Pride After Her Fall

Gesturing at the drive, she repeated, ‘Please go.’

‘Why are you trembling?’ He put his hand on her upper arm, his fingers closing firmly, as if he knew she would try to pull away.

‘I’m not. I—’ But it was too late. She was shivering so hard she thought she’d fall down. Wordlessly he pulled her into his arms and she was enveloped by all that strength and the lovely, familiar scent of him. This is why, she thought a little desperately, even as she struggled to be free. This is why I’m a little crazy for him...

‘What in the hell?’

She knew he’d spotted the padlock.

He went still against her.

His voice was very low and resonant when he spoke. ‘What’s going on, Lorelei?’

When she refused to answer he released her and strode over to the doors, gave them a rattle.

‘I’ve been locked out,’ she said redundantly. ‘The bank has foreclosed on my mortgage. I believe it happens if you don’t meet your payments.’

Nash was silent. His hands rested on his lean hips as he regarded her. Lorelei made herself meet his eyes. She wasn’t going to be ashamed. She wasn’t.

‘A mortgage? You said you inherited this house from your grandmother.’

‘I’ve had some debts,’ she said, lifting her chin defensively. ‘I had to raise the money somehow.’

She saw the moment he noticed the envelope beside her bag, and before she could move he had it open. Her stomach plummeted. He didn’t say a word, just started scanning it. Lorelei turned away, facing out to the sea view she had come to know so well over the years.

‘You haven’t met your payments in over six months,’ he said flatly.

‘Non.’

There was a long pause. ‘Do you have somewhere to go?’

Lorelei pulled herself together. ‘Ah, oui—of course.’

She turned around and her insides trembled.

Why did he make her feel like this? She hadn’t wanted to get involved with anyone. Once you let another person in you were vulnerable, and she couldn’t afford to let her defences down.

She looked into his eyes and saw his frustration and disbelief and she knew it was better to let him go.

Her chest began to hurt.

He picked up her handbag and strode towards her. He tossed it and she caught it reflexively.

‘Get in the car.’

‘Pourquoi? Why?’

He gave her an old-fashioned look and kept walking. Lorelei hesitated, but only for a moment, because she didn’t know what else to do. He held the door for her, his expression grim.

‘You don’t have to do this,’ she said stiffly.

‘Consider it me being a gentleman,’ he responded, looking faintly exasperated. ‘Get in.’

She slid into the passenger seat, her fingers like pincers around her handbag. At the moment it was all she possessed. Nash still had hold of the envelope. He was standing at the front of the car, making a call on his cell. He looked tense. She couldn’t blame him. This wasn’t his problem.

Minutes later he jumped in beside her.

‘If you could drop me in town—’ she began.

‘Yeah, I suppose I could.’ He gave her a hard look, gunning the engine. ‘Tell me, Lorelei, does all the drama ever get old for you?’

It was not the moment to lose her composure, but the line between keeping it together and unravelling completely frayed a bit.

‘I don’t know, Nash,’ she flashed back, wanting to slap him. ‘How about you? Do one-night stands ever get old for you?’

She knew it was unfair. She’d gone into last night with her eyes open. Except she was hurting and her pride was currently being stomped all over.

He braked and shifted around. For a moment she wasn’t sure what he was going to do and she backed up a little.

‘Right...’ he said slowly.

Right, what? Lorelei wanted to ask him what he thought he was doing when he threw the Veyron into First and she was flung back in her seat as he tore down the drive, sending stones and dust flying.

At the highway he swung right.

‘This isn’t the way into town.’

‘No, this is the way to the airport.’

‘Why are we going to the airport?’

‘Sweetheart, those meetings I told you about aren’t going to happen without me. I’ve got a flight to make, and as of...’ he consulted his watch ‘...half an hour ago, the plane is fuelled and waiting.’