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“Water. I was driving.”

She licked her lips. “Well, I was definitely—”

“Sober. I remember you saying that we wouldn’t be able to use alcohol as an excuse if we both regretted it in the morning. Did you regret it?”

How was she supposed to answer that?

She eyed the door and he gave a half laugh.

“Avoidance isn’t going to work this time. We’re trapped in a snowstorm. In a turret, all alone. There’s nowhere to run to, princess.”

There was the library, she thought. There were those long, comfy sofas and stacks of warm throws designed for snuggling on a cold night. And if she couldn’t sleep, she could read to get away from her thoughts, as she had as a child.

For a moment she considered it. But the bed was warm and comfortable and she didn’t much fancy padding through the house in the dark. And what if the power went off again? She’d probably end up falling downstairs.

No, better to stay where she was for now.

“Do I regret it? I didn’t, but if we’re going to keep talking about it, then I might. Why do we need to? We’ve gone this long without mentioning it.”

“Only because there has never been a good moment. You’ve made sure of it.”

“This definitely isn’t a good moment. Could we drop the subject?”

“On one condition.” He raised himself up on his elbow, his gaze fixed on her. “You tell me to my face that it didn’t mean anything to you. Tell me that you didn’t feel anything. Tell me that you haven’t thought about that night every minute of every day since.”

She couldn’t tell him that because it wouldn’t be true.

She had thought about it every minute of every day.

“I’ve thought about it occasionally,” she croaked. “And yes, I felt something. Of course I did. You’re very—”

He waited, eyebrow risen. “I’m very what?”

“I mean, you obviously—” she waved a hand in the general direction of his shoulders and his abs “—look good. And you have skills—”

“Skills?” His voice was soft and amused and she glared at him.

“It would be good if you could stop questioning everything.”

“It would be good if you could start finishing your sentences.”

“It’s not a conversation I’m comfortable with, that’s all.” She tugged the covers back up to her chin and tried to rescue some of her dignity. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Torturing me.”

“Since when is a discussion torture?”

“When it involves something I don’t want to talk about. It was one night,” she said hastily, “that’s all, and I want it to stay that way. As do you.”

“How do you know what I want? This is the first time we’ve discussed it.”

“For a start, because you’re involved with someone else.”

“Involved?” He frowned. “What gives you that idea?”

Was he going to deny it? If so, then he wasn’t the person she’d thought he was, but maybe that was a good thing. A dose of disillusionment and disappointment would be helpful in the circumstances. Just knowing he was a long way from perfect would make the whole thing easier.

“Oh, maybe it was the phone call you made a few hours ago when you told her she was your one and only.”

His brow cleared. “Ah—”