‘The meeting was fine.’
‘So what’s wrong?’ Because something was definitely up. Could it be a delayed reaction to last night’s conversation? If it was, whatever he needed from her, she’d give it to him. She’d give him everything. Especially if he actually came into her room.
‘Nothing’s wrong,’ he said, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his trousers. ‘How was your day?’
‘Professionally uneventful, personally illuminating.’
He frowned at that, just for a moment. ‘Everything ready for Friday?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Then your services are no longer required.’
Oh? What did that mean? ‘Well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that,’ she said with the hint of a knowing grin despite the faint ribbon of anxiety beginning to wind through her. ‘My...services...are available until Sunday.’ Hopefully even beyond.
‘I’m serious,’ he said. ‘You should go home. Tomorrow.’
The smile slid from her face. Tomorrow was Wednesday. The conference started on Friday. What was going on? ‘I should be here in case things go wrong.’
‘They won’t.’
‘When did you become the expert?’
‘I’ll call if there’s a problem.’
Her pulse sounded in her head. Her mouth dried, and as the truth dawned, her stomach rolled. ‘You’re not joking, are you?’ she said with difficulty. ‘You really want me to go.’
‘Do I look like I’m joking?’
No. She’d never seen anyone appear to be joking less. His jaw was so tight it looked as if it were about to crack. He was pale beneath his tan, but there was no mistaking the intent behind his words. He was resolute, impenetrable. He was batting away every point, every protest she made, and would continue to do so.
And then it hit her like a blow to the head that she was the unpleasant business. While she’d been carefully picking up the pieces of her shattered foundations and putting them back together in a different, better way so that she could dream of a future with him, he’d been revving up to tell her to leave.
‘Why?’ she managed, her throat impossibly tight.
‘Your work here is done.’
‘And what about us?’
‘There is no us.’
His face was utterly unreadable and it was horrible. Who was this? Where was the man she’d fallen in love with? She didn’t recognise the ice-cold stranger before her.
She swallowed hard, feeling nauseous and faint. ‘There could be.’
A muscle hammered in his jaw. ‘There won’t be.’
‘Does this have anything to do with last night?’
‘No,’ he said with the barest of shrugs. ‘I’ve simply had time to reflect on things and come to the realisation I’ve had enough.’
While she’d come to the realisation that she hadn’t had nearly enough.
The pain that shot though her at that was swift and harsh. It pulverised reason and made her desperate. It made her reckless. ‘I’m in love with you.’
The only indication he even heard her was a flicker of something in the depths of his eyes, but it was gone before she could identify it. ‘I regret that happened.’
Orla stared at him, frozen in shock, the air trapped in her lungs while the world about her collapsed. And then, charging through the rubble, came fury. He regretted that happened? What the hell? How dared he dismiss her feelings like that, as if nothing they’d shared mattered, as if she didn’t matter? How could he be so brutal? After everything? The hot, wild tangle of emotions swirling through her coalesced into one cold, hard lump and settled in her chest, and then, blessedly, she could feel absolutely nothing.
Up until this very moment, despite how this little chat had developed, she would have given him the benefit of the doubt. She’d have slept on it, tracked him down in the morning and tried to figure out what was behind all this. But not now. Now he’d drawn an indelible line in the sand and obliterated both what they’d had and what they could have had. Which meant that she wasn’t going to hang around when she was very obviously not needed. So, contrary to his instructions—instructions! As if he had the right to dictate what she was to do when this was her job—she wouldn’t be here tomorrow. She’d leave tonight. He and his bloody conference didn’t deserve even a second’s more consideration.
‘Well, that seems to say it all, doesn’t it?’ she said numbly.
He gave a curt nod. ‘I believe so.’
‘Goodnight, then.’
‘Goodnight.’
And with that, he turned round and strode down the corridor, leaving her standing there, stock still, chilled to the bone and wondering what the hell had just happened.
***
Duarte didn’t recall getting to his car and driving back to the Casa. It was only when he switched off the engine and killed the headlights that he realised that his palms were sweating and his entire body was trembling.
With relief.
That was what it had to be, he told himself as he shakily stepped down from the Land Rover and inhaled great gulps of air.
Because he’d done what he’d set out to do and he hadn’t faltered. He hadn’t been blown away by the dazzling smile she’d greeted him with. He’d ruthlessly ignored the tsunami of pleasure that had rushed through him at the sight of her, and he’d resisted the fierce urge to push her back, slam the door and tumble her to the bed. When she’d told him she was in love with him he’d steeled himself so successfully that the overwhelming desire to sweep her into his arms and never let her go hadn’t even made it into his head. He’d remained strong and in control at all times, even in the face of her evident shock and anger once she’d finally got the message.
As a result, he’d avoided a highly dangerous liaison that would have inevitably ended up in pieces. He didn’t want to hold Orla’s emotions in his hands. He couldn’t be responsible for them. He didn’t want her love. He wasn’t capable of returning it. He’d only destroy it.
But disaster had been averted, he thought grimly as he stalked into the dark, quiet house. Tomorrow she’d leave. He was safe. More importantly, she was safe. So it was all good.
***