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“It would seem you’re stuck with a guest,” Dante said coolly.
Tally didn’t answer. She felt her way to the cupboard and took out the candles and matches she kept handy for just such occasions. When the candles were lit, she put one on the sink and another on the round wooden table near the window.
A shudder raced through her. The kitchen was the smallest room in the house but an hour or two without the furnace going had turned it into a walk-in refrigerator.
“Are you cold?”
“I’m fine.”
Dante frowned, shrugged off his leather jacket and draped it around her shoulders. “You’ll never be a good liar, cara.”
“I don’t need—”
“You damned well do! Keep the jacket until the room warms up.” He jerked his chin at the old stone fireplace that took up most of one long wall. “Is that real?”
“Of course it’s real,” Tally said brusquely, trying not inhale the scents of night and leather and man that enveloped her. “This is New England, not Manhattan. Nobody here has time for pretence.”
A smile twisted across his mouth. “What an interesting observation,” he said softly, “all things considered.”
She felt her face heat. “I didn’t mean—”
“No. I’m sure you didn’t.” He held out his hand. “Give me those matches and I’ll make a fire.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Nothing is necessary,” he said curtly. “Not if it involves me, is that correct?”
He’d come so close to the truth that she was afraid to meet his eyes, but that had been their initial agreement, hadn’t it? Their relationship had been based on accommodation, not necessity. No strings. No commitment. No leaning on him for anything…
“Look, I know you want me gone,” he said impatiently, “and believe me, I’ll be happy to comply, but until then I’ll be damned if I’m going to freeze just so you can prove a point. Give me the matches.”
He was right, even if she hated to admit it. She tossed him the matches and watched as he knelt before her grandmother’s old brick hearth and built a fire. Just seeing the orange flames made her feel better and she moved closer to them, hands outstretched so she could catch some of their warmth.
“Better?”
Tally nodded. All she could do now was wait for the storm’s power to abate. At least she wasn’t worried about Sam anymore. She’d seen the Millers’ lights glowing when they drove past their house. She’d forgotten that Dan and Sheryl had a generator. Their place would be snug. Sam would have a hot meal, a warm bed…
“So. You inherited this from your grandmother?”
Her gaze shot to Dante. Arms folded, face unreadable, he was looking around the kitchen as if it were an alien planet. It probably was, to a man accustomed to luxury.
“Yes,” she replied coldly. “And now I’m about to lose it to you.”
“And where is your lover? Out of town? Or in another room, afraid to face me?”
“I told you, I don’t have a lover. And if I did, why would he fear you? My life is my own, Dante. You have no part in it.”
“You made that clear the night you ran away.”
“For God’s sake, are we going to talk about that again?” Tally marched to the stove, filled a kettle with water, took it to the hearth and knelt down, searching for the best place to put it. “I left you. I was absolutely free to do that. I know it’s hard to face, but I didn’t need your permission.”
“Common courtesy demanded more than that note.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Damn it,” he growled, clasping her shoulders and drawing her up beside him, “I’m tired of you dancing away from my questions. I want to know the reason you left.”
“I told you. Our affair was over.” She looked straight into his eyes. “And we both knew it.”
