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Dipping behind the bar, she sent Gerard a quick wave and started up the narrow staircase to the office. It was after seven, and she still had all the ticket sales from the matinee and evening shows to put on the computer and bank. Staying away all afternoon meant she was going to be here till gone midnight, finishing up, but she didn’t care as she pushed open the door. Maybe she’d be able to face Gio again one day, but why pile on the agony before she was ready?
‘Hello, Isadora.’
She whipped round at the husky words, her heart ramming full-pelt into her ribcage.
He sat at her desk, looking exactly like the man who had haunted her dreams. One leg was slung over his knee, his hand gripping his ankle, and his hair was combed back from his brow.
She turned back to the door. Staccato footsteps stamped on the wooden floor as her frantic fingers slipped on the knob. She dragged the door open but a large hand slapped against the wood above her head and slammed it closed.
His big body surrounded her as she continued to struggle pointlessly with the handle. She breathed in the spicy scent of his aftershave and her panic increased to fever pitch. The ripple of sensation tightening her nipples and making her sex ache.
‘Don’t run away, Issy. We need to talk.’
Hot breath feathered her earlobe. They had been in the same position all those weeks ago at the club. Her response to his nearness had been just as immediate, just as devastating then. But why couldn’t her body be immune to him even now?
‘I don’t want to talk,’ she said, her voice shaking with delayed reaction. ‘Leave me alone.’ Her knees buckled.
His arm banded around her midriff, held her upright. ‘Are you okay?’
She shook her head. His prominent arousal evident even through their clothes. She tried to pry his arm loose. She couldn’t afford to fall under his sensual spell again.
‘If you’ve come here to have sex, I’m not interested,’ she said, the melting sensation at her core making her a liar.
‘Ignore it,’ he said as he let her go, stepped back. ‘I came to talk, Issy. Nothing else. I don’t have any control over my body’s reaction to you.’
She forced herself to face him. ‘Once you’ve said what you have to say, do you promise to leave?’
Regret flickered in his eyes, and his jaw tensed, but he nodded. ‘If that’s what you want.’
She edged away from the door, moved to stand behind her desk, needing the barrier between them. ‘Go on, then,’ she prompted.
He said nothing for what seemed like an eternity. The only sound was the muffled noise from the pub downstairs.
‘I want you back.’
The irony struck her first. A few short weeks ago she would have given anything to hear him say that. But then anger seeped in. How pathetic. To think she would have settled for so little. ‘What do you expect me to say to that?’
He ducked his head, sank his hands into his pockets. When he lifted his head she saw something she hadn’t expected. ‘I want you to say you’ll give me another chance.’
It almost made her weaken. The plea in his voice, the look of raw need darkening the chocolate brown. But she knew she couldn’t give in—not after everything he’d put her through.
‘I can’t.’ She pressed her lips together, swallowed the ball of misery back down. ‘I’ve already given you too many chances. I’ve loved you ever since we were kids. I don’t want to love you any more.’
He stepped f
orward, braced his hands against the desk. ‘That’s not true,’ he countered. ‘You didn’t love me when you were a girl. That was infatuation.’
‘No, it wasn’t,’ she cried, temper strengthening her voice. How could he ask her for another chance and still belittle her feelings?
‘You fooled yourself into believing it, Issy. Because you were young. And sweet.’ He turned away.
She shook her head. ‘That’s not true. I was immature. I know in many ways I was still a child. But I did love you. Because when I met you again the feelings were all still there.’
He swung back. ‘No, they weren’t. You detested me,’ he said. ‘You said so yourself.’
Despite the off-hand remark she could see the anguish in his eyes, and she realised the rash words had hurt him.
She’d assumed he couldn’t be hurt, that she had never meant that much to him. But what if she had misjudged the strength of his feelings all along? In the same way as she’d misjudged her own.
