She winced, but kept her gaze steady on his as she said, “How long are you going to keep throwing that in my face?”
The small licks of anger grew into wilder flames. “I’ve mentioned it twice in the last twenty-four hours,” he told her, forcing his voice to remain steady. “And before that, I hadn’t talked to you in six damn years. So tell me, please, how is it, exactly, that I’m throwing the past in your face?”
“I don’t know. But it feels like you are.” She wrapped her arms around her waist, hugging herself in a gesture that screamed discomfort and defensiveness.
It should have given him pause, would have given him pause if he wasn’t so uncomfortable and defensive himself. “Maybe that’s your guilty conscience talking. Maybe there’s a part of you that feels like you deserve whatever you think I’m doing to you.”
“Maybe I do. But that doesn’t mean I’m reading the situation wrong.” She paused and took a deep breath as if she was gathering her courage.
All of a sudden, he felt ashamed. He hadn’t come here to berate her, to make her nervous in her own home. “Say it, Isa. Whatever it is you want to say, just get it off your chest.”
“All right.” She licked her lips in a gesture that was as familiar to him as her skin sliding against his own. “It’s just, I can’t figure out what last night was about.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.” A sick feeling stirred deep inside him. He didn’t want to think too closely about his rationale for last night. At least not beyond scratching an itch that had been six long years in the making.
“I mean, what was the point of it? Was it your way of getting revenge after all this time? Of trying to hurt me?” Despite her earlier nervousness, she said the words as if they were no big deal. As if she’d anticipated he’d do something like that all along.
It got to him, in a huge way. Because last night had been about a lot of things—lust, confusion, jealousy, need—but he could honestly say that revenge had never entered into it. Not when he went out to speak with her on the balcony. Not when he made the decision to follow her home. And definitely not when he showed up at her door. Not once had he been thinking of revenge. Maybe he should have been, but he hadn’t. Instead, he’d been thinking about her. Just her.
The fact that she obviously hadn’t felt the same way...that she had been analyzing his motives—and him—from the moment she opened her door, wounded him. No, that wasn’t true. It didn’t hurt him. It made him feel like a fool, and that made him furious. She’d already played him once, and he’d be damned if he ever let her do that to him again. He wasn’t that stupid.
“I wouldn’t call it revenge so much as closure,” he finally told her after several long seconds of silence. “Our relationship ended so abruptly that it always felt...unfinished. I didn’t like it.”
“And now?” she asked, face calm and brow raised inquiringly.
“Now? It feels done.”
It was a lie, but she didn’t have to know that. And it wasn’t as if it would be a lie forever. This was exactly the closure he’d needed, he assured himself as he bent over and retrieved his keys from where they’d fallen on the floor. He knew she was okay, knew she hadn’t been harmed by the cruel way he’d had her removed from his apartment all those years ago. And he’d been able to touch her after all this time, to slake a thirst he hadn’t known was there until he’d seen her yesterday. That was enough. More than enough.
Or, at least, it would be.
His will was iron strong and he would make it the truth if it killed him. He’d spent too many years of his life thinking, worrying, caring about a woman who would never do the same for him.
That ended here. Now. He knew Isa was safe. He’d even had one last night with her. It was more than enough. It was time for him to close this chapter of his life and move on, once and for all. And he would start by walking out Isa’s door.
“Thanks for last night,” he told her, dropping a kiss on her cheek as he headed for the entryway. “It was fun.”
She nodded, but didn’t say anything as he opened the door, stepped onto her porch and took her front steps two at a time. She still didn’t say anything, even as he made his way down the walkway to his car.
He didn’t know what he wanted her to say—didn’t know what he wanted from her at all. But as the front door closed quietly behind him, he knew that silence wasn’t it. He knew he wanted more from her than that.
But then, he always had. She’d just never been able to give it.
* * *
She was an idiot.
After closing—and locking—the front door after Marc, Isa turned and marched straight back to the master bedroom. Though there was a part of her that wanted nothing more than to fling herself onto the mattress and pull the covers over her head, she knew that wasn’t going to work. Partly because her problems would still be there, waiting for her, when she finally managed to resurface. And partly because the sheets still smelled like Marc and she wasn’t masochistic enough to climb into them again. Not when she could barely breathe without memories of what had happened last night slicing through her like broken glass.
She’d known while she was doing it that she was making a mistake. After all, Marc wasn’t one to forgive betrayal easily. And yet she’d done it anyway. She’d fallen into bed with him. Had given herself to him over and over again without worrying about consequences. Or what would happen in the morning. Or whether or not he was just using her. Instead, for a little while, she’d allowed herself to believe that miracles could happen. She’d allowed herself to believe that it could be like it was six years ago, before her father had ruined everything. Before she’d let him.
Suddenly, she couldn’t stand the sight of the rumpled bed for one second more. She threw herself at it in a frenzy, stripping the sheets, the blankets, even the mattress pad. When she was done—when the bed was completely empty—she carried it all into her doll-sized laundry room and shoved as much as she could fit into her washing machine. It would take two loads, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was getting rid of every last reminder of Marc and the mistake she had made.
Then, once the bed was taken care of, she started on herself. And realized erasing Marc from her body’s memory was g
oing to be a million times more difficult. After all, memories of his existence, his touch, his smell, had lived right under her skin for six long years, just waiting to spring back to life. And now that they had, she wasn’t sure she had the strength to banish them—to banish him—again.
Stripping off her nightgown, which had somehow absorbed the scent of him despite the fact that they’d slept naked, she dropped it into the pile of bedding that was still waiting to be washed. And then she walked, naked, down the hall and into the bedroom to take a shower.