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“Because I’m not looking to fall in love with you, Luca. I’m looking to…” she froze, admitting to herself the truth of their situation for the first time, her cheeks flushing pink. But hadn’t they both just acknowledged what they wanted? Not in so many words, but with their bodies, there was no longer any hiding the truth.
“Fuck me,” he supplied grimly, shoving his hands in his pockets and angling his face away.
She nodded jerkily. “I’m under no illusions about what this would be, so you don’t need to beat yourself up. I don’t know what happened with you and – the woman you were talking about a minute ago – but I’m not her. Believe me when I tell you my heart is already broken beyond repair. The worst thing that could happen is that you piece it back together, just a little bit, by making me feel like a desirable woman for the first time in my life.”
He turned to face her, his chest heaving with the force of his breath.
“Damn him,” Luca groaned, lifting his hands from his pockets and driving them through her hair, his fingers catching her head and holding it steady. “Damn you, Bronte. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“No,” she agreed, trembling from passion unanswered. “But it is. It’s here, between us, and I think we should deal with that.”
He swore again, shaking his head. “You don’t understand. You work for me. This has the potential to be a disaster.”
“You think I’m going to what? Sue you for sexual harassment? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m the one who’s harassing you here.”
He shook his head. “It’s not that simple.”
“Really? It sure as hell feels simple to me.”
His exasperation was obvious.
“Bronte –,”
“Don’t.” She pressed a finger to his lips, her eyes the shade of the ocean on a stormy afternoon. “Don’t tell me leave it. Don’t tell me this isn’t going to happen. Don’t treat me like a bloody kid. I’m a woman, and I want you – as a man, not my boss. I know this is a game of make believe, I know we’re not a couple and never will be, and I don’t care. I can see that sex is separate to love, and right now, all I want is to have sex with someone who knows what they’re doing. Why can’t that happen?”
He stared at her for several seconds.
“Why can’t we have sex and then forget about it after this weekend? A secret we keep that no one ever has to know? Is that so ludicrous?”
He jerked his face away, his jaw clenched tight.
She sighed softly. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he didn’t want her anywhere nearly as badly as she wanted him. For him, this was normal. He was constantly in the papers with new women, different lovers. For Bronte it was so far out of her realm of experience, no wonder she was being blown sideways with desire.
“Just think about it,” she said quietly, the words to save face, as much as anything else. She took a step away from him, hoping he’d prevent that, hoping he’d grab hold of her again and kiss her until there was almost no breath left in her body, but he didn’t.
Her heart dropped as she reached the gate, and her throat hurt from unshed tears.
6
HE WAS SO EFFORTLESSLY charming. All throughout dinner he spoke and laughed, played the part of a doting boyfriend as though it was the easiest thing in the world. There was no hint of the tortured confession he’d almost made in the garden, the statement about having hurt a woman just like her in the past.
It was what he’d promised he’d do – he was playing the part he’d agreed to – and while she was grateful to him, she was also irritated. Annoyed. Frustrated. How could he so easily act as though nothing had happened between them?
Because it hadn’t. For him, this was nothing.
Maybe he was right. She was at risk of letting this become way too big a deal for her.
After dessert, a local band began to play popular covers, and some of the group took to the dancefloor. Before anyone could suggest Bronte and Luca do the same, she stood, excusing herself for the ladies’ room.
She really did need a breath of fresh air now, and a moment alone to regroup. She pushed out of the glass doors, onto the terrace, moving to the railing and looking out over the formal garden, the topiarised bushes striking in the silvery moonlight.
The sound of the door a moment later didn’t surprise her. She’d half-wondered if he’d follow her. She didn’t turn to face him, but when he approached, Bronte tilted her face a little. And sucked in a surprised breath.
It wasn’t Luca who’d just joined her on the terrace.
Watching her with an expression she knew all too well was the man she once would have described as the love of her life. Silly, naïve fool. Love didn’t hurt the way he’d hurt her. Someone in love didn’t wake up and ‘decide’ not to feel anything for you anymore.
“Hey.” His voice was gentle, as he came and rested his elbows on the railing right beside her.
