“Have you any idea how many people’s lives will be affected if you disobey?”
“My mother—”
“I’m not talking about your family. I’m talking about years of decisions that all led to this moment—” He gestured to me and then himself. “We’re standing here with our future set.”
I shrugged off his jacket and threw it over a barstool. “How about you call that helicopter back so I can leave?”
“And now you bore me.” He slid another cigarette out of the packet.
“You should know I can’t stand smoking.”
He tilted his head with an arrogance I was accustomed to and then lit the end of his cigarette, blowing out another stream of smoke. “Why did you run out on me at the party, Miss Bardot?” he asked, making my last name sound like a curse.
“Your mother doesn’t like me.”
“That’s not what I asked.” He rounded the counter to get closer.
Raising my head high, I stayed silent.
“Okay, then.” Damien towered over me. “What did she say? She’s entertaining when in full bitch-mode.”
“Maybe it was the champagne that made her say those things.”
“What things?”
“Your mother hinted you might take a lover. Is it true?”
The tip of his tongue moistened his upper lip. “When did she say that?”
“Tonight.”
She, too, could be a spinner of words that cut to the bone.
“You insulted her by walking out on us. I imagine she was waiting for an apology.”
“She’s had a long wait.”
He buried his tongue in his cheek, finding my anger amusing.
“Your mother upset me,” I said. “The thought of us not having a proper marriage was too much. I went out to get some air.”
“In my BMW?”
“I needed to sit somewhere quiet to think.”
He reached around and cupped my ass, dragging my body against his. “I adore your feistiness. You know that, right?”
“The way you treat me…”
“Think you can change me?”
The sensual pressure from his fingers and the bulge in his pants that rubbed against my belly sent an erotic shiver through me.
“The rumors about you are true, then?” I asked, sounding breathless.
“Keep going. I feed off your hate, Pandora.”
Actually, the rumors of him had been favorable. He was the bachelor to bag, apparently. I wasn’t going to tell him that and bolster his already inflated ego.
My lips pressed together, defiantly refusing a kiss.
His eyes lit up. “Seeing you like this arouses me.”
I turned my head, refusing to look at him. “I don’t like it here.”
“Want to go back to my father’s place?”
“When hell freezes over, maybe.”
He pulled away from me, his cigarette dangling from his mouth as he rolled up his shirt sleeves, revealing muscled forearms that flexed. Moving to the sink, he washed his hands with his back to me.
I let my admiring gaze roam over his form. I could see the hint of a muscled back underneath his pristine white shirt and a tight ass beneath his pants. Closing my eyes, I imagined what it would be like to walk up and press myself against him, pretending we liked each other. Then again, his touch felt like sin; tainting the only good that was left in me.
He brought out several packets of crackers and chips and set them on the counter, then withdrew a cheeseboard from the fridge and set the dish beside them.
“You haven’t eaten anything tonight,” he said. “This will make you feel better.”
“I thought you didn’t care about me.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “Let’s agree to be polite.”
“I am hungry,” I admitted.
Damien beckoned me closer as he buttered a few crackers and then placed brie on top of them. A minute later, he slid the plate my way. It was the kindest thing he’d done for me in quite a long while.
I tentatively lifted a cracker and took a bite, tasting the tanginess of the cheese and savoring the crispness of the cracker.
“I’m more of a cheddar man myself.”
“I hate cheddar,” I lied.
He speared a slice of cheddar off the board and brought the knife to his mouth with the cheese impaled on the end, his tongue tasting it before devouring the delicacy. “That finishing school of yours would throw a fit at half the things I do.”
I finished chewing. “More than half, probably.”
“You don’t ever want to break the rules?”
“Why would I?”
“You’d probably enjoy rebelling.”
“I tried to escape tonight. That was rebelling.”
“Ah-ha!” He sounded triumphant at my confession.
“I wasn’t brought up that way.” Nor was I taught to eat off a knife like some kind of caveman.
“You have to feel some sense of rebellion to truly enjoy sex.” He set the knife down. “Or you’ll never be able to come.”
I blushed wildly. “If you’ve quite finished schooling me, I’m going to have a look around.”
He raised his champagne glass. “Enjoy.”
Asshole.
I turned back to face him before leaving the kitchen. “Want to know the whole truth?”
“Oh, good, schoolgirl games. As if I’m not being tortured enough.”
My jaw clenched. “Your mother told me you already have a lover put up in an expensive high-rise.”
“The fuck I do.”
Relief washed over me that he’d denied it. “That’s why I tried to leave.”
“I share a place with Theo Tamer in the city. No one lives there permanently. We had a mutual friend stay there because she was moving into a new place. That was months ago.”
“Did you date her?”
He studied me for a long time. “Ten years ago, yes.”
“Was her name Madeline Rhodes?”
“You’ve discovered Google, bravo.”
“Were you in love with her?”
“I was twenty-two.”
That didn’t answer my question. “Are you seeing anyone now?”
“You mean other than you?” He dragged his palms over his face in frustration.
Bastard.
He could have answered no.
Pivoting, I hurried out of the kitchen, my heart freezing over because he didn’t care about me. Not really.
I could find another lover and cheat—if this was going to be an open marriage. Or I could just give up on finding love altogether. Give up on the chance of happiness.
Climbing the carpeted staircase to the top floor, I began searching for a landline.
I’d call my parents and beg them to extract me from this place. The Godmans weren’t the only ones with a fleet of helicopters.
What looked like the master bedroom was lavishly decorated. Gray and white bed linen covered a king-size bed. Window drapes hung from the ceiling and kissed the floor, giving this room a warmer feeling than those downstairs. More modern artwork hung on the walls. It was impossible to make out what the artist was trying to achieve.
Godman’s eldest son had a favorite artist or maybe this had been picked out by his designer. She probably hated him, too, and this was the only way she could secretly show it—by framing pretentious art that reflected his personality; dead-hearted imagery.