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‘Teo?’ she echoed. ‘He has a fashion house, right?’
Azar tightened his gut against the needles of disgruntlement triggered by the awe in her voice. It was far too reminiscent of the jealousy he’d felt three years ago. But he couldn’t curb the grating sensation when he responded. ‘The House of Domene fashion brand, yes. Does that sway you into agreement?’ he bit out, before he could stop the betraying query.
Her face immediately tightened. ‘You think a bunch of designer clothes and accessories are all it takes to swing a life-changing decision in your favour?’ she hissed, with more venom than he’d anticipated.
He shrugged, demolishing that tiny hollow inside, made by her disappointment in him. ‘Is it? Either way, your life is going to change. If this smooths the way, then what does it hurt?’
Her eyes flashed with more venom before she pursed her lips. ‘You realise all you’re doing is confirming that you don’t like me very much? And I know you don’t think it matters, but it matters to me.’
‘Noted.’
Her lashes descended, then she flicked a glance at him. Azar noted her cheeks were lightly flushed, her chest rising and falling in a higher rhythm.
Her tongue slicked across her plump lower lip. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘You may ask, but I don’t guarantee an answer.’
‘I get the feeling you’re hiding behind Dr Ramsey’s advice, but—’ Her flush deepened and the stirring in his own groin intensified. ‘Did we—? Was it a one-night stand—between us?’
‘You’re asking if I took you more than once?’
Her expression remained veiled. ‘Y-yes.’
He shifted in his seat, the combination of her innocence and his need to know what she was thinking stirring further restlessness through him.
‘Without going into memory-endangering details, the answer is yes.’
So many days. So many positions. So many capricious emotions he’d thought left behind in his teenage years. If he hadn’t witnessed the perils of drugs and alcoholism at a young age, and vowed not to indulge in the former and severely limit his intake of the later, he might have thought he was under the influence of both during that heady time in the Arizona desert.
But every intoxicating, emotionally turbulent moment had come from this woman alone.
A combination of relief and unease flitted across her face, triggering his keener interest.
Basta!
Reaching for the nearest cloche, he lifted it to reveal the lobster bisque his memory had reminded him that she loved. Sneaking a glance from the corner of his eye, he watched her eyes widen slightly before she licked her lips in blatant hunger. He spooned two ladles full into bowls and exhaled in satisfaction when she picked up her spoon to sample the exquisite meal.
In silence, they ate, then moved to the next course.
Calm. Unruffled resolution.
That was the way forward with this woman some cosmic entity had deemed fit to bear his child and therefore wear his crown.
Tempestuous emotions from the recent and distant past would not be given a place in their union.
He simply wouldn’t allow it.
* * *
Every argument she’d thrown up had disintegrated beneath the weight of the one hurdle she couldn’t overcome.
What was best for her son.
It had driven her into pacing in the guest room while Max slept in a new, exquisite cot, complete with dramatic muslin netting, until the need for fresh air and clarity had drawn her to the terrace. There she’d been bombarded with the sights and sounds of Las Vegas, the most decadent city in the world.
The last place she’d dreamed of raising a family.
Which begged the question: why was she hesitating to take the silver platter offered?