‘I’ll do my best.’
‘Thanks. Sorry for the hassle, Michelle.’
Even more of a hassle if Lyall saw her arriving home in last night’s clothes without the make-up and grooming appropriate to them. That could instigate a very ugly scene, especially if he was expecting her to be regretting their break-up. No way would he have imagined her plunging into intimacy with someone else. And of all men, for that someone else to be Nic Moretti…
Serena took a long, deep, sobering breath as she returned the cordless telephone to its slot on the counter. The sense of having been on a wild roller-coaster ride with Nic hit her hard, now that it had to be brought to a halt.
She didn’t know the heart of the man, yet last night…last night…the connection had been so strong, so overwhelming, surely it meant as much to him as it had to her. And this morning…it wasn’t just some amazing sexual chemistry that made it feel right to be with him, was it?
Her heart fluttered with uncertainties as she moved across the living room to the door that stood open to the patio. How did Nic feel about her? He’d insisted she wasn’t just another notch on his bedpost, but where did she fit in his thinking? Had he put her in any context at all?
He sat at the table where they’d breakfasted, looking totally relaxed, perusing the newspaper spread out in front of him. She paused in the doorway, acutely aware of the tug of attraction that made what she’d felt with Lyall seem hopelessly insignificant.
But discounting the sheer physical impact of him, was Nic so different to Lyall when it came to other aspects of his life? Did he simply want women to be there when he wanted them, while his work and how he performed in that arena remained his central focus?
She didn’t know.
She didn’t know nearly enough about him, nor how far her feelings could be trusted in these circumstances. In fact, the only certainty she did have in her mind was that she couldn’t resume a relationship with Lyall Duncan.
Nic’s concentration on a news story was broken by a prickling at the back of his neck. He turned his head quickly and caught Serena staring at him—motionless in the doorway and staring with an intensity that instantly twisted Nic’s gut.
‘What’s wrong?’ He pushed his chair back, instinctively rising to fight whatever was putting distance between them.
Her hand flew up in a halting gesture. ‘Don’t move. I have to go. Michelle needs me at home.’
‘Why?’
She shook her head, shutting him out of her family business. ‘Just a problem that has to be dealt with.’
‘Can I help?’
‘No.’ Her mouth tilted in a wry grimace. ‘Sorry about this. Can’t be helped. I’ll have to dress and get going.’
She was off, heading towards the bedroom wing before Nic could assimilate exactly what was happening here. One minute the flow between them had been brilliantly positive, then…total withdrawal! Not even a sharing of the problem that had caused it. With a nasty little frisson of shock, Nic realised he’d ceased to count in her mind. Serena had cut him off…point-blank.
The urge to go after her, imprint himself on her consciousness again, had him striding into the living room before he checked himself. This was not a reasonable reaction. If she had to go, she had to go. Why should she share some crisis at home with him? They weren’t close in the sense of confiding personal problems.
Which brought him to the question of how close did he want to get?
He’d had a couple of quite serious relationships in his twenties. Both of them had eroded under the pressure of separate careers—different life-goals and values emerging as the shine of being in love had rubbed thin and togetherness had gradually ceased to exist. A few of his friends had married, but were now divorced. In fact, he could only think of his sister and Ward as an example of love holding steady, regardless of the bumps in life.
He knew he was getting more and more cynical about love. Those of his cousins who were married had done what he thought of as the Italian thing, making advantageous connections that added to the network of the Moretti business interests. Over the years, his parents had lined up several choices for him, but he’d always refused to consider a pragmatic marriage. It turned him off the whole idea of linking himself to any woman for life.
His mouth curled in distaste as he recalled Justine’s attitude about sliding out of promises on the principle that what people didn’t know, didn’t hurt them. As far as Nic was concerned, trust and loyalty were big issues. So was family.
He frowned, realising his thoughts were drifting towards exploring a lot more with Serena than he’d originally anticipated. But what was going on in her mind?
It was okay for her to rush off to help her sister. He just didn’t like her switching off from him, not when he was still so switched on to her, wanting more. She was one very elusive lady, had been from the start, and despite having managed to keep her with him overnight, Nic had the uneasy feeling he didn’t have her locked into any future continuance.
What made her pull away from him?
She’d done it last night when he’d been talking about the people he associated with.
She’d been doing it again just now.
It didn’t feel right to Nic. There shouldn’t be any blocks, given the intimacy they’d shared. Whatever was causing these shifts in Serena had to be uncovered, pinned down. Having come this far with her, he was not about to lose the ground he’d won, nor give up on knowing all he wanted to know about this woman.
Footsteps coming down the corridor from the bedroom wing…
Play it cool, Nic cautioned himself. Let her go for now and plan for tomorrow.
Yet the moment he saw her, head down, shoulders slumped dejectedly, his heart felt as though it was being squeezed and the impulse to take on and dispose of whatever this divisive problem was, roared through his head. Her name flew off his tongue.
‘Serena…’
She stopped in her tracks, shoulders squaring, head snapping up, her body stiffening in automatic rejection of any approach from him, yet the wild look in her eyes was one of intense vulnerability.
The aggression building up in Nic instantly abated. She didn’t want to feel any form of entrapment with him. Force wouldn’t achieve anything.
She began walking again. Faster. Making a beeline for the front door. ‘Thank you for the dinner last night. And breakfast this morning,’ she trotted out in a tight little voice. ‘I’ll pick up the salad bowl tomorrow when I come for Cleo.’