But dissatisfaction rode through him. He still didn’t have any of the answers he wanted. He followed her into the living room.
‘How is this even possible? There are countless articles about your conquests online...’
‘Yeah, and the Internet gets it wrong sometimes, you know.’
‘But so completely wrong?’
She paused to shoot him a withering look. ‘What do you think?’
Her dress had been discarded on the floor. She lifted it over her head and dislodged the sheet as she pulled it down so that he was deprived of another glimpse of her body. It didn’t matter. The sight of her was likely burned into his memory anyway.
‘There are photographs. And what about Clive Angmore?’
‘An acquaintance,’ she muttered, running her fingers through her hair as she looked around for her handbag. ‘Nothing more.’
‘So you were, what? Saving yourself for marriage?’
Her shocked gasp tumbled through the room and his heart twisted sharply in his chest. ‘You should know, Jemima, that this makes no difference to me. For whatever reason you came here tonight, and whatever you were expecting it might mean to me, nothing has changed in my mind. This was just sex, nothing more.’
She glared at him, he
r expression pinched, her face wearing a mask of contempt, but the effect was lessened by eyes that were suspiciously shimmering, moisture dabbing her eyelashes. His gut rolled.
‘I don’t want anything from you.’
‘So what? You intended for me, a man you barely know, to be your first lover? Why?’
‘It’s not like I had some elaborate plan,’ she snapped. ‘You asked me to come home with you and in that moment I couldn’t think of a single reason not to.’
His eyes narrowed at the deceptive simplicity of her statement. ‘I can give you a reason,’ he said quietly. ‘I had no interest in being your first. I didn’t want the gift of your virginity. What we just did was a mistake.’
She blinked and a single tear threatened to fall from her eyes. He made a noise and turned away from her, his breathing uneven as he went behind the island bar of the kitchen.
He poured a scotch and when he looked up she was standing exactly where he’d left her, as though frozen in time.
Something shifted inside him. He hated that they’d slept together. All the feelings of panic he’d felt almost two decades ago came screeching back to him, but it was more than that. Cesare didn’t like being surprised and she’d surprised him completely.
He hated that he’d completely misread her. He hated that she hadn’t told him what he was getting into, and he hated looking at her now, knowing that the tear rolling lazily down her cheek was because of him. Most of all, he hated that he was awash with feelings because of her, when Cesare Durante was a man who prided himself on a robotic level of emotional detachment.
This whole night had been a complete mistake. When he spoke, it was with a stony cool.
‘I’ll have my driver take you home.’
Her eyes lifted to his face, a frown covering her lips. ‘What?’
She looked completely lost. He swallowed past the unwelcome sense of compassion. ‘My driver. He will take you home.’
She nodded then, and he felt as if she was going to say something. Then, she shook her head. ‘Don’t bother. I’ll grab a cab.’
A thousand things ran through his mind. He should object. Tell her he wouldn’t feel right not seeing her home, or knowing that she got there safely, say something to erase the lines of disbelief that had etched themselves on her brow.
It wasn’t a question of caring, it was basic civility. ‘Either my driver takes you home or I do. The choice is yours.’
She blanched visibly. ‘Fine.’ Her lips were a gash in her face. ‘Call your driver, then. Frankly, I don’t want to see you ever again.’
CHAPTER FOUR
Four weeks later