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Her heart was racing so hard that she could hear blood pummelling her ears like waves against the shore. Persistent and greedy, it was overtaking every other sense in her body.
When you are waiting for me.
That was how he viewed her, and worse than that? He was right.
She had spent the evening watching him and waiting for him, and he knew it.
He would click his fingers, and she would come.
Pride was a foolish inclination, she thought with a grimace, as she curled her fingers around his hand. She lifted it to her lips and kissed it gently. But it was a kiss of sadness and resignation.
Finn was Caradoc’s prisoner. There were no bars, and no guards, yet she was his for as long as he wanted her, and the knowledge sent a rush of fear into her gut. Because Caradoc wouldn’t want her forever, and Finn would be the stupidest woman on earth to hope for more than he’d offered.
“Yes, let’s go.” And with those three words, she’d sealed her fate by accepting it so completely. Any choice she’d had in the matter was now lost – she loved Caradoc Moore, and that was most definitely not a good thing.
* * *
Caradoc had said nothing on the drive home, and he said nothing still as he stood before Finn with the lights of Manhattan twinkling beneath them, and two glasses of wine between them. The colour was that of blood.
His silence had begun to make her skin tingle.
His silence was brooding.
It was watchful.
It was contemplative rather than companionable, and with every beat of noiselessness that passed between them, Finn had felt her nerve endings pulse and quiver.
His eyes were heavy on her face. Was she imagining the faintly mocking speculation she saw there? Was she being too sensitive?
The not-speaking was killing her. She could no longer bear it. “Is that for me?” She arched a brow and flicked her gaze towards the wine.
Caradoc’s smile was autocratic as he passed the drink to her. She didn’t want it, especially, but she wanted him to say something. She bit down on her lower lip, in a gesture of distracted uncertainty, and sipped the wine. It was excellent.
Where was her pride? Why was it always wai
ting in the wings around this man? After all, if he was going to stand there like a silent statue, she didn’t have to stay. The enormous dress swished as she moved away from him, towards the imposing lounge suite across the room. It was far from comfortable-seeming, but she sat with unconscious grace into the white leather armchair.
Caradoc watched her with a small frown on his handsome face. Finn was not vain. He knew she had no idea how stunning she looked, with her red hair and pale skin, the green of the dress and eyes that sparkled like emeralds, set against the cream of the chair.
And she was speaking to Cristoff.
Of all the men in the room, he was the last one Caradoc would have wished her to spend time with.
Seeing them together had sent a furious river of resentment coursing through his veins. And despite the fact Caradoc prided himself on mental toughness, he found now he couldn’t put the image of the two of them from his mind.
“You speak German,” he said finally. It was a small detail, and therefore a suitable place to begin his interrogation.
“Ja,” She said with an obvious air of sass.
He laughed softly and came to stand in front of her. He didn’t want to sit in the armchair across the room. He wanted to touch her. To feel her.
“Stand up.”
Why did she obey his rude request? By then, Finn was beginning to see that her acquiescence to him was a sign of her love, and she didn’t welcome it. She stood automatically, and Caradoc replaced her position on the chair. He held a hand out to her, his meaning clear, and Finn settled herself on his lap with relief. She had been craving this. Not just physical contact, but the semblance of intimacy that was so rare in their fledgling relationship.
She sipped her wine simply for something to do. His body was hard and firm beneath her, but the dress made it hard to feel him as she wanted.
As if she’d spoken her frustration aloud, his free hand toyed with the zip at the back, lowering it very, very painfully slowly, by degrees.
