he wouldn’t see the bitterness glowing in her eyes. ‘There is an old saying about flogging a dead horse. And, much to Daddy’s darling daughter’s delight, no doubt, I’ve decided that I’ve flogged this one for quite long enough.’
‘You’ve put up with his outrageous behaviour towards you for the last year,’ he pointed out. ‘So why decide that tonight is the night you’ve had enough?’
‘Put the car in gear, Joel,’ she said, refusing to answer—if she had an answer to give him, that was, which she didn’t. All she did know was that she’d had enough. And that one small but telling little phrase was going around and around inside her head, until she thought she would go mad listening to it.
‘He won’t let you get away with it.’ Joel moved them smoothly away from the house, the headlights spanning out in a wide arc across the moonless blackness of the Maclaine family’s private estate. ‘He wants you too much.’
‘”Want” being the operative word.’
‘He had a hard time of it from the family when he forced that divorce on them,’ he reminded her. ‘Between them and Lulu he’s been made to feel—’
‘Start defending him and I’ll get out and walk,’ she warned.
Joel shook his head, exasperation making him sigh heavily. ‘It’s a damned long way back to Chelsea from here,’ he pointed out. ‘And I wasn’t defending Mac, just explaining why—’
Roberta’s hand went to the door-catch. Joel glanced sharply at her, saw her coldly determined expression and grimaced. ‘OK, OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll keep stumm and drive you home.’
‘Not home,’ she countered, bringing his gaze swinging right back to her. ‘Take me to Jenny’s instead.’
Joel was silent for a moment, taking in this final piece of information. Then he murmured wearily, ‘Oh, God, Roberta, you’re just begging for trouble if you keep this up.’
Was she? The way Roberta saw it, she was begging for more trouble by letting things go on the way they already were.
It was strange really, she pondered to herself as Joel drove on in grim silence, but if someone had told her twelve months ago that she would find herself in this kind of situation with a man she would have scoffed in their face! She wasn’t the type—had always been determined never to become the type! A life of being shunted from one reluctant relation to another while she was growing up had made her determined that once she had gained her independence she would never make herself vulnerable to another living soul, unless they could prove that they loved and wanted her above everything else in their life.
She’d kept that vow too, right through her college years and on into her first job, accepting dates only with men whose other commitments would mean she was never left waiting for them while something more important held their attention from her. But the trouble with that kind of philosophy was that that type of man usually meant a dead-end man with a dead-end job and a dead-end kind of outlook on life that generally bored her to tears. So her relationships tended to be short and disappointing, never really deepening past the kiss-goodnight-on-the-doorstep stage before she was breaking them off.
Until Mac. When Mac had come into her life, every rule she had stood by had just melted clean away! He was everything she didn’t want in a man. Busy, powerful, with the kind of business and personal responsibilities that meant he had to juggle constantly with time to make room for her. He’d even cancelled their second date because business had taken him out of the country for a week! She should have backed off then—probably could have backed off if it had been their first date—but, even by then, it had been too late for her. Like the fool she had discovered she was, she had fallen hook, line and sinker for him that quickly. And for the first time in her calm, well-ordered adult life she’d found out what it was like to lose total control of her own destiny. Solomon Maclaine had become her master. She didn’t like herself for letting it happen but couldn’t seem to do a single thing about it.
He could fill her with a dark and degrading all too familiar disappointment by letting her down at a moment’s notice when something more important cropped up. Then, when she was determined that it would be the last time he would do that to her, he would do something wonderful, like turning up unexpectedly with his arms full of flowers and a sincere apology on his lips that would have her heart melting all over again.
But not this time, she told herself grimly. This time Mac had gone too far. And the cold, hard feeling of loss she was experiencing inside told her that no amount of apologising was going to change her mind.
She had had enough.
‘Listen.’ Joel turned in his seat to look at her as he drew his car to a stop outside the Victorian town-house where Roberta used to share a flat with Jenny before Mac had taken her to live in his luxurious Chelsea apartment. ‘Use the weekend to think about what you’re going to do,’ he advised. ‘You’re thinking with your emotions right now, but give it a couple of days and you should be using your head again.’
‘It’s my emotions which are involved with Mac, not my brain,’ she drily pointed out. ‘And I’ve been applying common sense and modern social standards to our relationship for a whole year now, and look where it’s got me.’ Branded, she thought bitterly. Branded a bimbo by a set of people that she wouldn’t give the time of day to if they weren’t related to Mac! ‘It’s not me who needs to sort my head out, Joel. It’s Mac!’
‘He cares deeply for you, Roberta,’ he insisted urgently, his mouth twisting when he saw the sudden glint of tears flood her sea-green eyes.
‘But not enough,’ she whispered, not denying that Mac did care for her, in some odd, selfish way. No man could give himself so totally in bed without feeling something for the woman lying beneath him—fleeting though that something was. ‘The trouble with Mac is,’ she added grimly, ‘he wants to eat his cake and keep it. And this cake has gone stale enough to chuck into the rubbish bin.’
‘Mac doesn’t think you’re stale,’ Joel protested.
‘No.’ Her eyes flashed him a hard look. ‘But he’s taken so many bites out of me, Joel, that there really is very little left for me to offer him!’
Joel sighed—the kind of sigh that said he was giving up trying to convince her otherwise. And Roberta sighed—relieved that he was giving up, because she’d taken just about all she could right now.
‘I’ll see you Monday,’ she murmured, opening the car door.
‘And if he calls me up looking for you, what do I tell him?’ he asked heavily as she stepped out of the car.
Roberta bent down to look at him. ‘Do you really think he will?’ she mocked, her mouth twisting bitterly on the answer that Joel didn’t even bother saying out loud. ‘Goodnight, Joel,’ she said wearily, and closed the car door.
CHAPTER TWO
JENNY was surprised to find her old flatmate standing on her doorstep, asking for her old room back. ‘OK,’ she demanded, once she’d ushered Roberta into the small, chunkily familiar sitting-room and pushed a drink of something strong into her hand, ‘what has that selfish rat done to make you refuse the final straw?’
‘Not Mac,’ Roberta huskily denied, defending him even while she knew that he did not deserve it.
