‘I wasn’t riding pillion.’ It occurred to her that her pride was misplaced; after all, how well had the going-solo scenario been serving her so far?
The problem with being so independent was that when you messed up there was no one else to share the blame with.
‘So you like to be in charge?’
‘In charge? If by that you mean do I like to make my own decisions, then, yes, I do,’ she told him calmly. ‘It’s never been my fantasy to be dominated by a male chauvinist.’ Just a bit too much protesting there, Chloe!
‘You’re a risk taker, then?’
Holding his gaze and reacting to the challenge glittering in the ebony depths was about the most dangerous thing she had done in a long time. ‘I’m not the one who made a living dodging bullets.’
He stiffened, and their eyes connected once more. The shadows in his gaze belonged to a man who had seen far too much trauma for one lifetime. A moment later his expression shuttered and the change was so abrupt that Chloe was momentarily disorientated.
‘It’s a phase I grew out of.’
It was the bleakness in his voice that made her realise she hadn’t imagined it. For a few seconds she was back in the bar, turning without really knowing why and seeing him sitting there, the most handsome man she had ever seen or actually imagined. In the confusing mesh of emotions—attraction colliding with empathy—she’d felt the pain he was unconsciously emanating.
* * *
Dragging her thoughts back to the present, she extinguished the ache of empathy with a large dose of objectivity. You don’t need another cause, she warned herself, and you definitely don’t need this man.
‘So was anyone else hurt in the accident?’
‘Several people, including my brother-in-law, though he wasn’t then...my brother-in-law, that is. Apparently there had been an oil spill earlier on a blind bend and...it just happened. There was no one to blame but me and fate.’
He tipped his chair back to look at her, though it was hard to read his expression thanks to the thickness of his long lashes. ‘So you believe in fate?’
She shrugged. ‘I believe you make choices and have to live with the consequences.’
‘Well, you don’t seem to have suffered too many long-lasting consequences.’
He really had no idea. She struggled not to touch her leg again, and instead let her eyelids lower, shading her expression with her own long, curling lashes. ‘I was very lucky,’ she agreed quietly.
‘So what else do you believe in?’ He believed in very little and he found himself almost envying her her idealism, but equally he was disturbed by the idea that it might have been some form of this idealism that had first led her to his bed, or him to hers... Had she seen him as some sort of romantic hero or had it meant nothing to her beyond a rite of passage?
He wasn’t actually sure which possibility disturbed him more.
‘I believe in the resilience of human spirit, I believe that you should never take anything for granted and I believe...’ She gave a sudden self-conscious laugh, her eyes sliding from his. ‘I believe that I’m in danger of boring you.’
It came as a shock to realise that they had reached the coffee stage.
‘I’d prefer to be dead!’
The horrified exclamation by one of the female guests coincided with a lull in the conversation.
‘So what is it you prefer death to, my dear?’ The man to her right voiced the question on everyone’s mind.
‘Being a size fourteen!’ She gave a theatrical shudder. ‘Can you imagine?’
Chloe sat there and imagined what this woman would say if she saw the scars on her thigh. She knew full well that her reaction would not be unique.
‘She’s an eating disorder waiting to happen and the sad thing is she has a daughter who she’ll probably pass on her neuroses to.’
Anger struck through Chloe; while she might have agreed with the sentiment Nik had privately voiced in her ear, she doubted he had ever dated a woman who carried any extra weight.
‘So I suppose appearances don’t matter to you,’ she charged bluntly. ‘You’d date someone who wasn’t perfect, would you? You honestly wouldn’t care if your wife gained a hundred pounds or suddenly went bald.’
His brows lifted at the heat of her accusation. ‘That sounds rather personal. Were you an ugly duckling before you became a swan? A fat child with acne...or is that a wig you’re wearing...?’