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She pressed her palms together at his sensual words. She told herself she would die before she’d let him touch her again, but her breathing was shallow and she knew it was from lust not
loathing. Nonetheless, thirty minutes later, she was sitting primly at the table. Only the sparkle in her blue eyes showed how furious she was at him.
Benedict gazed at her unsmilingly, an insufferably smug expression on his face as he took the seat opposite her. “Wise decision,” he taunted softly.
“I realised I was hungry, after all.” She lied, eyeing the salad in the centre of the table dubiously.
He raised his brows. “You’ve hardly eaten all day. I would hope so.”
She pushed aside the feeling that he cared for her. He was just taking care of what he deemed to be his responsibility until Peter relieved him of the unpleasant chore.
He piled the salad that his housekeeper had made onto her plate and then served her a piece of roast salmon fillet. It all looked delicious but her stomach was too tied in knots to contemplate food.
She fingered her fork nervously, trying to bring herself to spoon some of the tender pink fish into her mouth. Benedict was watching her, and his intent stare was not helping her nerve situation.
Finally, she gave up and placed her fork gently back down on the table.
“You will eat,” he reiterated his directive from earlier that evening.
Her eyes flashed painfully. “I’m at the table, as commanded. Short of opening my mouth and forcing food into it like fois gras, there really isn’t anything you can do.”
“Stop challenging me, Lady Cassandra.” He instructed woodenly. “Your defiance makes me itch to bend you to my will.”
“I never realised what a chauvinist you are,” she mumbled, sipping her iced water to cool the fire in her belly.
“Liar!” He laughed harshly. “You have always known me to be an overbearing bastard. I think you liked being with someone who challenged you, instead of letting you call all the shots. You really do have a very loose relationship with honesty, don’t you? Or are you so used to ignoring the truth that you don’t even realise when you’re doing it anymore?”
She slammed her water glass down on the table in frustration. “Stop it!” She shouted, and saw his face immediately react at her unusual outburst. He quickly rearranged his expression to its usual, hard-to-read look, but she’d seen his surprise. “Stop calling me a liar. Stop threatening to use our sexual chemistry against me. And most of all, stop telling me what to do.” She stared across at him. “You don’t have the privilege of being so sanctimonious. If I am a liar and a thief, then you’re just as bad.”
He stood then and paced away from the table. “I don’t believe so. Whilst I have been dishonest with you, I have done it for honourable reasons, knowing that only you stood to be hurt. You... you have only ever acted in your own self-interests, uncaring of who you hurt.” He regarded her with contempt.
“Knowing that only I stood to be hurt?” Her voice cracked a little. She pushed back her chair so that she, too, was standing. “And of course, that doesn’t matter to you, does it?”
“No.” He cut her with his immediate response.
“I am a real person, Benedict. Didn’t you have a moment’s compunction about making me fall head over heels in love with a man who doesn’t exist?” She pleaded with him, her voice raw with emotion, her face devastated.
Her words could almost have made him question his actions, but he forced himself to remember that she was an adept manipulator, easily able to say whatever she needed to achieve her goals.
“I didn’t set out to hurt you, Cassandra.”
“Oh, so it was just a fortunate little by-product, huh? Hurting me?”
“Believe it or not, I was as surprised as you to discover the connection we shared.” He frowned a little. “I, who knows all too well what kind of woman you are, thought I would be immune to your charms.”
“The kind of woman I am!” She remarked, smarting from the unjust characterisation. “I am the kind of woman who gave her heart to you, who would have done anything you asked for. I would have given my life for you. And this is how you treat me?”
His disdainful grimace was the last straw. “I did not ask you to fall in love with me,” he demurred cruelly, as though her love was the last thing he could ever want.
“Yes you damned well did. Every moment we spent together, you were inviting me to love you.” She cried, “Every night we shared, every story you told, every experience we made. You knew I was coming to love you, don’t pretend you didn’t realise. Was it really all a lie for you? Did you feel nothing?”
“How could I love you, Lady Cassandra, after what you did to my cousin?” He asked the question as much to himself as to her, but the words cut her to the quick.
“How, indeed?” She murmured. Her full lips trembled with the force of her emotion. “Don’t kid yourself, Benedict. There was nothing honourable about what you did. Nothing at all.”
Her words stung. He’d been through horrible situations in his life. Growing up in the toughest parts of Paris, living amongst gangs and thugs, he had always been able to resolve situations using his wits and his strength. He’d never devolved into the amoral life of those around him. His moral compass was honed, his actions always guided by it. When his mother had died, she had begged him to remain true to himself, whatever life may throw at him. Wise words from a woman who had lived out her last years in poverty because she had stayed true to herself, he had thought sadly.
Anyone who had succeeded as he had in the business world had done so by making some enemies along the way. While Benedict Savarin had a reputation for being ruthless, he was also reputed to be incomparably fair. Cassandra’s words grated.
