Bound by the Italian's Contract(16)
Confusion and embarrassment had tumbled inside her like leaves caught in a wind. Rejection. Her first from a man, but far from the first time she’d been passed over.
Still, it had hurt and left her confused. When she’d finally gone after him, she’d found him lounging on a sofa in the bar with a beautiful woman in his arms, their lips locked together in a passionate kiss.
That’s when she’d run from him with one intention—finding a means to ease the heartbreak.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, the question jarring her from the past.
“Nothing,” she said.
“You’re lying.”
She met his intense gaze with a spark of hostility. “I was thinking about the last time we shared a Scotch and how wretchedly it ended.”
The muscle along his jaw snapped taut, which only fueled her own annoyance. Then, as now, she’d meant nothing to him, which was fine by her.
“What happened that made it such a bad memory?” he asked.
“You rebuffed my congratulatory kiss,” she said, because that’s what had started it.
What had happened after that would forever haunt her. Her dark secret.
He snorted. “That was not what your kiss implied.”
“You can’t know that.” He couldn’t have known she’d been wearing her heart on her sleeve. That she’d slowly fallen for him.
He nodded and splashed Scotch into two heavy glasses. “You were very young, Caprice. Nineteen?”
“Twenty.” Barely.
“I did you a favor by walking away from you instead of taking you straight to my bed.”
How different her life might have been if he only had. What was done was done. She couldn’t change things now, but she could remember the lesson well.
“I’m sure you’re right,” she said.
He nodded. Frowned. “Now that we’ve settled that, will you join me for a Scotch? Or would you prefer something else?”
“No. Scotch is fine,” she said as she took the heavy glass from him, the brush of their fingers jolting her again. This time she couldn’t hide her flush.
He lifted one eyebrow. “Something else is bothering you.”
“No. I’m just tired.” She took a sip and caught her breath as the slightly spiced heavy liquor warmed her tongue and throat. “I forgot how good this was.”
He smiled but kept his gaze on her, and the barely leashed energy pulsing between them had her tension strung high. “It will get better if you let it.”
She blinked, unsure if he meant the liquor, this tenuous rapport they struggled to hold on to, or something else, and chose to believe it was the former.
“Yes, I think it will, too,” she said, trying for a similar nonchalance.
“Count on it.” He finished his drink and poured another. Instead of taking himself off to a private location, he eased down into the chair across from her.