And in that moment she realized how much not knowing what she’d been doing or who she’d been seeing, was tearing him apart. Behind that hard exterior, he was a man of passion, a jealous man and no doubt unable to rid himself of the notion that she’d given the precious necklace to a lover.
She gulped back her sadness. “Then do what you can.”
He shrugged off his jacket. She came to him and unzipped his trousers, sweeping open his shirt, her hands brushing over his strong dark body. All he had on was his open shirt and the tie that still dangled carelessly. He looked at her hard and hurt at the same time as he dragged her dress up to her hips. Then he turned her around, bent her over the settee and came into her from behind.
He thrust into her, taking her with a devastating rhythm which made her cry out before he was ready. She gripped onto the edge of the settee as he continued to thrust into her, his rhythm quickening and he came inside her, shooting his seed deep into her body with a grunt. He pulled out of her and brought her to a standing position, his hands loosely around her waist. “Is that what you wanted, Taina?” he whispered in a devastating imitation of tenderness.
She refused to cry. She couldn’t help but be turned on by him, still. But it had nothing to do with her need for an emotional connection with him.
“Is it?” he repeated. She nodded her head and then dragged off the sofa throw and pulled it around her and walked into the bedroom and locked the door.
CHAPTER FOUR
Taina awoke at the same time she’d awoken each of the past ten mornings since that fight and did the same thing—lay there alone in the enormous bed and listened. But she listened in vain because there was no sound.
She propped herself up on the white and coffee-colored pillows and looked blankly out the uncurtained window. She didn’t recognize the sweeping harbor that spread before her, veiled in that curious half-light of pre-dawn. It would be that way for a few more hours yet. She’d forgotten the beauty of light that was not light. And she’d forgotten what it was like to be alone. She’d made sure she’d never been alone in the year she’d been away. And she’d paid the cost.
She rose, unhooked her ivory silk robe from the chair and, tying it around her, walked over to the floor-to-ceiling triple-glazed windows of the inner city apartment. The awakening lights of Helsinki spread below her like a jeweled veil. It was still mostly dark at that hour even though it was now May and the first signs of summer were appearing—usually a reason for celebration, but not for her, not now.
She hadn’t seen Daidan since that night when they’d had sex—there was no way she could call it making love—after which he’d disappeared into thin air. He hadn’t come to bed and he must have left the apartment in the small amount of time she’d managed to sleep. He’d been gone by the time she’d reached the office. The official line was that he’d been called suddenly to Amsterdam on business.
He’d left her no note, no email, nothing to explain his sudden absence. She was sure it was in response to what had happened because his staff appeared equally surprised.
Did he hate her so much because she’d given away the necklace? Did the fact that she was so ready for him despite the fact he believed she’d had an affair, so turned on by him, disgust him? Whatever the reason it was obvious that he regretted his part of the bargain. He didn’t want to be anywhere near her.
She walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower as she looked at herself in the mirror. At least he could get away, she thought bitterly. She had to live with the self-hate. She turned away from her reflection not wanting to see herself, so perfect, so blond, so beautiful—and so ugly inside. That’s what she did, wasn’t it? Turned love into something negative. It was her curse.
She opened her robe and looked at her body under the harsh bathroom light. It was good that she’d insisted that the lights be turned down, that he hadn’t seen her. He hadn’t understood but it was better that he didn’t know. Not yet.
Then she let her hands drift down to her sex and she pressed against it and closed her eyes, imagining Daidan’s hands against her body as they were ten nights before. Her senses were still heightened by the sex and by her own emotional needs which the lovemaking had stirred, despite the intervening days.
Daidan hadn’t kissed her and he’d not caressed her other than intimately. He’d given her what she’d asked for and nothing more. Did she want more? She opened her eyes.
She hadn’t looked beyond a child, beyond the sex act, when she’d decided to return. She’d thought they could have the kind of family life her parents had had—distant but functional—at least it had been in the beginning. She hadn’t imagined it would be this hard, having him physically but not having him emotionally.