‘Stop! Stop!’ she shrieked, no longer caring what anybody thought of her. He’d come for her. She threw herself at his back the precise moment he ground to a halt and landed smack against those big shoulders, her hands going up to steady herself.
He dumped all her luggage and turned around, his expression so fierce she took a backward step.
‘Da,’ he said fiercely. ‘It’s good you have to chase me for a bit. How does it feel, Clementine, being the one on the hop? Isn’t that one of your Australian expressions?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said unthinkingly, still coming to terms with his presence. ‘How did you get here?’ It was the least important question that came to mind, but her brain seemed to have short-circuited.
He made a ‘no importance’ gesture—so like the Serge she loved, king of his own fiefdom. As if the practical considerations of life that so bedevilled the general population had nothing to do with him.
‘You like to run, don’t you, kisa? Ever since I first laid eyes on you I have been chasing you. Why would it be any different now?’ His tone was almost meditative, but his eyes were charged and as wild as she had ever seen them.
‘I’m not running. I’ve come home. The holiday is over, Serge. You made that clear. You took me to Paris to break up with me.’ Her voice shattered over those words. ‘The most romantic time in my life and you took it and you smashed it.’
The colour left his face as her words sank in, and for a moment she experienced a modicum of satisfaction that he understood how truly awful that experience had been for her. Then a deep sadness began to invade her, its tendrils reaching into every corner of her body.
‘That wasn’t my intention,’ he said, in a deep, fractured voice. ‘Clementine, please believe me—it was never my intention to hurt you.’
But you did.
Her whole body was howling and he was just standing there, looking fierce and troubled and desperate.
‘Go and find yourself another girl, Serge,’ she said heavily. ‘I’m sure there are thousands of women in New York City alone who would be happy to take my place.’
He reached for her, leaning in, and suddenly all she could see was the turbulence inside of him and something else. Something tender—something awakened by her words.
‘Where do you get this from? When have I looked at another woman since I met you?’
For a long moment her heart felt too big for her chest. If only he meant a word of that. But she knew it couldn’t be true. She shook his hand from her arm. ‘You have a history, Serge. Do you think I was living in a bubble back in New York? Everywhere I went I heard about your airhead bimbos. This is what you’re like with women.’
‘Not with you, Clementine.’
‘We were having sex, Serge,’ she hissed. ‘Sex—that’s all it was. You told me that’s all it was. You spelt it out. How am I supposed to feel? How am I supposed to deal with that? I don’t have casual flings. I’m not built that way.’
‘I know you’re not.’
She shook her head, shaking out the soft, persuasive sound of his words. Meaningless, empty words.
‘I’m not coming back with you, Serge. It’s over.’
He caught her hand. ‘No.’ It wasn’t a plea. It wasn’t a request. It was a statement of fact. No.
It gave her the much needed anger to power herself up.
‘Get over yourself, rich boy.’ She shook his hand off. ‘You’re not that irresistible.’
He didn’t shift and suddenly she wanted him to know how badly he’d hurt her. But she also wanted him to know he was nothing special.
‘I met another guy like you, Serge, a year ago. A rich guy who thought he just had to throw his money around and everything would belong to him. He dated me for six weeks. He dressed me, he asked me to wear jewellery he’d loaned me, and then he offered me an apartment because he didn’t want to slum it in my flat. The problem was he was engaged the whole time and had no intention of me being anything other than his mistress. Just another guy looking for no-strings sex with an easy girl.’
Serge was looking at her as if she’d punched him.
She took a deep breath, lowering her voice. ‘Except I didn’t sleep with him. Because it means something to me, Serge, when I share my body. And the only reason I’m telling you any of this is so you understand what I risked when I came with you to New York City.’
‘Clementine—’
She heard him say her name but she barrelled on, full of emotion, hardly knowing what she was saying or revealing any more, and not caring.