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‘Nick, I—’
‘Have to go. I know. Well, have a good evening.’
Before she could say anything further, he pressed the disconnect button. Something he should have done the moment he’d first thought of dialling her ruddy number.
Acutely annoyed with himself, he picked up his dirty plate and rammed it into the dishwasher. Lizzie was off to party and he was off to bed, no doubt to spend another night tossing and turning and wishing with every fibre of his being that she was there beside him. In or out of that skintight silver dress.
* * *
While Nick was trying to get some sleep, Lizzie was trying to look like she was enjoying herself. Not easy when Hank seemed to follow her everywhere she went. Even to the Ladies’.
‘Haven’t you found some other woman to pester yet?’ she asked him coldly as she walked out to find him leaning against the wall, legs nonchalantly crossed, waiting for her.
‘Sure, but none of them are as beautiful as you.’
‘Flattery won’t get you anywhere.’
‘No? What will then?’ Suddenly he was grasping her hand by the wrist and yanking her towards him.
‘Nothing you can say will get me into your bed.’ She tried to pull her arm away but he held on firmly with one hand, while reaching out with the other. Within seconds he had her pinned against the wall, her hands above her head, gripped tightly by his strong fingers.
‘How about what I might do?’ he asked roughly. His breath was hot against her neck, a stale combination of whiskey and cigars.
‘Have you resorted to forcing women now?’ Despite the desire to escape, Lizzie stood still, knowing if she moved he’d probably enjoy it. A part of her, a very small one, was waiting for his kiss. Maybe this was what she needed to forget Nick. Maybe, if Hank kissed her, she would enjoy it. After all this was meant to be her type now, wasn’t it? The mean bastard who took rather than asked. Who was rough rather than gentle. If Nick was too nice, this was what she was left with, wasn’t it?
‘I don’t need to use force,’ he replied smoothly. ‘Women fall at my feet.’
‘Well, this one isn’t.’
‘No?’ He moved his head closer to her mouth, his dark eyes narrowing menacingly. ‘I know what a woman like you needs. On the outside you pretend to be demure and sophisticated, but inside you’re just one step up from a slut. One on one, two on one, you like it any way you can get it, don’t you?’
Abruptly he shifted, grasping both her wrists in one large hand. With the other he began to paw at her, pulling at her dress, making a grab for her breast. As his hot palm touched her skin, she felt her flesh crawl. This wasn’t what she needed. Not in a million years. There was no way she could stand to let this man touch her so roughly where Nick had touched her so gently. As if she was a prize to be cherished. Even at his most angry, the last time they’d made love, he’d been passionate, not cruel.
‘Get off me,’ she screamed.
Hank shot her a look of annoyance before darting his eyes up and down the corridor, obviously considering whether anyone was in earshot. Finally he pulled away, letting go of her wrists and revealing raw, red marks. A legacy of the powerful pinch of his fingers.
‘Guess you’ll have to come up with a clever explanation,’ he remarked carelessly, following her eyes.
‘And I guess, if you want to avoid a charge of harassment, you’ll have to keep out of my way from now on,’ she countered coldly.
‘Touché.’ With that he turned and sauntered back down the corridor.
Lizzie leant weakly against the wall, rubbing helplessly at the marks on her wrists. She’d never felt so ashamed of herself, or so alone. Since her parents’ death she’d spent so much of her time fighting tooth and nail to keep her head above water. To not give in to the dark clutches of despair that sometimes threatened to drown her. But while outwardly she’d managed to maintain the appearance of a woman in control of her life, at the pinnacle of her career, inside she was still a girl who grieved for her family. A girl weighed down with guilt at their deaths.
A girl who’d driven away the one man capable of making her happy.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The phone call, when it came, rocked Nick back on his heels. He wasn’t sure what caused him more grief, the contents of the call, or the manner in which it was delivered. To hear of Robert’s declining health was painfully hard. To hear of it from one of the nurses who’d been looking after him, rather than from Lizzie herself, was a double blow. Why hadn’t she phoned him? Were they so estranged that she couldn’t pick up the phone to tell him her brother was dying? His brother too, in all but blood. Hell, didn’t he deserve to be told by Lizzie herself, rather than a stranger?
Anger, hurt and grief raged through his system as he made arrangements to get on the next flight to LA. She might not want him there, but he was going anyway. He sure as heck wasn’t going to simply sit at home and wait for her to finally let him know his best friend was dead. If indeed, she’d even bother to do that.
In a matter of hours Nick was on board a flight to LA, his sister Charlotte by his side. When he’d phoned to let her know, she’d insisted on coming with him. As far as she was concerned, if her brother was like family to Robert and Lizzie, then so was she. Nick hadn’t had the strength or heart to argue. Besides, he was happy for the moral support.
After the long, weary flight he checked them both into a hotel in Santa Monica and was contemplating when to call Lizzie when his mobile buzzed into life. Tired and emotionally strung out, he was ready to yell into the phone at her.
‘Templeton,’ he barked, even though he knew who it was from the caller ID.
