Outwardly, she made another scoffing noise. ‘You’ve really thought all this through, haven’t you?’
‘I’ve had five long weeks to come up with a plan.’
‘And this was the best you could do?’
‘Well, what do you suggest?’ he demanded. ‘What other option is there?’
‘That we go back to Plan A and never see one another again.’ Her voice was shrill now, control on her emotions almost non-existent. She needed him to leave before she reached for the crystal vase beneath the window and hurled it at him.
‘I do not believe that’s viable.’
‘Nor is this.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I won’t be treated like some kind of…of…whore!’ she spat, slicing her hand through the air. ‘I won’t become your mistress. No way.’
‘You would be my lover,’ he corrected gently, standing now, uncaring for his magnificent nudity as he strode towards her. ‘Here, and at my apartment, we would be equals. Two people who can spend time together, make love whenever they want, until this madness passes.’
She flinched. ‘And then you ride off into the sunset and marry Princess Whatever-Her-Name-Is?’
‘Sasha,’ he supplied gently. ‘And yes.’
‘And what about me, Octavio?’
‘You move on with your life, too. This would be our arrangement, Phoebe.Ourarrangement. I am not dictating terms to you, I am asking you to be a party to a deal that enables us to keep seeing one another.’
It was all so reasonable and sensible, but Phoebe didn’t feel either of those things. She felt sickened by his suggestion and she felt mad. Mad up to the eyeballs! She wanted to scream at the insult he was wrapping around her, and somehow expecting her to be almost relieved about. ‘It’s not enough,’ she spat. ‘I don’t want what you’re offering.’
‘I can’t offer more.’
‘Then I don’t want you.’
‘But you do, and we both know it,’ he said, with a hint of regret, because they were both trapped, in a sense, by this desire. ‘The question is, do you want me enough to accept this deal?’ He gently caught her chin with his finger and angled her face up to his. ‘I really hope the answer is yes.’
Tears threatened to form on her lashes. She blinked quickly, squaring her shoulders. ‘It’s not. Now please, get the hell out of my apartment and don’t ever contact me again.’ And with her last thread of strength, she pulled away from him and stalked out of her bedroom.
He knew he should have left straight away, but he was reeling. He had come here with no expectation that she would refuse him. In the back of his mind, he’d seen the arrangement as afait accompli.He’d been almost unforgivably rude the last time they’d seen one another, but their chemistry was such, he’d fully expected it to overcome any obstacle. More than that, the parameters he’d put in place surely made the whole concept of this safe and easy and even fun. At least, that’s how he viewed it. The perfect non-relationship relationship.
Instead, every word he’d said after they’d finished making love had seemed to rile her more and more. But he hadn’t been wrong about her feelings for him—on a physical level, she was as invested in this as he was. So why was she fighting him?
‘Listen, Phoebe.’ He followed after her, hands raised in a placating gesture. ‘This doesn’t have to be a big deal. Let’s leave it a week and then touch base. If you’re available, you can come to my place for dinner. We can talk more.’ Perfect. Casual. Easy. As though he didn’t care one way or another—he just wished that were true.
The jut of her chin was laced with defiance; she might as well have sky-writtenNo way.
‘Just think about it,’ he said, because he wasn’t ready for this conversation to be over, and he didn’t think she was either. Once her initial reaction faded, she’d calm down, think this through and realise that he was offering them a way to be together that was easy, uncomplicated and had the potential to be endlessly satisfying—for as long as possible.
Phoebe waited until he’d left before giving into the nausea that had gripped her from the moment he’d made his hurtful proposition. He couldn’t have known how badly he was wounding her, but Phoebe had—unwittingly—been a mistress before. For years she’d been falling in love with someone else’s husband, and she wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. Okay, he wasn’t offering love. It was even worse. He just wanted to sleep with her, all the while formalising his engagement to some far-away princess. Not bloody likely!
Indignation flared in her belly, but so too did a wave of nausea she’d struggled to contain while they were arguing. Now he was gone, she bolted for the bathroom and kneeled over the toilet, shuddering with each violent expulsion, vomiting until her brow was beaded with sweat and her face flushed pink.
If only it were so easy to push Octavio from her mind…
Six weeks had passed since that afternoon at Phoebe’s, and over the course of that time, Octavio had come to accept that she’d been serious in her refusal. She might have wanted him with the same intensity as he did her, but she was clearly determined not to fall in with his convenient arrangement.
And maybe that was for the best. Because he’d presumed they were in the same place, and wanted the same things—no strings—but her reaction had indicated otherwise, and emotional complications were the last thing Octavio wanted. So it was fine that she’d turned him down.
Just fine.
