naked but with Damaso it had felt right. Till now.
He prowled across the room with a grace she couldn’t help but appreciate. He stopped at the edge of the bed, drawing in a deep breath. Then he bent abruptly to scoop something off the floor—his discarded jeans. He dragged the faded denim up those long thighs.
Surely he had underwear? she thought foggily, before the implication struck.
Her gaze met his and rebounded from an impenetrable black stare. Gone was the spark of excitement in his gaze, the wolfish hunger that should have scared her yet had made her feel womanly and powerful. Gone was the sizzle of appreciation she’d so enjoyed when they’d sparred verbally.
His eyes held nothing.
‘You’re leaving.’ Her voice was hollow. Or was that her body? Ridiculously, she felt as if someone had scooped out her insides.
‘It’s morning.’ His gaze flicked to the full-length window.
‘Barely. It’s still hours till we need to be up.’ How she spoke so calmly, she didn’t know. She wanted to scuttle across the bed and throw herself into his arms, beg for him to stay.
Beg... Marisa had never begged in her life.
Pride had been one of her few allies. After years facing down family disapproval and the wilder accusations of the ravenous press, she’d been stripped of everything but pride. Now she was tempted to throw even that away as desperation clutched at her.
‘Exactly. You should get some sleep.’
She blinked, confused at the hint of warmth in his voice, so at odds with his unreadable expression. She felt like she’d waded into knee-deep water and suddenly found herself miles out to sea.
More than ever Marisa wanted to cover herself. Heat crept from her feet to her face as his hooded gaze surveyed her. Was that a flicker of regret in his eyes?
‘It’s best I go now.’
Marisa bit down a protest. Perhaps he was trying to protect them from gossip, leaving her room before even the staff were up. But since the pair of them had missed dinner last night it was probably too late for that.
‘I’ll see you at breakfast, then.’ She sat up, pinning a bright smile on her face. There would be time enough to spend together in the next week.
‘No. That won’t be possible.’ He finished the buttons on his shirt and strode to the bedside table, reaching for his watch.
‘It won’t?’ She sounded like a parrot! But she couldn’t seem to engage her brain.
He paused in the act of wrapping his watch around his sinewy wrist.
‘Listen, Marisa. Last night was remarkable. You were remarkable. But I never promised you hearts and flowers.’
Indignation stiffened her spine, almost dousing the chill dread in her veins. ‘I hardly think expecting to see you at breakfast has anything to do with hearts and flowers, as you so quaintly put it.’
Damn him! She leaned down and grabbed the sheet, pulling it up under her arms. At least now she wasn’t quite so naked.
‘You know what I mean.’ The hint of a growl tinged his deep tone and Marisa felt a tiny nub of satisfaction that she’d pierced his monumental self-assurance. For that was what it was—that unblinking stare from eyes as cool and unfeeling as obsidian.
‘No, Damaso, I don’t know what you mean.’ She regarded him with what she hoped looked like unconcern, despite the fact she was crumbling inside.
‘I gave no commitment.’ As lover-like statements went, this one hit rock bottom.
‘I didn’t ask for any.’ Her voice was tight.
‘Of course you didn’t.’ Suddenly he looked away, intent on his watch. ‘You aren’t the type. That’s why last night was perfect.’
‘The type?’ Out of nowhere a chill crept over her bare shoulders.
‘The type to cling and pretend a night in bed means a lifetime together.’
His eyes met hers again and she felt the force of desire like a smack in the chest. Even as he rejected her the air sizzled between them. Surely she didn’t imagine that? Yet the jut of his jaw told her he was intent on ignoring it.
There she’d been, daydreaming that this might be the start of something special. That, after a lifetime of kissing frogs and finding only warty toads, she might actually have found a man who appreciated her for herself.
She should have known better. Such a man didn’t exist.
Marisa’s stomach plunged, reopening that vast chasm of emptiness inside.
‘So what did it mean to you, Damaso?’ She clipped the words out.
‘Sorry?’
He looked perplexed, as if no woman had ever confronted him like that. But Damaso was an intelligent man. He knew exactly what she was asking.
‘Well, clearly you don’t want me expecting a repeat of last night.’ Even now she waited, breathless, hoping she was wrong. That he did want to spend more time with her, and not just for sex. Marisa wanted it so badly that she discovered she’d curled her hands into hard fists, the nails scoring her skin.
‘No.’ He paused, his face very still. ‘This can’t go anywhere. There’s no point complicating things further.’
Complicating? Now there was a word. The sort of word men used to denigrate what made them uncomfortable.
‘So, out of curiosity...’ She kept her voice even with an effort. ‘What was last night to you? Did you make a bet with the others that you could get me into bed?’
‘Of course not! What sort of man do you think I am?’
Marisa raised her eyebrows, surveying his shocked expression with a dispassionate eye even as hurt carved a channel through her insides. ‘I don’t know, that’s the point.’
She’d vowed never to be burned again. Yet here she was, regretting the impulse that had made her open herself to him.
Marisa had been so sure that this time she’d found a man who at least had no hidden agenda. How many times did she have to learn that particular lesson? Bitterness soured her tongue.
‘So it was the princess thing, was it? You’d never done it with a royal?’
He loomed over her, his jaw set.
‘Why are you being deliberately insulting?’
And it wasn’t insulting, the way he was shoving her aside once he’d had what he wanted, without as much as a ‘good morning’ or a ‘thank you’ or even a ‘see you later’?
Bile burned in the pit of her stomach and she swallowed hard when it threatened to rise. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how he’d hurt her. She’d finally reached out to someone, trusted herself with
