without feeling … undone!”
His eyes flashed with more hunger, more need, more frustration. “Baby, you undo me, too. The
problem with your parents wasn’t that they loved each other too much, it was that they loved
themselves more and were too damned proud to fucking forgive when the other screwed the hell up!”
The words, though oddly true, stung fierce as whiplashes. “How dare you judge my parents!” she
gasped, then she was storming down the hall, unable to look at him any longer.
“Monica, I’m sorry…” He came walking behind her.
“Fuck you, Daniel. I don’t even want to be your friend anymore.”
“Damn you, I’m sorry.” Fiercely he grabbed her mid-step and spun her around. “We might hurt
each other sometimes, that’ll be inevitable, but we’ll work it out. Hell, it’s my turn, Monica! Jesus,
you’ve made me stand back and watch other men take my place at the side of the woman I love for
years!”
“I don’t want love, I’ve never wanted love. The only reason I came to sleep with you was to see if
sleeping with you would get it out of me!”
“How’s that fucking working out for you, huh? Is that all you made it out to be?” He caught her face
between his hands and dropped his head to hers, nuzzling her softly, making her knees liquefy as he
nibbled her nose. “Come with me to the Fall gala next weekend. As mine. My partner. My woman.”
Every effort in her body was focused on suppressing the shiver his touch, his words, his presence,
elicited. “I can’t.”
He lowered his head and grazed her lips with his, seducing her with his words, his warm breath.
“You can’t, or you won’t?” he urged.
“I can’t. I’m going with Roland.”
He pulled back with a jolt, stunned, and Monica quickly took this advantage to put even more
distance between them. His face had gone blank, and her chest throbbed in a way she had never
imagined it could possibly hurt. She felt like she had physically hurt him, like she had physically
struck him with a paddle.
His voice was completely alien, a whisper full of pain and anguish and anger. “He’s not even what
you want, damn you.”
“But he’s what I choose, Daniel.” Her voice shook uncontrollably. “You’re the prince of this city,
whether you like it or not. You’re … you’ll forget about me. And maybe we can be friends in a couple
of years, like last time. I can’t do this, please understand. Good-bye, Daniel.” She pushed the button
on the wall so that the heavy doors parted, and then she walked through them and out of his life.
* * *
The instant the doors closed behind her, Daniel spun around in a blinding rage. He grabbed the remote
for his intelligence system, and slammed it impulsively into the wall, then he charged down his hall,
all the while hating her, loving her. Hating her cowardice. Hating his own.
He was soon in the shower, leaning his head against the cold marble wall, cursing her to hell,
cursing his life to hell, wondering why in the hell he had to be in love with the one woman who didn’t
want him, who didn’t need him, who didn’t want to love him.
He groaned and slammed the heel of his palm into the wall, dying of sheer frustration. Before
heading to the office, he stopped by Graves’s place. He was his best friend. The last time Daniel had
been here, he had found out he was sleeping with Chloe, and he’d smashed Graves’s face in. Now he
arrived to find his friend partially dressed in slacks and an open dress shirt, Chloe in a similar shirt
that almost swallowed her up. Upon seeing her brother, she came up to him with her big concerned
eyes, just like his, and wrap her arms around him just like he needed her to. “Danny, what’s wrong?”
He was just silent, putting his head against hers. She was little and sweet, his sister, and he wanted
to sag from the goddamned tension of battling with Monica this morning. Chloe was so warm, so
giving … why couldn’t Monica love him like she loved Graves? Goddamn it, why couldn’t Monica
love him, period!
“Danny, talk to me.”
He dragged in a breath, then scraped a hand down her hair, missing the tender softness of Monica’s
body against him, the way she went when she put down all her walls and put the damned Ice Maiden to
bed, so there was only Monica in his arms, warm and taunting, hungry and wanting …
“I need a date for Saturday’s gala, Chlo. Would you mind if I stole you for a couple of hours that
evening?” he asked her, then he glanced Graves, who watched, dark and somber, from the kitchen.