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He gave her a sharp, penetrating look. ‘Are you saying I didn’t satisfy you?’
She flushed, unable to deny that he had brought her to a tumultuous climax. He was well aware of it, too. But, in a far more important sense than the purely physical, he didn’t satisfy her. Caitlin wanted—needed—intimate contact with his innermost feelings.
‘I want us to spend more time together,’ she said, willing him to respond with some suggestion that would help make things better for her.
‘We spent the night together,’ he said drily. ‘How many nights do you want?’ He reached for his trousers.
Caitlin fought against a sense of worthlessness and failure. She knew that in David’s mind nights were associated with sex. He wasn’t getting the message at all.
‘I want to talk to you. About something serious.’
‘In another two hours we’ll be in the office together. Isn’t that serious enough?’
‘It’s not the same,’ she retorted, hurt by his lack of understanding, knowing she was losing but too frustrated by his intransigent attitude to back off from the disagreement.
‘You want more?’
‘Yes.’
‘What?’
‘I’d very much like, just for once, for our pleasure and togetherness to come before your business.’
The act of rebellion was complete. Words had been spoken which could never be retrieved. The Rubicon was crossed. Caitlin waited to see what stormy waves she had stirred. The cobalt-blue eyes took on a wary, calculating look.
David never mixed business with pleasure. It was one of his rules. In the office, he was the boss, she was his assistant and amanuensis, and he never did or said anything to lead anyone to suspect they were lovers. That was private. It was personal. It was never to be revealed.
The two separate phases of his existence were divorced from one another. Caitlin couldn’t help thinking the arrangement suited his convenience. She worked his hours. She was free when he was free. But business was business and nothing else was allowed to interfere with running that part of his life as he saw fit. Nothing!
‘It wouldn’t hurt to take one day off and spend it together,’ she pressed.
‘What would it achieve that we haven’t already achieved?’
‘It would be something spontaneous, unplanned.’ She made one last attempt to get through to him. ‘It would make me feel good.’
‘I left my schooldays behind me a long time ago, Caitlin.’
He was downgrading her to ‘petulant schoolgirl’ status.
‘You could cancel your appointments today. I’ll make the excuses for you,’ she pleaded.
‘No.’
‘You could come back to bed and hug and cuddle and kiss me.’
His look of disdain downgraded her from schoolgirl to child.
He tucked in his shirt, zipped up his trousers, then sat on the stool, stony-faced as he began to pull on his socks.
‘Those are yesterday’s socks,’ said Caitlin with an uncharacteristic spurt of bitterness. ‘You’ll have to go home and change.’
‘I know that,’ he replied with some asperity.
She had invited him to leave a fresh set of clothes in her apartment for the times he stayed overnight. It would have saved him the trouble of going home to change. He would not have to rise so early. He could stay and have breakfast with her.
His reply had been succinct and dismissive. He wouldn’t burden her with his dirty laundry.
He didn’t burden her with anything. His only concession to practicality about their relationship was to keep a toothbrush, a shaving kit and a comb in her bathroom. To Caitlin it smacked of a clinical detachment from getting involved in any way except the obvious. She didn’t like it.
