“Show me,” he said finally, nodding towards the apartment.
Kate bit down on her lip. “Why?”
His smile was without humour. “I thought we had overcome this. Remember how much nicer it is when you do what I say?”
She swallowed. It was a comment that took her back to that first night. How could it only have been two nights ago? It felt like a year, for all that had happened between them.
Her eyes were weary. “Why?” She repeated, shrugging her slender shoulders.And they were slender, he noticed with a frown. She was achingly fragile, standing before him with no make up, her hair in a plait, and the dress she’d worn Friday.
“I want to know how you live.” He angled his head to look across the street and a muscle jerked in his jaw. “Ineedto know how you live.”
“Why?”
He pinned her with an angry gaze, loaded with impatience and then began to move towards the door.
“It’s none of your business,” she said with a quiet stoicism that he might have admired if it weren’t directly contravening his request. “I’m none of your business anymore, right?”
His eyes roamed her face but words wouldn’t come to him.
“I just don’t get it,” she said finally. Somewhere down the street, a door slammed shut and Kate winced. Benedetto’s eyes jerked towards the intrusion; two men in dark jeans and hooded sweaters walked past. Their eyes lingered on Kate in a way that made Benedetto’s skin crawl.
“What don’t you get?” He prompted, but his need to see her apartment and assure himself she had adequate safety measures was now paramount.
She swallowed, and then dropped her hand into her bag. She pulled the keys out and clutched them in her palm. “You wanted me. That’s what you said, right? I mean, I know I’m not experienced but I’m not getting that wrong. You wanted me, and you pursued me, and it was … amazing … for both of us. Right?”
His nod was an honest concession to that fact.
“So you’ve had enough of me? You got me, and now you’re done? Is that how it works for you?”
He could understand her confusion. He felt it himself. If it weren’t for the complication of his hatred of her father, perhaps he would have allowed himself more time with her.
“You don’t want me anymore?”
He felt himself harden at the simple question; his body was challenging him not to be such a cold bastard. But Benedetto needed to think. He needed to reconcile what he’d come to feel for Katherine Beauchamp with who she was. He needed time to assess if she could ever understand why he’d planned to use her for revenge.
“I do not wish to discuss something so personal on your stoop,” he said finally, his voice giving nothing of his feelings away.
“Fine,” she inserted the key into the door. “Come in. And seeing as you’re so good at sticking to stupid, arbitrary deadlines, let’s say you can stay for five minutes.”
Her accurate jibe hit him as she’d intended. He put a hand on the small of her back and propelled her through the door but she quickly moved away from him. “This is me.” She nodded towards a door just down the hallway. It was a glossy black where the others were peeled with cream paint.
“Show me,” he said simply.
He waited for her to slide the key into the mechanism and then he reached past her, finishing the unlocking action and preceding her into the apartment. He only had to take two steps to be right at its centre. There were two windows, one overlooking a clothesline and the other a train track, as she’d described. He crossed to the one with the view of her neighbour’s faded jeans and mis-matched socks and he lifted it easily. He pushed it down and frowned to see that in place of a lock there was a line of matchsticks wedged in between the wood.
“It offers resistance,” she said stiffly, his interrogation of her living quarters somehow making her feel like the young, naïve girl he’d perhaps begun to see her as.
He sent her a look of fury then inspected the second window. It was slightly harder to open but not by much. He turned his back to it and now swept his eyes over the single room that formed her living area. There was a small kitchen, dated in décor but spotless, with a bunch of purple hydrangeas in an antique jug. Instead of a sofa she had a single chair. It too was dated but she’d draped a bright rug over it and added a cushion that was pale pink with gold spots. Instead of a television there was a laptop propped on a coffee table, and a small table had a single stool beside it. Everything in her lounge room was spotlessly clean but heart-wrenchingly run-down.
He shot her another look of muted fury then opened the sole door in the apartment. Her bedroom was small but orderly, with a single bed made up as though for a catalogue shoot with crisp white bed linen and plumped pillows. Her bedside table had a stash of magazines and another arrangement of flowers. Instead of a wardrobe she had a hat stand with a meagre selection of clothes hanging from each hook.
An opening led to what he presumed would be an ensuite bathroom. He didn’t inspect it; he’d seen enough. He stalked back into the lounge area and came to stand directly before Kate.
“You cannot live like this.”
Her eyes narrowed and though Benedetto had no way of knowing it, he had finally stoked the small, dormant part of Kate that was capable of anger. It had never been a dominant part of her personality and her childhood had certainly forced her to subdue any emotions that were likely to cause trouble, but now, with Benedetto it flared spectacularly. She swore harshly and shoved her hands into his chest.
“Your five minutes are up,” she said, marching to the door and standing beside it.
