“Lucas,” Margot said at last. Something in her tone made a chill run down his spine, a chill that had nothing to do with the cold air he could feel faintly seeping in past the French doors.
He kept his voice as calm as he could. “What?”
“What happens if I let myself trust you?”
“You don’t trust me now?”
“You know what I mean.”
Without replying, he plucked the shot glass from her hand and led her over to the sofa, the one that faced the fireplace. He set both their glasses down on the heavy copper-topped cocktail table, then said, “Do you think I’m anything like Clay McAllister?”
A short, bitter laugh. “No.”
“Then why do you think I would treat you the same way?”
Her hands knotted in her lap. She wore a single coral ring on the middle finger of her right hand, but nothing else — no watch, no bracelet. He found he liked that, as her hands were slender and lovely, just like her, and didn’t need any other embellishment.
“I don’t know.” Her eyes were fixed on the fire. So she wouldn’t have to look at him. In that moment, he didn’t care, if it meant she might go on talking. “I guess because I’ve sort of gotten out of the habit of trusting people. Men, I mean.” She leaned forward and took one deliberate sip of her cognac before setting the glass back on the table. “Oh, that doesn’t sound right, either. It’s not like there was anyone after Clay.”
“No one?” Lucas asked, startled. She couldn’t possibly mean that she hadn’t been with a single person since her ex-fiancé dumped her. Or…could she?
Something of what he’d been thinking must have revealed itself on his face, because she slanted a sardonic sideways glance at him up through her eyelashes. “No relationships, I mean. Not much else, either. About four years ago, I was feeling a bit…pent-up…if you know what I mean. So I went into Sedona, and the film festival was going on. It was February. I met some guy who said he was a producer and that I had a great look. Maybe he really was, but I still could recognize a line when I heard one. Not that it mattered. I wasn’t looking for anything permanent. We both scratched our itch, and I went home to Jerome, and he went back to L.A., I suppose.”
She spoke coolly, as if the whole thing had happened to someone else, but Lucas noticed that she’d returned to watching the fireplace, as if she didn’t want to meet his eyes and find out how disappointed he was in her. Disappointment was probably the last thing he was feeling, though. Startled? Sure. Despite her cracks about casual sex the other day, he hadn’t thought she could let go of herself enough to be with someone she didn’t know. Or maybe that was exactly what she needed. Someone who didn’t have a clue about who — or what — she was, didn’t know her family history, didn’t know anything except that she was an available and attractive woman.
“You do what you have to do,” Lucas said, making sure his tone was completely neutral, with no hint of condemnation. “I don’t think anyone would fault you for what happened in Sedona — although some people might question why you only did it once.”
At that comment, she shifted on the couch so she was facing him. Her expression was hard to read. Maybe the tiniest bit confused? Then her lips twisted into a half-smile. “It took me enough effort to work up the nerve for that one time. And afterward….” A lift of the shoulders. “I wasn’t too happy with what I’d done. So I guess I just stopped thinking about that part of myself. It was easier that way.”
“And now?”
Her eyelids dropped, and she seemed to hesitate. “I don’t know, Lucas. Everything you’ve done for me so far — it’s incredible, and I know I should trust you, because I know Angela thinks the world of you, and she definitely doesn’t feel that way about everyone. And you’ve been such a gentleman — ”
“Except now,” he murmured, his instincts telling him to reach out and pull her to him now, to bring his mouth to hers, taste the lingering warmth of the cognac on her lips, and beneath that some indefinable sweetness which was simply her.
He felt no resistance from her, which was what he’d feared, even as he let himself kiss her. No, she opened her mouth to him, tasted him as well, pressed herself against him, and suddenly she was beneath him on the couch, her body lithe and eager, so warm, and he ran one hand ran over her, finding the curve of her breast….
And then he felt her push against him, heard her gasp, “Lucas, I can’t — ”