The Morning After

CHAPTER SIX

CÉSAR WAS still there, standing by the open window on the other side of the bed, gazing out at a moonlit sea. He was dressed again, in a fresh white shirt and a pair of casual trousers. His hair had been severely contained once again.

Like the man, she decided hollowly—back under control.

Someone had removed the wet clothes, and the bed had been tidied. Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered.

Ignoring him, she moved over to a big, apricot-coloured easy chair and, snatching up the scatter cushion lying on it, sat down, curling herself into it, hugging the cushion to her breasts.

‘Why?’ he demanded quietly—nothing else. It really was not necessary to add anything else.

‘People see what they want to see,’ she answered flatly. She could have said more but didn’t. She didn’t want to talk at all. She just wanted to sit here and wallow in the aftermath of a holocaust.

He moved, turning his tense body a little so that he could look at her. The movement made her glance warily at him, her huge blue eyes that had lost all their self-protecting veils clashing with a tight, grim face emptied of most of its beautiful colour. He was holding his lips in a straight, tight line, as if the teeth behind them were fiercely clenched, his chiselled jaw set under the pressure.

His eyes were dark and sombre, the truth overlaying his earlier contempt with remorse.

No. She looked down and away again as compassion for him began to swell inside her. But she was too full with her own dark thoughts just now to deal with his.

And anyway, even though she was aware that maybe half of the blame for what had taken place between them had to lie at her own feet—or those of the Annie Lacey she had so carefully deceived everyone with—she could not forgive him his soulless seduction.

Would not forgive him.

He had got her here to this island under false pretences. He had insulted and threatened her, then coolly blackmailed her before offering the final indignity of ruthlessly seducing her.

If he’d wanted his revenge, he had it. She only hoped that he was satisfied with his results.

Oh, God help me, she thought on a sudden well of absolute despair, and began to sob softly, brokenly into the protection of the cushion.

‘Hell.’ The thickened curse came from very close by. He was squatting down in front of her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured deeply. ‘What else can I say? I swear to you, I never meant to hurt you like this.’

No? He had set out to hurt her from the very moment they’d met. If it hadn’t been this way then it would have been another. He’d seen only the persona, which made the rest of what had happened such a sick joke because, in the end, even he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off Annie Lacey, the super-tramp.

And the angry way he’d lost control of himself had told her just how much he’d despised himself for it.

‘Leave me alone,’ she whispered. ‘I just w-want to be left alone.’

He sighed, the heavy sound disturbing the air around her naked shoulders and she shivered.

‘You’re cold,’ he said, with a kind of rough gentleness that made her want to weep all the more. ‘Let me help you into bed, then I will—’

‘No!’ His hand had come out to touch her; she reared away from him like a terrified animal. Her tear-washed face came out of the cushion, and in sheer self-preservation Annie Lacey surged furiously back to life. ‘You’ve had what you wanted from me—now get out of here. Get out!’

Eyes as dark as the ocean beyond the window held onto stormy blue. He didn’t flinch from the contempt she seared at him, did not respond to it. And for a moment out of time they stayed like that, he squatting there while she leaned accusingly towards him.

The damner being damned.

But even as she huddled there, flaying him with her eyes, she felt the lazy beginnings of other emotions start to flutter into corrupting life. Her pulse began to race, her aching breasts to stir, her senses pumping soft, sensual messages to the muscles around her sex.

His fault! He had done this to her—awoken demons she had believed so thoroughly shut away! And she hated him for that too, because it showed that no matter how degrading the revelation that had taken place in this room, she’d liked it, and wanted more.

Oh, God. ‘Get out of here, you bastard,’ she whispered thickly, and lowered her face again—though her senses were on full alert. Bastard he might be, but a proud one. And she was sure that he would not take kindly to having the word spat into his face.

Yet—he did take it; with only another heavy sigh he took it and drew himself grimly to his feet. ‘At least get yourself into bed, Angelica,’ he advised quietly. ‘Or you will catch a chill sitting there like that. I will send Margarita up with some food.’ He was walking towards the door. ‘Perhaps by tomorrow you will be ready to talk. I will see you then.’

Annie waited until she heard the quiet click as the door closed behind him before

she began crying all over again.