Not Just the Boss's Plaything(66)

She jerked her gaze away from Cayo's now, reaching blindly for her wine,    no longer caring what it might do to her. It was better than what he    was doing to her simply by listening. By making her feel safe when  there   was no such thing. She knew that better than most.

"And your brother?" Cayo asked after a moment. "Your twin? You're not close with him either?"

It shocked her. It felt like a kick in the stomach, an attack, and her    first reaction was pure, unadulterated fury. And then, if she was    honest, a lot of it was that same old, terrible guilt she always felt    where Dominic was concerned.

"Not as such, thanks," she snapped at Cayo, not caring if she was being unfair. "As he's dead."

And then she hated herself. So deeply and so comprehensively it made her    feel ill. She slid the wineglass back onto the table and wrapped her    arms around her middle, certain she needed help to keep herself    together.

Cayo didn't look away. He gave no indication that he minded that she'd    snapped at him like that, out of nowhere. He simply sat much too still    and much too close across the table, watching her fall apart.

"I'm sorry," he began after a moment, his voice calm.

"No," she interrupted him, her words feeling thick in her mouth. "I'm    sorry. I shouldn't have said it like that. How would you know? Only it    was rather recent and I've still not managed to figure out how to talk    about it. About him."

"Recent?" Cayo frowned then. He looked as close to confused as she'd    ever seen him. "What do you mean by recent? I don't recall you taking    any time off."

In the past five years. He didn't have to say that part. It was understood.

"Time off?" She shook her head, then let out a hollow little sound, not    really a laugh at all. "It's not as if you give out any personal time,    Cayo. I can't imagine even having asked for time off. Look how you    reacted to my resignation."

That muscle leapt in his jaw, betraying his temper. His eyes went black    with something that looked again like pain. Tortured and grim, the way    he'd looked that night in Milan. It made her want to reach over and    touch him, soothe him. And once more, she deeply regretted her words  the   moment they hung in the sweet night air between them, but she  couldn't   seem to stop herself. And she couldn't take them back.                       
       
           



       

"Yes," he said after a moment in a deep, rough voice she hardly    recognized. "Of course. I am such a heartless monster that I would keep    you from your brother's funeral, purely out of spite."

Her own heart seemed to tighten at that, and she shook her head. "That's not what I meant."

"After all," he continued in the same dark and bitter tone that made her    want to weep and to protect him, somehow, from whatever made him  sound   that way, even if it was her, "what do I know of family? You are  the   only person in the world who knows how little regard my own  grandfather   held for me. You heard him. You are also the only person  in the world   who has maintained any kind of close relationship with me  for any length   of time." His smile then hurt to see. "You would  certainly know how   little qualified I am to speak on the subject of  families."

She felt awful, and it moved in her like heat. Like fear. And she couldn't stand it.

"Don't be an idiot," she said, almost crossly.

He froze. His dark eyes widened.

"I said I doubted you would give me time off," she said, very    distinctly. "You are a demanding boss, Cayo. You insist on    round-the-clock availability and access. I had no reason to think you    would greet the news that I even had a personal life with anything but    horror."

"You have no idea what I would do," he replied tightly.

"I know exactly what you would do," she retorted. "It's what you pay me    for. What you offered me three times my salary and the private island   of  my choice for, if memory serves."

For a moment he only looked at her. The moment stretched out between    them, and despite what she'd just told him, Dru had no idea how he would    react. None at all.

And then, impossibly, proving how little she knew him after all, he threw back his head and laughed.

She'd never known he could laugh. It was an infectious sound. Joy moved    across his hard, fierce face, the laughter lighting him up, changing    him, changing her-

The truth slammed into her, stealing her breath, making her head spin.    The scales fell from her eyes, and hard-so hard they seemed to bruise    her on their way down.

She was in love with him.

And quite clearly, she had been for a very long time.

Once again, she'd been fooling herself. She'd called it an    "infatuation," called it her "feelings for him." She'd minimized it in    her own head, worrying only that this trip would take recovering from.    She hadn't dared so much as think the truth. Meanwhile, she'd chosen  to   lose herself in his life. She'd never thought to ask why she'd been    passed over for that other job three years ago even though she'd  known   perfectly well she'd been qualified for it. Worse, she'd chosen  to keep   her distance from her brother-when he'd died, but even before,  if she   was honest. It was easier to send money from afar than it was  to roll   around in the messes Dominic had made, though it hurt her to  admit she'd   done exactly that. She'd done all of it.

All to cater to and care for a man who would never love her back. Who hadn't the slightest idea what love was.

Then again, came that voice inside her, brutal and unflinching, do you?

The world seemed to tilt around her wildly, sickeningly, as if she'd    found herself trapped on some carnival fun ride. She felt a terrible    shame wash through her, scalding her. She'd wanted her damaged, selfish    mother to love her as she should have done. She'd wanted all of those    stepfathers to love her like a daughter. She'd wanted Dominic to love    her more than his addictions. And Cayo... He couldn't love anything,    could he? So she'd settled for making him need her instead. And she'd    thought he valued her for that, if nothing else.

Was that what she'd wanted, in his office that day that seemed so long    ago now? Had some part of her believed she would fling her resignation    at him, still smarting from the printed email she'd found, and he  would   leap to his feet and declare his love for her?

Of course he hadn't. No one ever had, and Cayo wouldn't know how, even    if he did feel the things she did. Her entire life was a great and    complicated monument to deeply pathetic, sadly epic, and wholly    unrequited love.                       
       
           



       

She was such a fool.

And he was watching her now, that unexpected laughter still on his face,    making him more than simply beautiful in that hard, fierce way-making    him handsome, too. Almost approachable.

It broke what was left of her heart.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his eyes still bright as they searched    hers, sharpening as they saw whatever must have been there-the truth,    she feared. The terrible truth she could never, ever let him know.

She didn't know how she did it.

"I'm fine," she managed to say. He frowned, no doubt at that shaky note    in her voice that made her sound anything at all but fine, so she    gestured at her mouth, and lied. "I've bit my tongue, that's all."

* * *

Time, it turned out, was the one thing Cayo couldn't control.

It was the afternoon of her final day-which neither one of them had    mentioned directly yet, though it hung there between them no matter how    many times he'd taken her the night before, or this morning-and he   could  not bring himself to pay attention to the conference call that   she was  participating in as his representative. He sat next to her at   the small  table in the office, his legs stretched out before him, and   found he  could do nothing at all but watch her as she spoke into the   speaker  phone in the center of the table.