LITMIR.BIZ

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She didn’t want to be afraid of him and she wasn’t. She was afraid of herself and how weak he made her feel.

      Sitting straighter, she said defensively, “Perhaps it wasn’t the best coping strategy, but I had a lot to deal with.”

      “It’s always about you, isn’t it, Rowan?” Nic stood and took his time turning over the end on the surgical tape before setting it aside.

      Rowan clamped shut the mouth that had dropped open. Had he not just seen with his own eyes how thoroughly she’d been living her mother’s life? Fueled by righteousness, she rose hastily—then lost some of her dignity as she had to grapple for her towel. Every point on her body twinged, making her wince.

      She braced herself on the wall and demanded, “You really see me as nothing more than a total narcissist, don’t you?” It was so unfair.

      His eyelids came down to a circumspect half-mast as he pointed out flatly, “Well, you just had to have a week in St. Moritz for your birthday last year, didn’t you?”

      Because she hadn’t had the courage to come home and risk facing him after the fiasco the year before—which only added to the colossal self-blame eating her alive.

      “And my broken leg put my mother and your father on the plane. Is the storm my fault too?” she asked through lips that were going numb. “Should I have checked the weather on the Med before I let that drunken snowboarder mow me down?”

      Nic heard the tortured regret in her tone and recognized it as sincere, but the shriveled, underfed raisin where his heart was supposed to be didn’t want to soften toward her. He couldn’t afford to let it soften at all. That way led to madness and pain.

      He turned away from her, and the tumult she was inciting inside him. His version of Rowan as an immature egocentric needed to stand firm against this more complex vision that was emerging, otherwise he’d be forced to reexamine himself, her, and everything that had transpired between them since day one.

      “You think I don’t hate myself every day?” Rowan said with a rasp that made him flinch. “Why do you think I refuse to accept they’re gone? Maybe you’re right, and I do need to show responsibility, but I don’t want to be responsible for their being dead, Nic!”

      A barbed hook seemed to catch at the flesh surrounding his heart.

      “Olief made the decision to fly despite the weather,” he muttered, unable to stand the weight of guilt she was carrying. “It’s not your fault.”

      “No?” Her thready need for reassurance pulled at him, along with the misery searching for forgiveness in her gaze as he caught her reflection in the mirror.

      “No,” he affirmed, caving briefly to her palpable anguish. “You’ll need your things,” he added, seizing the excuse to escape the close atmosphere of the humid room. He needed to get away from her before his barriers against her crumbled any more.

      It wasn’t until he was halfway down the stairs that he remembered he’d had every intention of forcing Rowan to get out as soon as possible, not help her settle in.

      Rowan pulled on leggings and a loose T-shirt from her closet, trying to process the consoling remark Nic had made about Olief choosing to fly. Before she could make sense of it Nic was pushing back into her room and setting her bags on the floor. He straightened and gave her a cursory, masculine once over that made her tingle.

      “Let’s be clear. This isn’t your all-inclusive. I’ll give you a few days to gather your belongings, but then you’ll move on. While you’re here you’ll pull your weight with cooking, cleaning and laundry.”

      She turned her back on him to hide the sting of his sudden return to Lord of the Manor disdain. Without saying anything, she took her time twisting her wet hair into a coil and fixing it with a pair of chopsticks off her dresser-top.

      “I came for the anniversary,” she informed him stiffly, her insides fluttering with sexual awareness as she considered sharing this house with him. Alone. It could be unpleasant, but she wouldn’t be scared off. “Don’t even try to pry me out of here before then. I’ll shred you to pieces.”

      His brows lifted and she almost heard his unspoken, I’d like to see you try.

      Her bravado teetered as she realized he was more than big enough to physically throw her out, and had financial strength on his side, as well. For all her show of defiance, she was fragile as hell at her core. That was why she’d come back to the one constant in her life: Rosedale. She needed a sense of security while she figured out what to do.

      “This is the only real home I’ve ever had, Nic. Maybe you and I aren’t related, but this is where we gathered as a family. I need that right now.” She kept her tone as steady as possible, refusing to descend into begging. “You can give me that much.”

      Nic braced an arm against the doorjamb, shaking his head at his bare feet before he lifted his derisive gaze. “I have to question that kind of sentimentality. What do you gain by being here for a day that has no more meaning than any other? They’re gone.” He wasn’t being unkind, just honest—which was more difficult to face. “They’re not any more or less gone whether you’re here or in London or Antarctica.”

      Rowan gripped her elbows as she turned, shoulders hunching protectively as she absorbed what a truly unfeeling man he was. “I find it comforting to be here,” she excused, hearing the creak in her voice at admitting to what he obviously saw as weakness. “But you can go back to Athens, or wherever you’re living these days.”

      A slow smile crept across his features, completely without amusement. “You wish. No, I’ll stay. And I’ll even let you stay until the anniversary if you promise to sign your name on the dotted line once you’ve finished lighting candles in the windows.”

      “Why do you have to be so disparaging about it?”

      “I’m being magnanimous,” he defended, straightening into cool civility. “Would you rather I make your stay conditional on your signing right now?”

      “Oh, very nice,” she said, instantly spitting venom over that sleight of hand. “I knew you were tough, Nic. I didn’t know you were ruthless.”

      “Now you do,” he said without acrimony.

      “And you expect me to housemaid while I’m here?” Her fists dug into her ribs beneath the pressure of her elbows. “You know it was the evil stepmother who had Cinderella scrubbing floors and sorting ballgowns all day.”

      “What would you rather do to earn your keep?” he shot back, swift and lethal. “Demonstrate more of your mother’s survival skills?”

      “Sleep with you, you mean? Not in this lifetime. Get over yourself!”

      His brows shot up and his stance altered subtly to a predatory one full of challenge. Their kiss and her undeniable response was suddenly right here in the room with them. Sexual awareness gathered and sparked. The sheer magnitude of what was being acknowledged, her inability to ignore it, made Rowan’s heart race in frightened anticipation. All she could think was, Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God.

      “It wasn’t like that with Mum and Olief,” she stammered. “She loved him.”

      “Give it a rest, Ro. I’ve had mistresses. I know what it’s like.” His chilly assessment of her figure left a trail of heat over her breasts, down her stomach and up between her thighs. “Quid pro quo,” he said with a curl of his lip. “Not love.”

      His words wrenched at a place between her throat and heart. She didn’t examine the source too closely. Part of it had to do with acknowledging all those unknown women who had shared his bed—something she’d never let herself think about too much—but there was a deeper sense of loss in hearing his derision of love.

      “Well, I’m not going to have sex with you to stay here,” she said, forcing herself to stand up to him even though she was on very shaky legs. Figuratively

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