“Of course. I’m perfectly happy.” And yet she did miss human connection sometimes. Not that she would admit that to him. She would not give him fuel for the fire he was building.
His expression grew sultry. “All those nights when I sent you away, when another woman joined me in my bed—did you think of me, Emily?”
She gasped. “Of course not—”
“Did you want to be the one beneath me?”
“No!”
He leaned toward her then, his eyes intense. “Did you lie in your lonely bed, touching yourself, pretending it was me?”
She couldn’t speak as pain bloomed deep in her soul. Not because she’d done what he said—but a dark part of her had wanted to. And he knew it. Somehow, he knew it. The pain spread through her in waves, knotted her belly, clenched her throat tight. She was choking, choking on rage and hate and—and longing, damn him.
Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes then. She turned her head and dashed them away. She’d known he was ruthless in business. She’d known he always won. She hadn’t known he was cruel. She hadn’t known the depths to which he could make her sink in despair, or the fathoms-deep hatred she could feel for him.
She wanted to speak, wanted to metaphorically slap him down. Wanted to deflate his ego—and, yes, his penis—all in one well-timed verbal blow. She wanted to decimate him.
And she couldn’t find the words. Nothing would dredge itself up from the recesses of her brain. Nothing happened. Nothing except a long, taut silence that seemed to stretch forever but was in reality only a few moments.
The car came to a stop. Emily didn’t care if they’d reached their destination or if they were only stopped at a traffic light. She yanked the handle and the door swung open, spilling in light and hot air and the sounds of Milan.
Kadir reached for her, but she slipped his grip and stumbled onto the street. Then she ran. She could hear Kadir shout at her, but she kept going, losing herself in the crowd, running blindly as the tears she’d been holding in finally spilled over and rushed down her cheeks.
CHAPTER SIX
KADIR CURSED HIMSELF as he ran down the crowded street after her. What the hell had he been thinking? Why had he been so needlessly vicious? Emily was his assistant, the closest thing he had to a friend in some respects, and she was doing him a favor.
And he had ripped into her as though she was just another gold-digging social climber. Worse, as though he hated her. He’d shredded her as if it was nothing, and that shamed him. What kind of man was he? What kind of man attacked those weaker than himself?
He couldn’t say why he’d done it, except that he’d been irritated when she’d asked him so plainly why he didn’t just tell his father what he wanted. As if it was that easy. He wasn’t accustomed to explaining himself to anyone, and here she was, making what she thought was a simple suggestion when it was far more difficult than anything she could imagine.
And then she’d thrown Lenore in his face. All right, so he’d mentioned Lenore first—but then she’d kept on going, her contempt so evident. He’d simply had too much. He’d told her something personal, admitted his loneliness to her—and then he’d felt the need to lash out, to make her pay in kind.
He should have stopped much sooner than he did. He should have stopped when she’d gotten the point. But of course he hadn’t. Driven by his need to win, to crush, to control, he’d kept going until he’d hurt her.