By the time she reached a set of double doors he was beside her, and together they entered the dimmed theatre, located their seats, and slid into them.
Almost immediately the curtain rose and the next act commenced.
Hannah focused on the actors and their lines in a determined effort to forget Camille, Luc, and her inimitable husband. She succeeded, almost, rising from her seat with the audience to applaud the playwright, the cast, and the producer.
The exodus of patrons took a little while, and it was almost eleven when Miguel eased the Jaguar through the city streets. A shower of rain wet the bitumen, and she watched the automated swish of the windscreen wipers as the car turned into Toorak Road.
The headache that had niggled away at her temple for the past hour seemed to intensify, and as soon as he brought the car to a halt inside the garage she slid from her seat and preceded him into the house.
They reached the foyer, and his gaze sharpened as he took in her pale features. ‘Take something for that headache, and go to bed.’
‘Don’t tell me what to do.’
‘Querida,’ Miguel drawled. ‘You want to fight?’
‘Yes, damn you!’
‘There’s a punch bag in the downstairs gym. Why don’t you go try it out?’
He was amused, damn him. She threw him a dark glare. ‘I might do that!’
‘Just one thing,’ he ventured indolently. ‘Go and change first.’
She didn’t even pause to think, she just bent one knee, pulled off a heeled shoe and threw it at him.
Miguel palmed it neatly, placed it carefully down onto a nearby side-table, and turned back towards her.
‘Want to try again?’
This time it was her evening purse that flew through the air, and she cried out with rage as he scooped her into his arms and carried her upstairs.
Hannah hit out at his shoulders, his arms, anywhere she could connect, and groaned with angry frustration when she didn’t seem to make any impression at all.
He reached the bedroom and entered it, kicking the door shut behind him, then he released her down onto the floor.
‘Okay,’ he growled huskily. ‘That’s enough.’
‘Do you know how I feel?’ she demanded vengefully.
‘I’d say it’s mutual.’ He caught hold of her shoulders and held her still. ‘Stop it.’
‘Right at this moment, I think I hate you.’
‘For being a target for some woman’s warped mind?’
‘I want to go to bed. Alone.’ Fool, a tiny voice derided. You’re taking your anger out on the wrong person. Except she wasn’t being rational.
Miguel released her slowly. ‘Then go to bed.’ He turned and walked from the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
She looked at the door, and almost wished he’d slammed it. It would have made more sense.
Slowly she crossed to the window and looked out over the darkened gardens. The moon was high, a large round white orb that cast a milky light onto the earth below, making long shadows of small shrubs, the trees, and duplicating the shape of the house. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked, and another joined it in a howling canine melody.
Hannah closed the curtains, then slowly undressed, removed her make-up, then she pulled on the silky slip she wore to bed and slid between the sheets, snapped off the bedside lamp, and lay staring into the darkness. Images filled her mind, prominent and intrusive, and her eyes swam until tears spilled and trickled slowly towards her ears, then dripped onto the pillow.
She brushed them away, twice, then determinedly closed her eyes in a bid to summon sleep.
Except she was still awake when Miguel entered the room a long time later. She heard him discard his clothes, and felt the faint depression of the mattress as he slid into bed.
Hold me, she silently begged him. Except the words wouldn’t find voice, and she lay still, listening to his breathing steady and become slow and even in sleep. It would have been so easy to touch him. All she had to do was slide her hand until it encountered the warmth of his body.
Except she couldn’t do it. Be honest, she silently castigated. You’re afraid. Afraid that he might ignore the gesture or, worse, refuse it. And how would she feel if he did?
Shattered.
HANNAH woke to the sound of the shower running in the adjoining en suite, and she rolled over to check the digital clock. Seven.
She slid out of bed, gathered up fresh underwear, her robe, and adjourned to the next bedroom where she showered and changed.
It would have been easy to join Miguel, just pull open the glass door and step in beside him as she did every morning. Except today she couldn’t, not after last night.
And whose fault was that? a silent voice taunted.
She drew a deep breath, then returned to their room to see Miguel in the process of dressing.
He cast her a long measured look, which she returned, then she discarded her nightwear onto the bed and crossed to her walk-in wardrobe to select something to wear.
‘Do you intend sulking for long?’ His voice was a slightly inflected drawl, which she ignored as she stepped into sheer black stockings, then selected one of three black suits she chose to wear to the boutique.
When she emerged, he was standing in her path, and she just looked at him.
‘Hannah,’ he warned silkily.
‘I am not sulking!’ She never sulked; it wasn’t in her nature.
And I don’t hate you, she added silently, unable to say the words aloud. Dear heaven, what had possessed her to say such a thing? Reaction, angry tension. But words, once said, were difficult to retract. Except the longer she left the anger to simmer, the harder it would be to explain.
‘What do you want me to say?’ Her eyes darkened and became stormy. ‘I’m sorry I acted like a bitch last night? Okay, I apologise.’
‘Apology accepted.’
Hannah looked at him sharply. ‘Don’t patronise me.’
‘Stop it right there,’ Miguel warned.
‘I’m not a child, dammit!’ What was she doing, for heaven’s sake? She was like a runaway train that couldn’t stop.
‘Then don’t behave like
