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Benedict hadn’t revealed any of this himself, in his guise as Kate’s boyfriend. He’d simply said that he had no family left, except a distant cousin. Not exactly a lie, but rather scant on the details. Now, she knew why. Too much information might have tipped her off, and so he’d also avoided her questions. None of the indicators that might have made her suspicious had raised any alarms, because she’d been so drugged by her attraction to him. Her own body and its desire-ruled response had betrayed her.
She moaned and brought her knees to her chest, cuddling into the foetal position.
She wanted to hate him, but she couldn’t. Even now, after such a clear demonstration of his low opinion of her. And oh, how apparent he’d made it that he loathed her passionately. If only Cassandra could feel the same way about him, she thought with a pang of desperation.
Over the last three months, she’d become more and more certain every day that she loved him, with all her heart and soul. She’d never even known him, though. It had all been pretence. Whereas Benedict had never had that problem. He’d known who she was all along. He’d believed her guilty
of theft, and worse, and he’d pursued her purely to manoeuvre her into this exact position. To hurt her. To teach her a lesson. The worst part of it all was that he seemed to believe his actions were completely justified by her poor character. No one could ever know the truth of the jewellery, but his summation of her was so wrong it was almost laughable. Or would have been, if it didn’t hurt so damned much.
She squirmed as the true depth of his hard-heartedness became apparent to her.
Despite the turmoil of her thoughts, Cass must have drifted into a sort of nightmare plagued nap. When she woke, pale afternoon sun was bathing the bedroom. She lay there as reality intruded on her sleep fogged brain, and she remembered the details of that morning with fresh pain.
Cassandra did not intend to give Benedict the satisfaction of seeing that he’d hurt her. He already thought her to be a vapid, dishonest heiress, and she had no problems letting him think whatever the heck he wanted. She dressed with care, selecting a pair of white shorts and lemon tank top that showed off her deep tan, and fluffed her blonde hair out from the scalp to give it some bounce. She pinched her cheeks to put some colour back on her pallid face and then, feeling like she at least looked better than she felt, she sauntered into the large living area of the apartment.
As soon as her toes touched the plush white carpet, she sensed him. Sitting on the sofa, mobile phone held to his ear. Resolutely, she strode past him, intentionally wiggling her bottom as she sashayed her way out onto the enormous wrap around balcony. Again, she cursed her ignorance for not questioning what he did for a living. He’d told her that he worked in property and was staying in this penthouse for a few months. Details such as his financial circumstances had seemed unimportant compared to the all consuming bone-melting love that was besieging her.
The infinity pool on the corner of the balcony of this harbour-front apartment had probably cost more to install than most people’s first homes cost in their entirety, but she’d always enjoyed it with Ben, and his presence had clouded her perception.
The first time he’d brought her here, they’d made love by the pool, their bodies wet from the water, and sweat from the steamy Sydney day. She’d bought his story hook, line and sinker, and now she was paying the price. With the truth finally impossible to ignore, she realised that this was the kind of place a billionaire lived in. She should have made the connections sooner, but she had not. That was all her own fault.
She sank into a poolside lounger and stretched her arms over her head, enjoying the feeling of the sun on her skin despite her torrid emotions. Benedict had made it plenty clear that Alyssia had spent years filling his head with what a spoiled brat Lady Cassandra Hervey was. Well, if he thought that of her, she wasn’t about to try to change his mind. There were two sides to every story, but she knew Benedict would never hear hers. Her own father had been unable to understand her behaviour. As a distraught sixteen year old, she had deserved sympathy and understanding when she struggled to come to terms with her mother’s sudden death. Instead, she’d been berated, chastised and finally, sent away, into a state of physical and emotional estrangement. Had anyone really been so surprised when she’d fled from such a cold environment?
Lady Cassandra Hervey had grown to be the spitting image of her mother, Duchess Miranda Hervey. She had her fighting spirit, too. At nineteen, she’d realised she was letting people’s low expectations shape her character. Enough had been enough. She wanted more for herself from life than to live in the shadows of her parents’ wealth and noble lineage. She had wanted to spread her wings and create her own mark in this world. And she’d done it. She’d made good friends here. She was set to graduate from university with honours. And when she’d met Ben, she’d thought she’d found someone she might be able to share her life with.
Oh, how wrong she’d been. While she had been letting her mind wander into the realm of fantasy – a fantasy where they lived happily ever after, maybe even with a little Ben and a miniature Cass at their feet one day – he’d been laughing at her naivety. Maybe he’d even been laughing about her with Alyssia behind her back. Everything he’d done had been to trap her. It stung. It really, really stung.
Cassandra’s legs, long and leanly muscled were stretched out on the daybed and he ached to be out there beside her. He knew what they’d feel like beneath his palm. Smooth and soft like velvet, warmed by the sun. Why had he carried on this rouse as long as he had? He’d been asking himself that question for weeks, knowing he ought to end it, but unable to do so. His head knew what she was. He’d had enough money for long enough to have met her type over and over again – girls who could trace their families back for hundreds of years, with more money than sense, and an inflated sense of self, he could pick them a mile off. He’d met and slept with his fair share of rich heiresses, princesses, movie starlets, models. He knew what Lady Cassandra Hervey was, and yet, Kate Harris had been so different.
Every time he’d seen her, he’d tried to get her to reveal something of her true self, but she’d been effortlessly ... adorable. He frowned at the first word that came to mind. He’d seen her with her friends, those slobby guys and the perma-stressed Cherie. They adored her, and she adored them. She was sexy. She was intelligent. Fascinating. Funny. If he hadn’t known what an out-and-out bitch she truly was, he probably would have proposed to her by now.
The Kate Harris that Cassandra had portrayed was every man’s fantasy, especially this man’s. The reality, of course, never lived up to the dream. Thank God, he’d got her true measure, or he would have been in serious danger of losing himself to her. He didn’t want her here in his penthouse any more than she wanted to be here, but he couldn’t very well send her off before Peter arrived. He had no doubt she’d do a runner before he could say, “Jewellery Thief”.
He twisted uncomfortably in his chair. He felt an element of responsibility, he supposed, for having revealed her identity to the press. If some loon were to kidnap her and hold her to ransom, he’d always feel regretful. Responsible. A knife twisted in his stomach at the imagined scenario. No. He despised her and all women like her, but he would make sure she was safe until this debacle blew over. Then, he’d kick her out and be grateful of never needing to lay eyes on her again.
Some sixth sense alerted her to the fact that he was observing her, and she angled her head, lancing him through the glass doors with a cold, derisive stare.
He pushed his chair back and strode towards her. Refusing to show any emotion, she watched him through lidded eyes. Each step was like a panther’s, long, lean, and intent. She shivered inwardly at the feeling of being prey in his sights.
“Dinner will be ready soon.” He intoned flatly from the doorway.
“I’m not hungry,” She responded immediately, truthfully.
“You will eat.” His voice was annoyed, and yet again, he made her feel like a recalcitrant child being told what to do.
“I’m. Not. Hungry.” She repeated firmly.
“Damn it, Cassandra, acting like an overindulged child is hardly likely to make your situation better.”
She stared desolately out at the harbour, her blonde hair blowing in the gentle breeze. The apple and coconut smell of her shampoo reached him and he inhaled deeply. That fragrance had always taken his breath away. It would forever remind him of her.
“What will make my situation better?” She asked on a whisper.
“Apologising to Peter and Alyssia, for one,” he turned his back to her and called over his shoulder, “Dinner will be served in half an hour. Do not make me physically bring you to the table.”
“Or what?” She challenged unwisely.
He paused, angling his head so that their eyes locked. “Or I will arrange another demonstration of just how willing you are to do what I say when the right methods are employed.”
