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It was over.
Now she’d loathe him. Just as he deserved. Hate him. Run. Far, far away from him. Before he hurt her, ruined her life beyond repair.
Slowly, inexorably, he allowed the cold to bleed into his veins, into his soul, until he was frozen to his emotional core. Braced for the highway to hell.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SCARS. SCARS ALL over his back. And she was shaking from head to foot, going all female crazy on him, her heart a searing fireball, acidic tears splashing the backs of her eyes—which was the wake-up call she needed to give herself a good shake. Careening into an emotional abyss wouldn’t help anyone here, least of all him. But—oh, God—she could virtually feel his pain, as if the sensations of brutality had been exhumed from the Stygian depths of her memories. And her heart ached. Ached for him.
Serena snatched a thick warm towel from the rail, shut the water off and stepped behind the curved glass screen, striving to avert her gaze and failing miserably.
‘You’ve been beaten,’ she breathed, her throat clotted with anger and grief, because although time had endeavoured to heal him he’d been whipped and burned and— Oh, my God... ‘When, Finn? When? How? Why?’
How could she not have known? Why hadn’t he told her?
His torso swelled on a deep inhalation before his shoulders hardened to steel and he turned with excruciating slowness. Dark blond hair plastered his brow, falling into glacier-blue eyes as cold as the frigid droplets that clung to his naked skin.
A shiver shook her spine. Never had she seen him cold. Wouldn’t have thought it possible from the man who beguiled the masses with his stunning smile and charismatic charm. It was the equivalent of dunking her in the Arctic.
‘Singapore.’
One word, delivered in a voice so cool and sharp she knew it was just the tip of an iceberg.
‘S...Singapore?’ The floor tilted and her arm shot out to brace her weight; her palm slipped on a cool trickle of condensation as her brain was flooded with implications.
‘Yes,’ he said, devoid of emotion as he snagged the towel from her hand and wrapped it around his lean hips.
Singapore.
‘Tell me...this has nothing to do with Tom,’ she said, her voice barely audible as her mind whirled faster than the room. ‘Tell me there’s no connection. Because that would mean—’
Oh, no. Please, no.
‘I’ve lied to you all along,’ he admitted. Detached. Hateful.
Serena closed her eyes. ‘I...I trusted you.’
She waited for the hot, pungent wash of anger and anguish to weave hotly through her veins, but all she kept envisaging were those barbaric scars marring his golden skin and all she felt was numb.
‘No, you didn’t, Serena. And if you were starting to it was against your better judgement, I’m sure.’
He was right, of course. She hadn’t trusted him at all in the beginning. Amazing what the onslaught of sexual attraction could achieve. Gradually blinding her until a thick, dense veil of molten desire shrouded her eyes to what she’d suspected all along.
The truth she’d been waiting for all these months.
The truth this man had told her didn’t exist.
Damn him. And damn her cursed heart too. How could she have been so naïve?
‘I want the truth, Finn. And don’t you dare lie to me again.’
‘Put something on,’ he ordered.
That chilly tone simultaneously made her shiver and feel bemused. Why was he being this way? So closed off. Aloof. Poles apart from the adoring, affectionate man she’d given her body to—as if he simply didn’t care any more. The snaking suspicion that he never truly had coiled in her chest, constricting her lungs until her breath hissed past her throat.
No, wait. She would not think the worst of him again—not until she’d heard him out. There could be a perfectly good explanation for all this. Right? Oh, God.
‘Here.’
He unhooked a white robe from the back of the door and she shoved her arms into the soft cotton, then tied the sash and nipped the lapels at her throat.
With an austere jerk of his head he motioned her towards the lounge area, where two cushy emerald-green armchairs sat at angles on either side of the marble fireplace. ‘Have a seat. I just need a minute to dress.’
‘I’d rather stand,’ she said, altogether too jittery, needing the succulent warmth of the honey-coloured carpet brushing the soles of her feet to ground her somehow.
Every second was an endless stretch as her brain worked overtime. Then he reappeared, wearing a black T-shirt, low-slung jeans and a hardened façade that made her stomach tighten in response.
