunken stockbrokers who kept being sick over the side.
‘So, why?’ he persisted.
She turned round, trying to buffer herself against the impact he made on her, but it wasn’t easy—especially since all his undeniable attributes seemed amplified when measured against the humble background of her tiny sitting room. He was wearing a dark suit and crisp white shirt, and his only concession to relaxation had been to loosen his tie.
‘You paid me over double what I was owed!’ she accused.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s the first time someone’s ever complained that I’ve overpaid them,’ he drawled.
‘Don’t be obtuse, Nikolai—you know exactly what I mean.’
‘No, I don’t. I thought you were good at your job and deserved the extra payment.’
‘What, for the extra services provided?’
He froze. ‘You think I was paying you for sex?’
‘What else was I supposed to think? ‘
‘You think that I’m the kind of man who pays for sex?’
‘Can we keep your ego out of it for a moment? This isn’t about you, it’s about me,’ she shot back, swallowing down the intense hurt she still felt at the memory of him waving that wretched envelope at her as if she were some kind of hooker. ‘So why the over-generous gesture, if not for that?’
For a moment he was silent as he battled with his feelings, angry that she was forcing him to offer some kind of explanation—he who never had to explain himself to anyone. But the confusion and the undoubted hurt in her brilliant green eyes made him change the habit of a lifetime. ‘I realised that I’d misjudged you,’ he said heavily. ‘That you were not the woman I thought you to be.’
Zara stared at him warily. ‘And what kind of woman was that?’
‘They’re known in the business as gold-diggers,’ he said acerbically, and saw her wince.
‘How very flattering,’ she said quietly.
‘Oh, you may think it’s nothing but a misogynistic tag but believe me, I’ve met plenty of them in my time.’ His mouth hardened. ‘Which might explain why I’m more than a little suspicious of the opposite sex—most of whom seem to want something from me. Perhaps the money was a compensation for my own sense of guilt when I realised you were nothing like that. And I often tip my staff,’ he added. ‘The sex had absolutely nothing to do with your pay-cheque.’
Zara put down the sticky little glass of liqueur and shrugged. ‘I guess I’m partly to blame. It’s my own fault. I should have just done the job I was supposed to be there for and then I could have walked away with a clear conscience and none of this misunderstanding would have ever happened. I shouldn’t have …’
‘Shouldn’t have, what?’ he prompted softly.
‘Shouldn’t have let you.’ She swallowed down the poignant and bittersweet memories of their love-making.
‘I shouldn’t have let myself. It was a stupid, stupid thing to do.’
Something in her soft contrition hit him like a slow-motion fist to the solar plexus and Nikolai felt a sharp pang of remorse. ‘But you couldn’t help yourself,’ he said simply. ‘And neither could I. The chemistry between us was so powerful—too powerful to stop. Maybe impossible. Or do you think that kind of reaction between two people happens all the time?’