comment and his accusing attitude bewildered Lara. ‘Naomi said you didn’t want me to.’
The furrow between his dark brows deepened even more; she had obviously misunderstood. ‘I took her home.’
Of course you did, she thought, standing motionless as the sick, angry jealousy grabbed her in a chokehold. ‘How come she was at the clinic?’
‘Her husband is there having some treatment.’
The explanation immediately made Lara feel ashamed of her gut response; the woman had never been anything but kind to her and if Raoul had friendships with other women it was not her business. If it was more than friendship? It still wasn’t really her business.
‘You look tired.’
He shrugged and walked across to the bureau. She watched as he poured brandy into the bottom of a heavy tumbler and raised it to his lips. ‘To you, you old bastard.’
Her nostrils twitched as the aroma produced a wave of acid nausea in her stomach. ‘It might help to talk.’
Catching her worried gaze, he emptied the glass in one swallow. ‘I don’t want to talk.’ He dragged a hand through his dark hair. ‘I don’t want to think... I just want—’ He reached out towards her, his eyes burning with unvarnished need.
Then before she could react his hand fell. A spasm of self-loathing contorted his dark features as he slammed the glass down. He was using her and acting as if it were all right.
‘I’ll sleep in the study tonight.’
Lara was utterly confused by his mixed signals but also by the morass of conflicting emotions. She put it down to crazy hormonal changes and cried herself to sleep in the bedroom alone.
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