Chapter 80

“I don’t blame you,” she continued in a voice dripping with amiability. She strolled to the sofa and sat, as calmly as if they were discussing the weather. “You have every reason to be.”

“Really?” he asked, his indignation growing. She’d crushed his heart and this was how she was reacting?

“Of course you do.” Her composure slipped a notch. She crossed and uncrossed her legs as if trying not to fidget. “You want revenge. That’s only natural. And you are taking it out on me.”

“That’s priceless.” He nearly laughed at her audacity. He stalked toward her, waiting for her to flinch, but she didn’t.

Apparently she could sit no longer. She stood, suddenly one hundred percent defiant and rebellious. She bumped her chin up a notch and glared at him from across the living room. “Things were moving too fast and we had to slow down. We both got caught up in all the —.”

“Let me get this straight. You blame me?”

“I don’t blame only you. That’s my point.

We’re both responsible. And I think we’ll both be better off if we just talk about what happened.”

“Well, I don’t.”

But she ignored him. “If we get it out in the open, maybe we can move on.”

“Oh, I’ve moved on just fine.” Except he hadn’t. And the more she talked, the more he protested. And the more obvious it was that he was lying.

Exasperation flickered over her face, as if his interruption annoyed her. “If we can just admit the mistakes we both made—”

“The mistakes we both made?” He’d made the mistake of falling for her. Of believing she could love him just as much. And now he’d made the additional mistake of letting himself get maneuvered into coming here. He never should have seen her in the first place. The humiliation of having his entire company know that he couldn’t face his ex would have been vastly preferable to this mess.

“Is that really what you expected to happen tonight?” He walked toward her, drawn to her, as he always had been. “You thought I’d come over, have a drink. Reminisce about the past.”

She looked startled. “I wouldn’t have used the word reminisce, but—”

“And what? That I’d just give you the fifty thousand dollars?”

“Well, I—” she protested.

He could see it in her eyes. That was what she’d thought would happen.

She’d honestly expected him to just hand her the money.

“You must really think a lot of your conversational skills.” Or, as was far more likely, she thought highly of her ability to manipulate and control him.

She seemed to flounder for a minute, looking as off-balanced as he felt.

Then, with a shrug, she said, “It’s more that I think we have a lot to talk about.”

“But that isn’t why I came here tonight. That’s not what I agreed to pay you fifty thousand dollars for.”

For a second, she hesitated and he thought he had her. He imagined he saw her struggling to keep her composure. Then she called his bluff, getting right in his face.

“What are you saying, Nolan? That you really came here tonight to have sex with me?”

“That was the plan,” he said with grim acceptance. They were mere inches apart, him looking down at her, her glaring up at him. Tension oscillated between them. The air practically vibrated with it.

“The plan? I think threat is a better word.”

“Don’t try to make me the bad guy here.” But even as he said it, he knew there was no other possible role for him to play. He was acting like a total jerk. He knew it and he didn’t care. What had she expected? Surely she hadn’t thought he’d just sit and chat. Like they were at a freakin’ tea party.

“What is it you want from me, Candace?” He grabbed her arms, wanting to shake her in his frustration. Instead, he felt the heat of her through her sweater. Her arms were small but strong. Like her. “Besides the money, I mean. You want me to grovel and beg for your affection? You want me to fall for you all over again? To become so completely enchanted by you that I forget how you screwed me over?”

“Is that really what you think? That this was part of my plan to lure you in?” Shoving at his chest, she wrenched herself free from his grasp. “That in my elaborate plan to seduce you and make you fall for me all over again, I’m wearing my jeans and ratty sweater?”

She plucked at the hem of her sweater, full of false indignation. As if she were completely unaware of how appealing she looked. As if she hadn’t picked her jeans because they hugged her hips and emphasized the narrow width of her waist. As if she didn’t know that the sweater  matched her eyes and that the soft knit clung to her breasts. That the casual disarray of her curls made him think of tousled sheets and lazy, early-morning sex. Of course, maybe she really didn’t know. Because she kept on talking as if he wasn’t seconds away from ripping her clothes off.

“Or perhaps you think it goes deeper than this? Maybe you think I’ve fabricated this whole situation? That my brother isn’t really in danger. That I don’t really need the money. That I thought making myself seem pathetic would appeal to you.”

He struggled for a response but didn’t come up with one. What could he possibly say that wouldn’t reveal that—regardless of whether or not she’d planned it—he did want her. Despite himself, he craved her. He remembered exactly how she’d tasted. How she’d felt in his arms.

But he didn’t want to want her. With every fiber of his being he wanted to hate her. And the fact that he didn’t made him despise himself almost as much as he wanted to despise her. His emotions must have shown through because after studying his face for a minute, she shook her head and spoke.

“Here’s what I don’t get. If you’re this mad at me, if this is really just about humiliating me, then why choose this?” She spread out her hands to indicate their situation.

Playing dumb seemed the safest course of action, so he said, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“If retribution is what you want, there have got to be a hundred other ways to ground my dignity under your heel. So what could you possibly achieve by taking this route? If I’m so distasteful to you, why bring sex into this at all?”