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In the last week he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. Getting her to New York had been a game—a way of showing her the error of her ways, and enjoying some great recreational sex into the bargain. Or so he’d tried to tell himself.
But if it was all a game, why had he bought her a ten-thousand-euro necklace without a thought when he’d been window-shopping in the Marais? Sure he was usually generous with the women he dated, but not that generous after only one date. Why had he spent over an hour outlining his plans for her trip with his PA? Why had he called the airline first thing that morning to check she’d boarded the flight? And why had he cancelled the rest of his meetings and raced back to The Waldorf as soon as he’d got the word she’d checked in?
He’d been behaving like an over-eager puppy begging for scraps. It made him feel vulnerable in a way he hadn’t since he was a lad. But he hadn’t been able to stop himself.
And then, to make matters worse, when he’d walked into the bathroom and seen her lush body covered in soap suds, her soft flesh pink from the heat, the expected sexual charge had been swiftly followed by a blast of euphoria and bone-deep satisfaction that made no sense at all.
Given all that, was it any surprise that when she’d told him she wanted no part of him he’d been bound and determined to prove her a liar? To prove that she did want him—because he wanted her so damn much it was starting to scare him.
‘Daisy, will you look at me?’ he said, his patience stretching. ‘I want to see you’re okay.’
She glanced over her shoulder.
Relief washed through him when he saw no evidence of tears.
‘Why wouldn’t I be okay?’ Green fire flashed as she faced him. ‘You gave me what I wanted, right? What you made me beg for. You should be pretty pleased with yourself, all things considered.’
An unreasoning panic seized him as she turned away and he leaped forward to catch her arm.
‘Wait.’ His fingers clamped on her wrist.
Whatever had happened, they’d have to sort it out, because he wasn’t ready to let her walk—not yet. Not until he sorted out what the hell was happening to him. She’d triggered something inside him and he needed her here to make it stop.
‘Let go of me,’ she said, her head bowed as she tried to wrestle her hand free. ‘I’m not staying. You’ll have to find another fake date. The sex is great, but the subservience I can do without, thank you.’
He dropped his feet on the floor, sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her to him when she tried to resist. ‘Daisy, I’m sorry.’
He’d never apologised to any woman before her—he’d never needed to—and the words burned like acid on his tongue. He figured they’d been worth it, though, when she stopped struggling and looked at him. Anger still simmered, but behind it was something much harder to fathom.
‘What are you apologising for?’ she asked, her voice flat and remote. ‘For giving me my first multiple orgasm?’
He had hurt her. He could see now he’d humiliated her. He knew a lot about pride and what it felt like to have it beaten out of you. Enough to know how much it hurt.
He took her other wrist and tugged her towards him, pressing his knees into her thi
ghs, to keep her near. ‘It wasn’t meant as a punishment,’ he said. He rested his hands on her hips, blew out a breath as he touched his cheek to the soft cotton covering her breasts. Her hands remained limply by her side, the muscles of her spine rigid beneath his fingers as she arched away from him. Lavender, underlaid with the scent of her, made blood surge into his groin, he hoped to hell she couldn’t see it beneath the thick folds of the quilt. He raised his head, saw the flush of unhappiness and something else he didn’t recognise on her face.
‘Why did you make me beg for it, then?’ she asked, accusation weighing every word. ‘It was cruel and humiliating. What were you trying to prove?’ Her frankness and vulnerability stunned him—and made him feel like a worm.
He shrugged, keeping his hands on her waist so she couldn’t pull back any further.
‘I wanted you to stay. And it seemed like a good way to persuade you.’
It wasn’t the whole truth. In fact it wasn’t even half of the truth. But he could hardly tell her how desperate he’d been to see her, how much he’d been looking forward to her coming over. It would make him look like a besotted idiot—and give her entirely the wrong impression.
Women always tried to romanticise sex—especially exceptional sex. And that was all this was really about. No woman had ever responded to him as she did, no woman had ever affected him quite like her before. But once he got her out of his system things would be fine.
Obviously his desire to stamp his claim on her had been brought on by sexual frustration. He’d never been this attracted to a woman in his life. But that would pass soon enough, he was sure of it. Romance had no part of it. Not for him.
‘Why did you have to make me say it?’ she asked, the words more confused than angry.
He choked out a half-laugh. Christ, why had he? ‘I don’t know.’ And he was pretty sure now he didn’t want to know. Best to leave that can of worms well enough alone. He’d just have to make damn sure he didn’t lose his cool with her and open it up all over again.
Her eyes sharpened and he could see she didn’t believe him. But then she sighed and her shoulders slumped. Finally she looked back at him and what he saw, to his amazement, was guilt.
‘I know you paid a lot of money to get me here. And you didn’t force me, not really. I wanted to come. I’ve never been to New York before.’ She glanced round the room. ‘And this place is incredible. But it’s all so overwhelming. And I can’t stay here as your mistress. It’s demeaning.’ Her brow furrowed. ‘If you still need someone to pose as your girlfriend you can get me a cheap room, somewhere else, and I’ll still do it. Then you won’t be out of pocket. Okay?’
His heart contracted at the seriousness on her face. Damn. He’d known she was a Good Samaritan but this was stupid. He couldn’t care less about her ‘posing’ as his girlfriend or the money he’d spent getting her here. Truth was he’d been showing off a little, wanting to dazzle her, trying to make sure she came. Who would have known his attempts to impress her would backfire?
