‘I just thought it might make a difference.’
A muscle worked in his cheek. ‘It doesn’t. And you might find this hard to believe, but the desire not to hurt you is the reason I walked away. And it’s the reason I’m about to walk away again. Because there are some rules that even I won’t break.’ He ran a hand over his face and then strode out of the room, leaving her shaking so badly that she could hardly stand.
He wanted her?
She sank onto her chair, staring at the door. He’d pulled back out of consideration for her? He didn’t find her repulsive?
She wasn’t ‘boring Flora’?
Her fragile, bruised confidence recovered slightly and her mind started to race.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CONNER lay sprawled on the huge sofa in the barn, mindlessly flicking through the sports channels on the television. On the floor next to him was a bottle of whisky and a half-filled glass. He stared at it blankly and was just about to pick up the bottle and do what needed to be done when someone hammered hard on the front door.
Conner reached for the remote control and increased the volume on the television, determined to ignore whoever it was who mistakenly believed that he might be in need of company.
There was no second knock, so he picked up the whisky bottle, satisfied that his unwelcome visitor had decided to go and bother someone else.
He stared at the television screen for a moment, too emotionally drained to find an alternative mode of entertainment. After a few moments some deep-seated instinct warned him that he wasn’t alone and he turned his head slowly.
Flora stood in the doorway.
She was wearing a coat belted at the waist and raindrops glistened like diamonds on her dark hair. ‘You didn’t answer your door.’
Whisky sloshed over his shirt and it took him a moment to reply, the speed of his mind and his tongue dulled by the shock of seeing her there. ‘I didn’t feel like company.’
‘Well, that’s tough because there are things I need to say to you.’ She stepped into the room, her eyes burning with a fire that he’d never seen before. ‘That was quite a speech you made earlier, Conner MacNeil. You said a lot of things.’
What was she doing here? ‘They were things that needed saying.’
‘I agree. And I’ve been thinking about those things.’ She breathed in and out, her chest rising and falling under her raincoat. ‘You’ve made a lot of assumptions about me.’ Water clung to her eyelashes and cheeks and her hair, as dark as mahogany, curled around her face. She looked pretty and wholesome and he had to force himself not to look at her soft mouth.
If he looked, he was lost.
‘You shouldn’t be here, Flora.’
Her eyes slid to the whisky bottle. ‘Oh, Conner…’ Her gentle, sympathetic tone scratched against his nerve endings.
‘Go home.’
‘Why? Because you’re drunk?’
He licked his lips and discovered they were dry. ‘I’m not drunk.’
But she didn’t seem to be listening. It was as if she was in the middle of a rehearsed speech. ‘You’re worried in case you lose control and behave badly?’ She stepped closer, the blaze in her eyes intensifying. ‘What would you say if I told you that I want you to behave badly, Conner? In fact, I want you to be as bad as you can possibly be.’
The breath hissed through his teeth. ‘For God’s sake, Flora…’
‘People say you’re super-bright. Shockingly intelligent—brain in a different stratosphere to most people’s, and all that. I’m not sure if they’re right or not. What I do know is that you’re certainly very slow when it comes to knowing what I want.’
His hand tightened around the glass. ‘I said, go home!’
‘Why? So that you can get slowly drunk on your own? I don’t think that’s the answer.’
‘Well, you wouldn’t, would you?’ He gave a mocking smile. ‘I’m willing to bet you’ve never been drunk in your life, Flora Harris.’
‘You’re right, actually. I haven’t.’ Her tone was calm. ‘I never saw the point. There are other ways to solve a problem.’