For some reason he still couldn’t comprehend, he’d almost told her that.
Of course, he had not done anything so foolish. Instead, he’d kissed her.
“If you can get over your penchant for cold and snow,” he’d said, with a little smile, “we can fly to the Caribbean some weekend and you can help me house-hunt. I’ve been thinking about buying a place in the islands.”
Her smile had been soft. “I’d like that,” she’d said. “I’d like it very, very much.”
Instantly, he’d realized what a mistake he’d made. He’d asked her to take a step into his life and he’d never meant to do that.
He’d never mentioned the Caribbean again. Not that it mattered, because two weeks later, she’d walked out on him.
Walked out, he thought now, his jaw tightening. Left him to come up with excuses explaining her absence at all those endless Christmas charitable events he was expected to attend.
But he’d solved that problem simply enough.
He’d found replacements for her. He’d gone through that season with an endless array of beautiful women on his arm.
On his arm, but not in his bed. It had been a long time until he’d had sex after Taylor, and even then, it hadn’t been the same.
The truth was, it still wasn’t. Something was lacking.
Not for his lovers. He knew damned well how to make a woman cry out with pleasure but he felt—what was the word? Removed. That was it. His body went through all the motions, but when it was over, he felt unsatisfied.
Taylor was to blame for that.
What in hell had possessed him, to let her walk away? To let her think she’d ended their affair when she hadn’t? A man’s ego could take just so much.
By Monday, his anger was at the boiling point. When the private investigator turned up at his office, he greeted him with barely concealed impatience.
“Well? Surely you’ve located Ms. Sommers. How difficult can it be to find a woman in this city?”
The man scratched his ear, took a notepad from his pocket and thumbed it open.
“See, that was the problem, Mr. Russo. The lady isn’t in this city. She’s in…” He frowned. “Shelby, Vermont.”
Dante stared at him. “Vermont?”
“Yeah. Little town, maybe fifty miles from Burlington.”
Taylor, in a New England village? Dante almost laughed trying to picture his sophisticated former lover in such a setting.
“The lady has an interior decorating business.” The P.I. turned the page. “And she’s done okay. In fact, she just applied for an expansion loan at—”
The P.I. rattled on but Dante was only half listening. He knew where to find Taylor. Everything else was superfluous.
How surprised she’d be, he thought with grim satisfaction, to see him again. To hear him tell her that she hadn’t needed to leave him, that he’d been leaving her—
“…just for the two of them. I have the details, if you—”
Dante’s head came up. “Just for the two of what?” he said carefully.
“Of them,” the P.I. said, raising an eyebrow. “You know, what I was saying about the house she inherited. A couple of realtors suggested she might want something newer and larger but she said no, she wanted a small house in a quiet setting, just big enough for two. For her and, uh…I got the name right here, if you just give me a—”
“A house for two people?” Dante said, in a tone opponents had learned to fear.
“That’s right. Her and—here it is. Sam Gardner.”
“Taylor.” Dante cleared his throat. “And Sam Gardner. They live together?”