The helicopter blades finally stopped, but the powerful humming in her ears remained. Bethany was talking but she couldn’t hear her. She couldn’t even look at her, all her attention focussed on her worst nightmare as he stopped less than a foot away.
Her rampaging heartbeat slowed to a thundering crawl, the punch of her pulse making her light-headed.
‘Hello, Eleanor,’ he said, the rough murmur of his voice triggering the sizzle of heat she thought she’d killed.
‘What are you doing here?’ she managed, still not convinced this wasn’t all a horrible dream, which she could snap herself out of—if she tried hard enough.
His eyebrows flattened, his gaze intensifying. ‘I’m here to say I’m sorry,’ he said, the sparkle of admiration turning the rich hazelnut to a shimmering gold. ‘For the crummy way I treated you.’
She tensed, desperate to ignore the jolt of surprise and vindication. He actually sounded sincere. But she didn’t believe him, any more than she believed he’d piloted a helicopter to the back lot of Sully’s Bar to deliver his apology.
Because every bit of what was happening right now was completely nuts.
The telltale warmth spread into her cheeks regardless.
‘And to invite you to my place in the Adirondacks for Thanksgiving weekend,’ he added, the note of arrogance finally breaking the spell he seemed to have cast on her with his arrival.
‘Uh-huh. Well, how about you shove your apology in a place where the sun doesn’t shine?’ she said, glad when her voice barely wavered. And pathetically grateful for the fury that had helped to cover up the gaping hole he’d shot through her self-esteem. ‘And you can shove your invitation up there too,’ she added, spurred on by his visible wince. ‘I wouldn’t spend Thanksgiving with you if you were a freshly baked pecan pie with whipped cream and a cherry on top.’
His mouth quirked into the seductive half-smile she recognised. And the traitorous jolt of heat streaked back through her system.
‘Whipped cream?’ he murmured. ‘How about I let you lick it off my chest? Would that persuade you?’
‘Oh, shut up. You big jerk!’ she shouted, then stalked back into the bar—so mad she was surprised she hadn’t exploded, annoyed even more by the jolt of heat that had bottomed out in her abdomen.
She hated him. And she did not want to see his naked chest again, not even if it were covered in whipped cream.
Not ever.
She really is glorious when she’s mad, Alex acknowledged as the dull ache settled below his belt. An ache he’d thought he’d got used to in the last three weeks.
Not even close, buddy.His gaze roamed over Eleanor’s retreating figure before the door slammed shut behind it.
The ache throbbed as he also acknowledged he would much rather see the mad in her eyes than the sad, confused, hurt look he’d put there three weeks ago.
He didn’t blame her one bit for still being mad about the things he’d said and done.
He’d overreacted, treated her like dirt and then insulted her.
And if that weren’t bad enough, he’d spent over a week sulking, convinced his dumb behaviour had been perfectly rational and she would come crawling back to accept his money. Then another week determined to forget her.
But he hadn’t been able to forget her. And as well as the dull ache that had woken him up every morning far too ready for her, the shame had crept in too as he’d re-examined all the evidence... And finally figured out he was the one in the wrong.
Dead wrong.
At first, he’d tried to blame his crummy behaviour on loyalty to his buddy Roman. But the truth was protecting Roman from another woman claiming to be the sister who’d died long ago had not one thing to do with why he’d flown off the handle with Eleanor MacGregor and been a total jerk. And everything to do with the mind-blowing effect she’d had on him that morning.
She’d thrown him out of whack. A guy who was always smooth and in control with women. Because he’d lost his precious control with her. And so he’d turned on her.
But the ache hadn’t died. His fascination with Eleanor MacGregor was all about the sex. He got that.
He’d never had that kind of instant, incendiary connection with anyone before, or a woman who responded to him with such artless enthusiasm. And she’d been a virgin. That had blown his mind too.
The chemistry wouldn’t last, but indulging it over the Thanksgiving weekend would kill two birds with one stone—it would rewrite what had happened a month ago, and help him get through a vacation weekend he’d always found a tedious chore, because, unlike the rest of the country, he had no desire to spend it with his family.
So as soon as he’d got an address from the investigator he’d hired, he’d had the company helicopter fuelled and headed out to Staten Island en route to his place in the Adirondacks.
But he clearly had more grovelling to do first. A lot more grovelling.