“That’s not true! My mother would have respected any line you drew.”
“Then I hope you’ll do the same, because I’m drawing the line on us right now.” She stepped into the bathroom and quickly closed the door, leaning her head against it as a wave of nausea rolled through her. She hated being the author.
Hated it, hated it, hated it. Yet there was no turning back the clock and she couldn’t deny that she loved writing the stories—the excitement of coming up with a new idea, the joy she had in putting the right words together, creating the rhythm that made the story flow so captivatingly.
It was a big part of her.
But there was the other part—the lonely child who’d wanted someone to love and cherish her. The author had grown out of that child, spinning dreams where whatever she wanted did happen. But it had never happened in real life. And wasn’t going to happen with Peter Ramsey .
Miserably accepting the inevitable, Erin pulled herself together enough to get dressed and stow the Randwick clothes in the carry bag. As she transferred the contents of the new black handbag to the tan one, her notebook reminded her that at least she had something to move onto. The Mythical Horses of Mirrima should consume her attention for months, giving her a fairly effective escape from brooding over broken dreams.
She took a deep breath, bracing herself to face Peter one last time. Make it quick, her mind dictated. Be dignified, don’t cry, and don’t get into any further argument. It’s over.
He wasn’t in the bedroom.
Having expected to run straight into another nerve-tearing confrontation, Erin paused to take stock of this different situation. Was he waiting for her in the living room downstairs? Had he decided there was nothing to be gained from fighting over something that couldn’t be changed anyhow?
A heaviness settled on her heart as her gaze drifted out to the balcony where…
He was there!
Her stomach instantly contracted.
Was he remembering what they’d done on Friday night, how they’d felt?
He was still wearing only a pair of shorts, his back turned to her, looking out to sea, hands gripping the railing. Every muscle of his powerful physique looked taut. So much strength—strength she had revelled in—yet he knew how to be gentle as well, and endearingly tender. The perfect lover for her.
Erin closed her eyes as beautiful memories clutched her own body, sending quivers down her thighs, stiffening her nipples, bringing a moist heat to her sex. She would never forget this man. What they’d shared had been very special.
It didn’t matter that it had been driven by fantasy. The physical intimacy had been intensely real.
If she walked out there and touched him as she had on their first night…could he—would he—put the author thing aside?
Another fantasy, Erin, her mind savagely chided. It lay between them now.
Nothing would be the same as before.
Heaving a desolate sigh, she forced her eyes open. Peter hadn’t moved. Was his back a message in itself?—I’m out of your way. Go!
It was probably the best thing to do, but she couldn’t bring herself to sneak out without at least saying goodbye. Peter had given her much of himself and that deserved some recognition and appreciation. He was a good man. He just wasn’t accustomed to having his top gun status taken by a woman.
She walked over to the opened doorway to the balcony, close enough to speak, but leaving a fair distance between them.”Peter…” she called softly, hoping his anger had cooled a little.
He turned slowly, eyeing her up and down as he settled to leaning back against the railing, his arms folded forbiddingly across his magnificently sculptured chest. Her appearance in the green, lemon and lime dress did not ignite one spark of desire. It was patently clear that a wall of hard pride ensured she didn’t reach him in any way whatsoever. Indeed, the blue eyes were so cold a little shiver ran down Erin’s spine.
“Was going to a party on Friday night a lie, too?” he asked sardonically.
“Yes,” she admitted.”I set out to make myself as attractive as I could, but you didn’t seem to like what was probably too obvious an effort, so I made up an excuse for it.”
He nodded, as though she was only confirming what he’d already worked out.”You wanted some playtime with me.” Erin frowned over his choice of words.”I wanted the man I’d met in the park to want me because I found him very attractive. I wasn’t thinking in terms of playtime.”
“You didn’t give a real relationship between us a chance,” he mocked accusingly.”You’re drawing the line because it’s not playtime anymore.”
“I took the chance you gave me, Peter, because in my heart of hearts, I did want it to be real.” He shook his head.”You can’t build anything real on deception. Every time I tried to make progress with you, you shut me out.” That was probably fair comment from his point of view, yet Erin knew only too well why she’d done what she’d done.”I was trying to hang onto what we had together. Just a man and a woman. Not the billionaire and the author.” Her sad irony was lost on him.
“But it always had an ending in your mind,” he replied cuttingly.”You didn’t trust me to take the author on board and deal with your world.”
“I hoped you would,” she said quietly, her whole body aching from the loss of that hope. He was attacking her on deception because he didn’t want to deal with her world. It was easier to paint her black than to look into himself and acknowledge he wasn’t big enough to take on all that she was.
He stared at her, the twin blue lasers of his eyes stabbing hard, transmitting his disbelief in the hope she had just expressed. Erin gave up, her hand lifting to communicate the futility of any further talk, gesturing her helplessness to save the situation.
“I’m sorry you imagined something different, Peter. I just wanted to thank you for all you did give me.” His mouth thinned into a grim line as though he was refusing to let what they’d shared be worth anything. Erin sensed he was too deeply into painting her black to even see there could be other colours.
“Goodbye,” she said and turned away quickly, wanting to run, run so fast her heart would pump out the awful weight of misery it was carrying.
Somehow she managed to hold her legs to a reasonably steady walk across the bedroom to the door, which would lead to her exit from his life.
She fiercely willed Peter to remain silent, to simply let her go.