said firmly. “I will not marry a philanderer ever again.”
“Imogene.” He said her name softly, with a tone of regret lacing the three syllables together in a way that struck her at her core. “I was never unfaithful to you.”
“I know what I saw, Valentin. Don’t take me for a complete idiot.”
He shoved a hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration. “What you saw was—”
“Your mistress, curled up in my sheets, in my bed, and stinking of you!” she answered viciously.
“It wasn’t what you thought it was.”
“Oh, so now you’re going to tell me you never slept with her?”
“You know I can’t tell you that, but I told you the truth when I said that had all been in the past. I was never unfaithful to you,” he affirmed.
“You say one thing. I saw another.”
Valentin took a step toward her and she took a step back, but her motion was halted by the wall behind her. She looked up at him, her nostrils flaring, her mouth drying as she studied his oh-so-familiar features. Involuntarily, she stared at the lines that had deepened around his eyes, the new ones on his forehead, the stubble that persistently made its presence felt even though he would have shaved only a short time ago. His face had been so dear to her once. If she closed her eyes now she could recall every aspect of it—the color of his eyes in exquisite detail, the short dark lashes that intently framed those eyes, the way that special shade of blue darkened and deepened when he was aroused. The way they were doing now.
A bolt of desire hit her. There had never been any other man who had this effect on her. Ever. Only Valentin. No one had ever come close to him, nor, she admitted ruefully, would again. Which left her between the devil and the deep blue sea, didn’t it? Go against everything she’d promised herself she would never accept, or settle for less than what she knew Valentin could give her.
“Can we call a truce?” Valentin asked, his voice husky.
She knew that sound, knew he was gripped by the same intense need for her that she suffered for him. But in her case it was only for him. Could he say the same? She doubted it.
“Maybe,” she answered reluctantly.
“What brought you here today?” he asked.
“You tell me first,” she insisted, unwilling to show any weakness to this man who’d had the power to love her forever or destroy her, yet had chosen the latter.
“Fine,” he said abruptly. “When I asked Nagy to find me a wife, I had a clear picture in mind. I wanted a companion, someone to come home to at the end of the day who I can share my innermost thoughts with. Someone, most of all, who wants a child, or children. After you left me, I thought I could live my life without a family of my own, but as I grow older I find I can’t see a future without a wife and children in it, nor do I want to be alone for the balance of my days. I guess it’s part of the human condition to want to be a part of something, to know a part of you will continue long after you’re gone.”
Imogene felt unexpected tears prick at her eyes. The words he’d chosen, his reasons for being here today, they were so similar to her own. How could they have this in common and yet be so wrong for each other at the same time?
Valentin continued, “Is that why you approached Nagy’s company, too?”
“If I’d known it was your grandmother’s company, I would have run in the other direction as fast as I could,” she said defiantly. But then she softened, the fight spilling out of her. “Yes,” she said simply. “That’s exactly why I signed my contract. I want children in my life. Not just other people’s children. My own. To love. Unconditionally. But more than that, I want a partner. Someone I can rely on. Someone I can trust.”
Trust.
The word hung on the air between them. Valentin drew in a deep breath. Trust had been in short supply back in Africa, and not just within his marriage. All around them had been the constant threat of danger as a struggling government fought against corruption on every level. Even within the hospital there had been those he knew he could not rely on.
“Trust is a two-way street, is it not?” he asked gently.
“Always. You never had any reason not to trust me, Valentin. Ever.”
“Whereas you feel you cannot trust me. That’s what you’re saying?”
“Based on past experience, what else can I say? You broke our marriage vows, not I.”
The old frustration and anger bubbled from deep inside. She wouldn’t listen to him back then; he doubted she’d listen to him now.
“So that leaves us at a stalemate, doesn’t it? Unless you’re prepared to put the past aside.”
Imogene looked at him incredulously. “You think I should just forget you screwed another woman in our bed?” She deliberately chose strong language, not prepared to soften what he’d done by describing it with any moniker associated with the word love. “Just put it aside as if it didn’t matter?”
“It doesn’t matter because it never happened. Did you see me that day, Imogene? No, because I wasn’t there. You wouldn’t give me a chance to talk to you before having that lawyer serve papers on me. Perhaps you will at least do me that courtesy now.” He pressed on, knowing he had a captive audience. It had bothered him intensely that Imogene never allowed him the opportunity to present his side of what she thought she’d seen. If anything it had underscored how wrong they’d been for each other that she’d been prepared to cast him in the villain’s role so immediately. “Look, I know you were shocked to discover Carla in our house, let alone our bed. When I gave her the key to the place it was supposed to be so she could get some sleep between shifts because the doctors’ lounge had been appropriated for more patient beds. You know the crazy hours we were working and the volume of patients we had to deal with. Carla was overdue a break and I said she could use our place because it was close to the hospital. I didn’t know she planned to have company. Imogene, I barely got to see you. If I had free time, why would I have spent it with her?”
“Why indeed,” Imogene answered with an arch of her brow and a lift of her chin.
He let go a huff of irritation. “I wasn’t the one with her that day.”
“That’s not what she led me to believe.”
“She told you I was there?”
Imogene hesitated. Replayed the words in her head as she’d done so very many times before.
“Not in so many words,” Imogene conceded.
“And yet you still don’t believe me.”
“I don’t. I can’t.”
Hearing the underlying pain in her words made Valentin think again. She sounded as though she were in an internal battle. That maybe, just maybe, she wanted to believe him. He wondered how he’d feel in the same situation. Torn. Confused. And facing the realization that if she believed him, then that would have made the past seven years of loneliness and sorrow, the end of their marriage, all her
