An alarm sounded in his brain. He shoved back from the table and made a dash for the stairs.
Isabel recognized his footsteps in the hallway. He had a distinctive walk, measured steps, light and graceful for such a tall man. He ambled through the doorway and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Find a sweater?”
“Not yet.”
“There’s a gray one in the bureau.” He wandered across the carpet. “It’s the smallest one I’ve got.”
She sat on the side of the bed holding the script she’d found. “When did you get this?”
“Maybe you’d rather have my blue sweater. That? A couple of days ago. The blue one’s clean, but I wore the gray a few times.”
“You didn’t say anything about it.”
“Sure I did.” He rummaged through the drawer.
“You didn’t tell me you’d received the script.”
“It’s been a little crazy around here, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Not that crazy.”
He shrugged, pulled out a sweater, then dug for another.
She ran her thumb over the label. “Why didn’t you mention it?”
“There’s been a lot going on.”
“We talk all the time. You didn’t say a word.”
“I guess I didn’t think about it.”
“I find that a little hard to believe, since I know how important this is to you.”
Although the motion was subtle, his body seemed to uncoil, almost like a snake before it struck. “This is starting to sound like an interrogation.”
“You told me how anxious you were to read the final script. It seems strange that you never mentioned it was here.”
“It doesn’t seem strange to me. My work is private.”
“I see.” Moments before, she’d been remembering their lovemaking with pleasure, but now she felt sad and a little cheap. She was the woman he slept with-not his friend, not even a real lover, because true lovers shared more than their bodies.
He didn’t quite meet her eyes. “You don’t like my films anyway. Why should you care?”
“Because you care. Because we talked about it. Because I tell you about my work. Pick one.” She tossed down the script and rose from the bed.
“You’re making too big a deal out of this. I just-Jenks changed directions a little, that’s all. I’m still processing. You’re right. I should have said something. But I guess I didn’t want to have to get into it with you again. Frankly, Isabel, I’m a little tired of having to defend what I do for a living.”
First his anger, then his guilt, and now he’d gone on the attack. Classic. She wanted to retaliate, but that’s not how healthy relationships were built, and she needed this relationship to be healthy so much she couldn’t breathe.
“All right. That’s fair.” She fingered her bangle and took a deep breath. “I have been judgmental, and I need to stop. But I don’t like being shut out.”
He pushed in the bureau drawer with his knee. “Jesus, you make it sound like we’re-like we have- Shit.”
“A relationship?” Her palms were clammy. “Is that what you’re trying to say? I’m making it sound like we have a relationship?”
“No. We do have a relationship. A great relationship. I’m glad about it. But…”
“It’s just sex, right?”
“Hey! You’re the one who set the rules, so don’t turn this back on me.”
“Is that what you think I’m doing?”
“What I think you’re doing is treating me like one of your goddamn patients.”
She couldn’t do this anymore. She couldn’t stay calm and listen. She couldn’t feed back what he was telling her, then process it using the principles she believed in so deeply. He was right. She’d made the rules, and now she was violating them. But those rules had been set an emotional lifetime ago.
She crossed her arms over her chest and hugged herself. “Excuse me. Apparently I’ve overstepped.”
“You expect too much, that’s all. I’m not a saint like you, and I’ve never pretended to be, so lay off, will you?”
“Of course.” She made her way to the door, but before she got there, he called out from behind her.
“Isabel-”
A saint would have turned back so they could settle this, but she was no saint, and she kept walking.
Ren stood in the darkened doorway gazing out at the marble statues faintly lit by the moonlight washing the garden. The villa was quiet except for Dexter Gordon’s heartbreaking saxophone playing behind him. Harry and Tracy had moved back in for the night so Isabel could have the farmhouse to herself again, but they’d gone to bed hours ago. Ren rubbed his eyes. Dr. Isabel Favor, the great believer in talking things out, had turned her back on him and walked away. Not that he blamed her. He’d been a prick.
His amazon had too many tender spots, and he was starting to bruise every one of them. But it was either bruise or get bruised, right? And he couldn’t let her poke around in his psyche again, delving into all those pockets of self-disgust he’d been carrying around for as long as he could remember. She’d set the conditions of their relationship. “This is only about sex,” she’d said. “A short- term physical commitment.”
He lit a cigarette. Why did she have to be so damned pushy? She’d go ballistic when she realized he’d be playing a child molester. Not only that, but she knew how much time he’d spent with the girls. She’d put two and two together in a heartbeat and figure out he’d been playing with them as part of his research. Then all hell really would break loose, and just like that he’d lose what little of her respect he’d been able to gain. The story of his life…
He took a deep drag. This was his punishment for getting involved with a righteous woman. All that nutty goodness had sucked him in, and now he was suffering for it. Food didn’t taste as good when they weren’t together; music didn’t sound as sweet. He should be getting bored with her. Instead, he was bored without her.
He could get back into her good graces with a simple apology. Sorry I held out on you. It wouldn’t occur to her to hang on to a grudge, and unlike him, she didn’t know how to sulk. She deserved an apology, but then what? God help her, she was falling in love with him. He hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it, even to himself, but she telegraphed her emotions. He could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice. The smartest woman he knew, and she was falling in love with a man who was leaving invisible smudge marks on her skin whenever he touched her. And the worst thing-the thing he couldn’t forgive himself for-was how good it felt to receive the love of a righteous woman.
His anger, as misplaced as it was, resurfaced. In so many ways she knew him better than anyone, so why hadn’t she protected herself? She deserved someone with a clean past. A Boy Scout, a student-council president, someone who’d spent spring break building houses for the poor instead of getting wasted.
He took a final drag and flicked the butt onto the loggia. Acid burned in the pit of his stomach. Any villain worth his stripes would take advantage of the situation. Enjoy what he could get and walk away without a qualm. Villains were easy to figure out. But what would the hero do?
The hero would walk away before the heroine could get hurt anymore. The hero would make the break as clean as he could and do it in a way that would leave the heroine with a sense of relief that she’d escaped disaster so easily.
“I heard music.”
He whipped around and saw Steffie padding across the marble floor toward him. This was her last night here. With the kids gone, he’d finally have some peace and quiet, except he’d already told them they could come back every day to swim.