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Slowly, she tipped her head, so that her eyes could meet his. “It took me a long time to work that out.” She scanned his face, and wished she could simply switch off her feelings for him. “You wanted to become the man I believed you to be.” Her smile was loaded with bittersweet recollection. “I looked at you as though you were the original messiah; capable only of goodness and strength. I think your ego enjoyed that, and you thought that marrying me would make my vision of you more truthful.”
Out of nowhere, he felt as though he’d been sucker punched. “That is deeply analytical,” he drawled after a few moments.
She nodded. “That’s because I’ve had time to analyse it. It’s the only thing that makes sense. I have come to believe that you liked the mirror I held up to you. But that you couldn’t ignore who you really are. Not for long.”
“I see.” He clamped his lips together. Her analysis was far closer to the truth than he liked. He shifted a little in the chair and fixed her with a brooding stare. “This walk down memory lane is fascinating, but it does little to change the facts of your current situation.”
She had forgotten how sexy his accent was. And how completely it could turn her body to a weak, pulsing puddle of need. “My current situation,” she agreed with more venom than she knew she felt. “Not yours. You have no business being here.”
His smile was more of a wolfish grin. “You seem to think my presence is negotiable. The sooner you accept that it is not, the better it will be for both of us. I’m tired of arguing this point with you.”
“I just don’t understand why you’re pretending that you care.”
He leaned forward in the plastic seat. “I married you. I do not consider my responsibility to you to have ended just because you divorced me.”
“Because I divorced you?” She stammered in disbelief. “I might have divorced you, but you left me little choice.” She coughed, as her vitriolic statement sent shots of pain through her throat.
“An assessment we can certainly discuss when you are not in such obvious pain.” He stood, and surprised her by putting a hand on her soft, blonde hair. It drew her gaze sharply; her large blue eyes honed in on his face in confusion. His touch was gentle, as he ran his fingers over her head. “You must rest, cara. For once, don’t argue with me.”
Jane opened her mouth to point out that she only argued with him when he was being completely unreasonable, but his expression of gentle sympathy forestalled her. “Fine,” she agreed thickly.
She had been disciplined about forgetting Carlo. Even her dreams she had managed to control, to keep thoughts of the man she’d been married to at bay. But seeing him again sparked something inside of her, and as she drifted to sleep now, she saw only Carlo.
* * *
Four years earlier.
Her feet were aching. And it was little wonder. Jane was nearing the end of a double shift at the busy Mayfair restaurant. The subdued daytime customers had morphed, as if by magic, into the wine-fuelled, sleazy post-work crowd. The wealthy and entitled clientele were precisely the reason Jane preferred her day roster. Though the tips were better at night, she had never liked the groping and leering that seemed to go along with them.
Jane slid a tray back under the bar and did her best not to look in the man’s direction. But something about him kept drawing her gaze. As she flicked her blue eyes to the corner of the bar, she felt her pulse give a little jerk of recognition. He was actually one of several men. Six at the table, and another at the bar. But he was the only one she noticed.
He was tall. And not just because she was barely five and a half feet. He was tall by anyone’s standards, and broad shouldered. He might have been wearing a hand crafted suit and designer shoes, but there was an animalistic rawness to him that spoke of feral strength and magnetism. His skin was golden like honey, and his eyes dark like coal. His face boasted of the kind of perfection that an expert sculptor would be proud of – a firm nose, a square jaw, cheekbones that were slashed into his face – surrounded by a mop of dark brown hair that fell to just above his collar.
Those eyes, rimmed by thick lashes and straight brows, were honed in on her, as though he knew her. As though he was searching for something in her heart-shaped face. His expression was unmistakably fascinated. Jane was powerless to look away. Beneath the white cotton shirt she wore, her nipples tightened in an unfamiliar pang of yearning. Slowly, his lips lifted, to hint at a seductive smile, and Jane flushed. She dragged her eyes away, pretending to scan the rest of the crowd while her breath raged out of control.
She did her best to ignore him, but eventually, she had to move to the table, simply to do her job. With a pulse that was hammering so loudly it was all she could hear, Jane approached the group. For the first time, she looked at the other men. All similarly dressed, though none of them had even a hint of the appeal of the one, gorgeous customer.
Her smile encompassed the group and intentionally avoided looking at him. “Can I get you gentlemen anything else?”
“Shall we finish with some port?” One of the older guests suggested.
“I can bring you some menus if you’d like to see our range,” Jane responded efficiently.
When the older man nodded, she turned on her heel and moved back towards the bar. Unbeknownst to Jane, the handsome man followed her.
“Let me take those,” he said, his accent like black pepper and desert spices. He reached out and wrapped his fingers around the bound wine lists, brushing her hands as he did so.
“Oh.” Jane sucked in a deep breath. Her eyes shone with desire; she darted her tongue out to moisten her suddenly dry lips. “That’s okay. I can do it.”
His grin made her stomach dip and churn. “I’m sure you can.” He leaned forward, so that he could whisper into her ear. “But if I do a favour for you, perhaps you’ll return one for me.”
Her insides slicked with an unknown moistness. “What do you mean?”
“When do you finish work?”
She swallowed, and looked past him, to the clock on the wall. “Not for a while.”
His laugh was soft; lightly mocking. “Fine. I can wait. Have a drink with me.”
