out of here.’ Byron suddenly broke the heavy silence by getting to his feet and signalling to the waiter for the bill.
Cara got to her feet with considerably less agility. Her legs were shaking, her palms moist, and the rest of her body felt as if it had been clubbed.
Byron fixed the bill and led the way back to his car in silence. He unlocked the doors with a snap of the remote that sounded like a gunshot and she had to stop herself from flinching.
‘Get in.’
His words were just as sharp, hitting her like bullets. She got in the car, glad that her legs didn’t have to hold her upright any more. He started the car with a roar that indicated the depth of his anger. Although he’d hidden it well, he’d waited until she was lulled into a false sense of security and then struck her where she was most vulnerable.
He drove towards her apartment with a grim determination that did little to settle Cara’s nerves. She had so much to say, but most of it could never be for his ears. He’d never understand the sort of decisions she’d had to make. The secrets she’d kept; the pain she’d hidden in order to survive.
He walked her to her apartment, all the while maintaining cold silence. She didn’t know what was worse. Hearing him castigate her, bearing his stony silence or torturing herself with what she imagined he was thinking.
At the door of the apartment she turned to him, forcing herself to meet his diamond-hard gaze.
‘Thank you for dinner.’
He seemed about to say something, but then changed his mind. He raked a hand through his dark hair and the lines around his mouth appeared to relax a little.
‘Will you need some help packing?’ he asked.
‘No, I’ll be fine. I don’t have all that much to pack,’ she answered in a subdued tone.
Byron watched as she unlocked the door and stepped through, hesitating, as if she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to come in or not. He guessed not. He hadn’t really intended to ask her that question tonight, but he’d been increasingly annoyed by her attitude towards him. She barely tolerated his presence and it irritated him. He had felt like shaking her out of her skin.
Her eyes, when they met his again, looked wounded, which instantly made him feel like the bad guy. How did she do that? He had every right to be furious with her. She had no right to play the injured innocent. No right at all.
‘What time would you like me to be at Cremorne?’ she asked.
Byron hunted her face for any sign of her composure cracking, but apart from that hurt look in her eyes there was none. She’d effectively shut him out once more, and apart from flaying her with his tongue right here and now there was little he could do but accept it for now. He’d bide his time and get the answers he was after—even if it took him months.
‘In the evening’s fine,’ he answered, giving her a key.
He noticed she took it from him without touching his hand. That too made him angry. She’d have to get used to him touching her, because that was all he wanted to do—from the moment he woke until he fell asleep at night. His body craved her. Being so close to her had stirred his desire to a persistent dull ache, and he wondered if she sensed it.
He turned to leave before he was tempted to do something about it then and there. He muttered a curt goodnight as he closed the door on her expressionless face.
Cara sagged against the wall once he’d gone, burying her face in her hands, slipping down until she found the floor.
She stayed up most of the night packing. She knew sleep was impossible, so continued on until her vision blurred. The last bag was packed and she stood up and looked around her tiny apartment. Three bags and a box wasn’t much to show for her almost twenty-nine years, but then, she reflected ruefully, she had enough internal baggage to sink a container ship.
She sat and sipped a glass of water as she watched the moon make its way across the early morning sky until the brightness of the rising sun took over.
This was the first day of the rest of her life. She knew from this day on nothing could ever be the same. Seeing Byron again had torn her seeping wounds apart, and no matter how hard she tried she’d never be able to tie the ragged edges together again. She almost hated him for his cruelty. Almost, but not quite.
Cara spent some time at the office—more to fill in the day than because of any pressing work commitments. Trevor took one look at her shadowed eyes and whistled through his teeth.
‘You’re looking a bit the-morning-after-the-fight-before.’
She gave him a you-can-say-that-again look and flopped into her chair.
‘I’m not even going to correct your misquote of that adage, because your version’s far more accurate.’
He perched on the edge of her desk, his expression empathetic. ‘Lord Byron giving you a hard time?’
‘You could say that.’ She gave a deep sigh. ‘I’m moving in with him this evening.’
Trevor’s eyes widened, his brows disappearing under his floppy fringe.
‘Is that wise?’
She gave him an ironic look.
‘No, but wisdom doesn’t come into it, I’m afraid. It’s a matter of do or be damned.’
‘Is he forcing your hand?’
‘Oh, I had a choice,’ she said. ‘Sort of.’
‘I’m sorry, Cara,’ he said. ‘This is all my fault. It’s not fair that you’re being forced to pay the price.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ she reassured him. ‘I’ll be fine. Byron will soon tire of me. I’m what is commonly referred to by most men as “hard work”.’
‘You’re not hard work,’ he said. ‘You’re wounded. That’s totally different.’
She gave him a small wry smile.
‘Only you would see the difference.’
‘I’m sure he will too, in time. Maybe you should be totally honest with him. He might understand more than you think,’ he offered hopefully.
‘Byron’s not the understanding type. He’s had life too good. What would he know about how the other half live? He’s had everything handed to him on a plate—including me.’
‘Do you still care for him?’
‘I don’t know what I feel,’ she answered honestly. ‘I’ve taught myself not to feel anything for so long I can’t quite find the on switch any more.’
‘It will come back if you give yourself some time. You need to let the dust of the past settle for a little longer, get some more perspective.’
‘You should’ve been a counsellor, Trev,’ she said. ‘You’ve got all the answers.’
‘No,
