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‘So what?’ she countered, getting mightily sick of that patronising look, and the third degree, while also having absolutely no clue what he was getting at.
‘So if you finished your period on the twenty-eighth, and we had sex on the first of January, you would have been over a week into your cycle when my sperm died.’
‘But a pregnancy is still extremely unlikely…’ she countered, scrambling to rescue her reasoning while her head was starting to explode. ‘And the test will prove that…’
‘No, it won’t.’ He cut her off again, the patient tone deliberately condescending. ‘Because if you do a pregnancy test less than nine days before yournextperiod is due you have at least a thirty percent chance of a false negative…’
‘When exactly did you become an expert on the female reproductive cycle?’ she snapped, even as her heart began to clatter against her ribs as she could see her foolproof plan to avoid this trip—and guard against all the ways he could hurt her again—going up in flames.
‘When I woke up this morning and realised my memory of that night wasn’t some weird erotic fantasy, the way you’d made me believe,’ he snarled, the patient tone gone. ‘You should have told me the truth about what happened. If not after that first night, then when we spent that last night together,all night. You hadhourswhen you could have said something. Why the hell didn’t you?’
She turned away from him to stare out of the car window, bitter tears stinging her eyes again and blurring the sight of the airport sign, telling her she still had at least another ten miles of this torturous conversation to get through. She tried to swallow past the lump in her throat, terrified that he would see her break.
He was suggesting they spend well over a week together before they could take a reliable pregnancy test. She did not want to spend another week with him, given her aptitude for doing delusional, self-destructive things when she was with him.
She folded her arms around her midriff, desperately trying to hold the panic at bay.
‘Talk to me, Melody,’ he said, his voice low with frustration, but lacking that accusatory edge.
She scrubbed the tears from her cheeks, then turned to him, and the truth spewed out.
‘You left me there, Rene, alone, without even bothering to tell me you were leaving. I had to find out from one of the police officers.’ She pressed a hand to her chest, could feel the thundering beat. And forced the anger to the fore, to cover the turmoil of other emotions. Why should she be ashamed of the fact the sex had meant something to her? ‘I know what we shared wasn’t supposed to mean anything. But it still made me feel like nothing. That you didn’t even think I was worthy of a goodbye.Again. You’re the only man I’ve ever slept with…’ she blurted out. He’d asked for the truth. And now he’d got it.
But, instead of looking surprised, he simply nodded. ‘I know,’ he said.
‘You… Youknow?’ she gasped, shocked by the flare of something fierce…and possessive in his eyes.
What the hell was that about, given that he had discarded her so easily less than two days ago?
He sent her a wry smile that only confused her more. ‘If it helps, I haven’t been able to take another woman to bed since the first time we made love either.’
Her heart gave a giddy leap. But then she got a clue.
‘Now who’s lying?’ she said bitterly. ‘Don’t forget your amorous exploits have been all over the media for the past four years.’
‘Been keeping tabs on me?’ he murmured, but his fierce expression did not look amused.
The pulse throbbed in her sex, almost as if her traitorous body was preparing itself to take him. And she hated herself even more.
‘This isn’t a joke,’ she fired back, determined not to give in to the yearning this time.
‘Dammit, Melody.’ He reached over and brushed his thumb across her cheek. ‘Don’t cry.’
‘Then don’t lie tome,’ she said, pushing his hand away.
‘The press doesn’t know everything,’ he replied, his tone surprisingly gentle. ‘I didn’t say I hadn’t dated other women. I said I hadn’t slept with any.’ He pushed out an unsteady breath, looking strangely unsettled. She knew how he felt. ‘I wanted to forget you. I tried. It’s why I proposed to Isabelle. It drove me nuts that I couldn’t think about anyone but you when I was with other women. It still does, in fact, because, let’s face it, we’re not exactly good together anywherebutin bed,’ he said, sounding exasperated as well as frustrated.
How flattering.
‘Telling me you haven’t been able to get over sleeping with me for four years, but you really wish you had, isn’t quite the compliment you think it is,’ she said, determined not to be swayed by the deep-seated longing for his attention which had tripped her up too many times before.
He wasn’t saying he cared about her, he was saying he wanted to have sex with her. One thing which had never been in doubt was their chemistry. But, frankly, what had that insane chemistry ever really got her? A few mind-blowing orgasms. And the same fear of abandonment, that hideous feeling of not being enough but never knowing why, which had dogged so much of her childhood.
‘You know, my father walked out on me and my mum when I was eight years old—’ she forced the words out ‘—and I never saw him again.’
Why not tell him all of it? Make him realise this wasn’t her first rodeo when it came to having men treat her like nothing. She’d once blamed herself for her father’s departure, and she’d done the same thing, subconsciously, with Rene. Because she had always been so ashamed of being hurt by his thoughtless behaviour, but why should she be ashamed when she wasn’t the one who had been callous and careless?
‘One day my father was there,’ she continued, because he hadn’t replied, his expression carefully blank, ‘and the next he wasn’t. My mum tried to make it okay. She kept insisting the divorce wasn’t about me, it was about them. I guess they must have argued before he left. But I don’t remember that. All I remember is birthdays and Christmases going by for years afterwards with no cards, no gifts, nothing. Not even a phone call from him.’