Angie’s confusion changed into total fluster. She dithered and hesitated and blushed till he solved the problem for her.
Lance stared at her. ‘Hell, it is just the sex, isn’t it?’
‘No, of course not,’ she denied through her fluster. ‘I..... I like you a lot. I’ve always liked you. You know that, Lance.’
‘You loved me, Angie. That’s a lot more than just like.’
‘I thought I loved you,’ she countered. ‘I was only a child, for pity’s sake.’
‘You were more an adult woman at fifteen than my wife was at twenty-four!’
Angie gasped and stared up at him. He reached out and cradled her cheeks, drawing her gently up on tiptoe till their mouths met. ‘You loved me,’ he whispered into her softly parted lips. ‘Don’t deny it.’
A sob of admission fluttered from deep within her throat.
‘Maybe you still do?’ he suggested huskily.
She gasped again and drew back, green eyes wide and heart pounding. ‘No,’ she choked out, a wild panic claiming her.
‘No?’ he repeated, blue eyes narrowing on her.
‘No, I don’t still love you,’ she stated, with a firmness which belied her inner upheaval. ‘As you just said, I don’t even know you any more.’
‘Then you will,’ he vowed somewhat darkly. ‘Starting tomorrow.’
‘Only biblically speaking.’
Frustration flared in his face. ‘If you think that, then you don’t know anything about really making love.’
‘I don’t pretend to,’ she said sharply.
‘Then don’t pretend to know what will transpire between us tomorrow. Now, go home, Angie. I’ve run out of patience for this kind of conversation tonight. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at eleven.’
‘Eleven!’
‘Yes, eleven.’
‘Why so early?’
‘Have you anything else you have to be doing tomorrow?’
‘No...’
‘Then be ready at eleven.’ He went to spin away when she called him back. ‘What?’ he snapped.
‘You... you don’t have my address.’
‘I’ll get it from Bud.’
Angie grimaced. ‘But I... I don’t want Bud to know...’
His glare made her feel vaguely ashamed. ‘I see,’ he said rather coldly. ‘Very well, tell me your address. Believe me when I assure you I won’t forget it.’
She told him and he was immediately striding away from her, not looking back, his body language showing extreme annoyance. He’d obviously taken her last request as another insult—this suspicion confirmed by his banging the front door shut behind him.
Angie groaned her dismay out loud. She would have liked nothing better than to tell the world Lance was going to become her lover. If he loved her. If there was some guarantee that tomorrow night would be the beginning of a real relationship, not just a sexual rendezvous.
But Angie was not about to fool herself. Lance’s claims didn’t change the fact that his record with the opposite sex was hardly enviable. Maybe he had stopped having one-night stands after leaving university. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t had a huge turnover of girlfriends. His marriage failing after four years was hardly a recommendation for relationship-forming, either.
His promiscuity over the years probably wasn’t all his fault, she conceded. His inherited wealth, plus the many talents God had given him, made him a compulsive target for women. Clearly they threw themselves at his feet all the time. Still, she doubted he’d been a faithful husband. She doubted a lot of what Lance had said to her.
Sighing, Angie turned and climbed into her car. Time to go home. Time to try to get some sleep.
Tomorrow was not many hours away. It was, in fact, she realised as she glanced at the clock on the dashboard, already here.
* * *
‘You’re pulling my leg!’ Vanessa exclaimed.
It was five past nine and both girls had struggled out of bed shortly before, then padded out to the kitchen in pyjamas and slippers for some reviving coffee. While the kettle came slowly to a boil Angie had told her flatmate about the night before. And Lance.
‘I’m beginning to wish I was,’ Angie said, a rush of sick nerves claiming her stomach. ‘I’m never going to be able to eat any breakfast, the way I’m beginning to feel.’