he shook his head. ‘It’s the way you wear it,’ he said slowly.
‘Or rather, the way you perceive it—which is your problem, not mine. Make up your mind what it is you want because I haven’t got the time or the appetite for this. And now, if you’ll excuse me—’ she lifted her chin in as haughty a gesture as he’d ever seen her use ‘—I really do need to get on with serving dinner.’
He wanted to reach out and stay her with a hungry kiss but something stopped him and it wasn’t just pride. It was anger. And jealousy—and he didn’t do jealousy or possession.
But the true and very bitter fact seemed to be that he did.
He forced himself to snap out of his foul mood and, since he often hosted dinners without a woman by his side, it shouldn’t have been a problem. Seamus and Erin were easy company and Salvatore di Luca’s latest squeeze worked for the United Nations and had some very illuminating things to say about the current political situation in Europe, which usually would have interested him. But for once he found his attention wandering and the biggest fly in the ointment was Brett Henderson flirting like crazy with Tara. And she wasn’t exactly discouraging him, was she? Did she really have to simper like that as she told him how much she’d enjoyed the film in which he’d played a shape-shifting wizard?
Lucas was forced to watch as the mellifluous Englishman returned the love-fest by purring all kinds of compliments about his housekeeper’s home-made lasagne.
‘A really lovely woman in a nearby Italian store taught me how to make fresh pasta!’ she was telling him proudly.
‘What, here? In cynical old New York City?’ joked Seamus.
‘Tara has a particular naïve charm all of her own,’ said Lucas coolly, and he couldn’t miss the look of fury she directed at him as she brought out the tiramisu.
Eventually they all went home and Lucas tried to ignore the sound of Brett asking Tara for her email address. And it wasn’t until Seamus and Erin had extracted a promise that the housekeeper would attend a ceilidh at the embassy that they finally took their leave.
The apartment seemed very big and very quiet as Lucas walked back into the library and found Tara clearing away glasses. ‘Did you give Brett your email address?’ he demanded.
‘And if I did? Is that such a crime?’ She straightened up to look at him and he had never seen such a look of quiet fury in her eyes. ‘Unless you think...’ She shook her head as if in disbelief. ‘Unless you really think that I would encourage one man in a romantic fashion, when I’m in a physical relationship with another?’
Physical relationship. He didn’t like the sound of that, but he supposed he couldn’t doubt its accuracy. ‘You were sending out all kinds of mixed messages tonight.’
‘That’s all in your head,’ she retorted, bending towards the table once more. ‘I was being friendly, that’s all.’
‘Leave that,’ he said as she resumed putting crystal glasses onto a tray with such force he was surprised they didn’t shatter.
‘I’d rather do it now than in the morning.’
‘I don’t care—’
‘No,’ she interrupted suddenly and this time when she straightened up, the quiet fury in her eyes had been replaced with something stronger—something which blazed like fire. ‘You couldn’t have made that more plain if you’d tried! But maybe I’m fed up with the Lucas Conway approach to staff management! You taught me to cook something other than pie so I would be worthy of catering for your fancy guests and I ticked that off the list, didn’t I? Then you decided to dress me up like one of those paper dolls you find in a child’s magazine—and I went along with that, too. Heaven forbid that I should look like some screwball! But you’re still not satisfied, are you, Lucas? And nothing ever will satisfy you, because basically you don’t know yourself and you have no desire to learn about yourself, because you’re a coward.’
The room went very silent. ‘Excuse me?’ he questioned, his words like ice. ‘Did you just call me a coward?’
‘You heard exactly what I said.’
Tara met his stony gaze and couldn’t quite believe she’d done it but she couldn’t back out now, no matter what the repercussions might be. Because she loved him and she wanted him to stop running away from his past—even if that meant the end of what the two of them shared. And even if it was, would that really be such a great loss? You couldn’t really share anything with a man with no emotions, could you? A man who resolutely refused to allow himself to feel stuff.
‘You can’t live properly until you reconcile yourself with your past—and I don’t think I can carry on like this until you do,’ she breathed. ‘Maybe you don’t have any living blood relatives, but isn’t that something which warrants a little investigation? Don’t you want to know why your mother sold you? To find out who your real father is and whether either of them are alive? To discover whether she had any more children and if you have any brothers or sisters?’ Her face suddenly crumpled. ‘I know that when I—’
‘No!’ Furiously, he cut across her—the slicing wave of his hand a gesture of finality. ‘I’m done with confessionals and I certainly don’t want to waste any more of my evening listening to you, while you start unburdening your soul. To be honest, I’m tired, and I’m bored. I don’t know how many times I’ve told you that I never wanted that kind of relationship and unless you can accept that, then I agree—we have no kind of future. So perhaps you might like to think about that. And now, if you’ll excuse me—I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.’
Tara’s heart was pounding with shock as he turned and walked out of the library without another word. She could hear his footsteps going upstairs, along the corridor towards the master bedroom, and just for a moment she actually considered following him, until she drew herself up short.
Was she completely insane? He might as well have taken out a full-page ad in The Washington Post, saying, Leave me alone. He’d told her he’d see her in the morning, and he’d done it with that cold and condemning look in his eyes. That wasn’t the action of a man who wanted to cuddle and make up—that was a man who had been pushed to his limits. He was angry with her—but not nearly as angry as she was with herself. How long was she planning to hang around and get treated like someone who didn’t really matter? Because she did matter. Not just for her baby’s sake, but for her own.
She crept along to the second bedroom, uncomfortably aware that this was only the second night they’d spent apart since they’d resumed their sexual relationship—and she thought how big and lonely the bed seemed without him. Predictably, sleep was a long time in coming and when it did, dawn was just beginning to edge into the sky because she hadn’t bothered to close the drapes.
When she awoke, the apartment was completely silent and, quickly, she got out of bed, wandering from room to room looking for Lucas, knowing with a sinking sense of certainty that she wasn’t going to see him. The lingering aroma of coffee and some juiced halves of orange were the only signs of his presence. He must have had breakfast and then left. She looked around to see if there was a note, but of course there wasn’t. And a huge pang of stupid longing swept over her as she tried to imagine what it would be like if he was the kind of man who left little messages dotted around the place. Affectionate words or cartoons, scribbled onto Post-it notes and stuck to the front of the refrigerator or left lying on a pillow. But those things only happened in films. or between real-life couples who genuinely loved one another. He’d only ever left her a note once before—when he’d brought forward his New York trip after they’d slept together and he’d told her he’d give her a good reference!
Back then he couldn’t wait to get away from her and she wouldn’t be here now if that night hadn’t produced a child. Lucas would have moved on. And so would she. She’d have found herself a job as housekeeper to someone else and would now be throwing herself enthusiastically