Quiet Walks the Tiger - By Heather Graham Page 0,56

situation entirely up to her?

Once more she forced herself to talk. “Do you want me to go home and try for an annulment? I may have to file divorce papers. I’m not really sure how it works—”

The amusement vanished from his face to be replaced by a grim, implacable anger. “There will be no divorce...now,” he told her, tossing a wad of bills indifferently on the bed along with a blue vinyl checkbook. “My accountant will handle your monthly bills,” he continued coldly. “All you will need to worry about will be your personal expenses.”

Sloan stared at it with mortified amazement. She grabbed the checkbook and bills and threw them viciously back at him before covering her face with her hands. He wasn’t a wonderful man at all; he was completely insensitive, domineering, and ruthless. He had purposely made a point of tossing the money on the bed with the full intent of twisting the knife further to underline his point. Payment in full. Money for services rendered. She was nothing better to him than an overpriced call girl. Less. Women of the trade, according to him, had a certain honesty.

Her action served to rekindle his amusement. “You do have problems, my love, calling a spade a spade. You want that sugar-coating on everything. But I can’t handle this thing that way. You’ll remain my wife for the time being, but believe me, love, you’ll stay in line. And we’ll keep things honest and on the level from here on out.”

Sloan had to choke back jagged, sobbing laughter. The tricks of fate were so ironic! If only Wesley hadn’t overheard the wrong half of her conversation with Cassie. She would have admitted one day that she had originally sought him out because of desperation, but she would have explained it properly and opened her heart to tell him how she had come to love him for his quiet goodness and strength and lovingly begged his forgiveness! They could have had a life of mutual respect and adoring happiness.

It would be futile to attempt any explanations now. He would never believe her. He would probably never believe another word that came out of her mouth.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked with heartless misery, her face still buried in her hands.

“I don’t know, yet,” he mused. “See Brussels for the next two weeks.” She sensed his offhand shrug. “When you get home, say that I was delayed on business. I’ll be getting in touch with you.”

Sloan finally looked up, her face tearstained, her eyes reddened with abject despair. She was surprised to see that he still stood contemplatively in the doorway, watching her. His eyes were strangely soft for a moment, and although she knew he was feeling something for her, she didn’t realize how completely she touched his heart. She was beautiful in her cocoon of sheets, her hair flared about her face in captivating disarray, her eyes wet and dazzling in their despondency. He walked back to her slowly and almost absently lifted a strand of her hair, marveling at the play of red, gold, and mahogany within its depths. A darkness filled his eyes which could have been taken for an agony as strident as Sloan’s, an infinite yearning to take her in his arms and comfort and protect her.

She saw the tightening of his jaw and the moment of tenderness vanished as completely as if it had never been. Suddenly, Sloan couldn’t take any more; she lashed out at him as coldly as he had her.

“I thought you were leaving.”

His body stiffened perceptively, and she felt a mute satisfaction at wounding him after the terrible thrusts he had delivered to her. “Oh, I am going,” Wesley said grimly. “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind for a honeymoon either. Watch your step carefully, Sloan. I will be back.”

“Why?” she demanded, rising haughtily to his threat. “You’ve made it rather clear what you think of me.”

“True,” Wesley countered sardonically. “But then, what difference does that make? You were willing to marry me while not loving me, why should it matter if I’m no longer enamored of you?”

“I never hated you,” Sloan said bleakly.

Wes was still for a minute, then his finger hooked her chin to bring her face up to meet his. “I don’t hate you,” he said quietly. “In all honesty, I don’t know what I feel. A lot of anger and humiliation at the moment, and that’s why I’m leaving.”

“Then go!” Sloan rasped