Once Touched, Never Forgotten - By Natasha Tate Page 0,22
delivery of the truth rankled, unearthing an uncomfortable blend of irritation and irrational guilt. She was right. They’d never claimed to want more than the pleasure they brought each other’s bodies. That was one of the reasons he’d liked her so much. Her willingness to expect no more than he could give, her total lack of pressure, had been liberating. Exhilarating. “Are you telling me you wanted more, but were too afraid to ask?” he queried.
Her features softened into something horrifically close to pity. “No, Stephen. I’m telling you that we were over.”
He cleared his throat and pulled his hands from the table, remembering the surge of excitement that had gripped his chest once he’d realized he’d stumbled upon Colette again. Embarrassing, really, how quickly she’d burrowed beneath his skin, how quickly he’d fallen back under her spell. “So that was it?” he clarified. “You wanted to spare yourself the pain of my rejection, and decided to take matters into your hands? To end things on your timetable so I wouldn’t have to.” “Yes.”
“Well, thank you for telling me,” he said in a flat voice. “For clearing up the mystery at last.”
She studied his carefully blank expression, her brows notched in confusion. “I’d think you’d be grateful I didn’t cling to you, wailing out my heartbreak and begging you to stay,” she said, as if trying to soothe his stinging pride. “Unlike all your previous lovers, I spared you the discomfort of a messy, emotional scene.”
“You’re right.” He forced a smile as their sampler plate arrived, an array of bite-size morsels of lemon cake, coconut tuiles and hazelnut cookies he no longer had any interest in consuming. He lifted his espresso cup and tipped it toward her in a silent toast. “You did us both a favor, leaving me without a backward glance.”
Her face paled just a bit in the early afternoon light, her freckles suddenly more pronounced than they’d been before. “Yes,” she agreed with a slight dip of her head. “I did.”
Report to my office. Now. Two days later, Stephen’s delivered message sent worry spiking through Colette’s chest. She didn’t want to report to his office. She didn’t want to report to Stephen ever again.
It was too hard feigning indifference when he made all her senses come alive.
Knowing he could still turn her emotions inside out, she took several deep breaths, ordered her heart to beat normally and her body to remain calm.
He was waiting for her when the elevator doors slid open, looking far too authoritative, controlled and male for her comfort. Watching his black pupils flare as his gaze skimmed her body, she wished she’d worn something less form-fitting than her brown Capri pants and a coral sleeveless sweater. It was easier to negotiate when she wasn’t so aware of him as a man. Or when she wasn’t so aware of herself as a woman.
“You’re late,” he said.
“I just got your message two minutes ago.”
He ushered her past his secretary and into his office, gesturing her toward his desk and the comfortable chair placed before it. She stopped at its polished mahogany edge, not willing to sit down.
“I met with Genevieve this morning,” he said, his expression inscrutable.
Inhaling past her irritation, Colette braced her shoulders and said, “I figured as much.” She’d expected him to be impatient with the lack of progress they’d made. The woman’s hourly rate couldn’t be cheap, and so far they’d found little to agree upon in the pastry shop’s design plan. “She was quite upset when she left.”
“It seems you’ve been quite inflexible regarding how the Doux Rêves should look and feel.”
She angled her chin up. “If you don’t want my input, I’m happy to step aside.”
“Are you?” he murmured, his eyes fastened on hers.
Annoyance simmered within Colette’s chest, but she kept her voice calm. She knew Genevieve had complained to Stephen, and, given Colette’s lack of experience and training in interior design, she was fully prepared to have her ideas shot down. But defending herself simply because she had a different opinion was not what she’d agreed to. “Yes. You can let Henri deal with her and I’ll just return to my baking.”
“That’s your solution?” he asked with an amused smile. “Sic Henri on her?”
Colette pressed her mouth into a grim line. “Why not? If Genevieve thinks I’m inflexible, she’s in for a surprise.”
“I don’t doubt that.” A slow smile gathered behind his eyes, warming the blue and making her stomach flip in response. “But I don’t think it’s necessary