'He's got a kid. He needs the money.'
'You should have thought of that before you blew him out.'
'If I'm going to be shadowed by a piece of meat, I want Beefy. I don't like the new man.'
'And I want you protected properly. Beefy made a mistake.'
'We all make mistakes.'
'Yes, we do.'
I grind to a halt. I'm not exactly sure he's talking about Beefy any more. I definitely need to waft the conversation in another direction. I'll make damn sure I get Beefy back some other time.
'So, are you going to punish me for this?'
'Punishment only extends to sexual matters.'
'No spanking then?'
'Oh, I'd love to give you a spanking.' He half-smiles. 'A proper spanking … on the bench.'
A flutter of want is quickly followed by shot of panic. As appealing as it is, if he spanks me tonight, then I'll only end up in some weird sort of trance, spilling the beans left, right and centre. And there's no way that's going to happen.
'Not tonight.'
'Why not?' He cocks his head. 'Scared you might say something?'
We're interrupted again, this time by a waiter carrying two plates of ravioli. He places the dishes in front of us, takes a bow and scurries away.
'That was quick.'
'I'd already ordered. He just asked if we're ready for our food. This is the best ravioli in London. I thought you'd enjoy it.' He gives me a small, evidently sarcastic smile.
Grabbing the salt, I liberally sprinkle it over my dinner before slamming the cellar back down and picking up a fork.
Dan eyes me with disapproval.
'You don't need salt on it. You'll spoil the taste.'
'It's already spoilt by you being an arse.'
I stab at a square of ravioli, raise it in front of my mouth and inspect it before taking the plunge. And oh dear God, it's amazing. If I wasn't currently locked into a battle of wits with a man who's clearly ready to explode, then I'd be groaning in food ecstasy.
'I'm not being an arse.' He spears a square of his own and begins to eat.
'I'd say you are. A big, fat controlling arse.'
And that does it. The façade crumbles. Confusion and disbelief battle for prime position on his face and when they're done with jostling, they simply give way to anger.
'How?' he demands.
'You've taken my keys. I'd call that controlling.'
'I gave you a car,' he growls. 'I gave you freedom. I also gave you protection. You don't get to use one without the other, not at the minute.'
'Freedom? How can you call it freedom when you're spying on me every step of the way?'
He slams down his fork, sits back and glares at the bar. 'For fuck's sake. Okay, so maybe I've started off a little heavy-handed.'
'Heavy-handed?' I laugh. 'I'd say so. Normal boyfriends don't spy on their girlfriends.'
'I told you. It's not spying.'
'Why can't you just be normal?'
'I wouldn't know where to begin.'
We glare at each other. I have no idea what's going through his mind, but I soften a little, reminding myself that he's anything but normal, and in the grand scheme of things, it's hardly his fault.
'Besides,' he goes on. 'Normal boyfriends don't have the likes of Ian Boyd to worry about.'
Seriously wishing that Ian Boyd would simply vanish from the face of the Earth, I push out a massive sigh.
'And I'm not paranoid, so you needn't start on that. Let's stick to the real issue here.'
'Which is?' I demand tartly.
'Trust.'
I just can't help it. That's a rich statement, coming from the king of secrets. I burst out laughing.
'Shush.' He casts me a warning glance.
'No, I will not shush. You're talking to me about trust?'
He picks up his fork and points it at me. 'I trusted you, and you threw it straight back in my face. Now, I don't know what you've been up to … '
Seeing as I'm not prepared to be lectured, I cut him off in mid-flow.
'I've already told you where I went, cloth ears.'
He spears a slice of pasta. 'And it doesn't add up.'
'There are plenty of things about you that don't add up.'
'Such as?'
Oh, where to start?
'Italy.'
His eyebrows squeeze together. 'I told you the truth.'
'Not all of it.'
'And what makes you say that?'
'Women's intuition.'
'Good old women's intuition,' he sneers.
And that gets me going. No man on Earth has the right to sneer at women's intuition. He's dicing with death.
'I tell you what, it's taken me a while but I'm finally learning to use it. And I can see it in your eyes when you're keeping things back.'
He pauses, for just a little too long, his lips straightening. And then he repeats his words: 'I told you the truth.'
'Of course you did … to a point. You tell the truth, but you just don't tell all of it. This happened before, Dan. I ignored the clues and you were hiding one big fuck-off secret from me. Well, guess what? I'm not ignoring the clues any more.'
His eyes widen. He shakes his head. And then he shifts his attention to the fork, turning it over, again and again, watching it glint in the light.
'So, what else is bothering you?' he asks.
I'm going to need all my resolve now.
'Why are you so cagey about the way you used to be? The whole BDSM thing?'
'I'm not cagey. It's in the past, that's all.'
'Is it?'
He narrows his eyes.
'I saw that change in you. When we got rough the other day, I saw it. You were exactly like you were with Claudine. It was like you were someone else.'
'It was a slip. A mistake.'
'The cold, hard dominant. The man you used to be.'
'A role I used to play,' he corrects me. 'And I don't want to play it any more. I don't want to be that man. I don't want to hide behind him.'
'But you spent a fifteen years hiding behind him. What were you hiding from?'
Dropping the fork, he sits back and stares at a glass. His eyes flicker. At last, he says one word.
'Hurt.'
So, that's it then? He behaved the way he did to avoid being hurt? I'm about to ask for a little clarification when he flips my thoughts upside-down.
'If you never get close to anyone, you never hurt them.' Still staring at the glass, he avoids all eye contact.
'Who have you hurt?' I demand.
Suddenly, I'm beginning to suffer from a serious attack of the heebie-jeebies, and as if he's trying to push straight past it, the answer comes immediately.
'Too many people.'
Moving quickly, he picks up the glass, takes a sip of water and places it back down, but I've seen enough: his hands are shaking.
'Who have you hurt?' I repeat, raising my voice.
'There's a time and a place for everything. This isn't it.'
And if you think you're dictating every single one of our conversations, you're very much mistaken.
'Your sisters?'
'Drop it,' he snarls.
'And who's to say you won't hurt me?'
'That's never going to happen. I'm different now.'
'Really? Do I just have to trust you on that one?'
He levels his gaze at me, breathing quickly.
'Yes.'
'It works both ways,' I remind him. 'Trust. And I can't trust you until I know everything.'
His jaw tightens. Suddenly, he's like a coiled spring. I should back off a little, take my time, tread warily. But now I'm thinking about Boyd and Tom and every single lie I've ever been told, every single deception that's ever screwed me over. It's all there at the back of my mind, urging me on.
'Tell me something,' he grumbles. 'How did we get from the subject of where you've been to the subject of me?'
'I don't know,' I grumble back. 'And why don't you tell me something while we're at it?'
'What?'
Fuelled by anger, I steel myself. I'm going to get to the bottom of this if it kills me.
'Why won't you see your sisters?'
The colour rises in his face.
'I told you. It's complicated.'
And maybe it's not. Maybe he's worrying over nothing. After all, even if he did behave like a complete bastard with Layla, she's ready to forgive and forget.
'What harm could it do?'
A vein throbs in his neck. His shoulders seem to tense.
'All you need to do is meet them and talk. You might even find out … '
'What?' he snaps.
My entire body gives a jolt. 'Don't push him,' the sensible half of my brain warns me. 'He's about to blow.' And as usual, I ignore it. I'm just not prepared to give in.
'They might have suffered too,' I offer. 'After you left.'
He shakes his head.
'Have you ever thought about that? Who your stepfather turned on next?'
He stares into space. 'No one,' he mutters. 'I'd gone. He must have had a fucking party.'
'Dan … '
It comes out of nowhere. In one swift movement, he swipes his plate onto the floor. The smash of crockery echoes round the room, leaving absolute silence in its wake. A waiter appears, hovers for a few seconds, and then he's gone again. In a panic, I stare at the mess on the floor, and then at the man in front of me. Barely able to breathe, he's holding on to the edge of the table, glowering at nothing in particular. I have no idea what he's about to do or say. All I know is I don't want to be around to witness it. I need to get out of here.
As I get to my feet, he looks up, suddenly alarmed.
'Don't go.'
He's moving now, and I don't have time to hesitate. Breaking into action, I bluster out through the front of the restaurant, yanking open the door and flinging myself into the night. I register the car, the bodyguard standing ready on the pavement, the fact that it's raining. And then I begin to run.