Free Jess Michaels by Taboo Page B

satin robe that hung beside her door and tied it at her waist. He made no effort to cover himself the same way, and she found herself stealing a side-glance at his impressive body.
    Damn him for keeping time as his mistress and not becoming her slave. It would be so much easier to hate him if he had gotten uglier.
    He shrugged one shoulder. “The fact that you know I had first claim on every part of your body is good enough for me. Whatever else you do, whoever else you turn to after this is over, you cannot erase that.”
    “You are correct,” she said softly, turning to the mirror at her dressing table rather than face him. In the reflection, she saw the haggard lines of her own face, the sadness she hoped he would never see. “No matter how much I try to forget, that much is true.”
    He sat up. “Do you try to forget often? Does that make the fact that you lied, that you threw away love, easier?”
    She spun around to find that he had already begun dressing. His mouth was a thin line of displeasure and his eyes were narrow and hard as he thrust one leg, then the other into his trousers.
    Her hands were shaking as she stared at him.
    “You don’t have any idea of my heart, Nathan. Or what makes my life easier or more difficult. You think you do, but you have no idea why…”
    She broke off before she said too much. Years ago, she had vowed that it would not be she who offered an explanation to Nathan Manning if he ever did step foot back into her life. She had done nothing wrong, she had nothing to explain.
    Besides, his knowing the truth of what had happened to her that night so long ago wouldn’t change the past. And she had a sneaking suspicion it might destroy him. No matterwhat lay between them, she didn’t relish the idea that she could be the one who did that.
    “Why what?” he asked, coming toward her without buttoning his shirt. “Pray, do explain yourself, if you can, Cassandra.”
    She shook her head. “You know everything already, don’t you? Why bother hearing me when you already have the truth in your palm?”
    He shook his head, his expression heavy with disgust as he finished dressing. The silence stretched between them, with Cassandra fighting not to watch him, he keeping his gaze on his task until he was finally back to being the cold lord of the manor who had come demanding she bow to his will.
    The heated, passionate lover was gone.
    “I will be back,” he finally barked, as he made his way to the door. When he reached it, he gave her a look so wintry that the room seemed to drop in temperature. “Be ready.”
    Before she could answer, he was gone, the door slamming behind him hard enough that the picture on the wall beside it shivered.
    Frustration mounting, Cassandra caught the nearest thing at hand, her hairbrush, and hurtled it across the room. It bounced off the door with a loud bump and then skidded away in the opposite direction.
    She sighed. There was no satisfaction in throwing things, or screaming, or doing anything else.
    Until Nathan returned, there would be no satisfaction at all.

Chapter Seven
    M usic filled the room, dancers spun around him, women flirted with him with open intent…and yet Nathan could hardly attend to the ball. His mind was addled with thoughts of Cassandra, just as it had been for the two long days he had avoided her.
    He told himself that he was pulling away from her because he wanted her to squirm, to wonder when and if he would return and what his demands would be when he did.
    That was part of it, of course. But in reality, their last encounter had been so emotionally intense that he felt the thin wire of his control strain almost to the point of breaking. With Cassandra, that was a very dangerous thing. He needed a break to regroup.
    And so he was here at a ball hosted by the Earl and Countess of Rothschild. Hating every moment of it. He had never been much for these events, even before he met Cassandra. He found most debutantes to be empty