“Every time that Lazar sends you out to fuck one of his business associates,” he said.
Her insides turned to ice. She stared at him, half-hoping she had heard wrong, knowing she had not.
She swallowed around the jagged lump that had taken form in her throat. “You thought that I—that Victor—” Her voice trailed off, breath finished. She was unable to inhale and replenish it.
“I hope he pays you well,” he said. “You deserve it. You're amazing. I've never had sex like that in my life.”
She opened her mouth again, but nothing came out. She shook her head, wanting to cancel, to negate, to erase, the last ten seconds.
He just stared at her, eyes cold and unwavering. He believed it.
God, he had made love to her believing it.
No, not love. Not even sex. He had fucked her, believing it.
She shook her hair forward, hiding her breasts. Being naked in front of his cold gaze was unbearable. “God, Seth “ she whispered, “I'm a secretary, not a call girl.”
His expression did not change.
Raine scrambled off the bed and began searching for her scattered clothes. She yanked them on with cold, trembling fingers, not bothering to button her cuffs or to tuck in her tattered blouse. She shoved her bare feet into her pumps and lunged for the door.
He blocked her, trapping her between his powerful arms. “Wait,” he said flatly. “I'll get dressed and drive you home.”
She looked into Seth's dark eyes, inches from hers, and said, loud and clear, words she had never said aloud to anyone in her life.
“Fuck you.”
She shoved at his naked chest with all her strength, sending him stumbling back two steps. She wrenched the door open, and ran.
Chapter 7
The patron saint of humiliated lovers must have been watching over her. A cab from the airport was discharging its passengers outside the lobby as she tore through the lobby. She made her getaway before Seth could follow her downstairs and reduce her to a state of hysteria.
She was teetering on the verge of it now, using every trick she knew to stave it off. The grizzled old cabbie could tell. He kept glancing back in his rearview mirror, his eyes troubled behind his thick glasses.
“You all right, miss?”
“I'm fine, thanks.”
Her lips felt numb as they formed that terribly familiar phrase. She almost laughed, but choked it off. Laughter opened the floodgates. Then the tears would come, and then she would definitely lose it.
I'm fine, thanks. She'd been saying that for seventeen years while she was dying inside. She was not fine. She was worse than she'd ever been, which was saying a great deal. And this time it was all her fault.
What did she expect? She'd overcompensated, like always, and leaped into bed with a man without even having dinner with him, or even exchanging basic personal data. She didn't know where he grew up or what college he had attended, or even his phone number. She'd done a slutty thing. She had to deal with the consequences.
But she was so contracted with pain, she could barely breathe.
Think pirate queen, she reminded herself.
Like hell. The pirate queen would be sophisticated enough to use a man for sex without letting all her barriers crumble, even when her body was flying apart with pleasure. She would have had the presence of mind to say something besides that blunt, inelegant “fuck you.” Something that would've pierced him to the heart, or to the bone at least She doubted that the bastard had a heart
The storm was about to burst She bore down and counted the seconds it would take to reach someplace private to fall apart, an old trick from her school days. Eight, seven, as she paid the cabbie and bolted up the steps to her house. Six, five, and it was taking too many tries to get the key into the lock, the way her fingers shook. Four, the key finally entered and turned. Three, she shoved open the door. Two—
“Good evening, Raine “
She shrieked, and leaped back out the door.
Victor Lazar was lounging in the foyer, sipping a glass of whiskey. “I hope you’ll excuse me for helping myself to the bar. I'm familiar with the house, you see. I stocked the bar myself some months ago” he said.
“I see. It's, uh, fine,” she whispered.
Hah. There it was again. Miss Nicey Nice, terrified of offending anyone even if they were stepping on her face, was just fine.
Victor gave her an encouraging smile and gestured for her to come in. She took a step inside. She was poised to flee, adrenaline pumping, her brain churning out any number of probable reasons that he might be here, uninvited, in her foyer. None of them were good.
Dear God, don't let him come on to me, she thought wildly. Not that. No way. That was too much to ask. She would run, screaming; and if the dream came back, she would just beat her head against the wall of her padded cell until it extinguished itself in a bloody haze.
Anger at his presumption rose slowly up, like a bubble from the shadowy depths. She forced herself to stand up straighter.
“You don't appear to drink, judging from the state of the bar,” he observed, delicately rattling the ice in his glass.
“Very little,” she said stiffly.
“Or eat, either, if your refrigerator is any indication ,” he said in a gentle, chiding voice. “You must keep up your strength, Raine. You have no need to diet. On the contrary.”
“You looked in my refrigerator?” She was startled at her own loud, incredulous tone.
He looked slightly injured. “I needed ice for my drink” he explained, draining his glass. He set it down on the telephone table. “Please, take a moment to collect yourself, Raine.” He made a courtly gesture towards the bedroom, and smiled. “I can wait.”
For what? she wondered frantically. She caught a glance at herself in the mirror behind him, and stifled a gasp. Her hair was a wild, tangled halo, her lips red and puffy Her blouse was crumpled, several buttons missing, cuffs hanging sloppily open, one side tucked in, one side out. Her eyes blazed out of dark, smudged sockets.
She let her breath out slowly. So what if she looked like a madwoman. She'd been to hell and back today. This was her home, and she would not be dismissed in it like a servant. She fished in the pocket of her jacket for the hair sticks and wound her hair into a knot, stabbing the sticks through it. She took her glasses out of her purse and deliberately put them on. “What do you want, Mr. Lazar?”
If he was angered by her small act of defiance, he did not show it His mouth twitched. “Did you enjoy your afternoon with Mr. Mackey?”
Heat rushed into her face. “I don't want to discuss—”
“I should have suggested Sans Souci for dinner, but it slipped my mind,” he said silkily. “Did you go to the art museum? Or the market?”
“No “ she forced out.
“So you took him directly to bed.”
Raine backed towards the door. “Mr. Lazar—”
“To be truthful, I didn't mean for you to take my suggestion to entertain Mr. Mackey quite so personally.”
Raine's jaw dropped. “Are you implying that I—”
“Don't be tedious,” he snapped. “We're both adults. And I'm certain Mackey enjoyed your interpretation of my instructions far more than a tour of the Space Needle, or a ride on the Monorail.”
Raine stared at his smug face. “You set me up,” she whispered.
He frowned. “Oh, please. Whatever happened between you and Mackey is your business, Raine. And entirely your responsibility.”