"And just what the hell does that have to do with us?" Jon-Michael demanded furiously, stalking to the bed to loom over her. "With you and me? I'm not the one stealing your secrets."
"Yes, yes you are! You won't let me keep anything to myself!"
He sat on the side of the bed and reached to stroke the rigid fist nearest him. "Does this have to do with what you let slip last night?" he asked gently. "About Dennis cheating on you?"
She went very still. Then she batted furiously at the long fingers fondling the back of her hand. "No!"
Jon-Michael pulled back, both hands spread in an I-come-in-peace gesture. But he looked her squarely in the eye. "Because if it does, I’ve said it before and I will say it again. Your husband was a fool. But, Hayley honey—" he leaned in to grasp her chin firmly, their eyes mere inches apart "—I am not. I know exactly what I have in you. I’m also aware I screwed the pooch once before." Releasing her, he rose to his feet and stared down at her. "But know this. The woman has not been born who could tempt me to screw it up again by being unfaithful."
It terrified her how badly she wanted to believe him. But if she did and he let her down, it would kill her; she knew it on a visceral level. Protect yourself, a shrill inner voice warned. Protect yourself, or this time he could destroy you.
So she did. Taking a deep, calming breath, she straightened her shoulders, raised her chin, and said very distinctly, "Nobody asked for your fidelity, Olivet. All I ever wanted from you is sex." Then hated herself for the baseborn liar she was.
It was too late to take her words back, however, even if she wanted to. Once spoken, words could not be recalled and Jon-Michael visibly withdrew. He stood looking her up and down, and there was something in his dark eyes that caused Hayley to hastily reach for the sheet that had drifted forgotten onto the mattress. She tugged it up and tucked it under her armpits, clamping her arms to her sides to hold it in place.
"Drop it," he immediately ordered with soft-voiced menace.
"What?"
"All you want is sex? Then drop the sheet. A little nudity between fuck buddies shouldn't bother a free-wheelin' sex pistol like you." He reached for his belt. "How do you want it, honey? Truth is, I'm a little pressed for time, so it will have to be quick. Quick 'n rough, maybe—I know that appeals to me at the moment. C’mon." He had his pants undone. "Why are you still covered up? I said drop it. Let's fuck."
Pressing her arms to her sides more tightly, she assured herself it was merely offended masculine pride that made him such a dick. So why, then, did tears rise with such scalding ease in her eyes?
Jon-Michael made a sound of disgust. Whether it was aimed at her or himself was anyone’s guess, but he turned away, redoing his fly with none of his usual grace. He crossed to the bureau and picked up his wallet, checked the contents, and stuffed it in his back pocket. Then he turned to face her again.
"I apologize," he said stiffly. "That was crude and…" He rolled his shoulders impatiently. “I’m not going to say uncalled for, Hayley, because frankly I think I had a huge dose of provocation. Still, you have my apology."
She merely stared at him, hating the fact her lower lip was quivering. She could really use a little screw you bravado right about now.
Jon-Michael looked down at his hands. "I always thought you were about the gutsiest woman I knew," he said in a low voice. "I admired that, you know." He studied his fingers as if they had turned into the most fascinating objects he’d ever clapped eyes on. Then his hands abruptly dropped to his sides and he looked up at her. "I was wrong, though, wasn't I, Hayley? You’re an emotional coward. And this push-me/pull-me shit we keep engaging in is not doing either of us a damn bit of good."
He stared at her as if waiting for some kind of argument. When she didn’t immediately give him one, he shrugged.
Then turned and walked away.
Scaredy cat, scaredy cat. Hayley kicked the shower stall wall and thrust her head back beneath the pounding jets of water as if she could rinse the mocking words out of her head as easily as she rid her hair of shampoo. Emotional coward, my ass, she thought testily. Jon-Michael was full of shit. She was cautious—with cause. That did not make her a coward.
She twisted the water off and wrung out her hair. Okay, so maybe these days she was the slightest bit fainthearted when it came to making any sort of commitment. Big deal. Once upon a time she had trusted her feelings, had freely offered up her heart right, left, and sideways. Look where that had gotten her. A deadbeat dad, a red-hot reputation, a philandering husband and life in a goldfish bowl. So if she erred on the side of caution, she’d say it made her smart, not an emotional coward.
And just what did that last thing he’d said even mean? If he thought they weren’t doing each other any good did it mean he wanted her to pack her stuff, which had began accumulating in his place, and move out of his life?
"Oh, God," she muttered, “this is a total waste of time.” She dried off, slapped on lotion and pulled on her bra and panties. With less than four hours sleep, her head felt as if the high school marching band was holding practice in it. She hadn’t done laundry in too long and really needed to go back to the estate to get something clean to wear. Bet your ass, though, she could look forward to a pack of reporters hanging around outside the Olivet gate, all geared up to stick their microphones in her face, blind her in the glare of their lights and demand answers to intimate questions she had hesitated to discuss with her best friend.
She had to get out of here. The walls were closing in on her.
Actually, talking to her best friend sounded like a plan, but when she called the Olivet house no one answered. Kurstin was either in the shower where she wouldn't hear the phone, using a hair dryer or—crap, of course—at work.
Hayley donned a pair of shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt, then pulled a comb through the wet tangle of her hair. She went through Jon-Michael’s medicine cabinet and found a bottle of ibuprofen.
She took three, put the bottle back and shut the mirrored door. Catching the reflection of her blank stare, she blinked and shook her head impatiently. One thing was for certain. She could not spend the entire day staring at these walls or she would be a raving lunatic before the morning was gone. She located her bathing suit. Might as well do what had worked for her in the past. She would head out to the Olivet estate, grab her stuff and take a swim until she quieted the thoughts scurrying through her mind like so many rats in a maze.
She had opened Jon-Michael’s front door when her conscience kicked in. Hesitating on the threshold, restlessly tossing the keys in her hand into the air then snatching them back, only to immediately send them aloft again, she debated herself.
The verdict was still out on whether she had won or lost the dispute when she closed the front door again. But she tried Jon-Michael’s cell phone.
It went to voicemail.
So she went into his home office, where she located the appropriate number, picked up the phone, and dialed.
"Good morning, Olivet Manufacturing."
Hayley's fingers tightened around the receiver. "May I speak with Jon-Michael Olivet, please?"
"I'm sorry, ma'am, Mr. Olivet is unavailable."