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‘Cassandra,’ he replied, his tone firm enough to make her gaze shoot to his. ‘What the hell makes you think I want an apology? For any of it?’
* * *
Luke watched conflicting emotions march across Cassandra’s expression in quick succession—surprise, guilt, shame, caution, confusion—and wondered how he could ever have mistaken her for a spy.
The woman was an open book. Even when she wanted to, she couldn’t hide what she felt or thought.
But what should have pleased him and reassured him only disturbed him more. He shouldn’t have taken what she’d offered last night, and he sure as hell shouldn’t have carried her up to his bedroom and slept with her in his arms the entire night, acutely aware of every shift, every sigh, every moan.
Where had the desire to protect her come from?
She wasn’t his responsibility, and certainly wasn’t his problem.
But they’d both crossed a line last night that couldn’t be uncrossed. And the worst thing was he was pretty sure he didn’t even want to uncross it any more.
He’d set a number of precedents with Cassandra, right from the first moment he’d met her—maybe even before that. When he’d spotted her standing on the other side of the arbour at the wedding party in that stunning dress and been captivated.
Wanting her was one thing—he’d desired women before her. Maybe not with quite the same level of passion and urgency, or the same staggeringly intense results, but when had he lost sight of an objective so easily before?
He never brought dates to the island. This was his sanctuary, his safe place, but he’d brought her here after knowing her for precisely an hour.
And, what was worse, once he’d believed her capable of industrial espionage, instead of getting her out of here by whatever means necessary, he’d made all sorts of excuses to allow her to stay. He’d used reasoning he could see now was deeply flawed, because what he’d really been doing was encouraging an intimacy he’d believed himself immune from.
But he didn’t feel immune. Not now. Not after last night.
She’d got to him. Not only as she’d clung to him in fear and then passion, but before that—when he’d spotted her watching him in the cove and a part of him had wanted her to look her fill.
Having her stay here any longer was fraught with all sorts of dangers. Dangers he needed to guard against. He’d been dumb thinking he could indulge himself, indulge her, and not worry about the consequences. Letting her get any closer would be a mistake.
‘I feel like an absolute fool,’ she said, her voice breaking on the words. ‘I’m glad you don’t require an apology, but that doesn’t make what happened any less...’ She huffed out a breath. ‘Mortifying.’
The emotion he’d been keeping a tight rein on swelled in his chest, making his ribs ache, but he was ready for it this time.
She’d always been able to captivate him with her candour—even when he’d wanted to doubt her, he’d struggled to doubt that—but maybe it was time to use her transparency to his advantage, and finally get answers to the questions which had tortured him every time she’d stirred during the night.
‘Do you know where it came from?’ he asked. ‘Your phobia?’
She glanced up, her eyes widening. ‘It’s not a phobia. That’s... That’s ridiculous. I just don’t like the dark. And it was exceptionally dark. Living in London, I’m not used to that.’
It was the same excuse she’d given him last night. He could have left it at that, let her get away with the lie. But the feel of her collapsed in his arms, clinging, scared, not herself, was still far too fresh. He hated thinking of her like that, vulnerable and afraid, because it reminded him of demons from his own childhood.
‘Cassandra, you went totally to pieces,’ he said. ‘That’s not you. You’re tough. But even strong people have no control over irrational fear if it’s the result of trauma. I know. When I—’ He stopped abruptly, clamped his mouth shut, then thrust his fingers through his hair, shocked that he’d almost shared something he’d kept secret for so long.
This was about Cassandra—not him. And while he might trust her more than he had yesterday, he wasn’t dumb enough to trust anyone that much.
Luckily, she seemed too lost in her own misery to have noticed his slip.
‘If that’s not a phobia, I don’t know what is...’ he finished.
She continued to stare at her fingers, clasped tightly in her lap. But finally she nodded. ‘I suppose I never thought of it like that, but I guess you’re right,’ she said, so softly he almost didn’t hear her. ‘I always thought I had a handle on it, that I could manage it. It’s humiliating to realise it was just waiting to hijack me all this time.’
The honest, forthright statement, the admission of weakness, of doubt, and the bravery required for her to speak about it aloud, had his heart swelling to press against his larynx.
He swallowed. Forced the feeling back where it belonged. Mostly...
‘So you do know what caused it?’ he asked carefully, not sure any more if he should be taking this route, but unable to stop himself now.
She nodded again, then met his gaze, her rich caramel eyes so open and candid and her expression so frank and yet defenceless it made his heartbeat slow to a crawl.
