I glance quickly down at my hands, clear beneath the water as the bubbles have started to disperse.
“I’m just trying to understand, you’re such an enigma. Unlike anyone I’ve met before.
I’m glad you’re telling me what I want to know.”
Jeez – maybe it’s the Cosmopolitans making me brave, but suddenly I cannot bear the distance between us. I move through the water to his side and lean against him so we’re touching, skin to skin. He tenses and eyes me warily, as if I might bite.
“Please don’t be angry with me,” I whisper.
“I am not angry with you, Anastasia. I’m just not used to this kind of talking – this probing. I only have this with Dr. Flynn and with–” He stops and frowns.
“With her. Mrs. Robinson. You talk to her?” I prompt, trying to rein in my own temper.
“Yes, I do.”
“What about?”
He shifts in the bath so that he’s facing me, causing the water to lap over the sides onto the floor. He places his arm around my shoulders, resting on the ledge of the bath.
“Persistent aren’t you?” he murmurs, a trace of irritation in his voice. “Life, the universe – business. Anastasia, Mrs. R and I go way back. We can discuss anything.”
“Me?” I whisper.
“Yes.” Gray eyes watch me carefully.
I bite my bottom lip, trying to curb the sudden rush of anger that surfaces.
“Why do you talk about me?” I endeavor not to sound whiney and petulant, but I don’t succeed. I know I should stop. I am pushing him too hard. My subconscious has her Edvard Munch face on again.
“I’ve never met anyone like you, Anastasia.”
“What does that mean? Anyone who just didn’t automatically sign your paperwork, no questions asked?”
He shakes his head.
“I need advice.”
“And you take advice from Mrs. Paedo?” I snap. The hold on my temper is more tentative than I thought.
“Anastasia – enough,” he snaps back sternly, his eyes narrowing.
I’m skating on thin ice, and I’m heading into danger. “Or I’ll put you across my knee.
I have no sexual or romantic interest in her whatsoever. She’s a dear, valued friend and a business partner. That’s all. We have a past, a shared history, which was monumentally beneficial for me, though it fucked up her marriage – but that side of our relationship is over.”
Jeez – another part I just can’t understand. She was married as well. How did they get away with it for so long?
“And your parents never found out?”
“No,” he growls. “I’ve told you this.”
And I know that’s it. I cannot ask him any further questions about her because he will lose it with me.
“Are you done?” he snaps.
“For now.”
He takes a deep breath and visibly relaxes in front of me, like a great weight is lifted from his shoulders or something.
“Right – my turn,” he mutters, and his glare turns steely, speculative. “You haven’t responded to my email.”
I flush. Oh, I hate the spotlight on me, and it seems he’s going to get angry every time we have a discussion. I shake my head. Perhaps that’s how he feels about my questions, he’s not used to being challenged. The thought is revelatory, distracting, and unnerving.
“I was going to respond. But now you’re here.”
“You’d rather I wasn’t?” he breathes, his expression impassive again.
“No, I’m pleased,” I murmur.
“Good.” He gives me a genuine, relieved smile. “I’m pleased I’m here too – in spite of your interrogation. So, while it’s acceptable to grill me, you think you can claim some kind of diplomatic immunity just because I’ve flown all this way to see you? I’m not buying it, Miss Steele. I want to know how you feel.”
“I told you. I am pleased you’re here. Thank you for coming all this way,” I say feebly.
“It’s my pleasure, Miss Steele.” His eyes shine as he leans down and kisses me gently.
I feel myself responding automatically. The water is still warm, the bathroom still steamy.
He stops and pulls back, gazing down at me.
“No. I think I want some answers first before we do any more.”
