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His eyes narrowed as he recognised the devastation on her face.
‘He told you I was a prostitute, and it didn’t once occur to you to doubt his word.’
Khalil was not used to feeling in the wrong. His arrogance was born, primarily, from the fact he had excellent instincts and used them wisely. Her logic was, however, flawless.
‘He sent me the agency listing,’ Khalil pointed out, his voice ringing with a certainty he no longer felt. ‘It wasn’t only his word, but also the evidence.’
‘Evidence,’ she snarled, crossing her arms hard across her chest. ‘That was no evidence. Not of what you’re accusing me of, at least. I worked for an escort agency, yes. I went on dates with people who, for whatever reason, needed a companion for the evening. One of my favourite clients was an eighty-two-year-old man whose wife died ten years ago. We would go to the theatre together once a month. Do you think I was having sex with him, too?’ She shook her head angrily. ‘Only you could take what is a perfectly legitimate job and turn it into something else.’
‘I had you investigated, after that night.’
‘I know. You spied on me. I remember.’
‘I wanted to know if it was true. I hoped—I wanted to believe—’
But she didn’t let him finish. ‘If you had me investigated then you must know that I do not go home with the men I date.’
‘There was no evidence of that,’ he said warily. ‘But there was plenty of evidence that many of the women who are hired out by Warm Engagements do in fact bed their clients.’
India gasped. ‘That’s against the rules.’
He stared at her, the response more telling than anything else could be. Light blinded him, and he turned away, so that she wouldn’t see on his face the comprehension that was dawning—the realisation that he might have seriously misjudged her this whole time.
‘And you didn’t know that then,’ she reminded him softly, her voice trembling as she returned to the original point with effortless focus. ‘The morning after we slept together, you had only Ethan’s word and my agency listing to go off. You wouldn’t let me explain myself. You wouldn’t believe me.’
No, he wouldn’t. Because everything she’d said had reminded him of Fatima. He’d been fooled once, badly, and he would never forget what that had cost him. The idea of being duped all over again had made him react harshly—more harshly than he should have.
‘You believed that horrible man over me, and I will never forget that. Not ever. Not when we make love. Not when we marry. Not when we become parents.’ Tears sparkled on her lashes and he stood perfectly still, because the alternative was to go to her and pull her into his arms, hold her against him and beg her to forgive him. To forgive him? Khalil’s compass no longer faced in a recognisable direction. Confusion swamped him. ‘I really, really hate you right now, Khalil. Please, just leave me alone.’
