that simply being with her had sparked off, she had had to mention Lynette Michaels.
‘No!’
He muttered the word aloud as he pulled his key from the ignition and pushed the door open. He would not think about it. Wouldn’t even let the memory of Rob Michaels into his thoughts. If that happened then he would turn and leave, heading away from here like a bat out of hell.
So he made himself walk down the road towards her, follow her into the small, narrow hallway. He watched in astonishment as she took out another key and pushed it into the first door on the right.
‘What? You have a flat here?’
Her face was turned to him sharply, confusion stamped clearly on it.
‘Of course—what did you think? You didn’t think I owned the whole house, did you?’
‘I thought…I sent you money.’
‘I didn’t want your money.’
‘Evidently.’
The door was open now and those golden tiger’s eyes were scanning the small, slightly shabby room, taking in the deep brown, well-worn settee and chairs, the equally elderly table and dresser. The only saving graces in what was a rather ugly place were the clean, freshly painted cream walls, and the pretty floral-patterned curtains and cushion covers. Isabelle had made those herself in an attempt to brighten the place up.
‘I would have kept you better than this.’
‘You wouldn’t have kept me at all, Luis! I can look after myself. And you made it only too plain that you never wanted to see me again, that you wanted me out of your life for good.’
‘And does that surprise you? You slept with another man while you were married to me.’
‘I did no such thing. I didn’t!’ she emphasised as he eyed her sceptically, obvious disbelief darkening his eyes. ‘It never happened, Luis.’
Was he listening to her? He had to listen to her!
Two years before, he had refused even to hear a word she’d tried to say. He’d simply turned and walked out of her life without a backward glance. He had cut himself off from her so completely that it had been as if he had vanished off the face of the earth. Her phone calls had gone unanswered, her letters had been returned unopened.
That was why, in the end, she had resorted to sending him a solicitor’s letter telling him that she wanted to legalise their separation. It had been the most painful decision she had ever had to make.
‘I didn’t do it. I was innocent of everything you accused me of. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know how Rob got there.’
He almost believed her. When she turned that pleading face on him, green eyes wide, the disturbing thing was that the sudden kick of his heart told him that he was still weak enough for it to matter. That, blind stupid fool that he was, he wanted to believe her.
But that was forgetting that she was an actress. That she had spent years training to do just this. To deceive an audience into believing that what she did, what she said, was the truth. He had seen her act, knew how good she was at it. But he had never expected to see that skill of hers turned against him.
‘Luis, you have to understand…’
He had hesitated just long enough to light a tiny flame of hope inside her. A hope that flickered, steadied, grew for a moment…then died painfully abruptly as he shook his dark head, scowling savagely.
‘I have to do nothing!’ he snarled.
But then, another second later, a disturbing change came over his face. The burn of anger disappeared from his eyes, leaving them cold and opaque, and his shrug was cool, totally indifferent. And Isabelle found that even more frightening than his icy rage.
‘It doesn’t matter. It’s in the past. It doesn’t affect the present.’
‘But it has to.’
‘I told you, there is no “has to” about this.’
Another pause, even more deliberate this time. The bronze eyes watched her coldly, assessing her like some specimen on a laboratory table, one he was just about to dissect.
‘You have to understand about that night—’
‘What you have to understand,’ Luis inserted in a savage undertone, ‘is that you are wearing my patience very thin. I do not want to talk about that night—and if you are wise, then neither will you! Why do you persist in this?’
‘In—in what?’
‘In reminding me of that night—of all nights? Do you want to make me think of it—remember every disgusting detail? Do you want to etch it even more clearly in my mind so that I cannot forget it? Believe me, mi belleza, if you do that then you are risking my turning round and walking out of here and never coming back.’
‘No—please…’ Not a second time.
‘If you want me to stay,’ he swept on furiously, overriding her whispered protest, ‘then you would do better to help me forget. Never to mention it again and let the memory fade. Otherwise I can never take you back—my pride would not allow it.’
‘And can you do that? Can you really put it to the back of your mind?’
She didn’t believe he could. How could he push away all memory of that appalling night when the anger, the betrayal he must have felt then had kept him apart from her ever since? And as for his stubborn pride, she really couldn’t imagine that he could swallow it hard enough to start over again.
‘Can you pretend it never happened and let us have a new beginning?’
He had to struggle with himself to answer her. The fight he was having was there in the taut, drawn lines of his face, the tension in his jaw, the darkness of his eyes.
‘I have to,’ he said flatly, all emotion drained from his voice.
‘What?’ She couldn’t believe she’d heard him right. ‘Luis—what did you say?’
But his mood had changed again.
‘I believe you offered me coffee.’
And that was clearly as much as she was going to get from him, for now at least.
‘Of course. But first let me try and make things more comfortable in here.’
He watched silently as she lit the small, spluttering gas fire.
‘Do you want to take off your coat? It will get warmer—eventually.’
And she might feel a little easier, more able to talk, if he didn’t look as if staying was the last thing on his mind. As if he was about to get up and walk out at the soonest possible opportunity.
‘Do you promise me that?’
She remembered
