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And Lissy’s postulations had been right; Saskia did keep repeating the same relationship pattern, over and over. But in that moment, she realised that for all the wrong he’d done her, Stu had changed that.
She’d pretended not to notice that he didn’t really love her, that he was using her, because it felt better to have someone in her life than not at all.
Never again. And if that meant steeling her heart against Nate Mackenzie—a man whose very kisses spun her emotions so far out of control she felt like flying—then so be it.
“I like you, Nate.” More than is in any way sensible. “And once this is over I’d like to look back on our crazy caper with a laugh. I have enough regrets about my past relationships, and I’d rather not feel that way about you.”
Even while she could see it physically pained him to do so, he listened. He really did. She had to give him props for that. But what she wouldn’t give him was her body. Her heart.
“I like you too,” he said finally, with a physical effort obvious at admitting even that much. “But I have my reasons for not wanting to go down...that route. Good ones.”
“I’m listening,” Saskia said, softening.
His mouth twitched at that, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You women and your need to talk.”
Saskia’s mouth twisted into a smile. Maybe this was a good thing. Maybe they’d needed this moment to finally find their boundaries. They could go on from here as friends. Funny, though, it didn’t feel quite enough this time around.
Nate turned to face the bar, his fingers gripping the edge, his gaze far away. “So what do you suggest we do from here?”
“Maybe we stop renegotiating and stick to the plan?”
“Yeah,” he said, propping his head between both hands.
She held out a hand, making sure to keep an arm’s distance from the guy. “Deal?”
His eyes slanted to hers. Beautiful, blue and a little bit tortured. Poor love had probably never been turned down for sex before. She steeled herself and even managed to conjure up a smile.
“Deal,” he grumbled, taking her hand in his. His heat skittered through her. She knew he felt it too. Struggled to contain it. Whatever it was. But this time he didn’t do anything about it. Till he said, “At least you have to let me see you home.”
“The two of us? In the back of a cab together? How do you think that’ll turn out?”
“Yeah,” he said again, his voice a growl.
He downed his beer with three large gulps. Then he shook his head at her.
And after one long last sweep of his hot blue eyes down her body and back up again, leaving her feeling as if he’d stripped her bare right there in the middle of the bar, he turned and walked away.
Leaving Saskia shaking all over.
Feeling as if she’d won some kind of battle.
And lost it all at the same time.
* * *
It was a couple of hours before Nate took a cab back to the office. Another again before he slid behind the wheel of his car and headed home.
As he slowed before a red light he switched on the radio, clicking past Tom Petty singing about bad boys and breaking hearts till he found Duran Duran singing about hunting and hunger, and his mind spun through the hours spent trying to be charming, and gracious, and the perfect host to his new client.
It shouldn’t have felt like so much hard work. He’d been to more client dinners, celebrations, parties, all out raves than he could remember. He’d lived them, rocked them, until they’d gone down in legend.
But that night, when Nate had pointed out that Gabe had spent more time talking to Paige than to their star client, the two of them had near come to blows. And it had taken for Gabe to tell Nate to calm the hell down, as Bamford—with Lissy on his lap, hand-feeding him pretzels—was having the time of his life.
The light turned green, and when the car in front didn’t pull away instantly Nate’s fist landed on the horn. He overtook the first chance he had, the gears shifting hard and fast, the sports car rumbling deep and throaty beneath him.
He was so damn tense, if he didn’t do something about it, soon, he’d get into fisticuffs with his best friend. Or tell a client what he really thought of them. Or do something really stupid, like join an online dating site for real.
Taking a corner a little sharper than safe, he eased his foot from the accelerator.
He’d start small. Take a day off. Go fishing. He and his dad had loved fishing. The peacefulness. The contentment. There was that word again, only this time it had context. Was the last time he’d felt content? Could it really have been when he was twelve years old? That had to be fixed.
