His chest lurched.
She approached the lift, pressed her finger to the button and then stepped back. Only once the doors opened and she disappeared inside did he move. His stride was long and urgency propelled him to move quickly. Nonetheless, he only just made it, sliding his fingers into the steel doors as they were almost completely closed. They sprang open, and Jemima lifted her gaze slowly, and then made a groaning noise, shaking her head and stepping backward, as if he was the last person she’d expected to see.
His breath was ragged, torn from him. He stared at her for several long seconds and she stared back. And then she shook her head, as though she could send him away, or maybe pretend he didn’t exist. Keeping his eyes on her, he swiped his key against the dashboard and pressed the button for the top floor. She stayed right where she was, staring at him, her features tight, her eyes heavy on his face.
The lift lurched to life. She lifted her hands and curled them around the railing, as though she might fall.
‘Is it you?’
His gut churned.
‘I don’t... You’re not... You weren’t going to be here
.’
Her words rang with accusation. He bit back a curse. He hadn’t planned to come. He hadn’t, for a second, thought she would know that, nor that she’d make her plans around it.
Had she chosen to attend the celebration because she thought he wouldn’t be there?
Could he blame her?
‘Change of plans.’
‘Oh.’ She nodded, frowning, and jerked her head towards the control panel. ‘Can you press number twelve, please?’
He thought about refusing. He thought about lifting her against him and holding her until the lift stopped at his floor, carrying her into his room, placing her down on the floor in front of him and talking to her until she understood.
But he’d done enough damage here. This was about fixing things, not making them worse.
He jabbed his finger into the button, and the lift stopped almost immediately, the doors pinging open.
She pushed up from the back of the lift. ‘Excuse me.’ He stepped out of the lift to make way for her, keeping his hand against the doors for her.
She moved past without looking at him, her back ramrod-straight, her shoulders squared, and he felt a lurch of self-disgust. She was hurting because of him. He watched her for several seconds with a growing sense of consternation and then he began to move after her. She didn’t realise until she reached her hotel door, perhaps sensing he was still there, a safe distance behind her.
She whirled around, and now when she spoke her voice was infused with an almost primal frustration. ‘What are you doing, Cesare? Why are you here?’
She was hurting, and it was because of him. He closed the distance between them, but didn’t touch her. He couldn’t. He had no right. ‘I came to see you.’ The admission was gruff.
‘No.’ She spat the word at him emphatically. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘Just to talk,’ he said gently, even as panic was spreading through him. ‘For a moment.’
‘No.’ A whisper now, hollowed out.
‘Please.’ His voice rang with urgency, and her head jerked a little, disbelief in her features. She was going to say no, and God, what would he do then?
He’d come here knowing she might tell him to go to hell, and he had his answer prepared: he was already there.
But Jemima wasn’t like that. She didn’t have it in her. She was entirely decent and kind, and far fairer than he deserved.
‘Two minutes,’ she said firmly, pushing the door open and giving him a wide berth. ‘And then you get the heck away from me.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘I’M NOT KIDDING, Cesare. Two minutes. Stop standing there and tell me what you want.’
She was shaking like a leaf. She just hoped he couldn’t tell. There was a part of her that was terrified she’d hallucinated him. She’d been thinking of him as she’d left the party. Dancing in another man’s arms had made her ache for him in a way that had blindsided her.