November Harlequin Presents 2(29)
‘Why?’
‘I told you,’ she said, gathering a sheet around her as she left the bed. ‘I have plans.’
‘Which don’t include me.’ It wasn’t a question.
‘That’s about the size of it, yes.’
He sat up, the good feeling he’d had all night sluicing away into a bowl of disgruntlement. ‘So what’s so damn important you can’t cancel it?’
She looked around for her underwear, then gave up and simply shrugged her dress over her head, dropping the sheet on the floor as she wriggled into the dress and zipped it up.
‘My sister’s coming home from holidays. I have to pick her up from the airport.’
‘I’ll take you,’ he decided. ‘I’d like to meet her.’
‘No!’
Her reply was so vehement that it stopped him in his tracks. ‘You don’t want me to meet your sister?’
‘There’s no need, that’s all.’
‘Then maybe we can hook up later.’
‘No.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘I don’t think so.’ She pulled on her shoes, stuffing her stockings into her bag. The fact she couldn’t be bothered to put them on when he was watching—pull that long length of glistening nylon up those legs after he’d had the pleasure of pulling them down—was the last straw.
He rounded the bed. ‘What’s going on here?’
‘Nothing’s going on. Why should it be?’
‘Then what’s wrong?’
‘Look. I just can’t stay with you, okay? And I can’t see you again.’
‘But what about last night?’
‘What about last night? I had too much to drink. You scratched an itch. Consenting adults and all that. It didn’t mean anything. Okay?’
His hackles were way up. ‘You didn’t have too much to drink. You were the one who asked me to make love—remember?’
She stood rigid, the green flecks in her hazel eyes sharp like daggers. ‘Does that sound like something the Morgan who’s worked with you for the last eighteen months would do?’
‘No…But—’
‘You see? I’d had too much to drink. Too much to celebrate. I’m sorry, Maverick, I’ll call a taxi and wait outside.
‘I’ll take you ho—’
‘Please,’ she said, holding up one hand. ‘We have to work together. I think it’s better for both of us if I just get a taxi and we don’t prolong this, don’t you?’
A muscle in his cheek twitched, the skin of his face suddenly looking too tight, too severely stretched over the planes and angles of his face. ‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘I think you’re absolutely right.’
She wasn’t going to cry. She sat sullenly in the cab all the way home, determined not to give in to tears while the cab driver ignored her need for silence and insisted on delivering a non-stop monologue about the lack of rain, the price of fuel and how to solve the Middle East crisis.
Thankfully he seemed to be happy with her grunt of assent every now and then, because she didn’t want to think about the weather, the drought or the crisis in the Middle East. Right now she had her own crisis to take care of, given the look of dark thunder Maverick had thrown at her as she’d walked out the door.
He was angry with her, furious at her for turning him down, for spending a night of pleasure with him and then leaving him cold. But what choice did she have?
It was better this way, better that he hated her and thought her flaky. He’d leave her alone now after what she’d done—leave Morgan alone come Monday morning! And that was what was important.
She let herself into her flat, wanting nothing more than a long, hot bath until she had to head to the airport to pick up her sister, when she noticed the flashing light on her answering machine.
Warily she approached it. Maverick, she guessed, Maverick unable as ever to take no for an answer.
But still she felt compelled to press the play button. There were two messages, it told her. Message one… She steeled herself for Maverick’s strident tones, had almost allowed herself to relax, when she recognised her sister’s usual greeting—until the next part of her message worked its way into Tegan’s sleep-deprived psyche…
‘I hope you’re getting on better with Maverick now because I’m afraid I might be over here a bit longer than anticipated…’
CHAPTER EIGHT
TEGAN reeled as her sister’s words sunk in—a tourist-bus crash…nobody seriously hurt…slight matter of a broken leg…about to be wheeled into surgery…
Surgery? That no doubt accounted for the brittle quality to her sister’s voice. Morgan sounded like she was still in shock or high on medication or both.