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Until she remembered afterwards.
The way he’d rolled off her and left the room without a word, a glance, a smile, nothing.
It had been the most brutal rejection she’d ever known, and it had left her with a gaping wound deep inside her chest. And a festering anger. How dare he treat her like that?
Okay, they hadn’t planned to have sex. It hadn’t been on either of their radars, and after the way they’d sparred, she still didn’t quite understand how it had even happened.
But it had.
She’d enjoyed it.
She’d more than enjoyed it. She could see how quickly she could come to need that feeling. Sex had always been…nice…but never essential. Never the kind of thing that could put a person back together in a wholly different way.
She moved to sit on the edge of the bed, looking down at her still very swollen ankle, her heart turning over in her chest at the thought of facing Dante again, of needing his help.
Just as she was contemplating calling for him, a sharp rap sounded at her door. She grabbed for the sheet—she was still naked—but he didn’t wait for a response, rather opened the door to say something. And froze at the sight of her, sitting on the edge of the bed, half covered by the sheet, but in a way that made it abundantly clear she wore nothing else.
His eyes raked over her body and damn her treacherous self for actually responding to him even then. Fires reignited in her bloodstream and her pulse began to thunder in her ears.
“The road is clear. I’ll take you into town when you are ready.” He hesitated a moment, his face pale beneath his tan. “Do you need help?”
The idea turned her blood cold. “No.” How could she accept help from him after last night? After the way he’d just walked out on her afterwards?
“Georgia—,”
“I said no,” she responded, tightly.
His eyes sparked with hers and then he nodded once. “I’m just outside if you need me.”
I don’t need you, she thought angrily, as he closed the door behind himself. Only, alone in the room, Georgia had no earthly idea how she’d actually manage without help. Pride forced her to try though.
She ignored the sharp pain of her ankle as she stepped down from the bed and limped around the room, collecting the clothes she’d discarded and pulling them on, resenting the necessity of dressing once more in items he’d given her, items of his. Hating now what she’d loved yesterday: the snuggly feeling of such over-sized items.
But what alternative was there?
Once dressed, she hobbled to the door and pulled it inwards to find him standing on the other side. His gaze swept over her and his throat shifted visibly as he swallowed.
“Your clothes,” he muttered. “I’ll get them.”
“It’s fine.” All she wanted was to escape now—the sooner the better. “I have more clothes.”
He stared at her, as if to argue, but then took a step forward. She flinched away from him, hating with all her soul the idea of being touched by him. His eyes swept shut for a moment.
“You cannot walk downstairs.”
“I’ll manage,” she contradicted.
“Georgia, let me carry you. It’s not a big deal.”
“No,” she spat, eyes flashing with him, hiding behind anger rather than giving into the hurt she felt lashing her soul. “I said I’ll manage.”
His nostrils flared. She knew he was going to argue, because he had a valid point about her not being physically up to it, but she refused to be touched by him again. She thought a part of her might wither and die if he did so.
“Okay. It’s your life.”
She tilted her chin and glared at him a moment before she turned, carefully, and began to hop towards the stairs.
Dante refused to care about her. But how could he not? Not because they’d slept together, but because she was a flesh and blood human being. While he didn’t ever want to see Georgia again, nor did he want her to come to more harm on his property.
