It had been a good decision to confront him. He had been truthful with her and, sure, the truth was hurting her all over, even in places that were too deep to access, but at least there were no unanswered questions in her head. She remembered the way she had left him—had left him with swarms of unanswered questions—and flinched with guilt.
‘Already? Don’t you want to hear what else I have to say?’
No, because I know it’ll hurt. But then walking away from him for ever would hurt too. What harm in delaying the inevitable by just a few more minutes? She sat back down and attempted to drink some of the coffee.
‘What else could there be to say, Angelo? You can congratulate yourself on taking away my pride. Now the scores are finally even.’
Angelo flushed darkly, not liking the way that sounded, but knowing that she had every right to level the accusation.
‘Poor Georgina. No wonder she came storming into my house. You took away hers as well, Angelo. Does that make you feel good?’
‘No. No, it doesn’t,’ he said grimly. ‘Her consolation is that she is well rid of me. She would have had a miserable marriage.’
‘Big of you. I’m sure she’s feeling very consoled already when she thinks about that.’
‘Dammit, Francesca!’ He ran his hands through his hair and stood up abruptly, pushing the chair back.
‘I know. Horrible, isn’t it? Having a woman answer you back. I may have changed in three years, Angelo, but I haven’t changed that much. I still speak my mind. Oh, I forgot, that’s one of the reasons I was so unsuitable.’
‘But one of the reasons why you fire me up.’ He came to stand by her and leaned down so that his face was inches away from hers. ‘Georgina never fired me up.’
‘And I’m supposed to feel flattered by that?’ She felt her pulses quicken as she breathed him in, that unique, male scent with just the merest hint of aftershave that sent her senses soaring. She gulped and wished that she had left when she had the chance. Now she would have to push him out of the way to get past and she didn’t want to touch him, didn’t trust herself.
‘Just like I feel flattered that you slept with me even when you thought that I was engaged to another woman. So you see, the scores are even.’
‘Don’t do that.’
‘What?’
‘Twist things around.’
‘Is that what I’m doing? Or am I only being utterly truthful? I wanted you, Francesca, even when I was engaged to be married. Against all odds. That’s saying something, isn’t it?’
‘What is it saying, Angelo?’ Her breath caught in her throat at the expression in his eyes as they darkened.
‘That we’re still attracted to one another after all this time and despite all the water that’s flowed under the bridge.’ He straightened up, giving himself time to get his act together and his raging body time to cool down. ‘Let’s finish this in the sitting room. Kitchen chairs are too uncomfortable for a full and frank discussion about how much we still want each other.’
Francesca stood up and heard herself mumble a weak refusal which he ignored, taking her hand instead and leading her out of the kitchen and into the sitting room.
It seemed the most natural thing in the world for her fingers to be entwined in his. Years ago, they used to walk like this, hand in hand, enjoying everything life had to offer. But this was now and it amazed her to find that it still felt good to be holding his hand, even though so much bad feeling stood between them. It hardly seemed possible but here she was, allowing herself to be led towards the sitting room. Away from the front door.
Sunshine poured into the sitting room and Angelo went to the windows and half closed the wooden shutters, immediately reducing the bright light to subdued strips that accentuated the deep, warm colours in the room.
Francesca had moved to the sofa and he joined her there. His fingers still tingled from where hers had been touching them. Crazy, the sexual chemistry that still existed between them.
‘I meant what I said about…both of us having changed and I have a proposition for you.’ He leaned forward, arms resting lightly on his thighs, and linked his fingers together.
‘What kind of proposition?’
‘The kind that acknowledges what we have and what we can’t fight against.’ His voice was calm, cool and controlled. Francesca fought to follow suit. ‘An arrangement of sorts,’ he said conversationally. ‘One of a passionate nature. Passion with no strings attached. I never expected us to run into each other again and I certainly never expected that I would still be attracted to you, but we did and I am and you feel the same way.’