Seducing the Enemy (8 page)

This—just now—felt different.

It was a long time—or maybe just felt like a long time—before Harrison said, “I’m not going to touch you again. And I won’t talk to you if I don’t have to. But I’m not going to leave until I know you’re all right.”

Her face crumpled, and she shook with a couple of suppressed sobs, the inevitable aftermath of the subsiding panic. She was a pitiful wreck who couldn’t make out with a man without a breakdown. Too mortified to even look at him, she managed to say, “I’m all right.”

“You don’t look all right.”

Why wouldn’t he just leave her alone to her humiliation? She composed her face and turned around to glare at him. “I said I was all right. What the hell do you want from me?”

“I want an explanation.” He stood stiffly, and his face was tense with what looked like suspicion.

“I don’t owe you an explanation. Or did you want me to apologize for not spreading my legs for you in the middle of the garden? You told me I wouldn’t get you into bed again, remember? What did you expect? Or do Damons think women only exist for them to screw?”

She regretted the words as soon as she spoke them. They were too crude and ugly. They weren’t like her at all.

Why wouldn’t Harrison just leave her alone?

He stiffened even more, and something closed in his expression. “This was a tease, then?”

Of course he would believe that. That she’d work a man up and leave him unsatisfied just for fun. “You can think what you want. As long as you go away.”

He stared at her a few more seconds. Then he trudged to his horse, swung his leg over the saddle, and rode away.

Marietta plopped on the bench under the arbor and cried.

…

Harrison worked most of the day in his office, since he wasn’t in a mood to talk to people.

He never should have kissed Marietta that morning, much less let it spiral out of control. He wasn’t a horny adolescent, and he shouldn’t have acted that way. He shouldn’t brood about her behavior. He shouldn’t play out various scenarios, ranging from her believing him a monster who took a woman by force to the possibility she’d orchestrated the whole thing to manipulate him.

He couldn’t avoid her completely while she was a guest in their home, but he could avoid being alone with her.

When his uncle requested his presence for tea, Harrison reluctantly accepted. It was a mistake, though. Tea was fine—just superficial conversation. Then, as they rose to leave, his uncle said, “Harrison, Ms. Edwards said earlier that she’s never been to see the Dover cliffs. Would you mind taking her this afternoon?”

Marietta’s flustered response told him she’d made a random comment and hadn’t expected an excursion. Whether his uncle’s motive was an ill-founded matchmaking attempt or subtle cruelty, however, Harrison didn’t know.

He had to comply, though. He was troubled by how scared she’d been of him that morning. Assuming it wasn’t an act, he wouldn’t compound her impression with rudeness.

“I’m sorry,” Marietta said as they got in the car. Her face twisted uncomfortably. “I had no idea he was going to suggest this. You really don’t have to take me. We can say I wasn’t feeling well or something.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s no problem at all.”

He would rather be in his office—or anywhere else in the world—than in a car with Marietta today.

She didn’t seem angry with him anymore, and surely she wouldn’t have agreed to go if she feared he might hurt her, no matter how terrified she’d acted that morning. If she wanted to manipulate him, it was definitely working. He was completely unsettled and could think of almost nothing but her.

He was sure she’d wanted to kiss him this morning. She’d responded so passionately, so eagerly. Even now, he couldn’t believe her desire for him wasn’t real. So why the hell had she pushed him away in terror and then acted like he was some sort of brute?

Neither of them said a word as he drove the narrow road that led to the motorway. Shortly after he pulled onto it and picked up speed, the windshield misted with a light rain.

He wanted to get to Dover as quickly as he could, but Marietta got tenser and tenser, sitting ramrod straight and holding the armrest with a ruthless grip. Her face emptied of color. There was no way she could have faked it.

Harrison eased off the accelerator. The car accident had happened in the rain. Marietta’s sister had died. She’d been paralyzed. He didn’t know what was true about her now, but no one could argue with what had happened to her then. He couldn’t begin to imagine the trauma she’d experienced that day, and he wouldn’t make it worse by driving too fast.

It frustrated him that it still affected her so deeply. Why the hell hadn’t her grandfather gotten her counseling? Surely something could have been done in the last fifteen years to help.

She didn’t say a word—not a complaint or any bossing about his driving, as she’d done yesterday. When one car cut him off, she shrunk into the corner of her seat with a hissing inhalation.

“Do you want me to pull off until it stops raining?” he murmured. “I don’t think it’s supposed to last long.”

She shook her head. “No. Thank you.”

“Are you sure?” He felt stiff and uncomfortable, infected by her obvious fear.

“I don’t like to let it defeat me.”

If it got any worse, he was going to pull off anyway. It was one thing to be brave. It was another to suffer for no good reason.

He couldn’t stand it, even if she could.

The light rain finally slackened. When he clicked off his wipers, Marietta released a shuddering sigh.

He glanced over at her, relieved she’d relaxed. “Has it always bothered you this much?”

She frowned and gave a half-shrug.

“Has it?”

“I usually don’t ride in a car when it’s going to rain.”

“Do you think avoiding the whole thing is the best way to—”

“It’s not really your business, is it?”

He tightened his lips at her clipped interruption.

After a taut silence, she said in softer tone, “I’m sorry for being testy. I’m just sensitive about it.”

“Understandably so.”

She peered at him suspiciously, as if she couldn’t believe his amenability. “In general, I’m quite well adjusted, you know.”

He smiled at the return of her characteristic lilting tone. “I never would have thought otherwise.”

“Seriously. It’s just riding in the rain that bothers me. And…”

“And what?” He wondered if her reaction that morning could somehow be connected to the effects of her trauma. That might explain why she’d suddenly been terrified for no apparent reason.

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Do you know how to drive?”

“No.” Her chin jutted, as if she were defying him to cast aspersions. “I ride my bike everywhere in Aix. I’ve never needed to drive.”

“You don’t want to learn just to learn?”

“No.”

Another silence stretched between them for several minutes.

“I used to want to do everything. When I was in my chair, I mean.”

His breath caught at the unexpected confession, and he shaped his words carefully. He wanted to hear more and worried she’d close up if he said the wrong thing. “And now?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I get scared.”

“Did you get scared this morning?”

When she didn’t answer, he turned to look at her. She nodded wordlessly.

“Of me?” He clenched the steering wheel too hard and forced himself to loosen his grip.

“No! I’m sorry you thought that. I knew you wouldn’t hurt me.” She exhaled deeply. “I’m sorry about the whole thing. It wasn’t you. It was me. I just…got scared.”

“What scares you?”

“I don’t know. That’s what’s so frustrating. I’m just…just stuck. Look at how long it took me to have sex for the first time, and even then I almost panicked.”

Her tone was lighter—no doubt to cut the intense mood—so he responded in kind. “I don’t think there’s a set schedule for deflowerment that you were obliged to follow.”

She burst into surprised laughter. Then couldn’t seem to stop.

The tightness in Harrison’s chest unclenched as he listened to the warm, uninhibited sound.

He felt a hand on his arm, and when he looked over, she was smiling, hesitant but still somehow glowing. At him.

…

They meandered along the cliffs, and Marietta appeared to enjoy it. She told him about her favorite hikes in the hills of Provence, going on about how she loved to climb Mont Sainte-Victoire, the mountain near Aix. For the last year, her favorite spot to think was east of the old chapel on the mountain, where she could see the sprawling vista of sunlit hills, lush vineyards, and lavender fields.

“You can smell the fragrance of Provence from the mountain,” she said.

Harrison listened to her description and asked a few questions, pleased she sounded more like herself. The accident and lingering effects of her trauma distracted him, however.

Marietta must have had the same thought at the back of her mind because, on their return walk, she asked, “Were you close to Michael?”

A long moment passed before he answered. “Not really. He was two years younger than me—the same age as Andrew—but he and Benjamin lived in the States. I only saw him a couple of times a year until that summer he interned for my uncle.”

“You lived in the States, too, didn’t you? When you were a kid?”

“Yes. I didn’t move here until my parents died. I was twelve then. But we lived on the other side of the country from Michael and Benjamin. It was a long way to visit.”

Marietta took a ragged breath and stared down at the pebble beach and rhythmic waves below the cliff. “My sister thought he was cute.”

Harrison closed his eyes, hating that horrible day.

“Were you working with your uncle then, too?”

“I was twenty and still at university, so I wasn’t with him full time. But I always worked in his office in the summers.” He sensed her eyes on him but didn’t meet her gaze. “I was working for him that day. You know, my uncle had asked me to pick you all up from your flight. Michael’s driving the rental car was my idea. I didn’t want to drag myself to the airport.”

He heard her quick intake of air. Then felt her hand on his chest. He looked down, surprised to see her gray eyes wide and anxious. “Harry—Harrison, you don’t think it was your fault, do you?”

She sounded as horrified as Andrew had.

“Of course not.” He felt like an idiot and vowed to keep random comments like that to himself in the future.

She gripped his shirt and regarded him. “Harrison?”

“I don’t think that, Etta.”

“Good. Because taking responsibility for that is just…”

“Just what?” he asked with arched eyebrows.

“Just stupid.”

Her tone was mild, but he tensed and pulled away from her anyway. They weren’t far from the car now, and it was getting late.

“I didn’t mean it as an insult.” She jogged to keep up with him.

“I didn’t take it as one.” His tone was cool, though. He felt awkward, and he didn’t like the feeling.

“I just meant that it couldn’t possibly be your fault.”

“I know what you meant. As I just said, I wasn’t insulted.”

He could feel her peering up at him as they walked, so he schooled his expression to reveal nothing.

“Oh. Okay. So you suddenly had to go to the bathroom really bad?”

When he cut his gaze back, he saw a hint of wry amusement on her face. She was visibly tired and upset, and it wasn’t her wittiest sally, but she was trying.

He almost—almost—smiled back.

“We should get going,” was all he said.

She grabbed his arm, and he pulled away as gently as he could. She made a frustrated noise. “Is this how it goes? You get to dig into all of my issues as if you’re entitled, but you clam up if we cross even one toe over into your issues?”

He tightened his lips. “What issues are you referring to?”

“I don’t know. But something made you react like this.”

“Can we just let it alone, please?” he asked with a thick sigh.

“Okay.”

He didn’t trust her easy acquiescence. She looked at him innocently, however, and he relaxed as they returned to the car in silence.

They’d gotten in and shut the doors when she said, “I’ve been thinking about it. And here’s what I think your issue is.”

He couldn’t stifle a groan.

That glint of humor flickered in her eyes again. “If you need to find a bathroom that badly, we can probably stop somewhere on the way back.”

He ignored her attempt to break the tension. “Oh no. I’m waiting to hear about my issue.”

“You hold yourself to impossible standards.”

He frowned as he pulled the car out of its parking spot. “And how do you imagine that playing out?”

“You talked about your uncle’s standards this morning and how you’ve always been able to meet them. But Andrew hasn’t come anywhere close to your uncle’s standards, and he hasn’t been sent packing. I think it’s your standards that are really the problem. You think you have to do everything, fix everything, take responsibility for everything.”

“And you’ve come to this profound conclusion from one idle snippet of discussion?” His tone was so dry it was almost brittle.

“No. From everything I’ve seen you do. You’re not as deep and complex as you think, you know.”

He didn’t respond. He was breathing heavily. Too heavily. There was no reason to let her affect him this way.

She had no business prying into his soul.

“But I don’t think it’s because you’re a perfectionist. I think it’s your way of keeping the world from falling apart again.”

Her insight so surprised him that he pressed the brake too suddenly. The car lurched. After a minute, he asked in a clipped tone, “And when, in this little fantasy you’ve concocted, was my world supposed to have fallen apart the first time?”

She slumped against the seat. “It must have felt that way when your parents died.”

It had. He’d been helpless, terrified. With nothing but a journal for consolation.

And then the world had fallen apart again after Michael’s accident.

It wasn’t something he could talk about—with Marietta or anyone else.