“Oh my God, will you look at all those uniforms!” Minnie hissed, looking through the window at the beach, below.
“Swords, too,” Calli said calmly. She tapped Téra on the arm. “Her zipper isn’t all the way up,” she said in Spanish, then said into her cell phone in English, “Yes, I’m holding for the Chief of Staff.”
“Swords, too?” Minnie squeaked. “Which Chief of Staff?”
“The United States, I think,” her father said from across the room, as Téra calmly zipped up the top of her wedding dress.
Beryl, sitting on the chair next to Josh, fanned herself. “Oh dear…”
“This is way too much fuss,” Minnie said, looking out the window again. “What were you thinking, Calli?”
Calli held up her hand, listening to a voice at the end of the phone. She nodded a couple of times. “Thank you, I will.” She ended the call with a decisive tap of her thumb and looked at Minnie. “This is precisely the right amount of fuss one deserves when one marries a senior officer in the Vistarian army. He’s a colonel and the President’s right-hand man. Nick can’t do without him and Duardo is getting married. What’s more, the cousin of Vistaria’s Chief of Staff is getting married and that deserves pomp and circumstance, too.” Calli turned Minnie to face her. “On top of all of that, Vistaria’s new civilian quartermaster deserves to be honored on her wedding day, too.”
Minnie tried to smile. “Well, if you put it like that…”
Calli smiled and handed Minnie her bouquet, which featured native Vistarian wisteria. She picked up two smaller bouquets and gave one to Téra. “I do put it like that,” she said firmly.
“But a twelve-foot train?” Minnie demanded, kicking back at the lace wafting behind her.
Calli leaned down to kiss her cousin’s cheek. “You’ve got at least three hundred soldiers in formal uniforms, wearing swords and gloves and boots shined to a gleam. They’re going to give you twenty-one gun salute as you walk down a red carpet. Nothing less than a twelve-foot train was going to compete, honey. Take a deep breath and pretend you’re a queen, because you’re about to be treated like one.”
“Ah, hell,” Minnie murmured as her father took her arm.
“I’ll be right behind you,” Calli called.
“Yeah, twelve feet behind,” Minnie muttered.
* * * * *
Her dad must have sensed her nerves and discomfort, because all the way down to the beach, he kept up a running commentary designed to keep her mind distracted. The beach had been cleared of army equipment, raked smooth and laid with temporary flooring. Chairs had been set up, along with lights, decorations and the most perfect backdrop of all, the sun setting into the sea.
And damn, there it was, an impossibly long red carpet, running between far too many people standing and waiting for her to walk the length of it. Her father patted her hand as she gripped his sleeve. “Dad….” she moaned. This sort of limelight had never been her thing.
Then Minnie saw Duardo, standing and waiting for her at the end of the carpet, looking so impossibly handsome, tall and alive. His eyes were on her and he seemed stunned and happy to see her. His gaze was full of love.
Minnie floated down the carpet, her eyes on Duardo. She forgot about her train, the people watching her, even her father. When Duardo took her hand, she sighed. “Hi,” she whispered.
“I love you,” he murmured.
“Probably just as well, huh?”
He smiled and turned her to face the priest.
* * * * *
After dinner Olivia found herself in the same club chair, facing the same National Geographic. She wasn’t sure she could stand it. She considered going straight to her room but endless hours of staring at her walls wouldn’t be any better. She had read everything worth reading in the small library and the gift shop in the hotel lobby had been closed by the Insurrectos.
Theresa had returned. Just after lunch, she had come into the bar, looked around for a while, then settled at a table by herself. She had pointedly not sat next to Daniel at the bar. But then, Olivia couldn’t remember any of Daniel’s friends openly associating with him. To do so would have given the Insurrectos far too much leverage. Daniel would have warned each of his bed companions in turn.
Ernesto drifted over to Olivia’s chair a few minutes after she had sat down and sank onto the edge of the chair next to hers, his big hands between his knees. “She looks so despondent,” he muttered in French.
“Theresa?” Olivia clarified.
“She’s clearly upset about something,” Ernesto insisted.
“She was up all night being questioned about who she was. They came at her about it from every conceivable direction, over and over again,” Olivia pointed out. She recalled the grueling hours of questioning she had suffered through. “You would be depressed, too, if you’d had no sleep and put up with a night like that. She didn’t say anything, Ernesto, or we would not be sitting here yet again as we do every night.”
Ernest was actually wringing his hands as he watched Theresa sip at the sour punch some of them seemed to find so appealing
“Why don’t you go and talk to her?” Olivia suggested. “Gently,” she added. “She has had a rough night.”
Ernesto nodded. “Yes,” he agreed, standing up. “I will do that.” He nodded at Olivia and walked across the room to sit next to the young brunette.
Olivia hid her sigh. Ernesto needed the comfort more than Theresa did. She picked up the National Geographic magazine again and pretended to read it, while she tried to figure out how she could invent some novelty for the evening. She was in danger of going stir crazy and this latest thing with Daniel merely underlined the problem.
She was aware of him. Like metal filings could feel the pull of a magnet, from across the room she could feel him sitting at the corner of the bar as usual, even though she had not once looked at him. Despite not sparing him a glance, his presence was affecting everything she did, from how she sat to the way she pushed stray hairs from her face. Even as she was conversing with Ernesto, she had been wondering if he was watching her talk to the man, if he cared that she had other concerns besides him.
It bothered Olivia that she was obsessing even a little bit about Daniel. Yes, she had little to do. She could use that as an excuse for her mind leaping upon the one truly novel event in the last few weeks and clinging like a limpet. Only, that didn’t come close to explaining why her body was joining the party. Was it simply a matter of forbidden fruit? Not only was a liaison distinctly high-risk in this situation, she was so clearly not his type to begin with, lusting after him was safe. She could even tease him and know he would do nothing about it.
Olivia stared blankly at the open page of the magazine, her eyes unfocused, as she considered this new idea. Hadn’t she made certain this morning that she was invisible to him, before she had taunted him sexually with a breakdown of her preferred underwear choices?
She closed her eyes, self-loathing running thickly through her veins. She had been playing it safe with a new toy. How despicable.
She looked up at the bar, searching him out, hating herself.
Daniel wasn’t sitting on his usual stool. Olivia scanned the room quickly and found him sitting at the same low table as Theresa and Ernesto. His head was close to Theresa’s as they talked quietly. Ernesto was listening, while sitting back and separate from the two.
Something stabbed hard and sharp in Olivia’s chest. Cold tendrils drilled through her. Even before she had processed the decision, she was on her feet and moving toward the bar. The barman was native Vistarian and young, which made him abundantly good-looking, with dark eyes, dark hair and olive skin. He watched her approach and smiled a cautious welcome.
“Dry martini,” she told him. “Put it in a soda glass,” she added in Spanish, dropping her voice.
His eyes slid toward the guard at the end of the bar and back. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said quietly.
“No olive,” she added as he walked away. She sat on the stool closest to her and stretched out her legs under the foot rest of the next stool. Her long legs weren’t earning her any attention tonight.
The barman slid the tall, plain glass of liquid in front of her and stepped back with a nod. She picked up the glass. “Saluté,” she murmured to no one in particular. She drained the glass in three big swallows. It stung going down and burned in her gut and the back of her throat. Good.
She pushed the glass at the barman. “Another,” she said in Spanish, blinking to clear the tears of pain from her eyes.
* * * * *
Téra Alejandra Peña y Santos smoothed down the fabric of her bridesmaid’s dress and blessed Calli Escobedo once more. The gown was glorious, an apricot raw silk creation that made her feel wonderful, even while taking nothing away from the bride. The dress clung to every curve, while sweeping the floor with modest drapes. It made the most of her figure. If she had to wear a dress, this was the dress to wear, for it was the perfect tool to help her seduce a man.
She had located Lucas just after the formal speeches. He was at the table where the drinks were laid out, at the far end of the temporary flooring. Hastily, she leaned over to Calli. “I’ll be back in a moment,” she murmured and slipped out of her seat. As the second bridesmaid at the head table, it was possible her absence wouldn’t even be noticed. She tried to hurry across the floor without looking as though she was rushing, her heart thudding.
Lucas was pouring himself a glass of red wine while talking to other officers. His back was to her. Some conversation about Duardo’s exploits at sea that day, with the newly formed aquatic teams. Téra barely processed it. It felt as though the men spoke of her brother more and more often. Perhaps she was around them more and noticed the chatter, as one did when focused upon a subject.
She took the few seconds to calm herself and appreciated yet again the width of Lucas’ shoulders and the hard, trim hips, even as she was grateful for the conversation that kept him at the table and his back turned so that he did not notice her approach.
“I’ll have one of those, too, please,” she told him.
He didn’t even turn his head. “Don’t you have your own waiters slaving to your every attention at the head table, little one?” His face in profile was sharply delineated in the light from the huge bonfires that had been lit on either side of the floor, showing the high forehead and gleam of his brushed-back hair. Captain Lucas De la Cruz was almost savagely masculine. His body was corded with muscle and sinewy tendons. Téra knew that from watching him working in the camp, when a generator had got bogged in wet sand. He’d stripped to the waist and dug out the tire when his men had not worked fast enough for his liking. He drove himself and his men hard. From watching Lucas De la Cruz for the last few weeks, Téra knew that in both his mind and body no quarter was given anywhere for the softer passions. Everything about him was unyielding.
Except his mouth was made for the giving and receiving of pleasure. The lips were full and sometimes, when he was deep in thought, he pursed them in a way that made them pout. At moments like that, Téra wanted those lips to press against her body. Anywhere. Everywhere. She was in a silent, hidden fever to have Lucas De la Cruz and had been since he had hauled her to her feet, three weeks ago.
She had been climbing the wooden stairs from the army camp to the big house, her mind on the tasks Duardo had asked her to complete that day, following the steady trail of people up the long flights. A river of people traveled to and from the house and everyone had learned to stay to the right. Because the speed of the climb was determined by the slowest person in the line, Téra had learned patience was the only way to tackle these stairs. She had also learned to multitask. She often climbed them while reading or scribbling notes, keeping her right hip brushing the guardrail as a guide.
There were two landings, both of them switching the stairs back upon themselves, making the flight a three-phase climb up the steep, sage-covered hill. Téra had been deeply involved in figuring out a better training schedule for Duardo’s men when, at the second landing, closest to the top, someone had come around the landing on their way down, bearing something large. It was big enough and heavy enough to catch Téra’s left elbow and wrench her around.
Caught by surprise, for her attention had been on her notepad, Téra spun on the narrow step she had been standing on. She had already lifted a foot to step up onto the landing. Her notebook flew from her hand and down the steps as her arm thumped up against the person behind her, on the next step down. She might have hit him in the face with her arm but he reacted quicker than a cat, grabbing her wrist to stop it from hitting him, ducking under her arm, thrusting his foot upon the next step and leaning forward to catch her weight as she fell.
She landed against him, her heart going a million miles a minute, with no clear idea what had happened, for she had been so thoroughly absorbed in what she had been doing.
“I have you,” he told her, his other hand lifting to her waist.
As the people up and down the line murmured and muttered concerned comments, she drew a recovering breath. Her chief impression was how solid the man was. She was resting against a rock. A nicely upholstered rock. Her chest was pushing against him. He smelled male and good.
Her heart had been slowing. Now it seemed to skip a beat and gallop again. Téra pushed against his shoulders, trying to lift herself away from him but gravity, adrenaline, the acute angle she was leaning at and her shaky muscles wouldn’t give her the power she needed to do it.
He gripped her waist, then lifted and placed her back onto her feet like a child. He didn’t return her to the step she had been on, but raised her even higher and settled her on the landing. He climbed the two steps up to her level and shepherded her out of the line of people waiting to move on, so traffic could continue on its way up the hill.
For the first time she saw Lucas’ face, with its relentless planes, almost cruel jawline and the unexpectedly soft lips. His black eyes moved over her face as she stared at him, then travelled down her body, examining her. The frank appraisal felt like a lover’s caress, even though she knew he was checking her for injuries. She clenched the stair rail, fighting back a moan. Her body was hot and pulsing for him, this captain.
“Thank you, Captain…?” She spoke evenly, but her voice was hopelessly hoarse with arousal.
“Captain Lucas De la Cruz, at your service, Miss…?”
“Téra,” she said cautiously. It had only taken her a week to learn that her connection to Duardo and through him to Nicolás Escobedo was one many people would exploit if they were aware of it.
His eyes narrowed. “Miss Téra,” he repeated. People brushed past him on the small landing and he stepped farther out of the way of the main stream of traffic. It brought him closer to her.
Her heart leapt again, thudding against her chest. She could barely pull her gaze away from his lips.
“You should perhaps not read as you climb these stairs. I might not be here next time to catch you.”
“That would be a pity,” she breathed and dared to look up into his eyes.
Someone thrust her notebook into her hand, interrupting her, making her look away. She murmured her thanks, gripping the now-tattered pages. Then she looked up again.
He was staring at her and Téra found breathing difficult. Molten lust pooled in her body. The wanton sensation spread through her, making her limbs heavy and hard to lift. She trembled.
“The pity would be falling for me,” he said, his voice a low rasp.
She reached out for his hand where it lay on the railing next to where she gripped it. Her fingers shook as she tugged at his wrist. He let her lift his hand and place it over her upper breast, so that he could feel for himself her runaway heart and trembling body. The touch of his big, hot hand, even with her directing it, was electrifying. She caught her breath, drawing it in with a gasp. “Too late, Lucas,” she told him.
He snatched his hand away and flexed it, like he had been burned. “Adrenaline,” he assured her. “You just had a scare. Go fixate on someone else, little girl.” He made to step past her, only the human chain shuffling past wouldn’t let him merge with it so easily. He cursed under his breath.
“I compete in triathlons,” Téra told him. “I know what an adrenaline rush feels like.”
He muttered something.
“What?” she asked.
He glanced at the people around them, then at her. Then, in English, he said carefully, “I would only hurt one like you. Stay away from me, do you understand?”
“Yes.”
He stepped into the stream and climbed. Then Téra realized he’d taken her confirmation that she understood his English as confirmation she would stay away.
Or had he deliberately misunderstood?
Nevertheless, the fever that bubbled in her veins that afternoon had not abated in the three weeks since. It hadn’t been a simple adrenaline rush. It wasn’t a passing fancy. It simmered in the back of her mind most days, an itch she could not scratch that drove her steadily crazy with need. If she happened to see Lucas himself her internal combustion exploded into a hot-tempered craving she could barely control.
She spoke to no one about her secret. She did not dare. Duardo would shoot her, then Lucas. His old-fashioned double standards and the friction that served as their relationship as brother and sister would see to that. She didn’t know anyone else well enough to confide in, except Minnie. As she was Duardo’s soon-to-be wife, Téra didn’t want to burden Minnie with a secret she couldn’t share with Duardo.
So Téra held it all inside her and watched Lucas whenever she could, until she could stand the simmering no longer. On the night of the wedding, she decided, she would seduce Lucas or die trying.
Only now, he stood at the wine table, barely looking at her, dismissing her once again as a little girl. He hadn’t even bothered looking at her.
Her heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t looked to see who she was. He knew it was her. He’d known all along. His sarcastic comment, the drawled “Don’t you have your own waiters slaving to your every attention at the head table, little one?” proved it.
“Did you know who I was on the stairs that day, Lucas?” she asked, in English.
He turned to face her. Tension radiated from every stiff line of his body. “It wouldn’t have made any difference if I had.” His jaw was a solid line, his lips held firm. His eyes were flint-black in the low light.
Téra stepped closer, so there was a bare three inches separating them. She could feel the heat of his body through the silk of her gown and drew in a ragged breath. She looked up at him, feeling the heat breaking out inside her and struggling to control it. She was shuddering with need.
“Tell me you don’t want me, Lucas. Tell me in a way that makes me believe you.”
“I don’t want you.”
“Liar.”
He shook his head. “I don’t.”
“Lie? Yes, you do.” She moved the half-step closer she needed to press herself against him and drew in another shuddering breath and fought to control her reaction.
“Christ almighty, stop this, Téra,” Lucas breathed. “We’re in the middle of the dance floor.”
“Where everyone can see the man I’ve chosen to seduce. Does that bother you?” She stared at him. “I can feel how much of a liar you are, Lucas.” His body was congested, throbbing against her.
His jaw rippled as he clenched it. “You want me to walk away, to publicly humiliate you?”
“You’ve already done that,” she reminded him. “I’m publicly seducing you because you won’t let me do it in private.”
“You have no idea what you’re baiting here,” he hissed. “You don’t know me at all.”
She laughed. “I was kept in Zalaya’s bordello for three days while they prepped me for Zalaya himself. I got to see the most depraved sexual extremities known to man while I was there. You keep calling me a little girl. Who are you trying to convince?” She reached around him and cupped his buttocks, then pressed herself against him.
He thrust her away and staggered back a step. “You have no idea what you’re playing with.” His voice was a croak. “For both our sakes, leave this alone.”
“I can’t,” she said. “I won’t.”
He leaned over to the wine table and picked up a whole unopened bottle of red. “You must,” he said bleakly and walked away.
Téra watched him step off the flooring onto the sand. He moved past the bonfire, into the shadows beyond, well into the night, until she lost sight of him.
With her heart doing shaky adrenaline-spiked bounces around her rib cage, she made her way around the dancers back to the head table and sat back in her seat. She caught the waiter’s attention and ordered a double spiced rum, straight. Then she sat waiting for it to arrive impatiently.
Minnie tapped her on the shoulder and dropped into a crouch next to her chair, the lace train collecting around her in elegant drapes. Minnie was glowing.
Téra found herself smiling. “Hey, you’re really my sister now,” she said softly.
“I’m really your sister,” Minnie confirmed. “Here’s another grim fact. You’re going to be an auntie in about seven months.”
Téra swallowed a laugh. “Who would have predicted this, that night you arrived in our kitchen?”
“Duardo did. He already knew he wanted to marry me, that night.” Minnie smiled.
“Yeah, well, my big brother has always been a stubborn son of a bitch.”
Minnie squeezed her arm. “You should be glad he is. If he wasn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”
“Amen to that,” Téra murmured. She lifted the glass of rum the waiter put in front of her.
Minnie held a roughly torn, folded piece of paper out toward her. “Here,” she said softly.
“What is it?”
The corner of Minnie’s mouth lifted a little. “The number of Captain De la Cruz’s billet. He has one of the few private ones, I’m told.” She dropped the small wad of paper onto Téra’s lap.
Hot hope spilled through her. She looked Minnie in the eye. “You were told?” She tried to speak calmly, but her voice was thick with clawing, ravening lust. “Who told you?”
Minnie rose to her feet, which only put her a few inches higher than Téra. She was a petite, delicate-looking beauty, with an inner core of toughness Téra had learned to appreciate. Now Minnie leaned down to murmur close by Téra’s ear. “He’ll deny it until he’s blue in the face, especially to you, but Duardo told me.” She straightened, smiled at Téra, picked up her train and floated back to where Duardo was sitting ramrod straight at the head of the table, looking anywhere but at his sister.
* * * * *
By the time she got to her fourth martini, Olivia found that whatever was driving her had backed off enough to let her just sip the colorless liquid, instead of knocking it back in three or four swallows. She reached for the glass with a hand that was perfectly steady, while the barman watched with wide eyes.
Her hand never reached the glass. Daniel picked up the glass and brought it to his nose. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. He looked at the barman. “How many?” he asked in Spanish.
The barman swallowed and looked at Olivia.
“Don’t look at her. I asked you a question,” Daniel growled. He pulled his hand out of his pocket. “How many?”
“Four, Señor.”
“Goddam it, Olivia,” Daniel muttered, not even looking at her. He jerked his head at the barman. “Could I see the menu?”
The barman’s brows rose. “The…menu?”
“The menu,” Daniel confirmed.
The barman twisted to reach behind him and pull one of the heavy leather-bound menus off the pile behind him. He passed it over to Daniel, who opened it, scanned it and grimaced. “On second thoughts, I’ve changed my mind. I think I’ll just head for bed.” He slapped the menu shut and thrust it at the barman. “I trust this will cover any indiscretions?”
The barman lifted the cover an inch and let it drop. “Señor,” he said softly in English, “you should know…I am loyalist. This is not necessary.”
“Consider it further inducement, then. The Insurrectos can be very persuasive.” Daniel dropped his chin to his shoulder and Olivia saw his blue eyes over the thick curve of his shoulder. There was fury in them and no concession whatsoever. “Go to your room. Now. Make damn sure you do not stagger or weave or in any way indicate that you’ve got four stiff drinks in you. You hear me?” His tone was almost savage.
She pushed out her breath. “Like hell. I’m just starting to enjoy myself.”
“You want to get killed, Olivia? Because you’re lining yourself up for a bullet in the head.”
“I can hold my booze. I’ve been drinking on the diplomatic circuit for ten years—”
He turned to her. “You’re putting us all at risk with this stupid stunt. Either you go up to your room now, or I’ll put that bullet in your temple.”
She flinched. When his gaze did not waver, she put her feet on the ground and stood up. She couldn’t think of anything to say that Daniel would listen to. Not in this mood. She left for her room.
Moving through the corridors told her the alcohol was affecting her far more strongly than usual. It had been weeks since she’d had a drink. She wasn’t used to it, anymore. With a sinking sensation in her heart and gut, she realized Daniel had anticipated this.
A trickle of fear touched the base of her spine.
Here at the grand old White Sands nut house they were in, it wasn’t just socially unacceptable to get rip-roaring drunk. It was life-threatening to even hint she might have a drink or two inside her.
A single stagger or slurred word could give her away and she’d knocked back four stiff drinks in twenty minutes and couldn’t handle her booze anymore.
Olivia kept her gaze straight ahead along the corridor. There were guards at various points along the passages. They never stationed them in the same places each day.
She swallowed. She had to keep looking sober and straight until she reached her room. Sweat broke out on her temples as she concentrated on walking straight and keeping her chin up.
The sight of her hotel room door was so welcome she almost wept with relief. What had become to feel like a prison was a sanctuary. She reached into her shirt pocket for her key, fumbling. She realized her hand was shaking. She bit her lip.
“No longer carrying it in your trousers, I see,” Daniel murmured from behind.
She glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t tease,” she said. “Not now. I’m such a stupid fucking moronic idiot. God, Daniel, what was I thinking?” She tried to get the key into the electronic slot, but her hand was shaking and she missed. Tears blurred her vision and she gritted her teeth. “Oh God, that’s just perfect. That is the last thing I need.”
“Here, hold these,” he said, handing her packets of coffee for the coffee machines in their hotel rooms. He took the key from her and opened the door. He pushed her inside, his hand hot on her shoulder through the silk of her shirt.
She hastily wiped her eyes before he could see the tears. That would be the last humiliation and she couldn’t stand it.
He took back the coffee and headed for the bathroom while she disabled the microphone under the bed with the glass of water on her bedside table.
“You’re going to drink coffee until you think you’ve got Blackwater fever,” he called out from the bathroom. “I’m not leaving until I know you’re stone cold sober again.”
“I feel sober already. I think I just scared myself into it.” She hugged her arms around her middle.
He glanced up from preparing the coffee machine. “You might feel sober, but you’ve still got alcohol in your blood. It’s affecting your reactions. I’m not leaving until the alcohol is gone. That’s at least six hours. If Ibarra learned you were under the influence he’d have you pinned under lights and questioning you so fast it would make your head spin. So coffee to speed up your metabolism and me to watch over you and make sure you don’t do anything stupid in the meantime. We keep you under wraps until the danger is passed.”
She shivered. “I’m sorry,” she said inadequately.
Daniel strode out of the bathroom as the coffee machine gurgled. He halted in front of her. “What were you thinking, Olivia?” he demanded softly. “Four weeks and you haven’t put a foot wrong. Why now, all of a sudden?”
He was too close. The air was too thick. She had trouble drawing it into her lungs. “I wasn’t thinking, I guess.”
“That’s a pathetic lie. You can do better than that,” he scoffed.
Stung, she looked up at him. “I wasn’t thinking,” she said truthfully. “I saw you talking to Theresa and I just got up and went over to the bar and ordered the drink.” She tried to pull back the words, but it was too late. They were out there. She had spoken them out loud.
This was what Daniel meant about alcohol screwing with her judgment and behavior.
He grinned. “And you keep insisting you’re glad you’re invisible.”
It was the grin that did it. All the resentment and fury of the day rushed through her, giving her a rare courage.
Olivia squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye. “I’m not invisible, Daniel. You see me just fine. You and I both know that. I’m just not on your list of quarry. Women under thirty are your exclusive prize because you’re too gutless to try for anything more challenging.”
She saw his chest lift as he drew a breath. Then he turned away, almost as if he was pulling himself from her. He moved to the armchair and perched on the padded arm, spreading his feet. “That’s the alcohol talking.”
“Bullshit,” she shot back. “You know very well that alcohol merely lowers inhibitions. It’s just letting me talk. It’s not forcing me to make things up. What’s the matter? Am I scaring you? Insulting you, perhaps? I’ve heard British men are bad lovers. Perhaps it’s true.”
He smiled. “I’ve never had any complaints.”
She turned down the corner of her mouth. “You’ve never bedded a woman old enough to have the experience to judge. How would she know if you’re a bad lover or not?”
“I don’t bed virgins.” His hands were resting on his knees. The fingers appeared relaxed, but the flesh around the nails was white with pressure.
“You don’t bed women, either. You have sex with girls. They’re no challenge at all.”
“Older woman aren’t more of a challenge,” Daniel replied, his voice low. “They’re cumbersome. They come with histories. Hang-ups. Commitment issues.”
“Then you are afraid of them.”
“No.” He shook his head.
“What is the problem, then?” she demanded. “Goddamn it, Daniel. You’re so two-faced!”
“What’s two-faced about sex?” he flared, thrusting himself to his feet. “People can’t let you down if it’s just sex.”
Olivia could feel the chill of his meaning sink in through her pores. A barrier. He used sex as a barrier. Here, he was saying. Here but no farther, because I don’t trust you. He could control girls and keep them as undemanding and superficial sex toys. They would never be able to let him down because he never let them get any closer.
Daniel stared her, his anger pulsing between them. He lifted a hand, as if he might try to explain further but then he thrust it into his hair instead, an expression of frustration. “I’ll get the coffee,” he said and went into the bathroom.