“Easy or not, you did it,” he said and as memory and anger roared into life inside him, his accent became more pronounced. He heard it in his whispered words, but couldn’t seem to tame it. “I have never been used before or since. That makes you special, Teresa. And I won’t rest until you’ve returned my property and paid for what you did.”
“I have paid,” she told him and her voice sounded unbelievably weary. “For five years, I’ve paid for what I did, Rico. But it doesn’t matter what I say, does it? You won’t believe me.”
“No,” he agreed. “I won’t. That’s the downside of being a liar. Even when you claim to be telling the truth, no one will listen.”
How the hell could he? She’d ripped him in two when she disappeared. Never before or since had he allowed a woman to slip into his life as Teresa Coretti had. She’d crept past his defensive shields and burrowed her way into his heart. His soul. In the short time they were together, she’d given him more than he had ever hoped to find.
Then she’d been gone.
And the cold that had filled him once he’d learned that she and her family had used him had never really ebbed. Being beside her now, he felt sexual heat, but even that wasn’t enough to burn off the stinging chill of the memory of her betrayal.
All around them, couples leaned across tables, laughing and talking in soft murmurs that added to the romance of the room. But here at his table, there was a distance between him and Teresa that might as well have been a brick wall.
“Then why are we here?” she asked after several long moments of silence. “If you don’t want to talk to me or hear my side of things, why didn’t you just lock me in your bedroom?”
Good question. But the answer wasn’t one he was ready to give her. How could he admit to her that having her standing there in his room had pushed every one of his buttons? She’d been too close, the situation too intimate. He’d needed time. Time to think about exactly how he wanted this to go. Time to get his own raging need under control. Because he wouldn’t be led around by his sexual desire. This time, where Teresa was concerned, he wouldn’t allow his brain to be clouded by desire.
“Have to eat.” His tone was dismissive and the sentence short and sharp. He wanted her to know that it didn’t matter to him that she was sitting beside him smelling like hot summer nights.
“Fine. We’ll eat.” She took another long drink of her champagne, then sighed heavily. “Then maybe you can tell me exactly what you expect of me for the next month.”
His body stirred. Oh, he expected plenty. “I think you already know.”
She closed her eyes briefly. “I suppose I do. Not getting enough action from the models and actresses you squire around?”
One eyebrow arched. “Been keeping track of me? Flattering.”
“Not really,” she said with a sniff. “It’s hard not to know what you’re up to when you’re splashed across magazines and newspapers—complete with pictures of you and the bimbo of the week.”
“My life is none of your business.” He scowled at her and left it at that. He didn’t care for the disapproval in her voice. She was the one who had walked out. Who was she to pass judgment on anything he did? Let her think what she would. Her opinion of him meant less than nothing, didn’t it?
“You’re right. It’s not my business. But answer one question for me. Why didn’t you just let me go five years ago? Why stop the divorce and go to the trouble of sending me a forged decree?”