Virginia didn’t stop until she was in front of him, forcing him to look at her. “No, I don’t want a drink! And I insist that Sean come with us.”
He slowly set his glass down and looked up. “You are not in a position to insist upon anything.”
“He will be my chaperone,” she said tightly. “I refuse to spend one minute alone with you.”
He slowly stood, and of course he dwarfed her, making her feel small and vulnerable. “You have nothing to worry about.”
“I have everything to worry about,” she cried, and she realized she was panting. But the truth was, she doubted she had anything to worry about, as this man didn’t seem to recall ever touching her, much less making love to her.
He held her gaze. “Sean stays here.”
“Then I’m not going,” she cried, as foolishly as a child.
“Don’t worry,” he muttered, lifting his glass and drinking. “You will be reunited—when I am done.”
“You don’t remember, do you?” she asked, her teeth starting to chatter. The salon had become frigidly cold. She was cold. Frozen over, in fact.
He sipped his Scotch as if he hadn’t even heard her.
She seized his arm, shocking herself and spilling whiskey over them both. “The night we spent in bed together? The night you made love to me?” she demanded wildly.
His jaw tightened and he removed her hand from his arm. “Is there a point?”
“Do you remember or don’t you?”
“Barely,” he murmured.
She struck him as hard as she could, across the face.
The slap resounded in the hollow silence of the room.
Virginia backed up, shocked at what she had done. But finally a light had appeared in his eyes, even though it was not the light she had wished for. His gaze blazed furiously. At least, Virginia thought, his eyes were no longer opaque and lifeless.
She flinched, panting heavily, expecting to be struck in return.
But he only said, very hard, “Sex is not love.”
She gasped, his words far more brutal than any real blow.
“I suppose I owe you an apology,” he said tersely.
It was too late. Virginia shook her head, the tears spilling, and she turned to run. But he seized her wrist and somehow she was facing him again. “Let me go,” she warned on a sob.
His jaw flexing repeatedly now, he said, “I am sorry. I believe I said so before. I am saying so again.”
“How foolish I was, to think ‘sex’ meant something to you!”
His gaze flickered. “I deserve your reprobation. I had no right trespassing where no man had gone. Now,” he added firmly, “may we allow the past to rest where it belongs—in the past?”
“Yes, please, let’s do just that!” she cried, trembling, both hands fisted at her sides, her anger so huge it felt suspiciously like hatred. But the hurt continued to tear her apart inside. She only knew now that she had to get away from him.
Tension rippled across his features and he began to walk out of the room, saying, “Tomorrow after breakfast, Virginia.” And it was a warning that she be ready.
She stared, but only for a moment. “And what if I’m pregnant?” She knew full well that she was not, but how she wanted to hurt him, just a little, in return for how he had hurt her.
He froze, and slowly, he turned. “Are you?” he asked, his jaw muscles revealing a slight spasm, his eyes now a stormy and threatening shade of gray—an indication, then, that he had some emotion to share after all.
“No,” she gritted. And then, her pride lost, she cried, “You left without even saying goodbye!”
