It made her realise just what she’d been thinking when he had invited her to the dinner. She’d been thinking it was a date. That it was real.
But this wasn’t real. She wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for the deal he had offered her. A deal she had accepted and still hadn’t fulfilled. Which she needed to do to keep Ocean Haven. How had she forgotten that? How had she forgotten that he was trying to steal it away from her?
But she knew how. He’d kissed her so tenderly, so reverently, it had been as if eight years had fallen away between them. And she couldn’t think like that. Because as much as she hated the coldness of the deal they had struck she also knew that she couldn’t afford to feel anything. She couldn’t afford to want anything from him other than money. That way was fraught with disaster. It would turn her from an independent woman in charge of her own destiny back into the people-pleaser she had tried to be for her grandfather. For Chad.
She stared at the dress. Cruz was an extraordinarily wealthy man who was used to getting what he wanted. For some reason he had decided that he wanted her. For a night. But that didn’t mean she had to wear clothes he’d chosen as well.
Before she could think too much about it she strode out into the living room. The sun was hanging low in the sky and it illuminated his fit body as he stood in front of the window, talking into his cell phone.
As if sensing her presence he turned, scanned her face and the dress she was holding, and told whomever he was talking to that he had to go.
She held the dress out to him. ‘I can’t wear this.’
He frowned. ‘It doesn’t fit?’
‘No. Yes. Actually, I don’t know. I haven’t tried it on.’
He smiled. ‘Then what’s the problem?’
‘The problem is—’ She dropped her hand and paced away from him. ‘The problem is that I’m not a possession you can dress up whenever you like. The problem is I’m an independent woman who has some idea about how to dress herself and doesn’t need to be told what to wear by some high-powered male who has to own everything.’
A heavy silence fell over the room as soon as her spiel had finished but somehow her words hung between them like a hideously long banner dragged through the sky by a biplane.
‘I take it your grandfather didn’t like your choice in outfits?’ He dropped into a plush sofa. ‘Or was it Anderson?’
For a minute his astute questions floored her. ‘Chad has nothing to do with this,’ she bit out.
His beautiful black eyes glittered with confidence and Aspen was suddenly embarrassed to realise that she had just exposed a part of herself she hadn’t intended to.
‘At some point we need to talk about him.’
Aspen felt her heart hammer inside her chest. ‘We so do not.’
His eyes became hooded. ‘We will, but not now. As to the other.’ He waved his hand at the emerald silk crushed in her hand. ‘It’s just a dress, Aspen. I assume you didn’t pack anything formal?’
‘No.’ Deciding to ignore her embarrassment, she forged on. ‘But I can buy my own clothes if I need to.’
Clearly exasperated, he looked at her from under long thick lashes. ‘Fine. I’ll forward you the bill.’
Aspen could tell he had no intention of doing that. ‘You may have bought a night with me, Cruz, but that doesn’t mean you own me.’
‘I don’t want to own you.’ He laid his arm along the back of the sofa. ‘Wear it. Don’t wear it. It’s irrelevant to me.’
‘What is relevant to you?’ she asked, goaded by his nonchalant attitude. ‘Because it seems to me that you’ve cut yourself off from everything that could have meaning in your life other than work. Your family. Your polo playing—’ Aspen stopped, breathlessly aware that he had risen during her tirade and that he was nowhere near as relaxed as he had appeared.
‘The dress was a peace offering.’ He grabbed his suit jacket from the back of the nearby chair. ‘But you can bin it for all I care.’
Feeling all at sea as he stalked out of the penthouse, Aspen returned to her room and leant against the closed door.
A peace offering?
She felt stupid and knew that she had acted like a drama queen. And she knew why. She was tense. The thought of sex with Cruz was hanging over her head like a stalactite. And felt just as deadly.
Glancing at the bed, she ignored the tight feeling in her chest and tossed the dress onto it. Then she stripped off and scalded herself with a hot shower, all the while knowing that as she plucked and preened and soaped herself with the delicious vanilla-scented soap that she was doing so with Cruz in mind. Which made her feel worse. This wasn’t a romance. It was a deal.