“Is he expecting you?”
“N—no.”
“Your name?”
“Justine O’Neill.”
With an odd look, the properly attired guard studied her as he mumbled into the mouthpiece of his phone. His expression was hard and impersonal when he faced her directly. “Go on up, Ms. O’Neill. The penthouse.”
“I—I know.” Lowering her eyes, she moved past him to the elevator, doubt growing with every footfall, every step bringing second thoughts. What was she doing here? Should she turn back? What could she say? Perhaps she should run …
Fears nagged at her, confusion assailed her. The elevator skyrocketed her smoothly to the penthouse as her self-possession bottomed out. The door slid open and held for several moments. It had begun its automatic close when she finally stayed it with the touch of her hand. Timidly, she stepped out.
There was one door at the far end of the corridor—a heavy oak-grained door. It was open. Heart lurching, she began the long walk. Slowly, the doorway came ever closer. In the dimness of the inner hallway she could see nothing. It was as though she were being drawn inexorably to the spot, to the man—as it had always been for her with Sloane.
Reaching the door, she stopped. Was it too late to turn? What would he say? Perhaps he would turn her away. Perhaps he would tell her his love had died. Perhaps he would … be … with another woman …
Gathering herself, Justine fought the demon of fear within her. She knew that she wanted Sloane. Yes, she wanted him in every way imaginable. She wanted him as lover, friend, and—yes—husband. And she was prepared to fight!
All was quiet within. Stepping over the threshold, she closed the door behind her. From the small central hallway her eye gravitated to the large living room beyond. It was decorated handsomely with dark Spanish pieces covered in browns, oranges, and creams. Masculinity was all about, yet there was nothing harsh about the room. Its floors bore a thick patterned carpet; its walls offered paintings and prints of the European theme. The far wall was a floor-to-ceiling window. And before it stood Sloane, his back to her, his hands thrust into the pockets of his tailored slacks.
For a brief instant every doubt, every question, converged on Justine, rendering her knees weak, her limbs trembling. But only for an instant. Then something else took over. A surge of strength, born of determination, surged through her. If she had been thought to be effective in the courtroom, this would be her greatest trial. Whether the conversation now proved to be an opening statement or a closing one would depend, in large part, on how she expressed herself in the next few moments. Fists white-knuckled, she took a step forward, then stopped. For Sloane turned around and speared her with a look meant to injure.
“What do you want?” he growled malevolently, eyes narrowed, body in a state of coiled readiness. He was the Silver Fox, ready to attack his wounded prey for the final time.
Chapter 10
It took every ounce of courage she possessed to keep from cowering from him. He was menacing in his anger, devastating in his very evident disdain. And she was his prey, helpless before him, possessing but one source of defense—her love. On it she relied to give her strength.
Sloane’s fury assaulted her head-on. “Why have you come?” he seethed. “I thought we settled everything that had to be settled between us. What is it you want now?”
Dressed in dark linen slacks and a light blue sport shirt, open at the neck and rolled at the cuffs, he was compelling. She recalled the first time she had seen him and knew that this was no different. Even in his anger, she was drawn to him.
“We have to talk, Sloane.”
“We’ve already talked. What more is there to say?” The force of his attack nearly crumbled her resolve. Only love kept her going.
“I was wrong,” she began softly, then spoke with the conviction she felt. “I was wrong back then. I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
There was neither gloating nor any other outward sign of triumph in Sloane. His glower persisted; her mind conjured up the image of the fox, teeth bared, ears flat back, ready to lunge given that slightest bit of provocation. But provocation was not what she had in mind. Determinedly she went on.
“You were right. I have gone through life with blinders on regarding things such as marriage, children, happiness. I only knew that I was hurt when I was a child and I would do anything to avoid a repeat of that.” When he said nothing, but merely stared sharply at her, she wondered if they were beyond the point of reconciliation. Had his love turned to hate so easily? Compulsively, she continued.
“I hadn’t planned on falling in love, Sloane. I had dated enough over the years, but things had always petered out before there was any kind of emotional involvement—maybe that’s why they did peter out, precisely because of the superficiality of the relationship. When I met you, things were different. Before I even knew what was happening, I was in love with you.”
Dropping her gaze, she studied the design underfoot, blindly tracing its bold lines, trying to gather her thoughts into coherent speech. Sloane was obviously going to be no help to her. She was on her own.
“I’m not sure what I expected to happen after that weekend in Westport. I knew that I loved you, yet I believed that I simply couldn’t marry you. You have to understand—I’ve spent a lifetime vowing to remain unattached. Suddenly, you came along. I couldn’t change those long-held beliefs overnight.”
Sloane had not moved during her argument. There was neither a blink nor a flinch; nor was there sign that he intended to react. Justine’s eyes felt the harshness of his gaze; against her will, she began to wilt. If it was all for naught, he should just tell her to leave, that he did not love her as he had once.
Hands twisted convulsively at her waist, she felt she could say no more without some sign that he was hearing her.“Saysomething, Sloane,” she finally cried.
Despite the bridled anger which held his features taut, his voice was remarkably steady. “Do you love me, Justine?”
Her eyes filled with hope, then flooded with fear. Was he bent on bringing her to her knees, on total humiliation? Well, she decided, tilting her chin higher, if he was, so be it. He would have the truth from her today.
“Yes. I do love you.”
