Page 37 of Two of a Kind
The words felt like a physical blow, a shot delivered with unerring precision to his weakest spot. It was proof she was far more than a pretty face and a smoking hot body.
And a timely reminder that she might have a hidden agenda.
“Let me ask you something. Did you know who I was when I sent you the note in the restaurant that night?”
Her eyes dropped to the container of forgotten ice cream. “Yes.”
“Yet you came anyway.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t raise her gaze, staring at the ice cream while she swirled her spoon back and forth.
Why wouldn’t she look at him? Was it guilt that kept her from looking into his eyes and saying something?
Saying anything?
Hurt and anger began to swell and churn inside him. He was used to people using him, but he had hoped she was different.
“Was it because you saw it as an opportunity? Bragging rights? Or just a thrill to fuck someone so far out of your league?” The cutting words sliced liked honed blades from his chest to his throat.
Her eyes did snap up then, flashing with fire. She stood. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”
He stood, too. “The truth hurts, doesn’t it?”
She pointed at the door. “Get out.”
“Fine. But you’ll get nothing from me, do you understand?”
He didn’t think she could look any angrier, but she did.
“Have Iaskedyou for anything?” she spat, opening the door. “DidIapproachyouat Sate? DidIshow up onyourdoorstep? You’re the one who tracked me down, not the other way around. Goodbye, Mr. Dumas.”
She gave him a shove then closed the door behind him. He heard the locks engage, then the exterior light switched off and he was left standing in the dark.
Spencer walked to his car and got in. A few seconds later, the rest of the lights inside the house went off, as well.
Spencer drove away feeling as if he had just run some kind of bizarre gauntlet. In less than thirty minutes, he had experienced anticipation, cynicism, rampant lust, hurt, and anger. Rather than getting the answers he had sought, he felt weary and more confused than ever.
Some of his anger evaporated as he replayed their conversation over in his head, allowing him to think more clearly. Had it been guilt that had kept her from answering, or something else? Had that sheen of moisture pooling in her eyes been solely from righteous ire, or had there been a bit of hurt there, too?
It was possible that he had let his cynical nature get the best of him. The woman did seem to have a way of getting under his skin quickly and with minimal effort. Therefore, instead of approaching with caution and an open mind, he had jumped to conclusions. And maybe, just maybe, he had overreacted.
That same intense passion that made them so sexually compatible had also brought other strong emotions to the surface.
That was where thetruedanger lay.
Spencer exhaled heavily. What was it about Kayla O’Connell that pushed all his buttons and made him lose control so easily?
Could he have misjudged her? Was it possible she had no ulterior motives and was, like him, just looking for a good time?
No. It was more than that. It had to be.
She hadn’t made any attempt to contact him in the last few weeks, nor had she made any demands or requests or threats. Maybe that was what was really bothering him—a bruised ego. After all, she had been the one to walk—sneak—away from him without so much as a goodbye. She had known who he was and where to find him, yet she hadn’t once attempted to contact him.
Had she dismissed him from her thoughts so easily, when he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her?
