‘For a man, definitely,’ Cassandra conceded.
‘Why, in this era when women maintain careers equal to those of men?’
‘Do men think hearth and home, food, in quite the same way a woman does?’ she countered.
‘The man works to provide, while the woman nurtures?’ He took a sip of wine. ‘A delineation defining the sexes?’
‘Equality in the workplace,’ she broached with a tinge of humour. ‘But outside of it, men and women are from two different planets.’
‘And not meant to cohabit?’
‘Physically,’ she agreed. ‘The emotional aspect needs work.’
‘Vive la difference, hmm?’
It proved to be a leisurely meal, and afterwards they viewed a movie on DVD. When the credits rolled she rose to her feet and bade him a polite goodnight.
She couldn’t, wouldn’t slip into the bed she’d shared with him last night, she determined as she ascended the stairs to the upper level.
It took only minutes to collect her nightwear and toiletries and enter another bedroom. There were fresh sheets and blankets in the linen box at the foot of the bed, and she quickly made up the bed, undressed, then slid beneath the covers.
She was about to snap off the bedside light when the door opened and Diego entered the room.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘My question, I think,’ he drawled as he crossed to the bed and threw back the covers. ‘You want to walk, or do I get to carry you?’
‘I’m not sleeping in your bed.’
‘It’s where you’ll spend the night.’
Cassandra could feel the anger simmer beneath the surface of her control. Soon, it would threaten to erupt. ‘Sex as payment for you taking on the role of nursemaid?’ She regretted the words the instant they left her lips.
‘Would you care to run that by me again?’ His voice sent icy shivers scudding down the length of her spine.
‘Not really.’
Without a further word Diego turned and walked from the room, quietly closing the door behind him. An action that was far more effective than if he’d slammed it.
Dammit, what was the matter with her?
Subconsciously she knew the answer. Fear…on every level.
Ultimately, for losing something she’d never had…the love of a man. Not just any man. Diego del Santo.
Cassandra lay in the softly lit room, staring at the walls surrounding her, and faced the knowledge that life without him would amount to no life at all.
Her eyes ached with unshed tears, and she cursed herself for allowing her emotions free rein.
She had no idea how long it was before she fell into an uneasy sleep where dark figures chased her fleeing form.
At some stage she came sharply awake, immensely relieved to have escaped from a nightmarish dream. Until memory returned, and with it the knowledge she was alone in a bed in Diego’s home…and why.
She closed her eyes in an effort to dispel his image, and failed miserably as she accorded herself all kinds of fool.
The admission didn’t sit well, and after several long minutes she slid from the bed and crossed to the en suite.
There was a glass on the vanity top, and she part-filled it with water, then lifted the glass to her lips, only to have it slip from her fingers, hit the vanity top and fall to the tiled floor, where it shattered into countless shards.
It was an accident, and she cursed the stupid tears welling in her eyes as she sank down onto her haunches and collected the largest pieces of glass.
There was a box of tissues on the vanity top, and she reached for them, tore out several sheets and began gathering up the mess.
It became the catalyst that unleashed her withheld emotions, and the tears overflowed to run in warm rivulets down each cheek, clouding her vision.
‘What the hell—?’
Cassandra was so intent on the task at hand she didn’t hear Diego enter the room, and her fingers shook at the sound of his voice.
‘I dropped a glass.’ As if it wasn’t self-explanatory.
He took one look at her attempt to gather the shards together, and the breath locked in his throat. ‘Don’t move.’ The instruction was terse. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
He made it in three, and that was only because he had to discard one broom cupboard and search in another for a brush and pan.
In one fluid movement he lifted her high and lowered her down onto the bedroom carpet, then he completed the clean-up with deft efficiency.
Cassandra could only stand and watch, mesmerised by the sight of him in hastily pulled-on jeans, the breadth of his shoulders and the flex of muscle and sinew.
He made her ache in places where she had little or no control, and she turned away, wanting only for him to leave before she lost what was left of her composure.
‘Use one of the other bathrooms until morning just in case there are any splinters I might have missed.’
She had difficulty summoning her voice. ‘Thanks.’ She made a helpless gesture with one hand. ‘I’m sorry the noise disturbed you.’
Did she have any idea how appealing she looked? Bare legs, a cotton nightshirt with a hem that reached mid-thigh, and her hair loose and tousled?
No other woman had affected him quite the way she did. He wanted to reach beneath the nightshirt, fasten his hands on warm flesh and skim them over her skin. Touch, and be touched in return in a prelude that could only have one end.
‘Are you OK?’
How did she answer that? She’d never be OK where he was concerned. ‘I’m fine.’ An automatic response, and one that took first prize in the fabrication stakes.
‘I’ll get rid of this.’
The pan, brush and broken glass. She nodded, aware he crossed to the door, and she registered the moment he left the room.
She should get into bed, douse the light and try to get some sleep. Instead she sank down onto the edge of the mattress and buried her head in her hands.
Reaction could be a fickle thing, and she let the tears fall. Silently, wondering if their release would ease the heartache made worse by having crossed verbal swords with the one man who’d come to mean so much to her in such a short time.
It was crazy to swing like a pendulum between one emotion and another. The sooner she returned to her apartment and
