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"You know what I figure, duchess?"
"No." It was the smirk that drew her, had her going back to sit on the side of the bed. "What is it that you figure?"
"It's all been so easy for us before. Too easy."
"And this isn't going to be."
He took her hand, linking fingers casually. "Doesn't look like it. Maybe I've got a little problem, a hitch, when it comes to other men. After all, the woman I'm in love with has been engaged five times."
"Three." She jerked her hand free, aware that her past was constantly going to sneak up and slap her in the face. "The other two were products of an overeager press. And the three were… quickly rectified mistakes."
"The point being," he said, with what he considered admirable patience, "that none of my relationships ever progressed that far."
"Which could be taken as a fear of commitment on your part."
"Could be," he murmured. "But the simple fact is I've been in love with you nearly half my life. Nearly half my life," he said again, sitting up so that his eyes, dark as shadows, were level with hers. "Every woman I touched was a substitute for you."
"Josh." She only shook her head. There was nothing she could say, nothing that could rise above the wave of emotion that swamped her.
"It's demoralizing, Margo, to watch the woman, the only woman you really want, turn to anyone but you. To wait and to watch."
It was thrilling, and panicking, to think it. To know it. "But why did you wait?"
"A man has to use what advantage he has. Mine was time."
"Time?"
"I know you, Margo." He skimmed a finger down the curve of her cheek. "Sooner or later you were going to get in over your head, or just get bored with the high life."
"And you'd be right there to pick up the pieces."
"It worked," he said lightly and snagged her wrist before she could jump out of the bed. "No reason to get frosted."
"It's a perfect reason. You arrogant, egotistical son of a bitch. Just wait till Margo fucks up and then step in." She'd have taken a swing at him if he hadn't anticipated her and grabbed her other wrist.
"I wouldn't have put it exactly that way, but…" He smiled winningly. "You did fuck up."
"I know what I did." She tugged her arms outward and only succeeded in performing a warped rendition of patty-cake. "I also got out of that mess with Alain on my own." It was the flicker in his eyes that stopped her. It was there and gone quickly, but she knew every nuance of his face. "Didn't I?"
"Sure you did, but the point is—"
"What did you do?" Incensed, she batted her trapped hands against his chest. "You weren't in Greece. I'd have known if you were. How did you fix it?"
"I didn't fix it. Exactly." Hell. "Look, I made a few calls, pulled in a few markers. Christ, Margo, did you expect me to sit around on the beach while they were toying with tossing your butt in jail?"
"No." She spoke quietly because she was afraid she might scream. "No. I have a crisis, you ride to the rescue. Let go of my hands."
"I don't think so," he said, judging the temper in her eyes. "Listen, all I did was make it go away faster. They didn't have anything on you, didn't want to have anything on you. But there wasn't any point in you cooling your heels in custody longer than necessary. All you'd done was have the bad taste and poor sense to hook up with some slick con artist who was using you for cover."
"Thank you very much."
"Don't mention it."
"And since you have mentioned it, yet again, I'll admit that I've had plenty of experience with bad taste and poor sense." She jerked her arms, fuming when he held firm. "But I'm over it now. I took charge of my own life, damn you. And I put it back together, piece by piece. Which is something you've never had to do. I took the risk, I did the work, I—"
"I'm proud of you." Deflating her completely, he brought her fisted hands to his lips.
"Don't try to turn this around."
