Damon, who recognised evasive action when he saw it, refused to be deflected. ‘So that’s it? We have hot sex all night and you don’t intend to mention it again?’
‘Basically, yes. I’d rather no one knew, obviously, because I don’t want all those nudges and winks, but I’m fairly sure you don’t want that either, so I’m not worried that you’ll say anything. Just forget it.’
She expected him to forget it? ‘Polly—’
‘Last night you kissed me to prove a point. I kissed you back to prove a point. It got a bit out of control.’
‘Are you saying you didn’t know what you were doing?’
‘Of course I knew what I was doing! I wasn’t drunk or anything.’ She gave a tiny shrug. ‘I don’t understand the post mortem. So we had sex? This is the twenty-first century. No one is involved except us. We used protection. What’s the problem?’
‘You’d never had sex before.’
‘Well, there’s a first time for everything.’ Her BlackBerry buzzed and she picked it up and opened an e-mail. ‘I’ve never visited Paris before either, so it’s been a time of firsts. What time are we flying home?’
Shocked by her matter-of-fact response to the situation, Damon failed to process that question. ‘So you have no intention of repeating the experience?’
‘Visiting Paris?’
He ground his teeth. ‘Sex.’
‘Some time, probably.’ Gathering up her notebook and pen, she stuffed them into her bag.
Goaded by her indifference, Damon shot out a hand and y
anked her against him. ‘Are you pretending you didn’t feel anything?’
‘No, of course not. What is the matter with you?’
‘We spent seven hours having sex last night.’
‘You don’t have to tell me that. I was there.’
‘Generally women want to talk about it afterwards,’ he said silkily, ‘not walk away.’
She was silent for a moment and then she lifted her gaze to his. ‘You’re telling me that after sex you like to lie there and talk about it? Sorry, but I find that incredibly hard to believe. You strike me more as the get-her-out-of-my-bed-before-she-grows-roots-type.’
Damon inhaled sharply, because that assessment was startlingly close to the truth, and Polly gave a faint smile.
‘See? I’m right again. And that’s fine. You don’t have to exhaust yourself trying to let me down tactfully. As far as I’m concerned, it’s forgotten.’
The fact that she was proposing forgetting something so incredible irritated him as much as the thought of her prolonging their relationship had aggravated him just moments earlier.
The knowledge that he was behaving illogically simply fuelled his frustration. ‘You want to forget it?’
‘Yes, of course! You must have gathered by now that I’m rubbish at relationships. And you’re obviously not exactly brilliant either. So that’s fine. We’re cool! I’m going to pack while you read my proposal.’ With a reassuring smile, she disengaged herself, scooped up her laptop and strolled across the terrace towards the door that led to the second bedroom. ‘I’m so thrilled you’re not going to make people redundant. I feel really happy.’
Speechless, Damon stared after her.
She was happy because he wasn’t going to make her colleagues redundant, not because they’d spent the night having mind-blowing, intimate sex.
She wanted to forget it had happened. There had been no awkward conversation, no full-scale demolition of inflated expectations. Apparently she didn’t have any expectations. As far as she was concerned it had been a one-night stand.
This was his definition of a fairy tale ending and he waited to feel a rush of relief.
Nothing happened.
CHAPTER EIGHT