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The mitigating circumstances were the critical ones. Ironically, because they were so very critical, they must remain a secret.
Especially from Key. Especially now that she knew she loved him.
“Randall was Ashley’s father.”
Regret flickered in his eyes. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
She could see that it made a difference to him, but he tried not to show it. “So you suckered me into risking my life for nothing.”
“I didn’t persuade you to go to Montesangre, you persuaded yourself. I never even suggested that Clark was Ashley’s father.”
“You never denied it, either.” He leaned in closer. His whiskey-scented breath felt hot on her face. “You’re a real piece of work, aren’t you? A clever manipulator. A tricky chick.
“At first I couldn’t understand how my rational brother could have such a careless affair with his best friend’s wife. You did a real seduction number on him, didn’t you? Pussy-whipped him till he didn’t know which end was up. Then dopey ol’ Randall stayed with you. What a sap. He’s a prick, probably a liar, but even he doesn’t deserve your royal treatment.”
His hands clasped her waist and with one swift motion yanked her against him. He nuzzled her neck beneath her ear. “You’re good at getting what you want from a man, aren’t you, Doc? You mind-fuck him real good before he even gets his cock out.”
Lara squeezed her eyes shut. The accusations were ugly. They hurt, especially coming from Key. Key, who more than once had risked his life to save hers, who had been tender and passionate, ardent and loving, whose touch she still craved and whose voice haunted her dreams.
Based on the facts, as he knew them, he had cause to insult her. His scorn was founded on what he believed was truth. It was a miscalculation she couldn’t rectify—far more for Key’s sake than her own.
She wanted him desperately. But not this way. She’d conditioned herself to tolerate the world’s contempt, but she refused to nurture his.
“I want you to leave.”
“Like hell.” He dropped the liquor bottle, slipped his hand beneath her skirt, and tugged on her panties. “You’re all I can smell. All I can taste. All I think about.” His mouth covered hers and ground an angry kiss into it. “Jesus, I gotta get you out of my system.”
“No, Key!” She pressed her thighs together.
“How come? It’s not like you haven’t been unfaithful before.”
She swatted away the hand groping at her breasts. “Stop this!”
“You owe me, remember? Either the ninety thousand balance of my hundred grand. Or this.” He forced his hand between her thighs and fondled her intimately. “I choose this.”
“No!”
“Don’t worry, I’ll leave before sun-up. Your husband won’t catch you in the act this time. I’m smarter than my brother. I’m also better. Aren’t I?”
“No, you’re not,” she cried. “Clark never had to resort to rape!”
That sobered him as instantly as the cold water she’d once thrown in his face. He released her and staggered backward, his breath coming harsh and loud.
Knowing the root of his aggression, Lara felt more sorrow than anger. She longed to touch his face, run her fingers through the damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead, placate him, tell him she regretted having to hurt him in the worst possible way—by unfavorably comparing him to Clark.
Instead, she had to let her statement stand and watch his lip curl with repugnance for his brother’s cast-off, adulterous whore.
He looked her over and made a scornful sound. “No, I’m sure he didn’t. Relax, Doc. You’re safe from me.”
He reached around her and pulled open the door. The liquor bottle almost tripped him. He kicked it out of his way. It crashed against the wall and shattered.
He stormed through the door, leaped over the steps, and climbed into the Lincoln. He gunned it; the tires spun in the gravel before gaining traction. He sped away.
Lara closed the door and, with her back to it, slid to the floor. Folding her arms across her lap, she bent at the waist and released a keening cry.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
