Page 38 of Cipriani's Innocent Captive
‘Why have you come here, Lucas? We have nothing to say to one another. I don’t want your flowers. I don’t want you coming into this house and I don’t want you meeting my parents. I’ve told them everything, and now I just want to get on with my life and pretend that I never met you.’
‘You don’t mean that.’
‘Yes. I do.’
Her voice was cold and composed but she was a mess inside. She badly wanted her body to do what her brain was urgently telling it to do, but like a runaway train it was veering out of control, responding to him with frightening ferocity. More than anything in the world, she wanted to creep into his arms, rest her head against his chest and pretend that her life wasn’t cracking up underneath her; she hated herself for that weakness and hated him for showing up and exposing her to it.
She glanced anxiously over her shoulder. In a minute, she knew her father would probably appear behind her, curious as to who had rung the doorbell. Lucas followed her gaze and knew exactly what she was thinking. He was here and he was going to say what he had come to say and, if forcing his way in and flagrantly taking advantage of the fact that she wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it because it would create a scene in front of her parents was what it took, then so be it.
What was the point of an opportunity presenting itself if you didn’t take advantage of it?
So he did just that. Hand flat against the door, he stepped forward and pushed it open and, caught unawares, Katy fell back with a look that was part surprise, part horror and part incandescent rage.
‘I need to talk to you, Katy. I need you to listen to me.’
‘And you think that gives you the right to barge into my house?’
‘If it’s the only way of getting you to listen to me...’
‘I told you, I’m not interested in anything you have to say, and if you think that you can sweet talk your way back into my bed then you can forget it!’ Her voice was a low, angry hiss and her colour was high.
His body was so familiar to her that she was responding to him like an engine that had been turned on and was idling, ready to accelerate.
From behind, Katy heard her mother calling out to her and she furiously stepped aside as Lucas entered the house,her sanctuary,with his blasted red roses, on a mission to wreck her life all over again. No way was she going to allow her parents to think that a bunch of flowers meant anything, and she took them from him and unceremoniously dumped them in an umbrella stand that was empty of umbrellas.
‘I should have bought you the sports car,’ Lucas murmured and Katy glared at him. ‘That wouldn’t have fitted into an umbrella stand.’
‘You wouldn’t have dared.’
‘When it comes to getting what I want, there’s nothing I won’t do.’
Katy didn’t have the opportunity to rebut that contentious statement because her mother appeared, and then shortly after her father, and there they stood in the doorway of the kitchen, mouths round with surprise, eyes like saucers and brains conjuring up heaven only knew what. Katy shuddered to think.
And, if she had anticipated Lucas being on the back foot, the wretched man managed, in the space of forty-five minutes, to achieve the impossible.
Aftereverythingshe had told her parents—after she had filled them in on her hopeless situation, told them that she was in love with a man who could never return her love, a man whose only loyal companion would ever be his work—she seethed and fumed from the sidelines as her parents were won over by a display of charm worthy of an acting award.
Why had Lucas come? Shouldn’t he have been in China working on the deal that had ended up changingherlife more than it had changed his?
He didn’t love her and, by a process of common sense and elimination, she worked out the only thing that could possibly have brought him to her parents’ house would be an offer to continue their fling. Lucas was motivated by sex, so sex had to be the reason he was here.
The more Katy thought about that, the angrier she became, and by the time her parents began making noises about going out for supper so that she and Lucas couldtalkshe was fit to explode.
‘Howdareyou?’ That was the first thing she said as soon as they were on their own in the comfortable sitting room, with its worn flowered sofas, framed family photos on the mantelpiece and low coffee table groaning under the weight of the magazines her mother was addicted to. ‘Howdare youwaltz into my life here and try andtake over? Do you think for a moment that if you manage to get to my parents that you’ll get to me as well?’
She was standing on the opposite side of the room to him, her arms folded, the blood running hot in her veins as she tried her hardest not to be moved by the dark, sinful beauty that could get to her every time.
It infuriated her that he could juststand there,watching her with eyes that cloaked his thoughts, leaning indolently against the wall and not saying anything, which had the effect of propelling her into hysterical, attacking speech. She was being precisely the sort of person she didn’t want to be. If she wasn’t careful, she would start throwing things in a minute, and she definitely wasn’t going to sink to that level.
Lucas watched her and genuinely wasn’t sure how to proceed. Where did you start when it came to talking about feelings? He didn’t know because he’d never been there before. But she was furious, and he didn’t blame her, and standing in silence wasn’t going to progress anything.
‘I really like your parents,’ Lucas said, a propos of nothing, and she glared at him as though he had taken leave of his senses.
‘You’ve wasted your time,’ she told him flatly. ‘I’m not interested in having another fling with you, Lucas. I don’t care whether my parents fell in love with you. I want you to leave and I don’t want to see you ever again. I just want to be left in peace to get on with my life.’
‘How can you get on with your life when you’re in love with me?’
Mortification and anger coursed through her, because just like that he had cut her down at the knees. He had taken her confession and used it against her.
