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“I don’t want you as my whore, Nicole. I want you as my wife.”
Instant recoil in her expression. No pause to consider. “I guess that would be very convenient for you, Quin, but I don’t feel like serving your convenience for the rest of my life,” she stated flatly, then nailed her point of view by adding, “I’d like you to see things my way, too.”
Red Alert signals went off in Quin’s brain.
He instantly moved into damage control.
“You’re right. We’ll get dressed and go. Which I hope will prove I do care about how you feel.” He tried an appealing smile. “Give me time, Nicole. I’ve been so fixated on forcing my way back into your life, fighting for every minute I get with you, I haven’t had the chance yet to show we could have a good future together.”
She searched his eyes as though she wanted to believe him but couldn’t quite bring herself to do so. “You were free to come looking for me after you finished your business in Argentina three years ago. It took an accidental meeting for you to decide you wanted me again.”
“I thought I’d lost you. Seeing you again made me determined to change that.”
“I don’t want how it was before,” she cried.
“It won’t be. I swear to you it won’t be.”
She looked uncertain, fearful.
“Give me time, Nicole,” he pressed.
Her eyes closed, as though she couldn’t bear to look at him any more. “Well, tomorrow is another day,” she said on a deep sigh. “Let’s get going.”
Knowing he would win nothing by holding onto her any longer, Quin released her arms and they set about dressing in the clothes they had discarded earlier. A sharp sense of disappointment made him wonder if he was fighting a battle that couldn’t be won. Her response had not been hopeful. Not even particularly interested.
The silence in the room felt oppressive. It triggered the memory of other silences just before she left him five years ago. They meant an inner withdrawal from him, a retreat to a personal space he couldn’t touch, let alone share. He wanted to break into it, reach out to her, drag her back to him, but he realised force was not going to get him where he wanted to be.
For thirteen nights he’d ruled on what he and Nicole did or did not do together. She had been compliant, keeping to the deal, but here they were at the halfway mark, and Quin doubted any progress had been made towards his end goal—keeping her as his life partner.
He called down to reception and ordered his car to be brought up from the parking lot. As he was putting the telephone down, Nicole broke her silence. “Please ask for a taxi to be called, too.”
She was brushing her hair, not looking at him.
“I’ll drive you home,” Quin said decisively.
“That’s not necessary.”
“It’s the middle of the night,” he argued. “I’ll see you safely home, Nicole.”
“What if I don’t want you to?”
“Then you’ll just have to suffer it because I’m not going to see you off in a taxi as though you were my whore,” Quin retorted in exasperation with her determination to stay independent.
No re
ply to that.
She put her hairbrush back in her handbag and headed for the door. As Quin escorted her out of the hotel room to an elevator, the sobering thought hit him that he was going to fail if he didn’t change what was wrong for her.
Their relationship had always been handled his way.
Somehow he had to turn that around.
But not on the point of driving her home.
“What time suits you for me to come tomorrow?” he asked as they rode the elevator down to the lobby.
Her head was lowered, the long silky curtain of her hair almost hiding her face. She didn’t look up to answer him. “Zoe will be worn-out with excitement if you don’t come in the morning,” she said dryly. “Nine o’clock would probably be best. Ten at the latest.”
